#outlaw gang game strong as fuck
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Roy : *pinching the bridge of his nose*
Artemis : you good over there ??
Roy : yeah it's just my ears. they're ringing
Jason : well ? are ya gonna answer 'em ?
Artemis : I take it that no one's informed you of this but saying shit like that without bearing the title of "dad" is illegal
Jason : putting into account the fact that i recently got called "daddy" in the bedroom the other night renders your argument moot
Artemis : and just who the hell wanted to do that ??
Artemis : *suspicously side-eyeing Roy*
Roy : I dont wanna talk about it
#jayroy#outlaw gang game strong as fuck#roy harper#jason todd#artemis of bana mighdall#arsenal#red hood
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cmon you cant just say how queercoded sean is and then not expand on itผ(•̀_•́ผ)
/lh
My need to constantly talk about Sean MacGuire is really being indulged lately jnhbvbjnbh Thank u dear anon <3
oKAY so like, anon, I will be the FIRST to admit that me calling Sean queercoded might've been a strong choice of words all things considered (especially compared to ACTUALLY explicitly gay Bill Williamson which could go for queercoding considering it's only really explicit if you look for it or catch it). I read Sean as queer in a lot of ways, and that is probably in no small part because I'm queer myself. BUT in my defense, what am I supposed to take away from the developers cuffing Sean's jeans like that?? His queer little swagger???? The outfit with that haircut?????? That is a BISEXUAL MAN if I've ever seen one!!!
^me rn fr (always, about Sean and Lenny in particular. My gay Lenny headcanon is a lot more solid though, I'll be frank, and I'm honestly waiting to go the fuck off about it properly here some day lmao)
On a more serious note though, I definitely think Sean's admiration for Arthur can be read as a little bit of a crush in certain instances. Not that I particularly ship that pairing, but certain ways Sean responds to Arthur has always had me 🤔🤔 For example (and I'm really gonna out myself and how often i rewatch his missions here) in pouring forth oil, when Arthur gets mad forreal for a sec and threatens Sean (after Sean has a tantrum abt not being invited along which.... come on), and Sean laughs, there is DEFINITELY a crush-related way of reading that interaction & Sean's response. Not to mention the lil lookover Sean gives him I mean COME ON he's not even that subtle!
Not to speak of the fact that the first thing he does after being rescued from bounty hunters is ask Arthur for a hug - how many of yall Arthur Morgan horny ppl wouldn't die to do the same? Sean was ahead of the game. He's one of you, I swear.
I think Sean being queer makes sense with his personality too, as the sort of laid-back and easy-going one. Though I also think, given the time and the fact that I think he's bi, it's probably not smth he's ever thought very hard about? You know, heteronormativity etc etc, him and Karen having their messy thing going on etc etc, but Sean WOULD kiss a homie and not really have a problem with it. He'd just -- not think about it much harder, you know?
It's that same attitude he has, which leads me to believing if given the chance he'd be very gnc. I know I've said it before but I do headcanon that modern au Sean would def fuck around with skirts and makeup and nailpolish, and have a very loose relationship with his gender as a man at best. It makes sense to me, for someone who is both that easygoing, and has that sense of interest in societal issues, to at some point have the realization of 'oh gender roles are made up' and act accordingly, you know?
And then I'm also taken with, and sort of speaking from, this sort of perspective of the gang at large as very queer. Speaking of it in that academic way, as a sort of rejection of normative society - heteronormative society in particular - there's absolutely an inherent queerness to this entire gang of outlaws doing as they will. When being queer has always meant being ostracized from society, it is easy to read characters ostracized from society as queer; in this way, and in my opinion, the queercoding is inherent to this game, and these characters. It's there at the very foundation of their situation and way of living, and it's why I personally am never going to argue against any type of queer headcanon (and why I'm a proponent of many of them myself lol). Me seeing queerness in Sean and Lenny, is no different from me seeing it in Arthur and Charles, or Sadie and Karen, or Hosea and Dutch, or literally ANY other gangmember.
I feel like I went on a tangent here, again, as I am prone to do, BUT my main point is: Sean MacGuire is so so queer bcz I said so, and becuase why the fuck else would he be like that?
#JOKING at the end there but also absolutely not#thank u anon for asking me abt this lmao#ultimately sean is harder to argue for as queer bcz he has the least amount of screentime of the gang members. we have crumbs to work with#but i SWEAR he has been reading as queer to me from the moment i first saw him#mf 'can i get a hug arthur?' DUDE who the FUCK else asks that 😭#sean macguire#rdr2#red dead redemption meta#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 meta#arthur morgan#lenny summers#teki talks#rdr thoughts#asks#rdr asks#meta asks
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I’m late but. for the fallout oc asks: 3, 5, 30, and 32 for whichever OCs you want (or all)
Aw thanks! Sure, I'll do All, why not lmao. All least all that i know offhand.
Prepare for length
3. What is their SPECIAl?
Red - S: 5 P: 9 E: 8 C: 3 I: 4 A:6 L:7
The math on this might be bad, who cares. Scores also slightly change by endgame (endurance and strength increase with the addition of mechanical organs, and perception increases to 10 with the addition of the prosthetic eye, at the sacrifice of even more charisma and a little agility)
Killian: S: 10 P: 3 E: 10 C: 2 I: 10 A: 3 L: 1
Minmaxed to fuck
Cecelia: S: 5 P: 8 E: 7 C: 4 I: 9 A: 7 L: 4
This might differ slightly from other times ive posted, but hers sits somewhere around here. More agility/intelligence based.
Cato - S: 7 P: 5 E: 8 C: 4 I: 9 A: 5 L: 5
Strong AND smart, just a little lacking in the charisma and agility a lil
5. What is their highest skill? Lowest skill?
Red - highest: guns, lockpick, speech. Lowest: energy weapons or science
Killian - highest: melee, unarmed, science. Lowest: speech or barter
Cecelia - highest: medicine, science, survival. Lowest: unarmed
Cato - highest: science, sneak, melee. Lowest: barter, lockpick
30: what have they done that has affected their canon wasteland?
Red - game wise, just doing shit in thr campaign. They helped take down caesar and assisted the NCR in keeping control of the hoover dam, killing lanius (although the dam intake did all the work). Out of game, they were a semi infamous outlaw for a number of years, which continues to haunt them long after the Dustriders are gone.
Killian - Killian's story is a bit AU, since he gets out of the vault a few years earlier than intended and goes almost straight to Nuka World, taking over from coulter much quicker and shaping the gangs into something much more cohesive, for a time. The gangs fed into his drug addiction and he quickly became more of a figurehead/attackdog for the gang leaders to throw at various problems. Nisha eventually attempts ti assassinate him, which is where he's freed from nuka world and his story really begins. It takes him a longggg fucking time to even get around to the events of fo4.
He's present in Quincy when the gunners attack and assists the survivors when they flee, helping them along the way. In an attempt to atone, he helps Preston regrow the minutemen, although refuses/is not given the title of general. He kind of travels around, helping settlements out with their defenses and home militias.
Cecelia - since she's not a player character, most of what she affects happen pre and post game. She was also an outlaw, like Red, but she was much more in the background and never had the same price on her head that they did. After the game, she keeps a small group of Followers in the Mojave after the main group move on and they station themselves in Goodsprings, going out to help the people recover from the aftermath of Caesar's Legion. She personally helps in putting down the remnants that splintered after Caesar and Lanius' deaths.
In her courier 6 au, she does much the same, as well as campaign stuff.
Cato - also not a main character. Formerly a zealous and loyal Legionary, he suffers a crisis of faith and begins feeding the NCR information from the inside. He's in a position of relative power, controlling some of the points where information goes through the Legion ranks. Working with the Frumentarii, he manages communication lines and develops ciphers, as well as working to crack NCR codes. He's in an incredibly dangerous position to be a turncoat. When he's discovered, he's very nearly killed. After escaping and being rescued, he joins the final fight at the Hoover dam to help push the Legion out for good.
Finally free, he chooses to stay with the Followers who remain, stationing himself in Goodsprings with them and devoting himself to his passions, like falconry and animal care.
32 - what is their go to weapon or weapon class?
Red - Revolver, lever action rifle, melee.
Killian - Melee, unarmed, small guns
Cecelia - Repeater rifle, pistol, explosives
Cato - automatic rifle, melee
#fallout#kal talks#asks#cato asterion#Cecelia butcher#courier Red#killian#long post#ty! that was a lot of fun#courier six#fallout oc
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i totally agree about the mary post. i like mary and i really like the hints about her relationship with arthur but it’s distasteful and lowkey classist like you preved when people act like everything intelligent and cultured in arthur was taught to him by mary and not through his own and the gang’s
same!! i don’t feel one way or another abt their relationship tbh. well no that’s a lie i would’ve liked to see much more of them and a flashback to what they used to be so i could like mary as arthur’s love interest more bc mary as her own person outside of arthur is so interesting to me. we have to assume she’s smart and strong-willed on her own to survive high society as a widow with a father whose reputation is ass, she cares deeply abt her family despite their flaws which is smth she and arthur have in common, she’s witty and kind and brave.
but mary’s not without her own flaws and i think what bothers me abt these types of posts implying arthur was a braindead illiterate oaf before her are:
1) the classism. obviously.
2) that mindset disregards the basis of the game, which is that poor ppl, disenfranchised ppl, migrants, thieves of necessity—they’re all human beings with intelligence, sociability, culture and hearts of their own. to say that a rich woman is the only reason a poor man known 4 syllable words and etiquette is not just classist but shows ignorance of the game.
3) it boils down mary’s character. she’s not just a stereotype of prim and proper victorian womanhood. clearly she’s fucking not bc for a sizeable portion of her adolescence and early adulthood she was going to marry an outlaw and was willing to give it all up for love. both arthur and mary, and quite frankly most everyone in the game, are examples of goodness in their own way and to act like mary didn’t have any flaws in the game and was just a paragon of victorian virtue, a concept itself created by men, i feel is an act of bad faith. she’s so much more and her flaws and positive traits don’t cancel out and are not more important than arthur’s or hosea’s who we know is who taught arthur most of what he knows.
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Arthur Morgan x Reader NSFW Alphabet
AO3 Link.
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Arthur’s very lovey-dovey after sex. He’ll shower you in kisses and hold your body so close to his that you’ll feel his heartbeat. Affection is something he craves, and that hunger will only grow tenfold as the post-coital bliss washes over him. Falling asleep with you by his side, your naked body pressed against his, your head on his chest feels like home to him, where he can be free and safe.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He loves his arms and hands. Not only are they a powerful tool that he uses on the daily to kill, rob, and steal, they also come in handy (hehe) in the bedroom. He’ll run his hands all over your body, pinching, touching, twisting. The feeling of your skin under his fingers is intoxicating, and so is the knowledge that it’s his touch that can make you moan and writhe in pleasure.
When it comes to you, it’s hard for him to pick just one favorite aspect. He loves every part of you, from your legs, to your hips and your waist, to your breasts and of course your face. If he absolutely has to choose, then he’ll pick your waist. He feels content when he has his hand on your waist, bringing you close to him and feeling your body next to his, be it when the two of you are out, or simply sitting by the campfire in camp.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Loves coming inside of you, be it in your mouth or your pussy. There’s just something so intimate and romantic in the feeling of being enveloped by your warm walls as he reaches his own release.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He likes to be dominated from time to time. It’s easy to understand; Arthur always has to take the lead, be the protector and the leader of the gang, making sure the people are safe and fed. It’s a lot of responsibility, and it weighs heavy on his shoulders. Sometimes he just wants to let go and have somebody else be in control. This want seeps into your intimate life, and at first, he’s embarrassed to voice it. He’s so used to being the strong, masculine outlaw that he’s not sure how to be anything else but that. You sense that something is wrong, so after a lot of prying and kissing he relents and tells you what he’s been thinking. He’s expecting you to laugh at him and dismiss his thoughts as silly, but you don’t. You ask if that’s what he really wants, and he nods. The night takes a completely different turn, with you having your way with Arthur, taking control of his pleasures. You’ll have him on the edge, teasing him relentlessly only to not give him what he needs.
“You think you deserve to cum?” you’ll say, nipping at his ear. “Think you’ve been good?”
He’ll moan your name, bucking his hips towards you and say, “Please.”
“That’s Madame for you,” you’ll correct him.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
You wanna thank the woman (or women) who taught Arthur what he knows. From sucking on your clit, to hitting your G spot and nipping on your neck, the man knows every secret in the book that will have your toes curling and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Another great thing about him is that not only is he experienced, but he’s open to learning and trying something new. He’s not the type of man to get upset if you correct him on his technique. If you don’t like something and tell him to do it differently, he’s more than happy to correct himself. Your pleasure is more important than his ego.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
With you on your stomach and him on top, fucking you into the mattress. He loves the classic such as missionary and cowgirl during which he can see your face, but there’s something so intimate in being pressed so close against you, his chest touching your back.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Arthur is somewhere in the middle, leaning more towards serious. He can laugh during the process, but more often than not he’s concentrated, lost in pleasure and lust.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Arthur is hairy all over; from his head to his chest to his legs, and, well, there too. If it bothers you, he has no problem trimming down there, but he himself doesn’t care.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
During your love making (and it is love making, not fucking (thought that happens too sometimes)), he’s very romantic, making sure to tell you, “You’re so beautiful” and “I love you so much, darlin’.” He’ll shower your body in kisses, worshiping you like the goddess you are, kissing every inch of skin and murmuring praises and love confessions. The time you spend in each other's arms, bringing each other pleasure is not only about satisfying your carnal desires, it’s about being close, becoming one and showing just how much you love each other. It’s a process that neither of you want to rush, sometimes spending hours in each other’s arms, proving your love all. night. long.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
The two of you spend almost every waking hour together, but sometimes there are jobs that Arthur has to do alone (like bounty hunting or collecting debts). Some of those jobs are quick, and if he leaves in the morning he’s back in camp right before supper to spend the night with you. Others, however, can stretch for days, even longer if his destination is way out in the country. When he’s away from you for that long, taking himself in his hand is all he can do. He’ll wrap his fingers around his cock, starting with slow up and down movements, imagining it’s your hand and not his. He’ll bring to memory the image of your naked body under his, the sound of your voice moaning his name and the feeling of your walls spasming around him. If he’s alone, he’ll moan your name under his breath, his cock twitching in his hand as he’s nearing his release. With a cry of your name he’ll come, spilling himself on the ground, his hand working his cock to push every drop out.
It’s not the same as having you with him, that’s for sure, but it’ll have to do before he can have the real you in-front of him.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Light bondage. He enjoys tying you up, like your hands behind your back or your hands to the bedpost. If the two of you are in a particular mood, he might even tie up your legs. After telling you his “dirty secret”, he enjoys being the one tied up as well. Both of you know he can get out of the ties easily, break the rope with just a flex of his muscles, but it’s the knowledge that he’s tied down and at your mercy that turns him on.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Somewhere that has a full sized bed (preferably a king sized one). As much as he enjoys the cozy atmosphere of his tent and the familiarity of his cot, it can be a bit annoying with two full sized adults trying to go at it on a bed that was made only for one person.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
He loves hearing you moan his name, the sound of it coming broken and shaky from your lips. Feeling your legs shake, your body writhe and your hands holding on to him for support is his biggest motivation to work harder to bring you to your release, wanting nothing more than to see you fall apart to his touch.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Degradation and physical abuse. A spank on your ass here and there is okay, and so is dirty talk, but nothing that crosses a line into actual degradation and physical abuse.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Homeboy loves getting his dick sucked. Having you on your knees with his cock in your mouth is one of the images that warms up his soul when he’s alone and away from you.
As far as giving, he enjoys it, and can spend hours between your thighs, lapping at your like you’re his last meal. He enjoys how you are when you’re nearing your release, your thighs shaking on his shoulders, your fingers holding on to his hair and holding him where you need him. Once your orgasm washes over you and you’re laying on the bed, panting, your eyes closed, he’ll emerge from between your legs, licking his lips, a satisfied smirk on them.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Arthur prefers slow, sensual lovemaking to rough and fast fucking any day of the week. He enjoys dragging his cock in and out of your pussy, the slow strokes driving you insane. His pace would be slow, but it would be deep and intense, making you see stars each time he hits a spot inside of you.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
With how often Arthur has to go on jobs, quickies are a necessity in your relationship. Sometimes, he’ll only be in camp for an hour or two before heading back out, so as much as he’d love to pull down the flaps of his tent and ravish your body for hours on end, a quickie is all he can afford.
He’ll have you pinned to a tree on the outskirts of camp, his pants pulled down enough to pull out his dick, your skirt hiked up and your drawers pushed to the side. You’ll bite down on your fingers, trying to keep your moans at minimum as he pushes in you, his girth stretching you as it always does. It’ll be quick, dirty and sinfully delicious, and it will leave you craving more, waiting for Arthur to come back as soon as possible.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Arthur’s always game to try something new as long as it’s safe and both of you are on the same page.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Arthur can go all night long. The man has an implacable self control, and he can make you come countless times before cumming himself.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Arthur is a type of man that wants to do everything himself, be it cooking his own meals instead or ordering UberEats, or making you cum with his fingers instead of a vibrator. Personally, he doesn’t see a necessity for toys, but if it’s something you wanna try, he’s more than happy to use them.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
When he’s in a mood, Arthur can tease you ceaselessly. He’ll have you on the edge of orgasm for hours, making you think that he’s about to give you what you want, only to pull away at the last possible moment. You’ll be a shaking, moaning mess by the end of it, teetering on the edge of insanity and begging him to finally let you cum. He’ll smile that devilish smile, perhaps even cock his head to the side and take a moment to think before saying, “Nah,” and go back to teasing you for hours more.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
When the two of you are in camp, Arthur has no problem at keeping his volume to a minimum. He’ll grunt here and there, maybe let out a moan a few times, but nothing over the top, because he doesn’t want to bother other gang members. When the two of you are alone however, it’s a completely different story. The man moans. He lets out grunts, sighs and moans, but most of all, he lets out praises and comments.
“Shit, darlin’, you’re so tight,” he would grunt as he slips in your heat, “Gonna make me bust already.”
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he’d say as he circles your clit with his fingers, bringing you to your release for the unpteenth time that day, “I know you got it in you.”
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
The idea of you getting pregnant turns him on, a lot. The two of you are not actively trying to get pregnant, but the knowledge that he could do that to you, could put a baby in you and have you swollen and with a big belly because of him turns him on. When the two of you do decide to try for a child, he’ll be the one tracking your cycle and seeing which days you’re ovulating. On those days, you’ll barely leave the bed, only taking time to eat and relieve yourself before going back to making love in hopes of expanding your family.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Arthur’s hung. That’s all.
Jk, that’s not all. He’s long and thick, something that made a shiver run down your spine the first time you saw him naked. Even after being together for however long you were, his girth still manages to stretch you to your limits and need a moment to get used to. Arthur would never say it, but hearing you say, “You’re so big” gives him a high for hours and feeds his ego like nothing else.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Before getting in a relationship with you, Arthur’s sex drive was mediocre. He might’ve sought the company of working girls a couple of times a month, but that was more like scratching an itch and not doing it out of pure lust. After getting in a relationship with you however, well, that’s a different story. Just the sight of you walking through camp can set his mind on fire. He has a hard time keeping his hands off of you, and can be a big distraction when you have to work. If you’re game, he’ll have you multiple times throughout the day; in the morning, after lunch during your guard duty, at night in the tent. The man wants you all the time and he’s not shy to tell you so.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Arthur is the type of man to fall asleep with his face in your tits. As soon as he makes sure that both of you are clean and comfortable, he’s out. He’ll be scooping you up in his arms and snoring in no time (and so will you, because Arthur’s snores and his warm chest is better than any Melatonin)
#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x y/n#arthur morgan smut#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#red dead redemption#red dead#rdr2 smut#rdr2 headcanons#rdr2 fanfics#rdr2 fanfiction#arthur morgan headcanons#arthur morgan imagine#red dead redemption 2 fan art#red dead redemption imagines#rdr2 fanfic#rdr2 imagine#rdr2 headcanon#rdr2 reader insert#red dead redemption headcanons
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Bring the House Down
biker!ares x madam!aphrodite
Summary: Ares and Aphrodite’s relationship has been tumultuous for centuries. Things had become more tense when he took to the road to lead a biker club while she stayed behind is Los Angeles to open up the most exclusive sex club with Dionysus. The time apart has always strained their relationship, but what happens when they find themselves reunited?
taglist: @persephone-rps for cowriting and @just-the-hiddles for test reading
words: 3.7K
warnings: smut, smut, smut. 18+ please
---
Aphrodite was livid. In the centuries that she had known Ares, she didn't believe that he still had the nerve to show such disrespect. Both her and Dionysus had been running the most successful and exclusive sex club in Los Angeles and she imagined that Ares would be present to celebrate her success, especially given that his men and women were present and in attendance. Granted, the two of them had been off and on for eons, but she felt that she deserved more respect than what was given. She managed to convince one of his gang members to disclose the God of War's location before taking her leave from the club. She barged into the motorcycle club and glared in every direction before she finally found him. "Why the fuck are you not at my club?"
For as long as Ares had been alive, he had never found somewhere he enjoyed more than the lively city of Los Angeles. The mortals living here were a bit unfriendly and rude, which made them the easiest targets for the God of War. He found pleasure in animosity and revelled in the chaos. It was only fitting that Ares started up a very notorious motorcycle gang. It gave him the opportunity to delegate a group of unruly men and women to act on his every whim. The Outlaws were highly respected and, in some aspects, held more authority than the police.
Ares was sitting at the bar in the Outlaws clubhouse, drowning his nagging thoughts about Aphrodite and her damn sex club she ran with Dionysus. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world, though. Especially when the blonde Goddess of Love stormed in. He turned his head slowly to look at her, much too familiar with her outbursts after centuries of knowing each other.
“Why the fuck are you in my club?” He retorted with a scoff. “Tell me, gorgeous.. Why in Tartarus would I want to watch those mortals fawn over you? None of them are half the man that I am and I know you are more than aware of that.”
She rolled her eyes. Of course, the mortals of Los Angeles fawned over her, men and women alike. She was Aphrodite and she fed off of their adoration. The more they prayed and fawned over her, the more power she had. It was why it was a genius idea to set up shop with Dionysus. Everyone was looking for an escape in the alcoholic haze and the search for love.
"I'm in your club because you're being a giant asshole by not coming to see me," Aphrodite retorted with a pout, trailing her fingers down his muscular arm. "Because they fawn over me but they can never have me. They can't handle me. As if I would bring myself down to their level and consort with them. Please. I'm not Zeus. But you... I was waiting for you. You insult me by not joining me in my temple."
It had been centuries of this little back and forth with Aphrodite. Just like the mortals, he was captivated by her beauty and he just had to have her, no matter what; however, unlike the mortals, he was a god who was able to somewhat resist that charm of hers. At least that’s what he constantly told himself. In all honesty, that was only true when she wasn’t around him because right now, he began to feel an overwhelming desire for Aphrodite. He turned in his stool quickly, grabbing ahold of the blonde’s wrist that was ghosting over his arm, his eyes moving up and down her body. She was always dressed to impressed and tonight was no exception.
“Oh, my goddess,” he smirked softly, standing up. He gently but forcefully pushed her up against the bar counter, one of his hand resting on her hips. “I have a feeling I could make it up to you one way or another...” Ares’ smirk grew as his other hand moved up, tilting her head back as his mouth found its way to her neck.
Aphrodite was high maintenance. She could admit to that, but as a result, she demanded to be woo'd, which was not exactly the war god's style. He was rough and hard and their lovemaking always resulted in bruises. She enjoyed the rough sex, but she wanted more than that. Ares was just never one to commit, rather staying on the war path and building up his army. She leaned her head back, looking bored already with his antics. "You have a feeling? I have a feeling that you are all talk and no action," she prodded, poking holes at his ego. She knew that he would delight in her image. Who wouldn't? She was the most beautiful goddess and she had dressed in his favorite color lingerie and a skin-tight dress with a high slit.
Ares couldn’t help but to groan against her smooth skin. She always knew exactly how and when to push his buttons and tonight was no exception. Part of him wanted to push her away, tell her to go back to her precious sex club and Dionysus; however, he felt his desire for her increasing by the second. He wondered if she was using some of her powers on him and the thought angered him. Though, he figured he would channel that anger in a way that benefited them both. “What is it that you want, Goddess?” He inquired with a raise of his brow, eyes scanning up and down her perfect body donned in a tight little dress. “Do you want me to tell you how beautiful you are? How no mortal or goddess in Olympus could ever amount to your beauty? Hm?” His hands smoothed up and down her sides. “Do you not hear that enough from your followers? Or will you finally admit that my attention is what you desire most in the world?”
She could have easily used her powers on him; however, it took out the fun from their back and forth. Aphrodite enjoyed the games and enjoyed the wrath that she could draw from him just from making him second guess himself. She felt herself get wet just from hearing him sing her praises and her skin glowed from the power it gave her. “My followers, they see me and my beauty, but not like you can,” Aphrodite purred as she pressed her pelvis against his. “Your undivided attention is what I desire most in the world and I am no fool. I know that is one desire that will never be fulfilled.”
Ares couldn’t help but to smirk at the way her skin glowed from his compliments and he truly meant every word of it. Even after centuries and even after having different lovers, there was always something that drew the two of them towards one another. Take Los Angeles for example; Ares would never admit to it, but Aphrodite was part of the reason he went there. The warfare was just an added bonus. “That is very true,” his voice was deep with desire for the goddess. “Oh my gorgeous, breathtaking, absolutely radiant goddess... You have my undivided attention right now, don’t you?”
Aphrodite hummed with happiness as her fingers danced over the skin that she had access to. She loved seeing him after a war, all built up and strong. It made her even more proud when she could bring him to his knees and see how weak she could make him. "I do... but I always want more," she leaned in, lips barely grazing the stubble on his cheek. "Are you god enough to give me more?"
It was almost as if Ares was a completely different being when he was around Aphrodite. The affect she had on him without even using her powers was mind blowing and it didn’t take the war god to be reduced down to a man who was putty in her hands. His hands couldn’t help the way they explored her body until they slipped past the slit of her dress to grab her backside. Her words started a fire inside him and he let out a dry chuckle before smacking her bottom. “I think we both know that I am, Aphrodite,” he smirked widely, his hand soothing over her probably slightly sore ass cheek. “Tell me what it is you want me to do to you. And I will gladly oblige.”
She withdrew her hands from him, slowly unzipping the side of her dress until she could peel the dress off of her body, allowing the material to fall to the floor and reveal the blood red lingerie beneath. Only he was allowed to lay hands on her like he had. No one else was allowed to treat her quite as roughly, the action sending lightning through her. "Worship me..." she said, hoisting herself onto the bar counter and spreading her legs open for her. "Show me how much of a true god you are."
The corners of his lips curled up into his signature smirk and he reached a hand up to run it through his hair. Worshipping her would be easy. It was already something he consistently did, just not quite as openly or vocally as her followers. He licked at his lips as the dress fell to the floor of the clubhouse and he had to take a deep breath. The lingerie left little to the imagination and he was sure she coordinated the colors purposely. Ares stood in front of her, his large hands gripping at her porcelain thighs, spreading them a little more. “Your wish is my command, my beautiful goddess,” his smirk grew as he dipped his head down, peppering kissing up her legs teasingly, wanting to hear her beg for him.
Aphrodite spread her legs wider, loving that they had the motorcycle club all to themselves. Granted, she didn't mind having an audience, but she knew that since it was Ares, they would probably cause plenty of wreckage that evening. She ran her fingers through his hair, yanking on it when she began to grow impatient with him. After centuries of their lovemaking, he knew everything that drove her crazy. Yet they still had ways to keep things steamy between them. "What are you doing?" she groaned as she tugged on his hair again. "You're taking too long."
Ares knew that the rest of his gang were going to be out all night. They had an exceptionally satisfying run-in with a rival gang and needless to say, the men had a great time satisfying their urge for violence. Brought to them by the God of War himself. Ares felt more powerful today because of this feat as well. And he looked forward to wrecking the clubhouse with the goddess. He smirked against her thighs, letting out a chuckle. “Oh? I thought you enjoyed the foreplay, beautiful?” He raised a brow at her, “Whatever then. You asked for it.” Ares tore off her lacy underwear, discarding them quickly. The god wasted no time in swirling his tongue around her sensitive nun of nerves, lapping at it quickly.
As expensive as the underwear was, she would be fine with how he discarded her underwear. During all of their trysts, there was always some sort of casualty in her wardrobe. That was no matter. She had centuries' worth of wealth and the club had been more successful than she could have ever predicted. She could always buy more. Aphrodite pulled at his hair and moaned as he paid the most attention to her pearl. Mortals were selfish and cared only for their pleasure, but not Ares. While he certainly got his, he made sure that she was fully satisfied. "I enjoy foreplay, not teasing..." she murmured through her moans.
Ares didn’t think twice about the lingerie. He was sure he could make it up to her by a shopping trip if she were upset about it. The war god gripped at Aphrodite’s thighs as his tongue made expert work on her clit. With other lovers, Ares wasn’t nearly as attentive; however, this goddess brought out a side of him no one else had ever witnessed. “Fine, fine. No more teasing..” He hummed against her core, moving a hand up to press two fingers against her entrance and sliding them in easily. He began pumping them in and out, curling them up inside of her skillfully.
Aphrodite let out a purr of satisfaction as he filled her with rough fingers, her hips shifting to allow his fingers fill her to the hilt. She had missed this confidence and desire that no other mortal or even god could satisfy. Ares was hers no matter what they said about their relationship. They always came back to each other in spite of their wandering. “Yes, Ares.... so strong. I can feel your victory flow through you,” she moaned as she sensed the aura of a battle waged and won.
The sounds emitting from the goddess’ lips was like music to Ares’ ears. He couldn’t help but to smirk against her core, swirling his tongue around her pearl a few more times before his free hand moved up, tearing away her bra. “Mine. You’re all mine,” Ares grunted as he moved up, attaching his mouth to her breast now. He wasn’t a possessive god unless it came to Aphrodite. She was his one weakness and she absolutely knew it. His fingers continued pumping in and out of her, his speed increasing to help coax her first orgasm.
She was now completely naked on the bar counter while he was still dressed. It wasn't fair, but before she could say anything, Aphrodite could feel her orgasm wash over her. She threw her head back, a strong aura radiating out from the two of them as she hit her high. "My love, you are far too dressed for this occasion," she cooed, brushing her fingers through his hair and trailing them down his shoulders and arms.
Ares felt a strong sense of victory when he coaxed the goddess to her first release, a smirk playing upon his lips knowing that was just the first of many for the night. He pulled away from her core and licked at his lips and fingers, savoring the taste of Aphrodite. He hummed in approval, his smirk growing at her words. “Undress me then, my ethereal goddess,” he muttered as his lips found their way back to her skin. He couldn’t help himself when he was around her and it absolutely showed.
Aphrodite slid off the bar and stood in front of him, pushing his leather jacket off of his large shoulders. There were so many layers to deal with, but she took care removing each one, not removing her gaze from his even as she undressed him. It dragged on but finally, he was as bare as she was. Her slender fingers wrapped around his shaft, tugging on it lightly. “Have you been saving all of this for me?”
Ares couldn’t help but to smirk as the goddess removed his clothing one by one. It was painstakingly slow, but he knew if he had patience, it would certainly be worth it in the end. The god let out a groan as her fingers wrapped around his thick shaft and he couldn’t help but to buck his hips into her hand. “Of course I have.. No mortal woman is even worth a second glance. None of them are as gorgeous as you, my love.” he smirked, watching her aura grow at his words.
She was practically glowing from the love and attention and compliments that she was receiving from Ares. He was a smart god, knowing all the right things to say to make her happy. Now whether or not it was true had yet to be seen, but she didn’t care in the moment. Aphrodite continued to pump him despite the fact that he probably couldn’t get any harder. “Mine... all mine...” she purred, repeating the same words that he had used when he brought her to the edge the first time.
Ares was filled to the brim with desire and he was sure the Goddess of Love was more than aware of that. Despite having this little back and forth for centuries, he never found himself bored with Aphrodite. In fact, he was certain he had developed somewhat of a soft spot for her. Would he ever tell her that, though? Absolutely not. Not in a million years. Ares had a reputation to uphold. He licked at his lips harshly before picking the blonde up by her thighs, laying her down on a nearby table and spreading her legs. “Tell me how badly it is that you want me,” he smirked, rubbing the tip of his member up and down her wet folds.
Aphrodite and Ares were soulmates. That much was certain. In spite of the nature of their relationship, they always kept coming back together. No one could satisfy her the way that Ares could. But their respective life missions were the only things that kept them apart. "I want you and only you. See how I shine for you?" she teased, pulling her legs apart wider for him. Her hand snaked down the valley of her breasts over her pearl, teasing herself as he teased her.
Ares couldn’t help but to groan and lick his lips as he looked down at her. Aphrodite was truly a sight to be seen and the war god was grateful that he was the only one who got to see this side of her. Even if she had other lovers, Ares knew she didn’t put on quite a show for them like she did for him. “That’s what I like to hear,” her murmured before sliding inside of her without warning until he bottomed out, inhaling sharply at the feeling it provided him. He let her get used to his thickness before thrusting in and out of her relentlessly.
She couldn’t help herself when it came to Ares. Aphrodite moaned as soon as he filled her, wrapping her legs around his torso. As experienced as she was, his size still kept the feeling tight and full. She gripped at the table below her, knowing that they were going at it with their pace that the table would break below them. “Ares... yes, my love....”
The feeling he got with Aphrodite was similar to the one he got when he was at war. He feels powerful and in control - like the entire world was at his beck and call. His aura radiated around him in red hues and he pushed her slender legs back, his thrusts hitting her at a different angle now. His thrusts remained unrelenting as he bent down, his mouth attaching to her breasts, paying each of them equal attention.
The auras of the power that they drew from their coming together filled the entire room. Aphrodite didn't hold back the moans of pleasure as her nails raked back down his shoulders. She felt her body quickly build up to her next peak as he continued to rail into her. The newer angle was unrelenting and she couldn't hold back for anything.
Ares was a generous man when it came to pleasuring Aphrodite. Mostly because he found pleasure in it himself. He could tell she was about to reach her next orgasm. After centuries of being intimate with the goddess, he knew her body almost better than his own. “Don’t hold back, gorgeous...” The war god peppered his kisses up her neck, nibbling at her ear lobe. “Come for me... Show me who you belong to..”
Each touch of his was electric and she couldn't have enough of him. If they didn't have their own missions to accomplish, they could probably spend the rest of their lives tangled in each other. "You... I'm yours..." she moaned as she was pushed off to yet another orgasm. "Ares!"
There were no words to describe the amount of pride he felt as he coaxed Aphrodite to her next orgasm. It was a feeling similar to winning a war and perhaps that was what drew him to the goddess in the first place. She made him feel things that he otherwise would have never felt before. He loved hearing her scream his name in pleasure and he made sure to rub her pearl as she rode out her orgasm. He was getting close himself, but he wanted to ensure his goddess was completely satisfied.
Aphrodite wrapped her legs around him as he pushed her over the edge, another burst of energy released throughout the room, rattling the walls. The two of them drew immense power every time they came together and this was no exception. Her hands clung to him as though he would fall out of existence if she let go, her walls clenching around his hardness with each ripple.
The smirk that played on Ares’ lips was not one that Aphrodite was unfamiliar with. Throughout their relationship, they had gotten to know every nook and cranny of each other’s bodies and how they react to certain things. The god of war was overflowing with his crimson aura and he felt as if he could take on every god in all three kingdoms. This was a feeling only elicited from making love with the goddess of love herself. His thrusts were getting more and more reckless and soon he was withdrawing from her warm ness and finishing on her stomach.
Aphrodite felt his seed, warm on her stomach. He was playing it safe, which she couldn’t blame him for. They didn’t need to deal with another god in the world to compete with, even if it was their own child. She swiped a finger across her stomach and sucked on her finger. She savored his taste, knowing that this would not be the end of their love making for the evening. They would have plenty of time to rest and recover. Aphrodite sat up, kissing his neck. “Aren’t you glad I got angry and came all the way over here to chew your ass out?” She purred.
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hey it doesn't let me send asks from my gaming blog but this is user revswanson first of all i hope you are doing well!!!! it's a tough time for everybody rn it seems and i wanted to reach out first and say that i hope everything is well in your life n such
anyways in terms of sending you rdr2 asks im not sure what to say but based on your post about dutch i can see you like to discuss stuff so maybe you would want to talk about your thoughts on micah bell and whether or not he had any connections to the pinkertons or odriscolls or if he was acting alone/why he did everything he did?
Hi!! Well, that is mighty kind of you-- i am doing fairly well despite the still whole pandemic, i hope you're doing well yourself!
Thank you for your ask, i really hate Micah on a human level, but i love his storyline and acting, he is a pristine fleshed out villain. (Peter Blomquist, i love you)
This is just my own opinion, so i will not dig too deep into the subject on this post, maybe later, but i support the fact of him being a rat (wherever it was at blackwater or after guarma), and one where he isn't, but i prefer the later, it is more in character so i will get to my point:
Micah is a cunning, dangerous individual, he is the pristine definition of an outlaw: loud, violent, no regards for anything/everything except himself, versatile. He always did what he thought was right by him (and oh boy was that something...), and accordingly to his sole belief of the 'strong eats the weak'.
Micah do not care about anyone in the gang, not even Dutch. I mean, i don’t say he doesn’t like him, i’m pretty sure he do, in a sense, but he sees him as a means to an end, he coaxes him and instigates his way of thinking when Dutch is in dire need of self confidence and ego boost. Micah knows exactly where to put himself between Dutch and the gang. He knows how man like Dutch works and he has no remorse doing whatever he thinks may work to gain his trust and make him do what he wants--- after all, Dutch was always a selfish man.
Micah is clearly an opportunist, he scrapes what he can, eats where he sees profits out of something, so it makes sense for him to slowly insert himself to stab better. Him being the rat is exactly in character. He honors, protects himself, because he cares about nothing. Be it O'driscolls in Clemence Points or with the Pinkerton"s, i am pretty sure if he can benefits from them, he will take it.
Micah intended to betray Dutch by any means he sees fit-- The O'driscolls giving him money or whatever the fuck Micah wants just to take Arthur and weakening the gang, the Pinkerton"s to deliver Dutch and let him be (tho i think Micah is smart enough to know not to trust the government to stay true to their words, i think he buys himself some time), or Dutch, especially Dutch, who he knows he can manipulate and squeeze him. He needs Dutch for one goal: survival (money specifically) Because if he can't have what he wants by being with Dutch, why not play on different fields at the same time, you know what i mean? It's like a parasite, he goes where he sees opportunity. He fights for his way to the top, he fights to live above those he sees as feeble, it always was a question of whom or what he can take advantage of, he is a survivalist.
This is what i think about him with all the elements in the game, this is my own opinion and i know it diverges a lot in the fandom!!
im pretty sure that, technically, Micah is presented as the rat-- it was always R*'s intention to sprinkle a lil bit of doubt in the player's mind for us to question whether or not this rat is real, playing with Dutch's getting more and more reckless and losing his mind, this paranoïa of his, Micah's acting like the devil on his shoulder, the gang getting sloppier and Dutch revulsion thinking about it-- like 'yeah, that's not even possible' like, there are tones of evidences that it is. So yeah, i support both sides of the story: where micah is a rat, and isnt, in any case, Micah's still the same in both scenario!! Hope i responded well enough !!
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Meeting Tilly Jackson
A.N: (So originally this was going to be for my au but I realized that if I wanna write Tilly in my AU i need to properly understand her background. We don't have a lot of specific details in the game, so i wrote this. Essentially its how Dutch found Tilly and took her in. She’s 14 in this. I will probably have a part 2 soon. Its a little dialogue heavy)
(TW: Sexual Assault of a minor is mentioned but nothing happens, blood)
Wordcount: 3110
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Tilly Jackson has a family. They may be a little odd, different than what everyone else might consider a family, but a family nonetheless. Dutch and Hosea her father figures, Susan Grimshaw a motherly presence. Sisters in Karen, Mary-Beth and the other women of the camp, brothers in Arthur and John and most of the other men. The titles don't matter so much as the feeling of safety and comfort and appreciation among them. She missed her late mother of course, but she hoped on some level her mother would be happy with how things turned out for the girl in the end. Being kidnapped at the age of 12 was nothing short of traumatizing, and for a long while, things only got worse. The Foreman gang was the opposite of a family. They were nothing to her but the people who stole her away from her mother claimed to own her. The ones who tried to take advantage of her. The night that Malcolm Foreman tried to make advances on her and she killed him was the night she would consider herself grown.
She's not sure exactly how long she was alone, it must have been under a year. She went to find her mother only to hear of her death, and with nowhere else to go she just kept running. The further she made it the less likely that Anthony Foreman would find her and pay her back for what she did to his cousin. She knows that it was early spring when she left. The snow had barely been off the ground, she supposed that no longer being wrapped in a ratty cloak and scarf was the reason that gang member thought to make his move.
Dutch found her just when it was beginning to get cold again.
Despite considering herself grown, her body disagreed. The shoes she ran away in were already ill-fitted, and by that autumn they were practically falling apart. Her toes stuck out the front. She had done her best to steal clothing off people’s clotheslines, but they rarely fit.
Dutch caught her doing just that. He had been watching the property of some well off folks, planning on casing it with Arthur later that week. He watched as a girl no older than 14, snuck out from the tree line in a torn-up blouse and a too-long skirt.
She was clearly not experienced in stealing as she tripped over her skirts up the property, but she made it to the side of the house mostly successfully. She quickly tore down a long dress and an undershirt and quickly started back to the tree line. She stared wistfully at the property's large orchard and nearly turned her course towards it before hearing the owner of the house open his front door and stealing away into the forest. Even from a distance, Dutch knew what that hesitation meant. She was hungry.
Dutch was hardly one to let a promising little thief like her starve in the forest, so with a passing glance at the house he stood from his hiding spot up the hill and mounted the Count.
Tracking was never one of Dutch’s strongest abilities but she made it rather easy, with footprints in the mud, a scrap of fabric where her clothing caught a branch, etc. Eventually, he reached a spot where she seemed to trip and fall, and then there were a few drops of blood here and there as he followed. He knew he was getting closer, the blood wasn’t dry. He dismounted his horse and began leading him forward when suddenly she jumped out from behind a tree wielding a large rusted hunting knife.
“Don’t come any closer! You can take your clothes back, here.” She kicked over the items he had just watched her steal. “Don’t tell the law, and I’ll disappear. I don’t have anything more to offer you.”
Dutch grinned, she was strong-willed. But he also observed that her cheeks were sunken in, and her skin was dull. She was visibly malnourished, and there was blood dripping from one of her small hands. He hoped it was a branch she cut herself on and not that dirty knife of hers.
He put his hands up in a friendly gesture.
“I’m not the man you robbed earlier, don’t you worry. I watched you steal that dress, you’re quite the little thief.”
She was doing a damn good job of hiding her fear, but Dutch was experienced in seeing past such facades. She didn’t seem scared of the weapon she was holding, as the young and inexperienced often were when they wielded such an item. She just seemed scared of him.
“Why did you follow me, it ain’t your things I stole. I have nothing to give you, so you best just leave me be.” She didn’t stutter, her high pitched voice remained unwavering and strong. Dutch tried his best to look unthreatening, something he didn’t find himself having to do often.
“Well, I myself was planning on robbing that house myself later with a few of my friends, perhaps I just wanted to see if you had any advice for me as a seasoned visitor of that property.”
She didn’t believe him and didn’t lower her knife, but she didn’t run either. Good. “Now if I reach for something in my saddle bag here are you gonna come at me with that big old knife?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
Dutch smiled. “Well if you and I are gonna talk business I thought that maybe I could pay you for your time, little lady.”
She finally lowered the knife a little, seeming less afraid but very suspicious. “You wanna pay me for information on that house?”
“I do. Information is worth a lot to us outlaws, you should know that well Darlin’” He slowly turned to the horse. Even if she did attempt to stab him, she wouldn’t get to him before he could turn around, so he wasn’t worried. As he was digging through the saddlebag she spoke up behind him.
“Don’t call me Darlin.”
He smiled at her bravado but kept looking through the bag. “Well, you’ve yet to give me something else to call you Miss. Ah! Here it is!” He turned back to her holding a small stack of cash and a wrapped parcel.
“Yeah, well neither have you!” There’s that reminder that he’s talking to a child. They’re always so petulant. John had been just the same, though a little more rabid. “Well, I’m Dutch, Dutch Van der Linde.”
He studied her face for any sign of recognition, but there was none. Good, less reason for her to be afraid of him. She didn’t give her name just yet.
“Are you with the Foreman brothers?” She asked boldly. “I won’t let you take me back, I’ll kill you before you get me back there.” That would explain her fear, she wasn’t just a thief. She was a runaway from another gang.
“Now I’ll tell you right now Miss, I’m not with Anthony Forman or his little gang. The only gang I’m with is the Van der Linde gang, and I promise me and mine won’t bring you any harm.”
“You...You lead a gang?” She was shaking, it was starting to get colder as the sun was setting.
“I am, but we aren’t like those bastards you knew. We’re just good people, looking to live free.”
Then he did something bold, a gesture to help her feel safer in the presence of a gang leader. Hopefully, she would be a little more at ease. “Do you mind if I sit down Miss-”
“Jackson. Tilly Jackson.”
He smiled. “Miss Jackson. Do you mind if I sit while we talk? Tracking you was quite a little adventure.”
“Go ahead, I guess.”
“Thank you, Tilly.” He sat down on a log just to the side, and she lowered her weapon fully but gripped it tight. “Now, go ahead and take this.” He took a couple of bills and tucked them into the string around the parcel. She stared at it suspiciously.
“I didn’t tell you nothing yet and I ain’t stupid mister Van der Linde, why are you giving me this.”
He smiled and leaned forward to place the parcel on the ground in front of him, between them.
“As I said, you’re quite the thief and I think you could help me out. Doesn't hurt to butter up the informant. There's some food in the package, I thought you looked a little hungry.”
She seemed to stare at the parcel longingly and something clenched in Dutch’s cold heart. The poor girl must be starving.
“I…I don’t have no info for you, Mister Van der Linde. I just needed the clothes.” She seemed disappointed to be saying it, but she didn't lie to him like he thought she might.
“Well...maybe you could just keep me company then Milady. Good company is hard to find among us outlaws, as I’m sure you know.”
In a flash, she was back two steps and her knife was raised once more.
“I ain’t that kind of girl. you can keep your fucking money and go pay a real whore for your damned “company’”
This was the opposite of the outcome he was looking for, and entirely at the fault of his own poor word choice. He should have known better, there are only a few things that can happen to a young girl in this country to put her on the run and make her fear good company.
“Now listen here, Miss Jackson. I am not that kind of man, I wouldn’t take advantage of you like I’m sure the bastards in Foreman’s gang tried. It’s like I said it, my gang is just good men looking for freedom and money. You can leave right now if you want and I won’t stop you, or you can stay and eat some, and I promise I won’t even look at you funny.”
She stood frozen, knife gripped tight. She seemed to be weighing her options. Dutch had yet to pose a threat to her, his weapons remained holstered. He hadn’t even tried to come close to her. She steeled her nerves and spoke again.
“Then...Give me one of your guns. If you really ain’t gonna try nothing then give me one of your pistols and if you try and do anything bad I’ll shoot you.”
In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have even considered it. But this wasn’t some criminal who he was wringing for information. This was a terrified little girl who was too afraid of the man in front of her to even eat food when she was starving. He slowly reached for his left holster and pulled out the pistol. He made a big show of flipping it in his hand so that his finger stayed away from the trigger as not to scare her, and he placed it beside the parcel. Gently he pushed them both over with his foot and sat back on the log with his hands beside him.
She stared at him, and quick as lightning she grabbed the items from the ground. She backed up to her spot and slowly sat on the ground. The pistol was too big for her hand, and her other hand was getting blood on the side of the wrapped meat. Slowly she unwrapped the piece of dried venison, not breaking eye contact with the man sitting before her. “Why are you being so kind to me, I ain’t never heard of a ‘Good’ outlaw, we’re all just killers and thieves.”
He took note of the word ‘we’ before killers and thieves. Perhaps there was a reason she was so steady holding that knife. “I suppose no truer words have been spoken Miss Tilly, but I was never the type to watch a young lady suffer…You know, I found my son Arthur when he was about your age. The boy was just starving in the streets, stealing what he could. Quite like you are now.”
She didn’t respond, just stared at him a moment longer before taking a large bite of the meat. He hadn’t seen someone eat so ravenously since he fed John for the first time.
It took a lot of talking to get her to let her guard down. She didn’t reveal much about herself, other than that her mother died and she wasn’t part of the foreman gang, she was just there. Though the tension in her shoulders slowly sapped away as she filled her stomach and let herself calm down. They spoke for a few hours and he tried his best not to treat her like a child, god knows they hate when you do that. He couldn’t help but notice that she just seemed so sad. Once all that fear subsided and she spoke more freely, it was clear that she was lost. She mentioned her mother’s death with deep sorrow, her eyes going glassy before she seemed to catch herself and move on.
Eventually, her hand stopped bleeding, and he tried to catch a look at it as she gestured. The sun was nearly set and he would have to get back to camp before they went looking for him.
He told her as much and he watched that deep-set sadness seep back to her features.
“Oh… well. It was nice to meet you Dutch.” She used his first name for the first time. He stood up and she did as well, wincing as she used her injured hand to push off the ground.
“You know... you could come back with me and let our doctor take a look at that hand. Well...she ain’t exactly a doctor, but she can fix it. We wouldn’t want that getting infected, it’s far easier to be an outlaw with both hands.”
She wanted to go with him, he could see it in her eyes. Good friends are hard to come by when you’re a child with no home.
“And perhaps, you could stay awhile. Learn how to be a real outlaw instead of a dress thief.” She seemed offended at the comment, a funny little scowl crossing her features. She was thinking about the offer, and he hoped it sounded at least a little better than sleeping alone in the forest.
“If I come to your camp….nobody's gonna try and touch me?”
“Absolutely not my dear, if they try I’ll cut off their hand myself.” She seemed to giggle a little at the notion, a sound he would take pride in. She sobered up and asked;
“And I can leave whenever I want? I ain’t gonna let anyone try and say they own me ever again.”
“If you come to camp, Tilly Jackson will remain a free woman, but you’ll have a home to come back to if that’s what you would like.”
He watched her hesitate a little longer. Some coyotes barked in the distance and she shivered. “Maybe just for a little while. Just to try it.”
“And you can leave whenever you want.” he reassured.
“And I can leave whenever I want.” She repeated it back like she was convincing herself. He turned his back to adjust the Count’s saddle and give him a sugar cube, and he heard small footsteps come closer to him.
“Um. Can I give him one? He’s real pretty.” Dutch turned and she was at his side, staring at the large animal. She was even smaller up close, and he could see that her bones stood up against her dark skin.
“You know, I think he would like that. Now here, take just one of these and put it in your hand flat. Don’t worry, he won’t bite you.” She went to take it from his hand before realizing her hands were full with the knife and Dutch’s gun.
“Oh. Here you go, Mister Dutch.” She tried to hand him back the gun. Bravely he thought, to give up her best defense, but he didn’t take it.
“I’ll tell you what my lady, It’s gonna be a bit of a ride to get back to camp and I don’t want you feeling like you can’t hold your own. You hold on to that one just until we get back, alright? We can put your knife in the bag safe and sound.” She obliged, putting the hunting knife gently in the saddlebag and holding on to the pistol. Then Dutch gave her the sugar cube and she held it out to the horse gingerly. The Count had no such hesitation and stole the treat from her hand quickly, the softness of his nose near her fingers making her giggle.
“Now, I think we might just be ready to move! Can I help you up milady?” He said, with a ring clad hand extended like a butler. The gesture made her giggle more and Dutch was happy to see the sadness put aside for a little while. She took his hand in her much smaller one and let him lead her to the side of the saddle.
“Now, can I lift you or do you want to go stand on the log over there?” She could read the underlying notion. The hidden meaning of ‘Do you want me to touch you’, ‘is it okay if I lift you’, etc. He was being more considerate than anyone she had ever met. She took a deep breath and put a little trust in him.
“You can lift me if that’s okay.”
“It would be my honor milady.” He lifted her onto the horse’s rump and tried not to think about how light she was. How he could feel her bones through the layers of her shirt. Once she was settled, he climbed up himself. Before they got going he pulled out his canteen and an apple from the bag.
“Here. Dinner will be done by the time we get to camp and there’s no reason you should go hungry back there, that just wouldn’t befit such a distinguished young lady.” She accepted the food, and he set the Count into a walk to get them out of the underbrush. Once they were on the path he pushed into a more brisk pace, but he wouldn’t risk trotting with her back there, the count’s trot could be rather rough and she’s so thin she would just be thrown off.
It would be a long ride back to camp at this pace, but it just gave him more time to get to know her and tell her about camp.
#Tilly Jackson#Dutch Van Der Linde#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#writing#Red Dead Redemption#the van der linde gang#backstory
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Artemis : *sitting next to Roy on the couch*
Artemis : hey there
Roy : hey
Artemis : sooo, last night was your first time staying the night with Jay since you guys have gotten together
Roy : sure was
Artemis : well ? how'd it goooo 😏 did ya score ??
Roy : hell yeah I scored
Artemis : then what the hell's up with you ?? I would of expected you to act more satisfied afterwards, was it bad or something ?
Roy : I mean like, it started out super hot and heavy; but when i covered his mouth during sex he started fucking beatboxing
Artemis : well I mean. . . . what was the song ??
Roy : the song really isn't the important question here
Artemis : that's where youre wrong my buddy, you see a song can set a whole ass mood. like was it some Marvin Gaye or did he go all Skrillex on you ??
Roy : how would someone even beat box to Marvin Gaye
Artemis : smoothly and sensually, the fuck you mean--
#jayroy#jay no#jason todd#red hood#roy harper#arsenal#artemis of bana mighdall#outlaw gang game strong as fuck
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I have no idea who or what you're talking about but you said gay cowboy and I came running. Whomst are the children?
they're some ocs i made while playing red dead online obsessively! one is aiden, an irish trans+gay cowboy and his bf is jonah, a bi and biracial (black+white) cowboy (loosely inspired by multiple cowboys i've seen in-game). this turned out very long so the rest is under the cut 😌
going along with rdo's (loose) storyline, they were both framed for murder and sent to the sisika penitentiary. however, they chose very different lives when released/escaped. jonah chose to head farther south in the great plains to see what he could find. aiden went north and couldn't stay out of trouble.
they met in valentine, as another guy was bothering aiden in the saloon, and jonah decided he was sick of it. he knew aiden couldn't defend himself for the world. he was thankful he helped this man, too, because he was the prettiest boy he had ever seen. he couldn't even tell himself "you don't like the white boy that much" because he did.
the feeling was 100% mutual, because as soon as aiden got back to camp, he couldn't stop telling cripps about the "pretty and mysterious man he had met in valentine who lowkey saved his life because he was probably about to be sent through a window by a guy much bigger than him."
but they ran into each other again in blackwater and spent a lot of time together in the saloon. they would talk for hours, sometimes about nothing at all. one night, it was late, so jonah offered to let aiden stay at his camp for the night. aiden's poor gay brain short-circuited, and he said "yes" without second thought. of course this lead to mutual gay brain short-circuiting because jonah didn't think he would say yes.
things were awkward at camp, but they got through the night. they decided to form a posse after that called the dead eye double. it would get more member, of course, but it was a placeholder name for now. this meant they set up camp together in the great plains. their dogs and horses got along together very well, which was a huge relief! aiden's dog, jasper, had come to him as a scared stray, so he didn't know how he would react to other dogs.
the posse was going great. a few others joined (dawn, charlie, stevie, and amelia) and money was coming in steadily. however, rival posses still loved messing with the group.
an instance that really defined aiden and jonah's relationship was when aiden nearly died. stevie was hunting, and a lone outlaw attacked him. before he was executed, aiden shot at the outlaw without second thought. this was a mistake, though, as his aim was terrible, and he missed. the outlaw looked up at him with hate, giving stevie time to escape, so he ran to his horse (a silver turkoman named parabola) and kicked him into gallop.
although, it was too late. the outlaw was able to pick up their shotgun and shoot at aiden, it hit him: right in the gut. he fell off of his horse and to the ground, cradling the wound, trying very hard not to cry. it burned, like someone was sticking a branding iron to his skin. he thought he was done for.
that was, until stevie was able to get the outlaw hog-tied and placed on the back of aiden's horse. he went to aiden, cringing when he saw the wound. he was able to get him on his arabian, whistled for parabola to follow, and rushed back to camp.
long story short, jonah was pissed. he couldn't believe someone would just hurt aiden, who was the sweetest man alive, like that. he had the outlaw tied to a horse hitching post, and helped stevie carefully set aiden in his tent. it broke his heart to hear aiden's groans and cries of pain.
the gang managed to perform a hasty surgery, with aiden passing out in the middle of it. it hurt jonah even more to hear aiden's pain-filled cries, but it had to be done, especially when they found out it was buckshot that was planted in aiden's tender belly. they also found out cripps was an expert at using a needle and thread.
recovery was the worst for the camp. aiden stayed unconscious for a majority of it, which scared jonah the most. he just wanted to see his green eyes open again. he stayed at his tent, day and night, losing a lot of sleep. he wanted to make sure aiden was okay. it felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stepped on. he really wanted to kill the outlaw who had injured aiden, to make them suffer like him, but he couldn't let his anger get the better of him. not now.
aiden finally woke up after about two weeks. he was groggy and sore but alive. jonah swore he was going to cry when he saw his eyes open for the first time and heard his voice again. he was so excited, he didn't know what to say. he lead parabola over to him, as the horse had been very worried. he helped him sit up so he could pet and talk to the equine.
this was when jonah realized he was actually in love with aiden. it was no longer just about looks, it was his personality, the way he treated others, how strong he was. as he supported his weight so he could assure parabola he was okay, he had a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. it only got harder to ignore when aiden said he didn't want anything bad to happen to the person who had hurt him. why was he so fucking nice it wasn't fair??
the very next week, aiden was up and walking again. every week, he allowed himself to perform more strenuous activity, until he was working with the posse full time again. they decided it was time to go after a huge bounty: the owl hoot family. they set out to rio bravo armed to the teeth.
they successfully brought in the bounty and decided it was time to celebrate. they set up camp just south of fort mercer and threw a small party. cripps had his harmonica out, amelia, charlie and dawn provided their musical talent, and they all had fun. jonah finally got the courage to ask aiden for a dance. aiden was flustered, but he accepted. it was then that they decided they were both very much in love. finally.
so the obvious courting began. jonah would leave bouquets of prairie poppies or texas bluebonnets at aiden's tent and went hunting for him sometimes, and aiden would write poems or draw stuff for jonah. jonah would pin this up in his tent, very proud of his new bf. after weeks of this, the camp was practically begging them to just start dating already. so they did! they were happy n very much in love :)
i will explain more later! i hope y'all enjoyed my rambling akdks
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“I bet I’m strong enough to pick you up.” reader jokingly telling Arthur. A funny scene and leaves him in awe and approves the effort for trying.
This one ended up being so cute and of course longer than it needed to be. Hope you enjoy, Anon!
You sit at the round table, setting down the plate of Pearson’s apple cobbler. He made it as a special treat when Arthur, Karen, Bill and Lenny returned a few hours ago from robbing the bank in Valentine. Their take was exceptionally good and the law didn’t follow them too far. Spirits in camp were high as a result and Pearson’s rare but delightful treat helped even more so.
Cain the dog barked happily as he chased some of the chickens and Jack chased him in turn, trying to get him to stop. Hosea was sitting around the fire telling some outrageous story about how he almost ended up as an actor in his youth. At another table, Tilly managed to talk Bill into playing domino, to which he was brilliantly losing and becoming more angry. John, Uncle and Strauss sit down at your table, prepared to play poker. They set down their plates of cobbler and play, dealing you in as well. You’re not the best poker player, but you enjoy the game.
As you play, you continue glancing around camp. The gang has rare opportunities for festivities like this, but they’re always fun. Even Grimshaw’s calmer, relenting from her usual screeching and stomping around. Dutch has turned on his gramophone and you can see him dancing with Grimshaw now. Not far away is Arthur, twirling Karen around in a leisurely circle. She’s smiling, a rare sight. You can only imagine how nice it must feel to have Arthur holding her, his hand around hers and the other on her waist.
You feel slightly envious, but you made a decision a long time ago, before you even joined the gang, you wouldn’t get caught up in another useless romance. They ended in nothing but pain and harsh words. Still, you developed a crush on Arthur not long after you joined the gang. The other girls knew it and they all admitted they harbored a secret admiration of the outlaw. After all, he was big and broad, he possessed the courage of a lion and would literally fight to the death but also held a heart of gold. It wasn’t unusual to hear his soft words of encouragement in his gruff voice, or to see him sitting down with Jack and showing him drawings from his journal. It was impossible to be around him and not feel something. You sigh, wishing things could be different. Wishing you hadn’t been so broken by your own number of failed relationships.
However, you carried a suspicion that Arthur may have something for you too. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Still, you don’t see him offering the other girls to come on jobs or to go out hunting. He taught you how to shoot a gun and you still remember the way his hands held yours for longer than was necessary. You remember after the gang fled Blackwater you ended up having to leave behind your hunting knife. There wasn’t anything special about it except that it was the only thing of your father’s that you had. He was an amazing father, but when you were just a teen someone shot and robbed him. He had given you the knife only a few nights before his death. When Arthur heard you saying how much you missed that old knife, he went and bought you another one with engravings on the blade and an expensive lacquered handle. It was far more handsome than your old, dull knife.
As the night progresses, you end up stepping away from the poker game after losing a few too many dollars for your liking and take a bottle of whiskey. You sit around the fire, listening to the other’s stories for a while and drinking. It doesn’t take long before you can tell you’re on the verge of getting drunk, so you abandon the bottle and begin walking around, trying to work the buzz off.
Over by the horses, Sean and Lenny are laughing with Arthur. The way Sean keeps lifting his arms and trying to make his biceps bulge attracts your attention, so you wander a little closer.
“I bet I could take ya any day, ol’ man!” Sean brags to Arthur. “I’ve got surprising strength.”
“The only thing you could lift is a bottle of gin, ya braggart,” Arthur replies.
A’right, name the heaviest t’ing around here and I’ll pick it up!” Sean says.
Arthur chuckles. “Fine. Take your pick, ya Irish loudmouth.”
Sean grins and approaches a rock that’s nearly half his size. He tries lifting it to no avail. For the next few moments, he tries again and again. You stand next to Arthur’s side, watching him. Arthur smiles at you and folds his arms smugly.
Finally, Sean gives up. He groans in disappointment and pulls out a couple of dollars and hands them to Arthur. “A’right, fine. Ya win this round, Arthur, but I promise young Sean MacGuire always comes back!”
Lenny just chuckles and walks away to take up guard duty. Sean looks at you. “I bet I could pick ya up like it was not’ing!”
“Well, that ain’t no challenge,” Arthur says. Without warning, he suddenly sweeps you up into his arms, making you shriek a little and latch onto his neck. “She’s tiny. Can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
“Put me down, Arthur,” you laugh, blushing worse than you ever have before. He chuckles and complies, his hand lingering on your hip.
“You know what? I bet I’m strong enough to pick you up, Mr. Morgan,” you say. He crosses his arms again and raises his eyebrows.
“Oh could ya? Darlin’, I’m more than twice your size. I could crush ya.”
He’s not wrong, he’s significantly taller and wider than you are, but you square your shoulders and walk to behind him, figuring you can get a better angle that way. You wrap your arms around him. He’s much wider than you thought he’d be, but you don’t hesitate to grip him as hard as you can and then lift. Fuck, he’s heavy. He and Sean roar with laughter as you bury your head into his back, trying to lift his feet even a few centimeters off the ground.
For the next few moments, you struggle to lift him, but to no avail. Finally you unwrap your exhausted arms from around him and step away, massaging the creases of your elbows. Arthur turns to you, still chuckling. He’s quietly impressed. You came very close to lifting him, even without his help. He sees your red face and how you’re rubbing your elbows.
“That was a good try, sweetheart,” he says, patting your shoulder. He can’t help but think you’re the most adorable thing with a feisty spirit. That was what first attracted him to you was your spark and quick wit. Plus he loved the fact that he dwarfed you. He was filled with the sudden urge to wrap you in his arms, to feel just how tiny you were against him, but he didn’t dare do it in front of Sean.
“Ya gonna take her money too, ya ol’ grump?” Sean says, breaking the moment between you.
“No because she never bet me any money. She just was sure she could do it,” Arthur says.
“Oh of course. Ya never take money from the girls.”
“Only from you, ya dolt, now get out of here.”
Sean walks away, shaking his head. Arthur turns back to you. You’re still massaging your elbows and wrists.
“You okay?” he asks, a small smile still playing on his lips.
“Of course, Mr. Morgan. Guess I just got cocky is all.”
He chuckles and suddenly takes your hands in his, rubbing them gently. “I guess so. Ya almost had me though. Gotta say, I’m impressed.”
You smile and lift up on your toes to leave a kiss on his cheek and then you walk away, unaware of how you left his entire cheek feeling burned. He watches you walk away, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much he admires you and wants to be with you. But he made a decision too, just like you had. No more would Arthur Morgan go chasing women around. His heart simply couldn’t bear the pain.
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Eliade’s Fan Fiction Prompts cont. 2/2
Pain (with or without pleasure/endorphins)
Pampering (spoiling someone rotten with gifts or money; physical pampering such as massage and grooming; giving someone a novel or unexpected degree of emotional or sexual care; catering to someone's every whim, e.g., someone who is in the hospital; harems as settings for pampering)
Paraphilias not listed elsewhere
Patience (e.g., showing patience toward a character who is brain-damaged or who is struggling bitterly with being recently crippled; or to a character prone to irrational fear or outbursts; patience with children; see also Gentleness)
Penance or reform (bad boy turns good; evil seeks to change; performing acts of atonement or restitution; self-mortification; martyrdom; selflessness; apologies or apology sex)
Physical imperfections (scars or burns; acne pits; heaviness; outsized features such as ears or nose; jolie-laide/ugly-beautiful characters)
Physical responses (face or ears burning; little hairs lifting on the scalp or neck; gut tightening; pulse quickening or missing a beat; lashes fluttering or lids growing heavy; mouth coming open; dick or pussy throbbing)
Pillow biting
Playing hard to get
Ponies (human ponies)
Pornography (magazines and videos; character was previously a porn star or fluffer)
Possession (by alien entity, spirits, or another person)
Possessiveness or jealousy
Power issues (inequities in beauty, rank, or class; power games; BDSM; power reversals; sheikhs, sultans, princes, and other royal figures; teacher/student pairings; magical powers; abuse of power; blackmail; romantic slavery; liege/lord pairings; issues of respect; sexual scenarios such as a dominant character giving his partner to others to use, or a character kneeling beneath a desk and blowing someone who's on the phone)
Power issues, sociopolitical (colonialism; alien invasion or rule; institutionalized slavery; totalitarian states and rebellion; powerful secret societies, e.g., the Illuminati or Watcher-style organizations)
Powers of attraction (characters such as sirens and Veelas; vampiric thrall; pheromones; magnetic and charismatic characters in general)
Predator/prey pairings
Preferential treatment (e.g., making a point of showing respect towards someone when no one else does; showing a soft side only to them)
Pretending to be gay (cops or spies going undercover; a charade to deflect unwanted attention from a stranger; a ruse to avoid ritual marriage to aliens)
Primitivism (dropping technologically advanced characters into exotic/primitive settings; medieval societies either magical or non-magical; nomadic and desert cultures; warrior cultures; jungle tribes; the noble savage; Androcles/lion pairings; the social intimacies of tribes/camps; bacchanals; culture clash/shock; unusual practices/rituals, e.g., feats of skill and strength or marriage as treaty; schizo-tech cultures, as when a seemingly feudal pre-industrial society has high-tech elements; see also Roughnecks; Animal themes and fetishization; Animalistic behaviors or characteristics; Exoticism)
Prison scenarios (prison rape and/or protection; cruel guards; punishment; hard labor; deprivation; prisoners of war; camps and barracks; false imprisonment)
Prizes (characters who are eroticized as prizes or spoils of war)
Prostate pleasure
Prostitutes (call-girls and hookers; rent boys and hustlers; escorts; paying one's way through school with sideline hooking; juvenile past on the streets)
Protectiveness (physically or verbally defending someone; caretaking in general; big guy/little guy pairings; bodyguard scenarios; mysterious benefactors or protectors)
Public displays of affection, PDAs
Pushy bottom
Rape (single assailant; gang rape; partner rape)
Rape recovery
Religion (sin; faith and lack of faith; priests, monks, nuns, etc; shamans; biblical characters; angels and demons; gods and goddesses; saints; monastic or convent culture)
Rescue (danger and rescue in general, e.g., abductions)
Restraint (pinning someone down; pushing someone's arm up behind their back during sex; covering or clasping someone's hands to prevent movement)
Restraints (handcuffs, leather ties, chains, etc)
Restraints, full-body (stocks; suspension harnesses; fisting slings; rape racks)
Reversal of role or fortune (loss of love, power, rank, etc; hunter becomes prey, master becomes slave; a strong character is made weak; role-reversal games; Flowers for Algernon scenario)
Rimming or tongue-fucking
Rogues (outlaws, highwaymen, mercenaries, pirates, gangsters, hitmen, etc; black sheep and royal bastards; Han Solo characters; tricksters; see also Violent and dark natures and Rough behavior)
Romance (see Love and passion; Courting; Seduction)
Ropework (intricate/artistic erotic bondage)
Roughnecks (cowboys; Tarzan figures; relatedly rough characteristics and behavior, such as scruffiness, rudeness, crude language, uncouth habits, etc; see also Lady and the Tramp pairings; Primitivism; Rogues)
Rough sex (quick and dirty sex; hate or grudge sex; angry sex; fighting/wrestling; jackhammer fucking; sex with no or little lube)
Sadism or sadomasochism
Sandwich sexual position or chain fuck (threesome)
Scars or scarification
Scent as an erotic element
Schmoop
School themes and fetishization (boarding schools; dojos; scholarly gowns and uniforms; sailor fuku; prep school chic; teacher/student pairings; donnish or professorial characters; prefects/head boys; caning; schoolboy hijinks or sexual discovery; military academies; tutoring and teaching in general; see also Conditioning)
Secret admirers
Secret identity (superheroes, slayers, immortals, mutants, etc; disguised gender; spies)
Secrets, other (dark or criminal past; double lives; previous marriage and/or children; unspoken feelings)
Seduction (one-on-one; two-on-one; verbal or physical; intense erotic courtship or teasing; see also Courting)
Sensory overload or enhancement
Sex change (gender swap; forced feminization; see also Gender themes)
Sex in public or semi-public places
Sex in vehicles (cars, taxis, limos; planes or space shuttles; motorcycles; carnival rides)
Sex is interrupted
Sex on, against, or under furniture
Sex on horseback
Sex outdoors/outside (in a field; in a rainstorm; with snow falling; on the beach; in a graveyard; in an alley)
Sex slaves or mates (concubines, catamites, etc)
Sex standing up (including against a wall)
Sex with aliens (xenophilia)
Sex with clothes still on or partly on
Sexual appetite or excess (hypersexuality, i.e., high sex drive; sex addiction or compulsive behavior; short/no refractory period; multiple orgasms; multiple partners; indiscriminate sex or sluttishness)
Sexual discovery (of one's orientation; of new kinds of pleasure; of one's partner)
Sexual experience or expertise (high number of partners; wide variety of sexual experience; demonstrating experience by taking the lead in sex or teaching one's partner)
Sexual frustration (orgasm denial or being unable to come; blue balls; enforced abstinence; self-denial; inability of two people to touch)
Sexual hang-ups
Sexual movements (back arching; hips lifting; thrusting back; writhing, jerking, bucking; clenching; grinding or rocking; trembling or shivering; hooking legs around shoulders; pressing someone's legs back toward the bed; riding someone's fingers)
Sharing (sharing a beer bottle, joint, or bucket of popcorn; loaning someone clothes; a character letting someone stay in their home; sharing confidences; sharing a woman)
Shower sex
Shyness (embarrassment; blushing or stammering; body shyness or dysmorphic disorder; cultural modesty)
Silence (slave silence; silence as an erotic element in sex; trying to be silent during semi-public sex; going nonverbal or speechless with arousal; traumatic mutism; selective mutism; sign language; gestures used to convey feelings rather than words; see also Clams)
Simultaneous orgasm
Situational engineering (the conscious or unconscious manufacture of events that give an emotional or sexual pay-off which can't be otherwise achieved; in particular, perilous situations; for example, character A puts himself in danger in order to receive fussy attention from character B; pay-off can be simply seeing someone, or hurt/comfort touching, intimacy, adrenaline sex, etc)
Situational homosexuality
Sixty-nine (69)
Size queens
Slavery (see Master and slave)
Sleep and bedding themes (sharing a bed by necessity, such as in a hotel with only one room left; sharing a sleeping bag for warmth; sex while drowsy or sleeping; sex as a sleep aid; autonomic arousal from proximity; morning wake-up sex, falling asleep against someone's shoulder; watching someone sleep; dreams; nightmares; dream lovers, e.g., succubi; exotic or romantic beds, e.g., canopied; furs as bedding; silk sheets)
Slow and/or prolonged sex
Smarm (intense friendship with physical closeness but no actual sex)
Smiles or laughing
Snark
Society (social mores and morality; laws; institutional regulations such as Don't Ask Don't Tell; elaborate rituals or ceremonies; social events such as feasts and parties; decorum; formal or deferential modes of address; see also Witnesses)
Spanking (over the knee or lap, etc)
Special powers and skills (superhero powers; magical powers; telekinesis; shapeshifting; hyperdeveloped senses; combat expertise; sharpshooting; eidetic memory; computer hacking skills; thief skills; temporary gifts of power from drugs, alien devices, etc, repercussions of which could include delusions of godhood, dangerous physical or mental overload, and so on)
Spooning
Sports themes and fetishization (sports rivalries; uniforms and jock-straps; wrestling and sweaty exertion in general; locker-room or shower scenes; team gang-bangs; swimmer/surfer body types; pool and billiards games)
Straight or straight-acting partner(s)
Straight-guy sexual scenarios (comparing dick size; lending a helping hand; circle jerks; watching het porn together, with or without masturbation; practicing dancing, kissing, or romantic conversation in preparation for one character having a date with a woman)
Striking with implements (whips, belts, riding crops, canes, paddles, etc)
Striptease
Submission (obedience; submissive behaviors such as boot kissing, crawling, keeping one's eyes lowered, or kneeling for master; believing in cultural dictates of submissive behavior; abasement in general)
Surprises
Swallowing (come)
Swords and sword-play
Talking and communication issues (dirty talk or verbal seduction; sweet talking; reciting poetry; talking someone to orgasm; talking during sex; pillow talk; phone sex; speech becoming broken as one is aroused or upset; being inarticulate or articulate; aphasia; talking fast; miscommunication and misunderstandings in general; lack of a shared language; see also Silence; Clams; Voice fetishization)
Taste as an erotic element
Tattoos (decorative, symbolic, or slave; barcodes)
Teasing or tickling
Techno (technophilic themes; artificial humans; character is copied or downloaded into mechanical host body; other ghost in the machine scenarios; androids and cyborgs as sexual partners; wetwear enhancements; cyberpunk aesthetic; VR or Matrix scenarios; see also Otherness)
Telepathy (see also Bonds and mental abilities; Special powers and skills)
Temperamental personalities (driven or obsessed; hot-tempered or testy; moody; misanthropic or bitter; abrasive)
Tentacle sex
Threesomes (M/F/M, M/M/M, etc)
Top/bottom pairings (also seme/uke)
Topping
Topping from the bottom
Touching (stroking and caressing; cuddling or nuzzling; huddling for warmth; hugging; holding hands in public; touching as UST; brief brushes of contact either deliberate or accidental; PDAs; thighs brushing under a table; comic physical entanglements; someone gripping a wounded character's hand)
Toughness (machismo or hyper-masculinity; physical stamina; a hard surface covering an inner softie; resolve; survival skills; teeth-gritting acts such as pulling an arrow out of one's own thigh, etc; see also Rough behavior; Bad boys, etc)
Toys and devices (sex toys of all kinds; feathers, ice cubes, hot wax, etc)
Tragic flaws
Trapped or stranded together (on another world; on a desert island; in a cave-in; in a cabin during a snowstorm; in an elevator)
Triangles (love triangles)
Triangulation of desire (two men express their desire for each other through a female intermediary; sexual rivalry for a woman is actually homoerotic interest)
Trust and vows (promises are kept or broken; loyalty or betrayal; absolute trust or doubt; fidelity or infidelity; blindfolds or bondage as trust symbols; commitment or fear of commitment; acts of devotion; marriage vows; unconditional love; blood brothers and oaths; showing trust/faith in someone's abilities)
Underage partner or chan (adolescent)
Underdogs
Undressing (undressing in front of someone for the first time; one character undressing another; fumbling clumsily to get undressed; stripteases)
Urgency for sex (begging to suck cock; desperate to fuck; greedy bottom)
UST (unresolved sexual tension)
Vaginal/female genital fetishization (wet, tight; virginal; aching/stiff clit; wide lips; multi-orgasmic)
Vaginal penetration (e.g., deep dicking)
Vaginal penetration with foreign objects
Vampires
Violence (see Conflict; Death)
Violent feelings (hatred; murderous rage; need for revenge)
Violent and dark natures (sadists; assassins and murderers; sociopaths who make twisted, scary displays of affection, conflating love and violence; criminals and villains in general; characters who are ruthless, merciless, casually vengeful; soulless demons or vampires; monsters in general)
Virgins or inexperienced partners
Voice fetishization (cracking or broken; husky, low, throaty; purring; accents; whispering close to someone's ear)
Voyeurism and vision themes (character A secretly watches B and C have sex; character A is forced to watch B and C have sex; character A watches character B perform/masturbate; viewing one's beloved in general; taking pictures or video; eye contact, especially as flirting; establishing authority with a look; closing eyes as a trust gesture; character A feeling that character B truly sees him, when no one else does; the quality of light, e.g., characters lit by moonlight or candlelight, or gilded by the setting sun; being in the dark; temporary or permanent blindness; gazes as objectification)
Vulnerability
Warriors (see Heroes; Amazons and strong women; Toughness; Primitivism; Rogues; Military fetishization)
Washing (washing one's partner, body or hair; bubble baths; shower scenes; slave service in bath; cleaning/cleansing someone who's been raped, degraded, or who is injured)
Weapon fetishization (gun fu; trademark weaponry: Lara Croft's dual pistols, Duncan's katana; exotic weapons: war fans, whips; embedded: Wolverine's claws; magical/symbolic: Sting, Excalibur, Narsil; sentient or empathic; hiding a multitude of weapons on one's body; concealment in general: derringer in garter, boot knife; see other individual listings; Military fetishization)
Well-fucked (being fucked out; fuck-dazed; sated and sleepy; wrecked; softened and debauched)
Western scenarios and fetishization (cowboy gear; campfire and trail scenes; horses; gunslingers, lawmen, card sharps, etc; train robberies and bank hold-ups; posses; saloon brawls)
Wet dreams or erotic dreams
Wish-fulfillment
Wings (wingfic)
Witnesses (families, friends, or others watch the development of a relationship; play matchmaker or serve as confidants; think the characters are involved when they're really not; constitute the public eye; disapprove, gossip, give advice; are the audience for a coming out drama; are witnesses to such things as flirting, public arousal, public sex)
Woke up gay
Worry (one character worrying anxiously about another; going crazy with worry)
Writing (love letters or notes; secret admirers; e-mail and chat; wills; poetry; storytelling; tracing words or figures on skin, or writing, as with an inkbrush)
#writing challenges#kink list#cliche list#fanfic prompts#Cliche Kink & Tropes Masterlist#fanfic cliches#fanfic trope
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Chase Me Down (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x Fem!Reader, 18+, DubCon)
Just posting some of my older fics to tumblr. This is the Captured Hearts series, part 2 of 4.
Summary: You hadn't seen him in weeks, and then he shows up while you're in the middle of a hunt. How will you deal with Arthur’s forceful entry back into your life?
Author's Notes: I wasn't intending to write another one in this series… But since I am, let me establish a few world building things. This is a world where Chapter 2 in the game just started, and it's staying there, as if you went on a bunch of side missions and are not advancing any story missions. So no spoilers beyond that because it isn't happening. Blackwater happened in the past, and that's all. No other crimes occurred, no other plot lines to get in the way. And now, on to the smut!
Tags: LH Arthur, DubCon, smut, rough sex, D/s undertones, Female!Reader
Word Count: 4772
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You've had a really good run lately. It has been a month since you failed to capture Arthur Morgan, and your “encounter” with him has become just a memory. At least, that's what you tell yourself when you're not furiously touching yourself after dreaming of his strong hands around your neck and pulling your hair. Part of you thinks you've lost your mind. Another part of you wants to go find him and beg to be taken again.
You shake that all out of your head. You get your rifle ready as you reach the edge of the cliff, far above the gang camp. If you could bring in the leader and two of his cronies, you could make enough money to rest for a month. You had been tracking this whole gang for a while now, and bringing in a few of the men here and there, dead, of course. They weren't much trouble, and you eventually managed to bring one in alive too. But you finally got a good lead three days ago, and tonight you tracked a few of the loud idiots back to their base camp.
You'd have to be fast if you were to take out the top three men in the gang. There were at least seven men below. You wondered if you were a fast enough sniper to get them all in one go.
You decided to wait until night and take them out quietly once most of them slept. It'd be a long night, but it beat getting all of them running towards you at once. And you had learned your lesson about being impatient with Arthur.
Thinking of him made you shudder. The feeling you had was complicated; it was both longing and apprehension wrapped up into a solid lump in your chest.
You took a deep breath and focused on the work at hand.
As night fell and men started to go to sleep, you waited until all but one was tucked into their bedrolls. You waited another half an hour to make sure at least some of them were passed out.
Then you started shooting. The first headshot was for the man on watch. The next three were for the men sleeping nearby.
By now, the three remaining men had woken up and were hiding behind crates and began firing in your general direction. You quickly scuttled to another part of the cliff, closer to the men but circling around them, to fire once more. Another headshot. Two left.
You heard a rustling behind you. Not this time, you thought, as you pulled out your revolver and scampered around the cliff to some tree cover. A bullet hit the tree next to you, and you looked through the trees behind you and saw a few men coming your way with lanterns, making them easy to spot.
One hand slinging your rifle back over your shoulder, you shot at the men with your revolver, hitting one and making two of them dodge back into the forest. Then you ran. You needed better cover.
Bullets began flying again, and you cursed your luck. Of course some of the other gang members would come from a different direction and get behind you. You couldn't kill all of them, but you knew you got the three men you needed. Now you just had to get out and wait, and maybe you could collect their bodies later.
You found a nice thicket to hide around, and decided to try something. Finding a rock, you waited for them to get closer. As two of them approached, you threw the rock far away from you, but out of their sight. Foolishly, they followed the sound, and you quickly shot both of them in the head.
As you came out and around to confirm the kills, you heard the other man, the one you had shot earlier, come bursting through, his gun pointed at your head. You could see down the barrel of his gun and thought this would be a shit way to die. You tensed to dodge and shoot.
And then blood exploded from his head and he fell over before you could move.
You quickly tried to dive back into the thicket, but a shot was fired at your feet. You stopped moving forward, dropped your gun, and slowly raised your hands as you looked up from your crouched position.
A familiar face appeared from behind the trees, and you felt both relief and trepidation. But mostly you felt surprised at seeing him here, and it probably showed on your face.
“Hey sweetheart,” Arthur said as one corner of his mouth twitched in amusement at seeing your reaction to him.
“Did you have to shoot at me?” you asked, somewhat annoyed, as you picked up your gun and started walking to the dead men to loot them.
“Well, had to be sure you wouldn’t shoot me first,” he said in a light tone. “By the way, I took out the rest of them bastards at that camp.”
You just glared at him and walked away. You had this. You fucking had this bounty. And now you might have to share.
“You’re supposed to say thank you at times like this,” he said sarcastically.
“Thanks,” you responded curtly.
He looted the body that he had killed, and followed you as you made your way back to the camp. The walk was made in silence, with Arthur following you a few steps behind like a dog, or perhaps more like a stalker, and it was making you nervous. He was obviously playing with you, and you didn’t really like that at the moment. Also reminded you that he was an outlaw with no loyalty to you.
When you got back to the camp, you whistled for your horse while you grabbed the head of the gang and dragged his body to a big rock. It was a gristly business, but after the last hunter had lied about killing this guy, the sheriff in the town you took this job from had wanted physical evidence of his death.
Arthur just watched, amused, as you led your horse to the rock and started hauling the body up and onto his back. It took you some time, but you finally did it. When you looked back over at the other two bodies, you realized that in the time it had taken you to move one body, Arthur had moved the other two to his horse, and was mostly done with his cigarette.
“Son of a bitch,” you mumbled. Then you called out to him, “I guess you’ll be wanting partial credit for this?”
“Half.”
“Fuck you.”
He walked closer until the two of you were standing toe to toe. He was taller than you, but that didn’t scare you. What did frighten you was the intense look in his eyes as he stared at you for just a few moments too long.
“Careful what you say, missy,” he finally uttered in a low tone.
Your brain decided at that moment to remind you of the last time you met, and you felt your cheeks heat up. It was the middle of the night, but in the moonlight, you felt like he could see everything.
You quickly turned around and got on your horse. It wasn’t like you could really fight him and take his horse with the bounties from him. You knew a losing battle when you saw one. Sighing heavily, you started riding back to town, knowing that it would take you at least the rest of the night and part of the morning to get back. You could get a hotel room and sleep for a day afterwards.
Arthur followed, and you weren’t sure what to expect. You mostly felt annoyed that your reward money was being split.
***
You rode through the night and into the early hours of the morning. Despite the situation, you enjoyed the sunrise, though you were tired and your nerves were frayed because of Arthur’s complete silence along the way. It was eerie.
But during the ride, you had thought about what just happened. He did save you. You hated to be in debt to someone. You also hated it when you got help you didn’t need. Made you feel weak.
You looked over your shoulder to peer at him. He was still following you quietly, and he was looking around, clearly keeping an eye out around you.
When the two of you got to town, it was almost business as usual, except for the Sheriff looking at Arthur suspiciously. You had done quite a few jobs in this town, and he had never seen you work with a partner.
“Thought you worked alone, O'Malley,” the sheriff finally said after he had confirmed the identities of the three bodies and handed a stack of bills to you.
“Ran into him on the way, thought it might be faster with two,” you said, affecting a deeper voice; you, at least hopefully, sounded like a boy on the cusp of becoming a man. Arthur was giving you a pointed look, glancing at the money in your hands. You counted out half and passed the bills to him begrudgingly.
“Alright then. Well, come on by next week, see if we got any more trouble. Wish you'd take my offer of deputizing you. You're young but capable,” he said, clapping you on the shoulder. You noticed Arthur eyeing the man’s hand on you.
You shook your head at the Sheriff’s offer. “No thanks, but appreciate the compliment,” you replied as you ducked away from him and walked out the door. Arthur just tipped his hat to the sheriff and followed you out.
“O'Malley, huh? That ain't your real name,” Arthur said after the two of you were back on your horses and riding to the other side of town, via a back road.
“Of course not. It's just the name I give out as a bounty hunter,” you said as you took your hat off that was concealing your longer hair, and shed your bulky jacket so you actually looked like a woman with your tighter fitting union shirt.
“Hmmmm. So you that O'Malley Kid that I hear about sometimes? Young guy that only brings in dead bounties?”
“I brought in one man alive!” you retort, but the jocular grin on Arthur's face makes you laugh. You were somewhat aware of your reputation, but to know that he had heard of it too was a bit embarrassing.
You had reached the hotel, and wanted to just sleep. You looked back at Arthur, who was just watching you with that intense stare again. But you were so tired.
“I'm just gonna get some rest. Maybe see ya some other time,” you said almost too quickly as you slid off your horse, hitched him, and started fast walking up the stairs.
Arthur, of course, followed suit, and was right behind you when you missed a step and almost ate it at the front door. An arm quickly wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you close to his chest.
“Seem a bit tired, sweetheart.”
“Don't call me that.”
“You gonna give me a name, then?”
Not answering him, you shrugged out his hold and surprisingly, he let you go. You could feel him next to you though, and you had an inkling as to why he was sticking around.
“I’d like a room, please,” you said to the clerk at the front desk. The clerk glanced at Arthur, who said nothing.
“Alright,” he said after a moment before handing you a key. “Upstairs, second door on the right.” You gave him a dollar and made your way upstairs. Arthur was following you quietly, and you really didn’t want to make a scene, but the second you got to the door, you whirled around.
“I need some alone time.” And you slammed the door shut in his face.
***
Arthur stood there, a bit stunned, but once he recovered, he just chuckled to himself quietly and sauntered back downstairs.
The clerk raised an eyebrow at him.
“Lady thinks I smell. Could I get a bath?”
The clerk just laughed, and got another worker to prepare it for him.
***
As soon as you locked the door, you practically leapt onto the bed and sighed in comfort. You were exhausted and just wanted to sleep, but you were also nervous because you had also slammed the door on the most dangerous man you had ever met. Would he break in and then, potentially, break you?
You were mad at yourself for being a little bit excited by the idea. This man really was dangerous. Dangerous to your mental stability, that is. You tossed and turned on the bed for a few minutes, and then realized you had to run. There was no way you’d be able to enjoy this nice room while knowing that HE was nearby.
You opened the door and went downstairs. Walking past the clerk who was reading a paper, you asked if he had seen Arthur.
“Oh, he went to take a bath, just for you,” he said with a wink.
Plastering a fake smile on your face, you said, “Oh, that’s good. I’m just going to step out for a few minutes, please let him know I’ll be back shortly.”
“Sure thing miss,” he said, already going back to his paper.
You got on your horse and fled like the wind.
***
After riding all day, you finally felt like you could breathe again. You knew part of you had been really happy to see him, but it was also the part of you that just wanted to bend over and let him have his way with you. You were an independent woman, dammit!
You chose to bounty hunt because it was what your father did, and it was how he met your mother in a small town out in the middle of the plains. Even though you didn’t see him much back then, every time he came back, he had new toys for you and stories to tell you about the crazy things he had seen. It was too bad your mother came down with an illness seven years ago and died while he was out on a week-long job. You didn’t know what to do; you remember seeing your mother’s dead body in bed, and shutting the door to her room and just surviving on canned food until your father came back. Once he did, he mourned & buried her in a day, and then he packed your bags, got you a horse, and you two never went back to that house. You learned everything from him, how to snipe, how to survive in the wilderness, and how to dress and act like a man so that no one would take advantage of you.
You had learned so much. You should have been better. So you regretted your actions when a job went bad a few years ago. You should have been patient. You should have breathed out when taking that shot. Then your old man wouldn’t have had to go in. He wouldn’t have had to die in that gun fight.
You shook your head of the past. You had been making your own way for years now. You missed both your parents, but like your old man had said the day he buried your mother: “You must move forward and face the future. If you stand still and look behind you all the time, life will pass you by and you’ll be left for dead.”
I must move forward, you thought to yourself again, and took your horse off the path to find a spot in the wilderness to tent up for the night. You felt safe out here, where there were few travelers and there were enough rabbits that you could easily hunt one for supper. A stream nearby made a calming sound as you set up camp and relaxed. After a satisfying rabbit stew, you killed the fire and crawled into your tent to sleep soundly.
***
You woke up to a hand around your mouth. Panic set in. How did your horse not whinny at strangers approaching? Was he okay? You swear, if anyone hurt Ol’ Trigger, you were going to be real pissed. You latched onto that angry feeling to give you courage.
That is, until you heard a voice like butter in your ear.
“Cute, trying to run like that, sweetheart.”
You relaxed, but tensed up again immediately. How did he find you so quickly? You swear you took several back roads and went in and out of streams to lose a trail. And why didn’t Trigger neigh or something?
“I went after you as soon as that clerk said you had stepped out for a little while. I knew it was a lie,” he said, a bit angrily. He slowly let go of your mouth.
“Is my horse okay?” you immediately asked.
“He’s fine. Led me right to you, in fact.”
You were shocked. Trigger wouldn’t betray you.
“I copied your whistle.”
You sighed. You hadn’t thought of that. Then you tried to sit up, but he pushed you back down with his other hand.
“Stay.”
“I’m not a dog to command-”
He immediately put a hand over your mouth again. You were about to bite him and retort, but you saw that he wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was looking outside the tent.
You listened intently. You heard bushes moving and the sound of your horse stamping his foot and whining softly.
Arthur turned to you with a look that said stay here, and he pulled out his revolver and quietly crawled outside. You stayed put for all of three seconds before grabbing your revolver and following him.
Once out of your tent, you immediately saw an agitated Trigger. Quickly going to him, you patted his neck to calm him, but you weren't prepared for the gunshots nearby. Trigger reared up and nearly landed on you as you jumped back. You grabbed at his reins and calmed him once more.
You were feeding him an apple when Arthur came back, a wolf corpse tied up on his horse. He got off and walked towards you, grabbed you by the wrist, and pulled you towards your tent.
You tugged and dug your feet into the ground, but he was too damn strong. He had almost gotten you to the tent; then he grabbed your hair and forced you onto your knees in front of him.
“Unbutton my pants, sweetheart.”
You blinked and looked up at him. He kept watching you silently. After a few moments you reached up and did as he commanded. His tone of voice did not brook argument. That, and you felt heat curl below your belly and knew you would do whatever he asked. That voice did a number on your senses, and your sense.
“Take out my cock.”
You reached into his pants and pulled him out, your hand gentle on his skin. He hissed with pleasure and wrapped his hand around yours, guiding you on stroking him. With his other hand, he cupped your chin.
“Open your mouth,” he rumbled.
Your eyebrows furrowed.
Arthur let go of your hand and pinched your nose, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. When you did, he forced his cock into your mouth.
“Just lick and suck on it,” he coaxed, letting go of your nose and caressing your cheek gently with the back of his fingers.
You started to move your lips and tongue around the head, looking up at him and watching for his reaction to everything you tried. Tonguing a line from the base of him to the tip made his eyes roll up, which made you unreasonably happy.
Then he suddenly grabbed your hair at the back of your head and thrust deep into your mouth. Your eyes started to tear up, and he pulled back, only to thrust in again, but shallower this time. He did this slowly at first, but then he was going at a steady rhythm, taking your mouth.
Your mind fell into pace with his movement, and you grew wet from him ravaging you like this. You didn't know how much you had missed the feeling of him fisting your hair like this.
He pulled you away from him after who knows how long. Then he started taking off his jacket and shirt. You just stayed still, transfixed. I should run, you thought to yourself.
But then he threw you into the tent and onto the bed roll. Landing on your back, you got up on your elbows to see him crawling towards you, and you couldn't help but think again of the wolf coming to eat his prey. You quivered, knowing that there was no escape, but you didn't know if you really wanted to escape now.
“Take your clothes off.”
You started to take off your pants.
“Slowly,” he added.
Under his gaze, you did as he said, each piece of clothing sliding off your skin slowly as you trembled. He was watching you so closely, and it was bringing heat to your cheeks as you finally took off your drawers and chemise.
You sat on your bed roll, naked, and covered your breasts out of habit.
He crawled closer to you and wrapped his hand around your throat, pushing you down onto your back. You struggled a bit before letting him. Then he put a hand on each of your knees and started to spread your legs apart. You strained your muscles to keep yourself together.
“Keep fighting me,” he snarled. “It'll make breaking you all the sweeter.”
Like some twisted reverse psychology, you instantly relaxed your legs and let him spread you out. He chuckled darkly before dipping his head down to your stomach and kissing your scar. Then he moved lower, kissing a path to your clit. He licked around it, torturing you with almost-but-not-quite touches, sticking his tongue into your wet channel and making you squirm. Your hands reached for him and you ran your hands through his soft hair.
Then he started sucking and licking your clit with no mercy. You gasped and writhed, your body coming apart under him as he brought you to climax with just his mouth. As you lay there, breathing heavily, he lifted his head, wiped his mouth, and pounced on you, his cock sliding up and down your folds, but not penetrating you.
Grabbing your wrists, he positioned them on either side of your head. He lifted himself up so his cock was nudging your entrance.
“Surrender to me.”
Your heart beat wildly at his command. You couldn't look away if you tried as he took you, agonizingly slow. Your hips bucked, and he froze.
“Don't you dare move,” he growled. You gulped and nodded.
He hummed approvingly and kept pushing into you. Once he was all the way in, he crushed you under his weight, making it hard to breathe. He stayed still for a moment, just feeling your heart beating loud in the night.
Then he took you with abandon, his grip on your wrists tightening as his thrusts became faster, harder. He came with a harsh groan, and finally let go of your wrists. He rolled off you and bundled you up in his arms, pulling you close. Your cheek was against his chest and you could hear his heartbeat calming down.
But much to your annoyance, you wanted to come again, and you started to reach down to take care of things, but then you felt embarrassed about even thinking of touching yourself while he was right there.
As if he was reading your mind, Arthur reached between the two of you and stroked you, exactly the way you wanted. You looked up to see him watching you intently.
“I wouldn't leave you wantin’, sweetheart.”
Trapped in his gaze, he brought you to the edge, slowed down, and did it again, driving you crazy. You grabbed his arm and dug your fingernails in.
“Damn you,” you cursed as he teased you some more.
“Beg me.”
“Never.” You started to reach down to finish yourself, but he grabbed your wrist and twisted you around so your back, and your arm, was against his chest. It hurt a little.
“Now now, you should know better,” he whispered. “Just give in, it’ll be better for both of us.”
You reached for yourself with your other arm, but he just grabbed it too, pulled your arms back and held your wrists together behind your back with one hand. You pulled and twisted, and in retaliation he wrapped his legs around you to keep you still, and snaked his free arm down to touch you again.
You’re not sure how long it was, of him teasing you, edging you, driving you mad with the desire to come. You hated to admit that he was wearing you down, and you were close to just begging for it.
“Just one little word, and I’ll give you what you need,” he said low in your ear.
You finally whispered, “Please…”
He changed his pace immediately, his stroking became exactly what you needed to push you over the edge and you came in his arms, crying with pleasure and relief, the release almost too much for your poor tired body.
Arthur let go of your wrists and let you stretch your muscles before wrapping his body around yours and petting you gently until you fell asleep.
***
You woke up deliciously refreshed. You’re not sure how long you slept, but the sun was high in the sky now. You rolled over, and found that Arthur was gone. The relief at being alone again, and the shame of succumbing to him once more flooded through you. Along with that tempest of emotions, so too did you have the feeling of a string wrapping around your heart.
You quietly got up and threw some clothes on before crawling out of your tent.
To your surprise, he was still here, patting Ol’ Trigger nearby and feeding him a carrot. It ticked you off, just a little, to see him so friendly with YOUR horse. As you got closer, you could hear Arthur mumbling something to him.
“Now you take care of your lady, you hear. She’s precious, don’t let her get hurt.”
Your heart melted.
He turned to you and smiled, and it was warm like the sun. Goddammit, why was he like this only after fucking you mindless?
“How you doin’?”
“Doin’ alright.”
“Just alright?”
“I’m doin’ GREAT. Is that what you wanted to hear?” you responded, a bit annoyed now.
“I just want your truth,” he said calmly.
His answer threw you for a second. Then you laughed. “My truth,” you said after a while, “is that I feel good. Thanks.”
Arthur just nodded, gave Ol’ Trigger one last pat, and started walking towards you. “Guess I’d better be goin’. I’m sure you have other bounties to hunt.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Now that he was leaving, you felt torn. You loved your independence. But you also loved what he did to you, though you would never admit that to his face lest he have even more power over you. You watched as he walked up to you. He cupped your cheek and stroked your skin with his thumb. Then he leaned in and kissed you on the forehead.
“See ya later, sweetheart.” He took a few steps back, his eyes on you one last time, before he turned around, got on his horse, and rode away without looking back.
Once he was out of sight, you immediately fell to your knees and hugged yourself.
After a few deep breaths, you regained your composure and broke camp. Packing your stuff onto Ol’ Trigger, you noticed your saddle bag had been opened. You looked and saw a wad of bills and a piece of paper.
Counting the bills first, you noted that it was half of the amount you had given Arthur yesterday. Then you read the paper.
“Thanks for the fun night, my sweet.”
You were caught between being pissed and being amused. Maybe he was paying you like a whore. Maybe he felt bad about barging in on your hunt.
Maybe it was both.
You shoved the money and the letter back in your saddle bag and got onto your horse.
“Son of a bitch!” you yelled as you rode west.
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End Notes: I’ve got two more fics in this series on the way, so keep an eye out. Thank you for reading!
#dubcon#arthur morgan#arthur x reader#low honor arthur morgan#fanfic#old fanfic#writing#lemon fanfic#nsft#arthur x fem!reader#captured hearts
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Here’s my rant on how fucking devastating Red Dead Redemption 2 is. Cause I made the god awful mistake of replaying the story and I need to get this out there this time around.
Arthur’s story and the Gangs story are a reflection of themselves, when you think about it. So here I go on a tear fueled, long rant on why that is, and why this is such a good story. I am also, probably making no sense.
Spoilers under the cut, for anyone that actually decides to read this
Losing characters is one thing, we knew someone was gonna die, they were outlaws, it was inevitable. But it feels a little different; having a character that you grow to love (assuming you play the good guy) ripped from your hands so slowly, knowing you can’t do anything about it. Losing Arthur in a gunfight wouldn’t have hurt as much. But he got sick, we watched him die while we grew to love him and we could do nothing. Rockstar gave us very little choice there, unless you decided to play an asshole you were doomed, because Arthur may not have been a good man in theory, but he was an honest and loyal one to what he believed. We were on his side and we seen the good man he can be. We all wanted Arthur to be happy, he deserved it, in a way. He was the better man.
And you’d say that’s the most devastating part, stories usually give us one, don’t they? Sure there’s always the subplots, some have sad endings, but this felt different. It felt bigger, this had two main plots and both crushed me, because in addition to watching Arthur die, we also watched the gang die, a family fall apart. Arthur was standing there in that deserted camp with John, them two against Dutch, Micah and these men we don’t know, this isn’t our family, and I though back to the beginning of the game, and Dutch actually having an idea of what he wanted, and the dancing and singing around campfires, Susan being a mom, Hosea, Lenny, Sean, Kieran. This family that seemed so strong, also died before our eyes.
I was angry at Dutch for a while, y’know, but then he doubted himself, for the very first time, on top of that rock where Arthur lay, and Micah got desperate, and Dutch didn’t mean for this to happen. Arthur said he just became more of what he always was, but I don’t think Dutch would have went out of his way to screw any of the gang members over. Maybe he did need help for his plan to live in paradise, maybe he did use all of them in a way, but I don’t think he was a bad man, at least not that bad, not before Micah came along, or before he lost Hosea. We watched Dutch die too, in a way.
His plan of paradise was never gonna work out, the chances of it were so slim, Micah or no Micah, they’d fall apart sooner or later. It was too, inevitable. Just like Arthur’s death.
We all somehow knew how this was gonna end, we knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. It was sad, awfully so. But man, was this a good, solid story.
Then again, I might be rambling, and making no sense, and there is so much space to interpret your own ideas, you can say I’m wrong. But we can all agree, that this was in fact, a devastating story.
#long rant#rdr2#idk im very emotional#and in love with this story#Red Dead Redemption#red dead redemption 2#red dead#rdr2 rant#rant
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The Outlaw and the Treasure Hunter - Chapter 16 - Alone
Izzy gasped, and grabbed the sides of the bath. Before she had a chance to stand, Arthur was at her side. He grabbed a handful of hair, and pushed her down.
"You've been a very bad girl," he smirked, as he forced her head under the water.
Izzy thrashed, trying to get free. But it was no use. His grip was too tight, and all her strength was taken up, by trying to hold her breath.
When Arthur, pulled her up by her hair, she quickly gasped for breath.
"Shall we play a little game, Princess. Lets see how long you can hold you're breath for," he smirked, as he plunged her head back under the water. In hindsight, she should have stopped struggling, to save her energy. But her automatic reaction, was to try and surface. Something which was never going to happen, all the while Arthur was holding her under. He was too strong.
Dutch and Charles rode into Valentine, as they rode past the hotel, Dutch stared, open mouthed, seeing Javier, sitting in the reception area.
"What the hell is Javier doing in a hotel, and where the fuck is Izzy," he exclaimed angrily.
He pulled up his horse and jumped off, and threw open the doors of the hotel.
Charles quickly followed him.
Dutch grabbed hold of Javier, "what the hell are you doing here, and where is Izzy."
Javier, shocked to see Dutch, quickly explained. "she wanted a bath, she's in there now! What are you doing here, I thought you were looking for Arthur?"
Dutch let Javier go, "He's here, in Valentine. Charles tracked him."
"Do you know..." Javier, started to ask. But there discussion was interrupted.
A young woman appeared from the corridor leading to the bathroom, her face as white as a sheet.
"A man...H...he forced me to let him in the bathroom," she stuttered, "h...he has a knife!"
Charles and Javier, ran down the corridor, to the bathroom. Closely followed by Dutch.
Charles tried the door. Finding it locked, he stepped back, and gave it a hefty kick with his boot.
The wood, of the door frame splintered, as the lock broke away. Charles ran in, to see Arthur, with his hand gripping Izzy's hair. Submerging her in the bathwater.
Dutch yelled, in a panicked voice. "Don't hit him in the face or head!"
Charles, rolled his eyes, as he kicked Arthur, in the back of the knees. Causing his legs to buckle, underneath him. Charles then kneed him in the back.
Arthur, grunted in pain, letting go of Izzy's hair. Charles, pushed him forward and hog tied him.
Javier, quickly ran to the bath, and pulled Izzy, out of the water. He pulled her out of the bath, and wrapped her in a towel, as she gasped for air.
Dutch stared, at the scene before him. Torn as to who to go to. He ran over to Arthur.
Izzy, looked across at Dutch, who was helping Charles with Arthur. She stared at him, as tears started to well up in her eyes. Soon, her sadness, turned to anger.
"You bastard!" She screamed at him, "You used me for bait. You knew he would come after me!"
Dutch stared at Izzy, "It's not like that."
He looked at Javier, "take her back to camp, I'll come back once we've taken Arthur to the doctor, in St. Denis. Let Hosea know, he'll want to be there."
Izzy looked at Javier, then looked back at Dutch, "like hell I will," She screamed. "Get out, all of you. I never want to see any of you again!"
Dutch blinked slowly, and sighed. "Izzy, be reasonable. We can talk about this."
"I said, get out!" she screamed.
Charles carried Arthur, out of the bathroom. Javier followed him, as Dutch brought up the rear. When he reached the door, he turned to look at Izzy. "Where will you go?" he asked, sadness laced his voice.
"None of your god damn business," she shoved him out the door, and slammed it shut.
Izzy, sat on the floor of the bathroom, her back against the door, and sobbed.
Charles stowed Arthur, on the back of his horse, and mounted up. Javier looked over at Dutch,
"You go with Charles, I'll let Hosea know, so he can join you."
Dutch nodded. How the hell had that happened. Now he might lose both his son, and the woman he'd fallen in love with.
Dutch rode ahead to St. Denis, as fast as The Count would go. Charles, on the slower horse, and weighed down with Arthur, who was struggling, travelled at a slower speed. It meant that Nathaniel, could be alerted, to expect Arthur.
The sooner, he could operate the better.
Javier, rode full pelt back to the camp, so that he could let Hosea know. He would want to be at the doctors too. Dutch and Hosea, were both like fathers to Arthur. What ever happened, they would want to be with him.
When Javier, arrived back at camp, everyone was surprised to see him come back alone.
He rushed over to Hosea.
"They have Arthur," he exclaimed, a little out of breath. "Dutch has ridden ahead, to the doctor, in St. Denis. Charles has Arthur, on the back of his horse, tied up. Dutch said, you should head over there as quickly as possible. If all goes well, he thinks they may operate tonight."
Hosea, immediately walked to his horse. He looked back at Javier. "What about Izzy?"
Javier shook his head, "Arthur, tried to drown her in a bath. She's OK. But..."
Hosea stopped, "But what? Javier?"
Javier sighed, "She thinks that Dutch used her as bait. He didn't of course, but she was really angry. I don't think she's coming back!"
Hosea shook his head, "I'll talk to Dutch, maybe she just needs some time. We still have all her stuff here!"
Hosea mounted his horse, and headed off to St. Denis. What a mess, he thought.
Izzy sat on the bathroom floor, her head in her hands. She thought Dutch cared for her, the same way she cared for him, loved him, even. Now, she had nothing, and she was alone. How could she have been so stupid. It was obvious to her now, he just wanted her because she could hunt down treasure. She thought about Arthur. At least he had been honest, even if it was in a violent way. He never pretended that he cared, for anything other than her skill as a treasure hunter.
She stood up, her eyes still red from crying. She splashed some of the water from the bath on her face, then quickly dressed. She sighed, she wished she'd given Susan this shirt now, all she could smell was Dutch, and all the bittersweet memories that went with it.
She left the bathroom. The hotel owner, was still in shock. He just stared as she walked past, out the door into the street.
Duke was still hitched, she rummaged through the saddlebags. The treasure that she'd picked up was still there. She needed to buy some new clothes, and a gun. If she was going to make it alone, she only had herself to rely on. Maybe now, that she knew that no one could really be trusted, she wouldn't find it hard to shoot the next bastard that tried to cross her.
Izzy walked across to the general store. She picked out some clothes, and bought some food.
"I hate to bring this up Miss Pickett, but your mothers tab..." Seth Foster mumbled.
Izzy smiled, "Its ok Mr Foster, how much is it?"
"Twenty five dollars," he replied, hopefully.
She handed him the money for the items she had just bought, plus the twenty five dollars.
"There," she smiled, "that should cover it."
He quickly put the money in the register, "Thank you Miss Pickett, have a good day. See you soon."
She smiled, "I doubt it," she replied, as she headed for the door.
Her first stop after getting supplies, was home. The door was still hanging off the hinges. She quickly hitched Duke outside. She wasn't gonna stay. Just in case Dutch decided to come and find her. She knew, that the gang knew this is where she lived. She went into her fathers office. It was pretty smashed up. She sighed, as she cleared the debris, from the back of the room. She pushed on a loose floorboard. Underneath was a lockbox. She smiled. Guess those outlaws weren't that clever.
She put the money in her pocket. About two hundred dollars, her father had kept for emergencies. She guessed this was kind of an emergency.
Izzy walked back into the main room, and grabbed what was left of the food in the cupboards.
She sighed sadly, as she looked around. This was probably the last time she would see this place. Funny what hands life dealt you. Still at least she was alive, which was more than poor Ethan.
She walked out the door, and put the supplies into the saddlebag. She patted Duke on the neck.
"Just you and me now boy," she sighed.
The big horse, turned his head towards her and nudged her. She laughed, and found an oatcake, in her satchel.
"Here ya go," she whispered, as she fed the horse, his favourite treat. She unhitched him, from the fence, and mounted. Turning on to the muddy track, she headed out of Valentine, to who knew where.
#rdr2#low honor arthur morgan#original female character#dutch van der linde#hosea matthews#javier escuella#charles smith#wattpad#a03
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The Lily Farm - Chapter 34
AO3 | Masterpost
Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes
Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.
Chapter 34: Safety and Other Dreams
Mary Beth stood at the window in their room at the B&B, looking out at all the possibilities. She’d gotten a little tired and left the party without telling anyone but Abigail. Arthur had been talking to Hosea and looked happy. She was certain that it was just because the day had been long, her feeling tired. In truth, though, she was very ready for things to go back to normal. For once, she found herself almost wanting to return to Shady Belle. She knew that was backwards, but it was how home had manifested itself in her mind. The place where everybody was, and where everything was the same. Like an anchor that she hated, but an anchor nonetheless. Mary Beth had lived a life that was always changing. She was in a constant scramble for the thing that never wavered. As she looked out the window at the long, blue lawn, she realized that home was for now a traveling suitcase, and despite this, she did not have to worry. Because she was not alone. She was comforted by the little life taking up residence inside her, and for Arthur. She had begun to feel mixed up by what it would mean to leave the gang that loved her, but it was gonna be okay. She took a deep breath. She heard the door open behind her, and she looked back and there he was.
“Hey there,” he said. He came into the room.
She turned all the way around and leaned against the windowsill and smiled when she saw him. He closed the door, took off his shiny coat from Dutch and tossed it over the brass bed post. Underneath was just him in his white dress shirt, which was still tucked in but a little rumpled and a pair of light leather suspenders wearing thin. He was his big warm self, unchanged, and familiar to her. For the jacket was lovely, she thought, but it was very flashy, and that was not him. His hair was long by now, down to his shoulders, and she had hardly noticed before this moment. He looked windswept and soft with the liquor but just a little. He took off his gloves and set them on the bed.
"You snuck away,” he said.
“I was just tired,” said Mary Beth. “And you and Hosea was talking—I didn’t want to disturb. I snuck away.”
He was smiling. He came over to her at the window and took her right into his arms. He sighed big and huge all around her. She was so relieved now and all the things that had worried her at the window had gone. “Let’s just be in love and go to sleep,” said Arthur, a little cheeky. “What do you think, Mrs. Morgan?”
She blushed. “You like my dress, Mr. Morgan?”
“I do,” he said, getting a look at her. “Abigail and Lizette did a very good job. You look beautiful.”
She grabbed his face then and kissed him good. She had changed course and was suddenly far too happy for sleeping now. It took him by surprise but as usual he gave in to her.
“You have made an honest man out of an outlaw, Mary Beth,” he said, undoing her braid, piece by piece. “I am not sure how I can properly thank you.”
“I can think of some ways,” she said.
She was very glad to have married her best friend.
Meanwhile, downstairs, the party was winding down. John and Hosea were sitting at the kitchen table with Abigail, playing hearts, and Hamish had dozed off on an arm chair in the corner next to the piano. The Reverend and the Mother Superior, as well as Jack, had retired to sleep an hour before, and Lizette was sweeping up and dusting and watering the plants, wearing one of her pretty French aprons with the bobbin lace that she had brought from Nice. Abigail tried multiple times to offer her assistance in cleaning up, but Lizette would have nothing of it.
Out on the porch, Dutch had taken up with his cigar, surveying. It was so dark out here, like being back in Wyoming. He had spent a lot of his life living everywhere, and trying to forget some places, but never Wyoming. Wyoming was where he had found Arthur, when Arthur had been just some long-haired blot-on-the-town teenager, playing cards in the back of a smoky Jackson tavern, caught with two aces up his sleeve and about twenty seconds from being beaten to death by a mining foreman named Spud. It was where he had picked up Susan. She had been a saloon girl in Casper, looking like some sort of washed up beauty queen, offering herself for a price that he found to be unsuitable. She knew how to work Dutch from the moment they met, and he did not buy her—was not prone to buying women, as he preferred that they desire him in return, and so he brought her home, and he protected her. She groomed up young Arthur and taught him how to sit straight, how to appear upstanding and how to use his natural gentlemanly demeanor to charm people into giving him the things that he wanted. Montana had been the death of Eliza and Colorado had been Annabelle. Bessie was Texas. Those states were all dead to Dutch. But nobody had died in Wyoming. Only love had been found. He longed to return but the journey west had been corrupted at some point. He was trying to remember why. He knew that he was losing everything and everybody dear to him, but he just kept fucking up anyway as if losing was his new normal.
“A fine evening, isn’t it?” said Lawrence Winterson. He came out onto the porch with his pipe, looking for quiet. The pipe had already been packed and lit. On instinct, Dutch nodded in an upstanding fashion. He knew how to act and seem better than other people. It was how he'd been born.
"Absolutely," said Dutch. "Join me, won't you?"
They smoked for a while, staring out at the reverie. Sometimes, you could see one of the hounds, come up to sniff the grass and then disappear back into the tree line. The world was filled with the sounds of deer and loons and coyotes and then the deep silence of the lonely back country that was the east Heartlands. At some point, Dutch cleared his throat. He turned to Lawrence, keeping his respectful posture, but in truth, he was highly suspicious and had been since the moment he arrived. “I would like to thank you, kind friend,” he said, “for hosting this gathering, and for extending your welcome and your home to us. Most of all, for taking in Arthur like this, especially despite what he is.”
Lawrence looked at Dutch, blinking from behind his spectacles. They gave him the look of a scholar, most certainly the doctor that he was. “What he is? You mean, an outlaw?"
Dutch laughed to himself, studying his cigar. “That is what I mean, yes. We ain't used to mixing in, you know, with civilized folk. The few times we have, we've ended up burned, or knee-deep in shit."
“Oh,” said Lawrence, wising up. He adjusted his glasses, looking back out to the lawn. “Yes. Well, I'm not sure what you consider civilized. I run a legal business, yes, but I have, at times, entertained customers who may or may not run completely in line with the law. I am neither stupid nor one to cast idle judgment, Mr. van der Linde. This is, after all, the Heartlands. We still tend to walk a rather fine line here. I'm sure you've been to Valentine. You know what I mean. And in any case, whether you're a noble banker in St. Denis or a country doctor who boards outlaws and provides the occasional safe haven for prostitutes and runaways, we're all sinners."
"Is that right?"
"It is."
Dutch took a deep breath. He puffed off the cigar, blew a single smoke ring into the air. "You say you regularly board outlaws and prostitutes, runaways, Mr. Winterson?"
"Regularly? No," said Lawrence, smiling. "But I have not been known to turn away people in need, regardless of their means at birth or social standing."
"That's very noble of you," said Dutch. "And a doctor to boot. You are, indeed, a role model, Mr. Winterson."
Lawrence chucked at this. He ran a hand through his hair, light and graying. He went up to the porch railing and leaned against it on his forearms. "I see we are playing a game," he said, glancing back at Dutch. "I am not one to beat around the bush. You can trust me, Mr. van der Linde."
"How do I know that?" said Dutch, taking a step toward him. His boots were heavy, and his spurs rang like bells. He smoked. He lowered his voice. "I've got a price on my head, Mr. Winterson. As does everybody here. Save for the holy people, of course, Mr. Sinclair I expect, and little Jack. Even Mary Beth and Abigail, they're wanted somewhere. Arthur may be the strong, silent, and trusting type, but I, sir, am not. This is my family, and I am trying to get them to safety. I cannot afford to entertain the untrustworthy."
Lawrence sighed. He nodded, looking back at to the yard. "That is understandable," he said. "After all, I heard you are a great shepherd. John and Arthur both speak highly of you. It's true that I know who you are. That I recognized your name from the New Hanover Gazette immediately. But I must assure you, this is about Arthur. My wife and I care for him and Mary Beth. We truly do. We would never betray their trust. Ever."
"And I am supposed to just take you at your word?" said Dutch.
"No," said Lawrence. "But, it's all I've got, if you'll hear me out. Arthur mentioned to me that your father was in the Army of the Potomac. That he died in Gettysburg. Is that true?"
Dutch studied him closely. "It is."
"I was in the Army of the Potomac," said Lawrence, looking at him. "I was a surgeon, but I killed dozens of men when they broke our position and stormed our tents on Cemetery Hill. There were also men I could not save who I anesthetized into death. I could have fought beside your father. I could have watched him die, treated him, and I wouldn't have even known. There were thousands of us. I was one of the lucky ones. But I do know that whenever I come across another survivor like myself, like Mr. Sinclair for example, I am driven to loyalty. Your father died for a cause that I, too, would have died for. I don't care what you've done. Mr. van der Linde. I am not a moral paragon. I know what Arthur is capable of. I even know about Mary Beth. As long as we're square, you and me, I would never betray you or your people. Not for anything. Do you understand?"
Dutch's cigar had gone cold. He looked down, gave it up, tossed it over the porch railing and into the weeds. He hooks his thumbs over his belt, looked at his boots. "Yes, sir. I believe I do."
"Good," said Lawrence. "Because as I said before, I do care about Arthur. He came to us sort of like a bird with a broken wing. We never had children of our own. It's easy to get attached. Do you have any children of your own, Mr. van der Linde?"
Dutch gave him a stern look, but in the old man's eyes, he got lost and felt broken and for a moment understood why Arthur came here. “No," he said, unsure of why he was confessing such things, but he was. "I had a woman once. She was having my baby, but she died. That was it for me."
This seemed to sadden Lawrence considerably. He straightened up off the railing and placed his hands in his pockets, turning to Dutch, full of body language that communicated his sincerest condolences. "That is a terrible albatross," he said. "I am sorry, Mr. van der Linde."
Dutch said nothing. He felt a deep pressure building inside of him. It was like rage, but it wasn't. "Thank you."
"Anyway," said Lawrence, sort of smiling. He had an unfailing focus. "I should turn in. I hope we can part tomorrow with an understanding between us. You're safe here."
Dutch nodded, looking away. "Yes," he said. "I think we're square, Mr. Winterson." They shook hands.
Lawrence turned to go inside then. He clasped Dutch on the shoulder, lightly. "I should go check on our guest," he said. "The one not here for the wedding."
"You do that," said Dutch.
Lawrence was gone.
They rode back to Shady Belle in shifts. Dutch went first, then Hosea with John and Abigail the next day. Hamish stayed. The Reverend and the Mother Superior took the train. Arthur and Mary Beth waited until everybody was gone, enjoyed a couple of quiet days with the Wintersons and Hamish in the Heartlands. They went back three days after the wedding, rode straight to Shady Belle, stopping only once to rest. When they arrived, it was evening. Miss Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson had prepared the camp with booze and colorful streamers and music. Everybody was happy and using the occasion as an excuse to get wildly drunk and sit around the fire singing and laughing and confessing to one another their deepest, darkest fears and desires. They congratulated Arthur and Mary Beth. There were no fights. Micah wasn't there. Even the gators stayed away that night. Arthur and Mary Beth were thankful, but they really were not wanting for much. By the mid-evening, when the sun had gone down and the frogs and crickets came out, Susan could tell, and so she corralled them both, took them upstairs to Arthur’s room where she had prepared for them a small but important surprise.
“We rustled you up a bigger bed,” she said, showing them how she and the girls had fixed up the room a little bit, cleaned and brought up Mary Beth’s chest of clothes and all of her earthly possessions. “We thought you might be appreciative, as that thing you were sleeping on before, Mr. Morgan, weren’t room enough for the damn dog let alone a married man and woman. So there you go.”
It was so soft of Miss Grimshaw, sweet, almost enough to reduce Mary Beth’s unfailing fear that she may skin her alive. They were thankful. Tilly had also painted a picture of a flower garden for them, using pigment paints she had bought in St. Denis. It was clumsy but made beautiful use of color and light. “I thought it could be like a window,” she said. “Make it seem like you’re looking out at something more romantic than the swamps for a change.”
“It’s so pretty,” said Mary Beth, picking the unframed canvas up off the windowsill. “You should do more of these, Till. You could sell them in town for a good price.”
Tilly waved her off. “Do you know how hard that was? I ain’t doing that for anyone I don’t love as much as you two. Now, enjoy.”
They were overcome. They shut in very early that night. For they had an excuse to do so.
The next morning, Mary Beth slept in. Arthur went to find coffee, and then he went and sat down next to Sadie on the porch to drink it. She had been up for hours, it seemed, and was cleaning her guns, wearing her hat, as usual.
“Mrs. Adler,” said Arthur. “How are you today.”
“Hey, Arthur,” she said, smiling. “I should be asking you the same thing.”
“I am fine. Thank you.”
“Well, congratulations,” said Sadie. “We didn't have much chance to talk last night. But I’m—I’m happy for you. It’s a blessing, what you got. Don't fuck it up.”
Arthur smiled, then looked upon her seriously. She seemed very tired and alone. He sought to change the subject. “I heard you and Charles been out on some recreational errands involving O’Driscolls,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Is that right?”
She laughed to herself, sarcastically. “I guess you could call it that. Errands.”
“How many you killed.”
“Dozens,” she said. “Maybe more, just in the past two weeks alone. Since Colm got his, they been turning up in all corners. Last we found them they’d been holed up in the Roanoke Valley. Nothing but cannibals and monsters up there. A few less now. We got em good.”
Arthur looked out at the camp. Jack was walking around with John, talking about something, gesticulating with his hands and holding a book. John seemed to be listening very closely, though he looked a trifle confused as to what the hell Jack was saying. Arthur smiled to see it. “Well I hope you’re being careful,” he said. “And I hope you’re laying off Kieran. You know he could’ve turned us in back at Lone Mule, but he didn't. He was tortured, and yet he stayed quiet. That means something.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Sadie. “I know. A woman can learn.”
“Yes, she can.”
“Charles don’t make mistakes,” she said, looking up at Arthur. “He’s like you. He’s a good partner. But I trust you won’t be coming with us anytime soon, daddy.”
Arthur was amused by this. “Nope. No O'Driscoll hunting for me. I’ve had my ass handed to me by that lot more than once. I have officially retired from the business of blood feuds. You give them my best though, won’t you?”
“If your best is a bullet to the head, then I sure will.”
Arthur laughed. He finished his coffee.
“So how does it feel?” said Sadie. “Being married.”
“You would know,” said Arthur. “How did you feel, when you got married?”
She stared at him, a mixture of emptiness and pain, but also surprise. She seemed happy that somebody was thinking of it, remembering what she had been before, not walking on eggshells for once. “I felt safe,” she said, nodding, setting the gun down on her lap. “For the first time in my whole life.”
Arthur nodded in solidarity. “Yeah, me, too,” he said. He patted her on the shoulder and got up to leave. “Well, I best be getting on.”
"Okay, Arthur."
He got up, dusted off his jeans. It was in the moment that he was beckoned by Hosea from the doorway.
"Arthur,” he said, holding a rolled up newspaper, seeming rushed.
"What is it?"
“Can we talk?” he said. “Upstairs on the balcony. As soon as you're able.”
Arthur nodded. Hosea greeted Sadie then went inside.
“What’s that all about?” said Sadie.
Arthur took a cigarette from his front pocket, still staring at the door. He lit it and smoked. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I can guess."
"Care to share?"
"Maybe later. See you, Mrs. Adler.”
“It’s just Sadie,” she said, smiling. “You don’t have to call me that no more. We’s friends.”
Arthur nodded. “Okay, Sadie. You have a good day now. And no dying. You hear?”
“I ain’t afraid of dying.”
“Yeah,��� said Arthur, smoking. “I know you ain’t. But we need you here.”
This baffled her.
Upstairs, Arthur found Hosea leaning on the bannister, looking down at the bounty of hungover outlaws and all of his happy children. He coughed once when Arthur arrived, turned around and placed his hands in his pockets. “Good morning, Arthur,” he said. “How are you feeling today.”
“About the same as any other day,” said Arthur. “Except I no longer sleep alone, by law.”
Hosea found this amusing. “A humble outlook. That’s good. Being a husband suits you, Arthur. I always thought it would.”
“Well, I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you,” said Arthur. “Now what’s this about?”
“It’s about that poker game, on the river boat,” said Hosea. “You remember we talked about this, some weeks back?”
Arthur sighed. He’d had a feeling. “I do,” he said. He released a bit of smoke from his lungs and then walked out to the balcony and looked down at all the water and the muck and the trees. “What’s the story.”
“Well, we’ve got a development,” said Hosea.
“And?"
"And you’re in,” he said. “Josiah secured you an invitation.”
“It’s just poker?” said Arthur. “If it’s just poker, I can do poker.”
“Indeed. Count the cards at your discretion. I’d advise against sleight of hand, though. You can’t get caught doing math in your head, but you can get caught with an ace up your sleeve.”
Arthur nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“There’s a catch,” said Hosea.
Arthur gave him a look, leaned into the balcony, feeling undue annoyance. “What kind of catch.”
"A stipulation of sorts. You have to bring Mary Beth.”
“What?”
“The invitation was extended by Angelo Bronte,” said Hosea. “You have to be Tacitus Kilgore and his wife Marie. It’s both of you, or neither. That’s the only way you’re getting in.”
Arthur just stared at him. He caught himself almost laughing at this, for the situation seemed to fly up and out of his control in an instant. “You’re goddam serious.”
“Yes, I am. She won’t be the only woman there,” said Hosea. “I’ve looked into it. There’s a whole salon of wives and mistresses who accompany their men to these sorts of things. Of course they don’t take part in the gambling. That would be uncouth. They drink and mingle elegantly in an adjacent ballroom. It’s all very aristocratic, I assure you.”
“You’re out of your damn mind, Hosea.”
“I know it sounds that way, but the take will be big, Arthur. I’ve got Dutch against the ropes on leaving the south. We get a couple more big takes, we can be out of here for good. We can go north, and you and Mary Beth, John and Abbie can finally get the hell out of here, live your lives.”
“North?” said Arthur. “What the hell happened to Tahiti?”
“That’s in the wind,” said Hosea. “I told you. I been working on Dutch. He’s listening.”
“And this don’t seem at all suspicious to you,” said Arthur. “Angelo Bronte inviting me, a known outlaw, and my new wife to play cards on a riverboat. You don’t think that sounds like a trap?”
“Of course I do,” said Hosea, wiping his forehead with a red handkerchief. “And though I don’t think it is a trap, the remote possibility that it could be is exactly why, Arthur, I have some work-arounds I want to discuss with you."
"Work-arounds?" said Arthur. "Such as."
"Changing the location, for example," said Hosea. He took out a cigarette. Arthur lit it for him out of habit. He smoked. "To ensure we can control what goes down. And I’ve got some...guarantees we can utilize, involving a few Texas Rangers I know, traveling in the area."
“Texas Rangers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hold on,” said Arthur. He leaned in, lowered his voice, trying hard not to get angry at the old man. “Before you go on any further, Hosea, about guarantees and work-arounds and so forth, what on god’s green earth makes you think I’d even consider this. Mary Beth is pregnant.”
“I know.”
“Then you know my feelings about bringing her on jobs.”
“I do,” said Hosea. “And Dutch warned me on the matter. I just thought maybe I could convince you otherwise this time.”
“You. You’re trying to convince me otherwise?”
“Yes.”
Arthur shook his head out. He was almost laughing. It was flipping him upside-down.
“Arthur, just hear me out," said Hosea. "I would never willingly put you or Mary Beth in danger.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t take her.”
“You won’t take me where?” said Mary Beth. She was standing in the doorway, dressed for the day with her hair braided to one side. She was a mild sight, holding a book in one hand and an empty basket in the other.
“Mary Beth,” said Arthur.
“Hi,” she said, looking concerned. She came into the room. “What are you two talking about?”
Arthur took a deep breath. He lowered his eyes. Hosea smiled and straightened up, putting on his best show. “I’ll let you two discuss,” he said. He greeted Mary Beth and then bid them both farewell on his way out the door, still smoking. He coughed some. They listened to his footsteps on the stairs as he went away.
Arthur had both of his hands in his pockets now. He was staring down at the floor, shaking his head.
“Arthur?” said Mary Beth. “What’s going on?”
He glanced up at her. She was pretty there, put together for the day in her usual manner. He had wanted to take her away, not bring her back. But here he was again, going in circles, never realizing until it was too late. And he knew what she was gonna say.
“Is this about the river boat?” she said.
He nodded. “Yes."
He was clenching his jaw, his head hurting. He tried to imagine what their honeymoon would have been like in another life where they were both not accustomed to living so recklessly.
#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#arthur morgan#mary beth gaskill#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill#dutch van der linde#hosea matthews#tilly jackson#sadie adler#susan grimshaw#ch ch ch changes#things are on the horizon#:)#the lily farm
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