#this is the reason why i will always hate dutch more than micah

[strrwbrrryjam]

its heartbreaking how arthur tries, so hard, on numerous occasions, to get dutch to be the man he knew dutch, or believed dutch to be, the man who stood up for the little man, who took from the rich and gave to the poor, who raised him, loved him, is the reason arthur is the man that he is. he continues to try, he begs and pleads with him, no matter how many times dutch spits on his efforts, he tries so hard, having some hope that the man is still in there somewhere, only to be prove wrong again and again. yet, he still holds out hope, he still tries, even when he's dying, he still warns dutch, and pleads with him to believe, even till the bitter end and god.

it's so heartbreaking how loyal arthur is, and was, and how it doesn't matter if he's loyal, if he follows dutch and abandons everything, his love, his family, for dutch, it doesn't matter in the end as he still chose a man so vile, who he only knew for six months, a man who has only ever fed his ego, a man who actively sold the gang out for his greed over his son who loved him.

#this is the reason why i will always hate dutch more than micah #bc the betrayal micah made was nothing compared dutch's #dutch? dutch betrayed his partners. his sons. his daughters. he betrayed everyone. people who BELIEVED in him #people who trusted him to keep them safe. people who doesn't matter how many times dutch messed up they still stood by him #until it got too much for them. people who loved him. and it was all for nothing. he still sold them out he still spat on their love #as it wasnt good enough for him. he thought he deserved better than what they could give him. #nothing would ever be enough for him and oh i hate that man so much how DARE he #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde #strawberry speaks

[messrmoonyy]

- The gilded cage

Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Request- how about some of the girls going along to the mayors party in Saint Denis. Have you seen the cut content of Molly when she was meant to be at the party? So Dutch takes Molly along, Arthur takes reader? And what if Arthur gets a a little jealous of reader mingling and then they sneak away for some smutty time together…

A/N- this is my first Arthur fic so he may be a lil out of character whilst I get to grips with writing him. I also have not written straight smut in like 2 years. But we vibe. Enjoy

Also shoutout to @devnmon for supporting and enabling my rdr2 brainrot. You’re a real one

Warnings- 18+ | smut: unprotected p in v, semi public sex ( wc - 7.7k )

Masterlist / AO3

Saint Denis was a little too rich for your blood. You’d only ventured into the city a handful of times, but the times you had you’d decided you didn’t really like it. You felt too… common. You never had liked the wealthy, flaunting their security and safety that was wrapped up in dollars and gold. 

But. You loved money. God did you love money. And as much as you hated the residents of the city, you sure loved robbing them blind. You always had had a knack for making the rich mysteriously lose their dollars and their watches, it had been the sole reason you’d ended up in Dutch’s gang in the first place. 

You’d even tried picking his pockets at first.

But you were on best behaviour tonight. Under Dutch’s orders. And you figured as boring as that sounded, you’d oblige. Simply because the men rarely let the girls get involved with any of the interesting stuff in camp. There was only so much laundry you could do before your brain truly went numb from boredom. Only so much listening to Miss Grimshaw nagging at you to do some work or Micah antagonising someone over something stupid. 

So even with Dutch’s strict orders to behave and your dislike of the city, you had jumped at the chance to come along to the party. 

“ i can practically smell the money “ you sighed as you took Arthur’s hand to step down from the coach, already hearing the bustle of the party happening somewhere out the back of the mansion in front of you “ you sure I can’t go pickin? Just a lil “ you were half joking, half not. On the times you had wandered into the city, the stuff you’d gathered picking your way around the saloons and back alleys had been a decent haul. The stuff some of these people carried around on the average day was enough to fund the food for the whole of camp for a couple days or more. 

Who knew what kind of goodies they’d have on them in their finery. 

“ no miss “ Dutch’s stern voice sounded, but he was sporting a small look of amusement “ keep those talented hands of yours to yourself. This is about business. We steal nothing. That goes for all of you. Steal. Nothing. Unless it’s information “ 

“ don’t worry. I’ll keep her in check “ Arthur spoke with a small chuckle, placing a hand lightly to your back. 

“ this is why we shouldn’t have brought the women. They always cause trouble “ Bill complained, as he stepped out of the second coach with Hosea, making you scowl. 

“ I hope you aren’t grouping me into that Mr Williamson “ Molly piped up with a disapproving scowl of her own as she stepped out of the coach, seemingly more mad at Dutch for not helping her out more than at Bill though. Arthur offered her his hand instead, helping her step onto the path without breaking her neck in her extravagant dress. 

Always the gentleman. 

She looked wonderful and you had begun to wonder if she had owned that dress all along or had gone out and got it special. Maybe Dutch had picked it up for her. It wouldn’t surprise you if she had been lugging it around from place to place, waiting for some perfect moment to pull it out. She always did look more put together than the majority of camp. Though you really didn’t understand how she could walk in the dress she was currently wearing, skirts full and you guessed pretty heavy too. 

“ no need to bring you “ Bill continued. 

“ I ain’t even causin’ trouble “ you piped in, throwing your own scowl Bills way again “ When did you last contribute to the box anyways huh Bill? I don’t see you doin’ nothin’ but sit around all damn day. No need to bring you I say. Jus’ cause you ain’t got no lady on your arm you’re complainin’ bout me and Molly “ 

“ what? A lady like you? I should be damn lucky I ain’t “ 

“ why you- “

“ Bill I suggest you leave it “ Arthur murmured lowly, planting himself between you and Bill before you did in fact cause some trouble. Bill grumbled something, spitting on the floor with a look of disgust and turning away from you. 

Dutch sighed heavily, looking increasingly pissed off at the group in front of him and held his arm out to Molly. 

“ Miss O’Shea “ It pained you a little to know he was probably only being nice to her tonight for appearances sake. He’d been practically ignoring her recently. And wasn’t doing Molly any good. You hoped a night out of camp would do her well “ now would you all just calm. Down. We, are simple distinguished gentleman, here for business. So start damn acting like it “ you scoffed at that, making a pointed look in Bills direction as you did 

“ distinguished my ass “ 

“ play nice now “ Arthur said quietly, but you heard the smile in his tone as he did. He then offered you his arm as Dutch had done to Molly. But unlike Dutch the act didn’t feel performative, a way to blend in and appear far higher class than they actually were. Arthur actually was a gentleman. For the most part anyways. 

“ why thank you mister “ you said in a cheery tone, throwing him a coy smile and slipping your gloved hands into the crook of his elbow. 

It did feel a little funny to be walking beside him like that. All dressed up and in clothes that weren’t smeared with gun oil, dust or god knows what else. It made your mind drift a little to what life could’ve been like. 

Your group crossed the street, promptly being stopped at the gates 

“ gentleman “ the guard greeted, taking the invitation from Dutch’s hands “ the mayor doesn’t allow guns at official functions “ the way he looked at Dutch and the others was almost demeaning. Like he knew you were all riff raff and of course would be the sort to attend such an event armed “ Not after last years incident “ none of the boys seemed particularly thrilled to be handing over their firearms. Arthur in particular sighed heavily beside you as he handed his pistol over. 

He didn’t like being unarmed. Especially when he was out with you. You usually also had your gun belt permanently fixed at your waist. But it wasn’t exactly fitting with your current attire. 

Though you did note the guards didn’t even spare a glance to you or Molly, which in turn made you all the more smug knowing you had your knife tucked into your boot. Just in case of course. 

“ Luca here will take you gentleman to Mr Bronte. I believe he is expecting you “ 

“ I know you got that knife in yer boot “ Arthur said lowly so that no one else would hear. 

“ he ain’t said anythin’ about knifes. Only guns “ Arthur smiled and shook his head slightly, placing his hand over yours for a moment. 

“ that’s my girl “ 

You walked up the neat cobbled path to the mayors house then, unable to do anything but look in awe at the huge house in front of you. You’d thought Shady Belle was something spectacular, had walked around every room imagining what it had looked like in all its glory. Amazed at the vastness of the place and all the rooms it had. 

And yet it was nothing compared to this place. This was real money. 

“ I look okay? “ you asked, suddenly feeling ever so slightly nervous, smoothing your hand over your skirts. Even in your attempts to look as clean and put together as you did, some part of you felt like everyone would see you were a walking sham. 

All in all you knew you probably did look fine. The dress was the most lavish thing you’d ever owned, you didn’t even want to guess how much it had cost Arthur. It was still on the simpler side, skirts not quite as full as Mollys and not as detailed. But it was beautiful. Pale pink and ruffled shoulders and details on your skirts, gloves up to your elbows in a material so soft you’d sighed when you’d first pulled them on. 

It all made a nice change from the usual simple clothes you wore, hips weighted by skirts rather than your gun belt. And skirts that didn’t have a million holes darned over. 

And Arthur had picked it all out. Had picked it himself especially for you. 

It did make you smile to imagine him in the tailors, completely out of his depth when it came to women’s fashion but determined to find you something nice. Your big, tough cowboy staring blankly at fabric swatches and fancy hats. 

“ gonna be the prettiest girl here “ you smiled warmly at his words, hand smoothing over your dress again. 

He’d turned up that morning into your shared room of shady Belle, finding you hiding away from Miss Grimshaw on the balcony, the dress draped over his arm along with some fancy suit and tie get up for himself. He’d looked almost sheepish as he’d shown you it, promising to go get you something else if you hated it. Which of course you hadn’t. 

You’d practically jumped with joy at being able to go out on a job. The boys so rarely let the girls do anything meaningful other than tend to camp. Though this particular outing you knew Dutch had only brought you and Molly along because it would make your group seem a little more agreeable. Something about women making them look a little less intimidating. And of course Dutch and Arthur’s partners were the most obvious of choices. 

Much to Mary-Beth and Karen’s dismay. Though they had very quickly changed their mind at the idea of having to hang off Bills arm all night. 

It wasn’t exactly the reason you wanted to be brought along. But you took it. 

The inside of the mansion was as glorious as the outside, it almost made you angry that people had such wealth. That these people could sleep in a new room each night of the week if they felt like it, when people were starving outside of their gates. 

“ Hosea, Bill. Take the ladies out and enjoy the party. We’ll join you after we pay our respects to signor Bronte. Arthur, with me “ Arthur gave a curt nod 

“ I won’t be long “ he assured, hand slipping down around your back and leaning down to your ear “ hands to yourself “ you scoffed as he said it, looking up at him as he stepped away from you. 

“ I can’t promise “ you caught his smile as he walked over to Dutch and the staff. Disappearing up the stairs. 

“ it’s just this way “ one of members of Lemieux’s staff spoke, gesturing the four of you in the direction of some doors leading out into the party. 

“ let’s go ladies. You fancy a drink? “ Hosea said cheerfully, following closely behind you and Molly as you headed outside. You were ushered out into gardens, a mass of the rich and wealthy of Saint Denis all crowded around. Drinking and laughing at things you were sure were not as remotely funny as they were making it out to be. 

Bill quickly made himself scarce, disappearing into the crowds to do lord knows what, much to your joy. 

“ right. Champagne? “ Hosea excused himself to collect some drinks and you stood on the back porch looking down at the groups of people. 

So far removed from what you were used to. You wondered how they’d react knowing you and your little group were currently sleeping in a barely standing plantation home, half of you out under the stars. That you were frauds. Not glamorous and wealthy like them. 

In your experience the rich liked to pretend the poor didn’t exist. Unless they were hiring them as help. 

“ oh I missed this “ Molly said beside you, almost dreamily in tone. And seemingly more to herself than to you. It was quite possibly the happiest you’d seen her look in days. 

She fit right in. Her gorgeous dress rivalling that of some of the other woman down in the courtyard, her hair piled up on her head and her fancy jewellery that was actually hers. Not something stolen from an unsuspecting lady in town. This was Molly. Money and wealth. It still baffled you how she had ended up with Dutch, how she could leave that all behind for a life wandering. 

“ you go to party’s like this a lot? Before Dutch I mean “ she gave a small shrug, searching in her small purse for a moment before placing a cigarette between her lips. You could imagine an even younger Molly, a bright eyed teenager done up all fancy and weaving her way through a party just like this one. 

“ sometimes “ her eyes were scanning the crowds, practically sparkling at being surrounded by the upper class again “ wonder what kind of people are here “ she seemed to be talking more to herself than you again and very promptly dismissed herself, heading down the stairs and gliding between the guests. Like some true social butterfly, decked out in her finest. 

Hosea returned with three glasses of champagne and a slightly confused look noticing Molly had vanished. 

“ eh more for me “ he said with a smile, handing you your glass before promptly finishing his own and moving onto what would’ve been Mollys “ I’m going to do some snooping. You’ll be alright? “

“ I’ll be jus’ fine Hosea “ you said with a smile and watched him too disappear down into the crowds. 

It was interesting to watch them, to see them behave as if this entire event was a normal evenings activity. Maybe for them it was. But it all felt so… false. People who appeared to be friends but didn’t seem to even really like each other, some silent competition between everyone to have the better dress. The better hat. The biggest house. 

You’d take your creaky cot under the stars with Arthur any day, would much rather sit around the campfire getting tipsy and singing. Surrounded by real family. Real friends. Relationships built on loyalty and protection. Not on trying to out do each other. 

You walked between the small crowds, eavesdropping on conversations in hopes to find something useful. Something to take back to Dutch to prove bringing you along wasn’t a useless endeavour. But it was mostly women discussing their elaborate hats, sharing stories of the terrible jobs their maids did, or complaining about their husbands poker habits. Or gossiping about how they had heard one of their friends was in delicate condition. 

You heard mentions of Leviticus Cornwall, but nothing concrete enough to warrant telling anyone about. 

You tried hunting down Molly, simply to have a friend to stand beside and not feel so…out of place. But she had vanished into the crowds somewhere. So you planted yourself on the side of an ornate water fountain, simply hoping Arthur would return soon. Maybe he’d dance with you, or take you walking around the vast garden laid out ahead of you. 

You two never really got the chance to do things like that. Romantic things. Arthur had his ways, of course. He’d take you out riding or sit with you on his lap by the fire, telling you about whatever interesting thing he’d discovered that day. He’d bring you flowers he’d pick from time to time, find you interesting things when he went wandering, let you read aloud to him with the excuse he wanted you to get better at it. When in reality you had seen him confess to his journal that he simply just liked to listen to your voice. 

He was far softer than he appeared. With you anyway. And as much as you didn’t like the kinds of people in attendance, you thought it might be nice to pretend for the night. To be two wealthy young oil tycoons, dancing and drinking champagne together, gushing about your money and your jewels. 

You made your way through another flute of champagne before he returned, interrupting your frivolous daydreaming. 

“ there she is “ you turned your head with a beaming smile at his voice, relief at a familiar face “ been lookin for ya “ he sat down beside you, looping an arm around your waist “ you behavin’? “

“ course I am. Ain’t took as much as a pearl “ you said quite proudly, though decided not to mention that the temptation had truly been hard to deny. Not only were these people rich, they were getting drunker by the second. They were practically begging to be robbed. 

“ good girl “ 

“ it go okay with ugh.. what’s his name? “ you asked, turning to face him. He looked just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as you did. This wasn’t his scene. It never had been. He’d grown up just as poor as you had. 

Arthur robbed the rich, he didn’t fraternise with them. 

“ Bronte. Yeah. Fine. Dutch he’s tryna find the mayor or somethin “ he ran a finger between his neck and collar of his shirt, clearly growing uncomfortable with it. It made you laugh a little. 

“ you ain’t cut out for the finer life “ 

“ no. I ain’t “ he was looking around at the guests in a similar way to you. With a mild sense of disgust “ saw some woman back there, hat so big she were topplin over “ you smiled and leant your head against his shoulder, he tucked you in closer to his side and dropped a kiss to the top of your head. 

“ was daydreamin whilst you were with Dutch “ you mused. 

“ yeah? About what? “ 

“ playin’ pretend. Bein’ fancy for the night. Y’know dancin’ and pretendin’ we got buckets of money “ the small sigh Arthur let out made you wonder if he thought that was a life you pined for. It wasn’t. Not really. Yeah, you liked money but.. you just wanted to be comfortable. Little ranch or a cabin some place quiet. Not poor. Not rich. Just. Existing happily “ ain’t us though “ 

“ you and me we… we ain’t like these people. We ain’t ever gonna be like these people “

“ we don’t gotta be. Me, you. Some pokey lil farm someplace out west? Now that’s the dream cowboy “ he chuckled and nodded, dropping another kiss to your head 

“ that’s the dream darlin’ “ you both sat quietly for a short while longer, watching the rich get drunker and more foolish. The odd person acknowledged your presence, greeting you as they passed or tipping their hat. But mostly they left you alone. It was at the point that one man drunkenly stumbled into a bush a few feet away that made you speak up again. 

“ never thought I’d miss that damn swamp. But lord above… these people “ Arthur scoffed as he too watched the fool try and right himself again, leaves sticking to the pomade in his hair 

“ yeah. I think I need a drink “ he patted your side lightly so you’d stop leaning on him and stood up “ champagne? “ 

“ oh well ain’t you just so kind sir “ you said in your best attempt a dramatic upper class drawl “ and you gonna dance with me after mister? “ you asked with a teasing smile and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck for a moment looking almost sheepish. But he was smiling, the sweet genuine kind he only really seemed to show around you. 

“ sure darlin’. But I’m definitely gonna need that drink for that “ he ventured back into the crowds then and you stayed put, continuing to watch the guests laugh and talk about how incredible their lives were. 

“ I don’t recognise you “ an inquisitive voice spoke, tinged with that accent that the wealthy had started latching on to in some attempts to make themselves sound more superior. Smarter. Whatever. You thought it was quite ridiculous. You turned your head to look at the man, seeing if he was in fact talking to you. 

“ talkin’ to me mister? “ he was eyeing you up and down like he was somewhat intrigued but amused by you at the same time. A stupid top hat on his head adored with plumes and the chain of a pocket watch hanging from his pocket. It almost made you laugh at how your brain immediately began thinking about how you could steal it and how much it was worth. 

“ I am indeed miss “ he stepped closer, puffing on his cigar and not taking his eyes off of you for a second “ I have frequented many of the mayors parties but you… I do not remember you “ a small wave of panic flushed your skin but you remained calm. Not recognising you was far easier to work your way out of than if he had recognised your face. 

“ I’m new in town. My… uncle. He’s friends with Mr Bronte “ the man hummed, sitting himself down beside you. 

“ so you’re here with your uncle? “ you shifted slightly at his closeness but remembered you needed to keep up appearances so forced a smile onto your face 

“ yeah. And my husband. He’s around here someplace “ the man’s eyes immediately darted down to your gloved hands, probably noting the lack of a ring on your finger. You and Arthur weren’t married. But you may as well have been. He often referred to you as his wife, and he as your husband. 

He’d ask you one day. 

“ a lucky man “ the man said, blowing smoke in your direction and still looking you up and down. You decided at that moment you very much wanted to steal his watch. Dutch be damned. Having to put up with the likes of slimy rich men for more than ten seconds… well you figured that warranted you at least getting something shiny in return. 

“ oh well ain’t you just a charmer “ you said with a smile, placing a hand to his arm “ you here with your wife mister? “ the man laughed and shook his head, scooting a little closer to you.  

“ I’m more of a… free spirit “ you gave a small laugh, trying not to crinkle your nose at the smoke blowing in your face again. 

Arthur often smelt of fresh smoke, both cigarette and fire, and that fresh air smell that clung to your clothes after being out in the open air for hours. And you loved it on him, because it was well… him. The smoke from this man was far from appealing. But that watch…

“ ohh I see. You ain’t one to be tied down huh? “ your fingers inched closer to the man’s pocket, wrapping lightly around the chain. 

“ everythin’ okay here? “ Arthur appeared behind you, a glass in each of his hands.  

“ ah is this the fine man that brought you along? Well aren’t you lucky sir “ the man spoke and you noted he didn’t even glance in Arthur’s direction as he spoke, you were now looping the chain of his watch around your wrist. Just one small tug…

“ Mr Callahan “ Arthur murmured, handing you a glass and standing behind you with a hand to your shoulder

“ wonderful to meet you sir. Me and your wife were having a delightful conversation weren’t we dear? "The pressure of Arthur’s fingers increased as he spoke the sweet name, though you weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t because he’d noticed the man’s watch was now safely hidden in the fabric of your skirt. 

“ oh yes. Wonderful mister “ the watch discreetly made its way into your boot and you were ready to get away

“ where’d you find a beautiful thing like this sir? I may need to frequent the place myself “ he placed a hand onto your arm and finally looked up at Arthur rather than at you. He made your skin crawl. You didn’t hold a single ounce of remorse for the stolen watch 

“ oh no where you’d like “ his tone was a little snippy, the kind when someone was starting to piss him off but he was trying to keep his cool. And Arthur kicking off in the middle of the mayors party wasn’t exactly a part of Dutch’s plan. 

“ now I am so sorry but i believe my husband did promise me a dance “ you rose to your feet, sipping your champagne before placing the glass down and taking Arthur’s from his hands “ ain’t that right my love? “ 

“ yeah… need ya to come with me “ he said lowly, offering you his arm. His face had gone slightly dark, not entirely able to read him, you frowned slightly. But let him lead you away from the man, completely bypassing the area with couples twirling to the music. 

“ where we goin? “ you asked with a small laugh, latching onto his arm again and having to take quick steps to keep up with his purposeful strides “ Arthur?”

He didn’t answer immediately, simply led you away from the crowds and around the side of the mayor's house. 

“ You mad cause I took that watch? Look he deserved it- “

“ ain’t mad “ he mumbled, still leading you along. 

“ okay… so we stealin’ somethin’ else? “ you asked with excitement filtering into your words, already trying to figure out what it could be “ need me to act like a maid? I can do that real good y’know. Is it money? Papers? Oh, is it jewellery? Gold? “ Arthur chuckled at your excitement and shook his head, bringing you to a halt between some elaborately trimmed bushes and trees in planters. 

“ we ain’t stealin’ a thing “ you pouted with a mild disappointment and he chuckled again, advancing on you and backing you up against the wall behind you “ don’t gimme that look “ he tucked his fingers under your chin, nudging your face upwards to look at him. He was a god few inches taller than you, but he always made you feel ten times smaller when he looked down at you like that. 

“ what’s gotten into you? “ you asked with a giggle, hands slipping under his jacket to slide over his waist. 

“ just wanted some time alone with you is all “ 

“ behind some trees? You are a strange man sometimes Arthur Morgan y’know that? “ he gave a heavy sigh and brushed his thumb across your cheek softly, watching you intently. He always looked at you like you like you were the only woman on the planet “ you sure you ain’t mad about the watch? “ 

“ no. I ain’t mad. Feller flirtin’ with my woman and only loses his watch sounds like a good deal to me “ he grumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. 

And a light bulb suddenly pinged on in your head. 

“ are you jealous? “ you asked, unable to hide your complete utter joy and amusement as the realisation hit you. He grumbled some kind of an answer and tried to kiss you again but you turned your head to the side, so he settled for your neck instead “ why Arthur Morgan. You are jealous “ 

He didn’t answer you again, simply tilted your head so he could get at your neck more, his other hand splaying over your lower back to tug you close against him. A mischievous streak ran through you and you chewed on your lip for a moment deciding whether or not to push his buttons. 

“ he was kinda nice to me y’know. He seemed a nice feller “ Arthur’s teeth grazed your skin at your words and your smile grew bigger “ kept me from bein’ so lonely with you gone “ 

“ he wanted to do more than keep you company “ your fingers ran through the long strands of his hair, sighing softly as he continued to kiss your neck 

“ you think? You gonna keep me company now? “ 

“ oh I’ll keep you company “ you had said it only really to tease. Thinking that actually, a sordid little moment with your lover behind the bushes would be an incredible improvement on the evening. 

But it was hard to simply just kiss Arthur. He had wandering hands, had lips as addictive as whiskey. Even when you assumed he wasn’t particularly trying to work you up, he did. But the way he was tugging at your body to keep you pressed against him, the way his lips were burning a trail along your neck and across your jaw…

“ Arthur… y’know anyone could come round here “ 

“ stay quiet then and they ain’t gonna be none the wiser “ your skin prickled with heat at his words and your hips involuntarily rolled against him. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe it was the fact that he was so… needy. Desperate to remind himself that you were his and not some stupid rich man in an equally as stupid hat.

He groaned against your hot skin as you pressed against him, the sound igniting something deep in your bones. Flaring up through your veins and cursing like lava through your veins. 

Your hands found themselves back under his jacket, fingers tugging at his shirt to free it from where it has been neatly tucked into his pants. You knew you couldn’t get it off of him but you still wanted to feel. 

You hummed softly when your fingertips met his skin, as hot as you knew yours must be. He loved to feel you touch him, loved when dragged your nails across his back, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to quiet your moans when you were dangerously close to other members of camp. 

You wished you could do it in that moment. Wished you were back in your room, truly the only good thing to come out of Shady Belle was the fact that you had a room. 

But Arthur didn’t seem keen on waiting. Seemingly having some point to prove to himself. And you were more than happy to let him. 

His hands drifted down to the floaty material of your skirt, reluctantly pulling himself away from your neck to frown at the material in front of him. 

“ why you gotta have so many damn skirts? “ he grumbled, fumbling with the layers of fabric hanging from your waist. 

“ you picked the dress “ you reminded him with a smile, chasing after his lips again. Desperate to kiss him properly now that he had stopped his assault on your neck. He kissed you with a energy that demanded your attention, that drew you in and locked you in place. Hot. Wet. Addictive “ least it ain’t as big as Mollys “ you said when you let yourself pull away. 

“ yeah well I weren’t plannin’ on keepin’ you in it when we- god damn there’s enough fabric here to dress the entire camp “ you couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips, watching him try to figure out how he was going to play out whatever sordid thoughts were running through his head. 

Your own mind had quite ungracefully fallen into the gutter itself, realising exactly what Arthur wanted. And your constant desperation for the man in front of you overruling all your concerns at the location. 

He seemed to be getting a little agitated with your dress and you held back the urge to giggle at him. Instead opting to try sooth the frown lines worrying at his forehead, reaching forward to palm at him through the material of his pants. In hopes it would be some kind of incentive for him to hurry up as well. 

As much as you needed him as badly as you needed air, you were also still aware of exactly where you were. And how long it would take until Dutch came looking. 

“ c’mon Arthur “ you whispered, desperation beginning to fill your words “ ‘fore they notice we’re gone “ it had been his idea to take you away, and yet you were seemingly the more desperate of the two of you now. But how could he or anyone else blame you? When he was all gussied up like he was. In truth you liked his normal attire a little more. Liked him a little more… rugged. But lord did he look handsome in his suit, his hair and beard all neat and tidy. 

Arthur’s breath audibly caught in his throat from your touch and it seemed to effectively spur him on. 

“ yes ma’am “ He spun you around with strong hands to your waist, your own hands bracing yourself against the wall. The next moments were a flurry of his hands hitching your skirts over your hips, grabbing at your undergarments before a strong arm looped around your waist to pull you back against him. 

His hand disappeared under your bunched up skirts making you gasp softly as his fingers dipped into the warmth between your thighs. 

“ this all for me darlin? “ you could hear the smirk in his words, feel it as he brushed his nose against your cheek. The short stands of his beard tickled at your skin, sending a shiver snaking along your spine. 

“ course it is “ the sound of a lady drunkenly laughing a little too close by made you freeze, hand reaching around to grab at Arthur’s arm. 

He didn’t seem discouraged by the idea of someone stumbling upon you both, simply moved his hand up to grasp gently at your jaw, turning your face towards his to kiss you. His other hand was still between your thighs, and you sighed softly against his lips as he drew a thick finger between the wetness of your folds “ oh Arthur…“ 

Your cunt clenched around nothing. As if silently begging for his fingers to just push inside of you, take you in a way you had always found so much more personal than just sitting on his cock. His fingers that held his guns, that he used to beat people to death more times than either of you could care to count. Those same fingers working you open, covered in the slick evidence of your desire for him instead of gun oil. Fingers that cause pain and damage, but also sent you spiralling into mind blowing pits of pleasure. 

And paired with the current location? It just felt… dirty. Erotic. You felt no better than a common whore loitering in a saloon for custom. You wanted him so desperately, needed him. 

“ Arthur “ you sighed, pushing your self against his hand as he toyed with your swollen clit. 

“ tell me what y’need pretty girl “ he said softly, tickling your skin with his beard and dragging his tongue across your neck before sinking his teeth into the flesh, making you whimper. 

“ you- Arthur. You. Please “ his hand continued its gentle movements as he worked at your neck. You pushed your hips back against him, grinding against the hardness still trapped by his pants in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. His breath shuddered against your skin as you did, holding you flush against him to let you wiggle your hips in a silent invitation to just take you already. 

A smashing glass drew your attention briefly away from him again. And as much as you could let him do that all evening, you were still hyper aware of your surroundings. 

You silently wished he’d just waited until you were back at camp, could take his time with you on that shitty little bed in the privacy of your room at Shady Belle. 

But there you were. And there were hundreds of others only a few feet away too. 

“ stop teasin we ain’t got the time “ at any other time he’d have worked you into a mess with his fingers, even dropped to his knees and disappeared under your skirts, have you coming on his tongue over and over again just because he wanted to. But he hadn’t planned the situation well at all, and you weren’t exactly in the best of locations. If anyone so much as peaked around the corner of the building a little too far you were certain you’d be spotted. 

And wouldn’t that be a tale. 

“ ain’t you bossy “ you opened your mouth to snip back at him, but your words evaporated into nothing but a soft whimper as Arthur followed your demands, pushing past his desires to take his time with you. Truly it was his own fault that he couldn’t though, as he withdrew his fingers and fumbled with the buttons on his pants. 

“ Arthur “ you whimpered softly, breath stuttering at the feel of his swollen tip brushing between the wet folds of your cunt. 

“ quiet now darlin’ “ He pushed in slowly, in the way he so often did. Making sure you felt every single devastating inch, your back arching against his chest as your body flushed with warmth. Even after so many times the stretch was still a lot, a deep burning ache that eventually melted away into a blinding hot pleasure that burnt its way through your veins. 

He pressed on until he was flush against you, the material of his opened pants scratching against your soft skin as he held you there a moment. He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin. 

It was never fucking with Arthur. Not very often anyways. It was love making. Soft. And slow. And a brutal pace that made sure you remembered he’d been there the next morning, but oh so drawn out. He was gentle. Tender. It had always shocked you how violent he could be and yet become so careful and soft with you. And even there, concealed by a few perfectly trimmed bushes and planters, he was taking his time. Reminding you that you were his. And maybe reminding himself of the fact too. 

Reminding himself that maybe there were men only a few feet away that wanted you. That would pay for the pleasure of your company. But only Arthur could have it, that he was the only one you would ever offer it too. 

That this deep rooted instinct to protect what was his wasn’t entirely necessary but god was it wanted. That his desire made your blood boil with lust, skin burn under his touch. 

“ That’s my girl “ he whispered, tone low and steady as he set himself into a bruising pace, still tightly holding onto you as he did. His face had fallen to your neck again, lips latching onto every inch of exposed skin they could. 

You were certain you were going to walk back into the party looking like you’d taken a dip with some leeches. 

You tried your best to be quiet, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in some hopes that mixed with the sounds of the party happening only a few feet away you wouldn’t be heard. But it was so hard to be silent when he was fucking you like that. So determined, so strong, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in hard. 

Your hand was still gripping at his arm, blunt fingernails digging at his skin through his jacket. His pace increased a little, settling into a steady rhythm that carved a devastating stretch inside of you. 

“ y’know I think that feller- that feller back there. He wanted you like this “ you couldn’t help the smile that pulled its way onto your face, still flushing with joy at his jealousy. You knew Arthur desired you carnally. Always had done and always would. But a reminder like the present one was always nice. 

“ y’think so? “ 

“ I know “ he grumbled, his pace increasing a little more, clearly attempting to take out his frustrations with the handsy man. But also maybe simply trying to assure himself in the process too. 

Arthur didn’t like to admit it but he was a little self conscious. You’d heard him talk down to himself in the mirror countless times, had seen the way he spoke about himself when you peaked over his shoulder at his journal. Had an almost crippling fear of abandonment that sometimes he did need to be reminded that you wanted him. 

“ poor feller “ you said with a small sigh before pushing lightly at Arthur’s arm so he’d let you go. You winced slightly as he pulled out, immediately missing the heavy feel of him there, and spun around tugging him back towards you by the lapels of his jacket “ ain’t got nothin on you “ you hitched your skirts up in your arm and wrapped your spare hand around the now slick length of his cock making him stutter a breath. 

His face was flushed, bottom lip shiny from kissing you. You wanted to absolutely devour him, strip him of his fancy clothes and remind him just how much you wanted every part of him. 

The look in his eyes was almost primal. Desire and lust burning so brightly it made your chest ache, to feel so wanted. To feel so desired. 

To have a man so usually controlled and put together, be reduced to not being able to even wait until you got home. That he had to have you there. Right there in that moment. He couldn’t wait. 

You needed him to pull you apart. To worship every inch of you in the way he so often did. 

But the side of the mayor's house was truly not the place for such a thing. 

“ no one could make me feel the way you do “ you whispered, stroking him softly in your hand as you tried to stoke the fire under his ego. Make him realise he truly had no reason to be jealous “ and him back there? He thought he could huh? Poor feller “ 

“ poor feller “ he echoed, sliding a hand over your leg and hitching it over his hip, sliding back into you with a welcome ease that made your head fall back against the wall. 

“ Thinks he could fuck me better than this? Man must be damn crazy “ you said with a smile, breathless as he fucked into you. You were practically dripping around him, the lewd sounds between you enough to make your skin flush. 

“ you’re mine darlin “ you nodded immediately. Not a single doubt in your mind on the matter. You were his. And he yours. That was how it would always be “ all mine, you hear? “ 

“ all yours Arthur. Ain’t no man in this whole damn country could replace you” 

He moved with more determination, thrusting into you harder in a way you knew was going to bruise your back from rubbing against the wall. His all too familiar deep, hard pace. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, muffling your whimpers with his mouth cautious again that you were getting a little reckless. 

“ that good? Makin me feel so good darlin’ such a good girl “ the entire thing felt almost animalistic. Desires so strong they couldn’t be withheld. Dirty. Filthy. Perfect. 

“ God Arthur “ the look on his face alone made you clench around him, never wanting him to leave, needing to feel the heavy bruising sensation as he split you apart for the rest of your life. He hitched your leg higher, hitting some new devastating part inside of you that made you see stars. Eyes rolling to the back of your head and unable to contain the sounds escaping your throat any longer. 

“ There she is, jus’ like that darlin I got ya” his grip on your leg grew restless, fingers dancing over your skin and trying to pull you as close to him as he could get you. He always wanted you close. Always wanted to feel your skin against his own. A moment later his thrusts became sloppier and you knew he wasn’t far off. Though quite frankly neither were you “ so pretty for me like this ain’t ya? My girl “ his words only pulled you closer to the edge, knot twisting tighter. 

“ Arthur I- “

“ I know. I know darlin, can feel it “ he almost cooed, lifting a hand to cup your face gently “ that’s it look right at me. That’s a girl right at me “ with his gaze so intense you couldn’t hold it any longer, biting down on your lip as you attempted to conceal your sounds of ecstasy as you came over his cock. 

He was barely a second behind you, a stuttered groan of a sound leaving him as he dropped his forehead against yours, painting your slick walls with rope after rope of come as you clenched around him. Holding him in place so that not a single drop of him would go to waste. It was a risky business letting him finish inside of you, truly it was. But in your sex drunk haze you didn’t care, couldn’t give a damn because it simply felt too good to give up. 

He nudged his nose against yours, brushing his lips against your own and kissed you softly. So tender and gentle, his hand carefully lowering your leg back down, slipping his softening length out of you making you wince. He kissed the crinkles it caused to show at the corners of your eyes, whispering a gentle sorry. He soothed his hands over your waist with a care very few men had for women those days. 

“ my girl “ he murmured, littering kisses across your cheeks and nose. 

When he pulled back you couldn’t help but smile. The dopey, soft kind. He was looking far less put together than he had done when you’d arrived, the pomade in his hair no longer serving its purpose after your fingers had gotten to it. He’d broken a sweat too, his forehead shiny. His skin flushed. 

The smugness was overwhelming though, could see it in his eyes. In the small smirk pulling at his lips. He seemed incredibly proud of himself. 

“ you are somethin’ else “ he mumbled as he finished readjusting his clothes, reaching forward to slip the ruffled strap of your dress back up your shoulder from where it had slipped. Pressing a kiss to the skin there for good measure. 

“ I ain’t the jealous one “ you teased as you combed your fingers through his hair in some attempt to tidy it. 

“ ain’t jealous. No idea what you talkin about girl “ he said with a small clear of his throat in some attempt to hide the obvious lie, you simply smiled again and pressed a kiss to his cheek 

“ mhm sure “ 

There was something about having to go back out into the party with the light ache between your legs, with the evidence of Arthur’s jealousy slowly dripping down your thighs. And Arthur seemed to think so too 

“ now. I believe you wanted to dance? “

#Amy in the kindest possible way. keep scrolling #I know I’m posting late but I want i didn’t wanna wait until tomorrow sooo #ANYWAYS. FIRST ARTHUR UPLOAD WHOO #crippling fear or writing for a new character and fandom starts now! #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #Arthur Morgan smut #x you #Dutch van der linde #van der linde gang

[red-dead-do-over246]

Can I get some javier x reader angst with #214?

Yes! Hope you enjoy!💖

*Angst Warning*

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There's a Rat Among Us

Javier is extremely loyal to Dutch, and he won't let anything interfere with his boss's grand plan. Not even you.

#214 “I didn’t realize I was such an inconvenience.”

Beaver Hollow was as dark and empty as the gang's morale. People were turning on each other, secrets were being whispered, and lies were being told. After the death of Hosea, Micah had weaseled his way in as Dutch's right-hand man. And Dutch...he had completely turned his back on everyone who he raised. You, John, and even Arthur.

But Dutch still managed to sway the minds of even some of the most level-headed gang members.

Of course, Bill would continue to ignore the truth and stay by Dutch's side, but you were surprised by Javier's actions. He was an extremely loyal man, it was one of the reasons you loved him, but he was becoming a different person. With the way he treated you and others...it made you uneasy.

It was like Javier was becoming paranoid.

"Arthur, what's wrong?" You were busy with your horse outside of camp, finding the company of the four-legged animal to be more appealing than anyone in camp, even Javier at the moment.

"I need to leave." He muttered, voice raspy and ending with a rough-sounding cough. It made your heart break each time you heard him. It was like Arthur was withering away.

"What happened?" You asked. You knew things were shit right now, but Arthur was usually the backbone of the gang. The one who would stand up and persevere if things were to go arwy.

"Sides are being chosen...Micah's gone and convinced Dutch that there's a rat among us...Javier just got done harpin' on me about that. I need some time away from here." Arthur said, all that talking leading him to have a coughing fit. Again, your heart ached for him, but you knew better than to ask if he was alright. Arthur was never one for wanting pity or concern.

But hearing what Javier said to him...it made your blood boil.

"I'm going to go and talk to him." You said angrily. Arthur already knew who you were talking about and nodded, wishing you luck as he went to go and mount his horse. He decided that some fishing might be more peaceful.

Meanwhile, you marched back into camp like you were on the warpath. You've had it up to here with Javier's behavior. The whole camp was silent, each doing their own thing. Micah was whispering something to Dutch, the ladies were keeping to themselves, expect Karen who was drinking again, but there was one thing that would always hurt you whenever you walked back into the camp of Beaver Hollow.

No sound of Javier's singing.

No matter how upset you were right now, the pain that came with his silence would always hurt you. The camp used to always be warmed by his guitar and his singing, and now, it was void of all delightful music. It was like the man you knew really did die back on Guarma, and this is all you have left.

The shell of a man you once loved.

"Javier? Where are you?" You muttered to yourself as you peered around camp, avoiding eye contact with Micah's buddies that decided to make themselves at home. As you moved behind one of the wagons, you caught your lover leaning against a dead tree, smoking.

"What did you say to Arthur?" You cut right to the chase before he could try to swoon you with any of his charming words. But his eyes didn't even soften when he looked at you. He didn't even greet you with one of his pet names that he's given you.

"I said what needed to be said." He responded, tossing his cigarette with force as his full attention was now on you. You hated that you tensed.

"Arthur is no rat! How dare you even accuse him so!" You shouted at him, not even caring that other members of the gang were starting to stare. He narrowed his eyes, a suspicious look on his face as he gazed at you.

"Why do you care so much? Do you love Arthur now?" He accused you, and you scoffed. You couldn't believe that Javier would actually say that to you after all the time that the two of you had spent together. All that time around the fire, the sweet moments that you guys had away from camp, how he would always know how to cheer you up and make you smile, and even more, that night you gave yourself to him for the first time.

Did that mean nothing to him anymore?

So, you slapped him.

"Fuck you Mr. Escuella!" You shouted at him, voice full of rage. Your body was practically shaking as you tried to calm your anger. Your hand stung, but it was nowhere near the pain that was inflicted on Javier's cheek, which he was now clutching, using his other hand to keep him from crashing into the tree.

He was fuming, but he kept himself from cursing at you, even though curses were going through his head a mile a minute.

"You know," Javier waited for the ringing in his ears to die down a bit before speaking up again, removing the hand from his cheek, "with how quickly you defended him, I would say you know who the rat is."

"There is no rat." You seethed at him, but he just crossed his arms, eyes narrowing on you once more.

"I think it's you."

Those words hurt you more than upset you. Even after everything that's just happened, even though your guys' relationship is seemingly crumbling, you never thought that Javier would accuse you of betraying the gang. Not ever.

"I would never betray these people like that." You defended yourself, but he merely shrugged, a redness forming on his cheek from where you slapped him; a painful reminder that you've probably lost him for good now.

"I don't believe you." He simply said.

"Are you calling me a liar?" You asked him, hurt feigning on the tip of your tongue as you tried to sound tough.

"Mentiroso." He said to you in Spanish, and you didn't even need him to translate it to know that he was calling you a liar. Your shoulders shook, but not with anger this time. You could already feel the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

"You know, we don't need this right now. We don't need you. You're just causing problems for everyone, especially me." He told you and your chest heaved as you tried to keep yourself from emotionally breaking.

“I didn’t realize I was such an inconvenience.” You muttered to him, and Javier just looked away from you.

"Dutch needs me strong." Javier said to you, obviously ignoring the sounds of your heart shattering. You didn't even have the strength or anger to hide your heartbreak anymore. He was gone. Javier was gone and replaced by someone else.

"Then you can sleep with him from now on." You growled at him before turning on your heels and leaving.

"Puta." You hear him mumble.

Once you were out of sight and in the safety of your tent, you allowed yourself to cry freely. You hated how pitiful you sounded right now, desperately trying to cover your sobs with your hand as you grabbed your clothes and other belongings. But soon, you couldn't stop the pitiful wails as you packed your things. You were sure that everyone could hear you, but Javier broke your heart, and you accepted the betrayal now.

"Where are we going?" You asked Javier as you held onto him from behind on the back of Boaz. Out of the blue, he had asked you to come with him somewhere.

"It's a surprise." He responded, and you could practically hear the smile on his face. You groaned a bit, causing him to laugh.

"Nearly there, mi amor, I promise." He said, urging the horse to move a bit faster. The sounds of hooves hitting the dirt filled your ears as you watched the sun dip further into the sky. You soon rested your head on Javier's shoulder, dozing off a bit until the horse was finally halted.

"We're here." He announced before sliding off his horse and helping you down. You thanked him with a kiss to the cheek, and looked around.

You noticed that you guys were at a cliff that overlooked the Grizzlies and the sun that was starting to set. It was a bit chilly as the wind blew and you soon noticed that someone (a certain outlaw perhaps) had already been here as a blanket was lain there. There was also some flowers.

"I noticed that you were sad, querida. I heard you crying in your tent, and I knew that I had to make you smile again." Javier explained to you as he walked by you, grabbing your hand as the other held his guitar.

"I...I love you." You nearly cried again as your gratefulness came out in the expression of your feelings for him. Javier just chuckled before pulling you down onto the blanket with him, telling you that he loved you back through a tender kiss to your forehead.

"I know how much you love to hear me play, so I brought this with." He said as he settled the guitar in his lap, seeing your eyes light up with pure happiness.

As the evening went on, Javier had discarded his jacket to you once he realized how cold you were. You then cuddled into him as he continued to play, sharing a bottle of whiskey here and there. You were no inconvenience to his songs as you wrapped arms around him and kissed his cheek, letting him know how much happier you felt now.

"Are you truly better, mi amor?" He asked, hoping he did a good job in cheering you up.

"You always know how to make me smile again." You told him as you moved to kiss him properly, your heart swelling with love for him.

You blinked away more tears as you recalled that memory. Last time you were sobbing like this, he had planned something just to cheer you up. Javier took time out of his day just for you. He gave you affection and it was clear to you just how much you meant to him. Now, you knew that it was all gone, which caused another sob to escape your mouth as you covered it pitifully.

You made your decision to leave him and the gang for good.

But little did you know, Javier had heard you sobbing from where he was against that tree on the outskirts of camp. You would never knew this, but he did feel a little guilty about the things he said, but it was too late for regrets. All he could do was push it to the back of his memory and focus on his loyalty to Dutch.

However, when morning came and you were gone, all those regrets he pushed away came back tenfold.

"What did I tell you? Relationships do nothing but make you soft, that's why Y/N left. Too soft." Micah told Javier the next day after discovering your disappearance.

Javier said nothing to him.

"You're stronger now." Micah said in a tone that could be compared to the hissing of a snake as he patted Javier on the shoulder before leaving and going back to Dutch.

Javier soon found the strength to move his feet and enter your tent. The whole place was devoid of any sign of you. All he could think of was you sobbing in here as you most likely packed to flee this place. To flee from him.

The Mexican outlaw then sat on your cot, shoulders heaving as he tried to control his emotions. Not anger, however, but rather sadness. His head found its way into his hands as he gripped at his hair till his knuckles turned white. Soon, sobs could be heard coming from your tent once more.

But it wasn't you.

It was the man you once loved, feeling all the guilt in the world, and wishing he could've lost enough arrogance to sing you one last song.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 #javier escuella #rdr2 javier #javier escuella x reader #javier x reader #javier imagine

[sky-is-the-limit]

My opinion on Dutch van der Linde.

Ever since I started playing this game, I've seen many fans claim that the change happened when Dutch hit his head etc or blame it on everything else but the man himself so I wanted to pitch in and say my opinion as someone who went from adoring him to hating him even more than Micah. Way more.

I truly believe that this man was always a manipulative narcissist with a 'hero complex' just to feed his delusions that he was an idealistic leader, a good man with big dreams who had such a big heart to take weaker people in, only to use them for his arrogant ambitions and throw them out when they'd no longer 'need' him or start questioning his means to achieve whatever he set his mind to.

Arthur was used for his loyalty to be a brainless soldier that would not raise his voice, never question, never ask for further explanation and always blindly follow orders to pay him off for his act of kindness, to take Arthur in when he was a child and give him a family.

When Dutch realised that Arthur was starting to become his own man and disagree with the dangerous and hopeless plans to a "better life", Dutch turned to the only man who openly voiced that he disliked Arthur and was shamelessly kissing his ass for his own selfish reasons (Micah).

Dutch raised a weapon and when that weapon was no longer needed, he threw it out. He didn't raise him as a son, he gave Arthur that illusion to have his blinded/unconditional dedication and love. Because a son is not meant to go against his father but to take orders and do as he's told.

Now John, I think he was always a wild card for Dutch. Yes, he raised him to be just like Arthur, but in the end, he could not tame him. And what did he do when John was locked up, in serious trouble and about to get killed? He found the easiest way to get rid of a future problem. Because if 'loyal Arthur' was starting to voice concerns, imagine John.

Though they had disagreements and fights, John was always loyal to Arthur. It was clear that if Arthur was to stray away from Dutch, John would follow him, no questions asked. His ride or die. And John being John, his way out would come with a bang. He masked it as not the right time to save John and tested the waters.

Arthur went to get him, but of course he did. They were raised as brothers. Dutch feared that because he intended for both of them to belong to him, not to choose each other. He tried to get rid of him twice so the threat would get minimised.

To him, Arthur was easier to manipulate because he truly loved Dutch. John was more careless and that saved him in the end. The only man he was loyal to, the only man he'd give his life for, ended up giving his life for him.

Now Hosea, I don't doubt that Dutch cared about him but to an extent. I wholeheartedly believe that he would not hesitate to leave him behind for the sake of his ambitions. Lenny as well. Which is why when they died, to him it was like they opened new spots for people who would follow him and have the same selfish mindset (aka Micah and his men.) as it was clear that his old gang/what was left of it, was catching up to him.

Now, in the epilogue when Dutch kills Micah, some say that it was guilt or shame for what they both did to Arthur, perhaps even guilt and sympathy for John.. I disagree.

I see it more realistically tbh. He saw Micah as a future problem (aka like Arthur but in a man that was dangerous, selfish and would not hesitate to betray him) and ended it before it was too late. It was clear that John was there to avenge his brother, not to mess with Dutch and so he took out the only opponent.

Anyway, I'm not saying my opinion is right, it's just what I feel about Dutch as a character. I adore the way he was written bc no matter how many times you play the game, he manages to evoke such anger and sadness in you that is truly remarkable and what I love about good storytelling. In my opinion, the 2nd time you play it, it hurts even more because you see him treat Arthur as his son knowing exactly what will follow.

#this is why rdr2 is the best game ever made #rdr2 #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #john marston #read dead redemption 2

[immajustvibehere]

Spark (2/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Series summary: An impulsive and reckless girl who stands for everything Arthur tries to overcome joins the gang. Even worse, she is related to Micah Bell. What starts off as a relationship of mistrust and hate slowly transforms into a beautiful, deeper connection, as both parties realise that there is more to the other person than what meets the eye at first.

Chapter 2 summary: Back in camp, you prove to be as horrible a gang member as Arthur feared. It's anything but pleasant when Dutch assignes the two of you to rob Chez Porter.

Link to my Masterlist

previous chapter

1900 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

Something about you interested Arthur tremedously. He would try to explain it by telling himself he was watching out for the other gang members, because you were very clearly tormenting many of them. You were rude to the girls, who at first had tried to welcome you into their circle, but you refused with a snicker. You openly complained about Sadie mourning her husband so loudly. Pearson would get your complaints about his food every evening and you didn't hold back to insult anyone who approached you kindly. You obviously hadn’t planned on fitting it. This was even clearer when you set up your tent away from the rest, a few feet behind his own, between two trees in the thicket that was surrounding Horseshoe Overlook.

Arthur observed all of this, even though you barely were at camp. He had to hand it to you, you were a hard worker. While you complained about Pearson, you brought him rabbits or turkeys almost everyday and threatened him to make something good out of them. You always returned with as much firewood as your horse managed to carry and occasionally, when you thought nobody was watching, you handed some berries to Jack. Most importantly, and probably the reason why Dutch was so ready to welcome you, you put money in the shared box every day.

Micah’s good report about your character and your young and eager spirit had impressed Dutch. You found it sickening when Dutch praised you, but always smiled and agreed with whatever he said, something that Micah had implored you to do. It didn’t take long until you were held in high esteem by the leader. Arthur accepted this development as much as he accpeted Micah sucking up to Dutch since he first joined.

Nevertheless, you and Arthur clashed on multiple occasions.

Soon after your bank stage mission, Arthur checked the ledger. He had just put a couple of bucks into the gang’s funds, something he had managed to loot from O’Driscolls that had tried to rob him earlier this morning. The sun had just set, people were returning from their scoutings and jobs and with them came the buzzing of a group of people being ready for a couple of beers and calling it a day. Arthur, too, looked forward to a warm stew and a good night’s rest, when his eyes skimmed the numbers in the ledger. Something didn't add up.

"Y/N", he approached you determined.

"Ugh", you answered. It was late. You were tired from robbing a handful of people today and had retreated to your tent.

"I checked the ledger", Arthur went on, kepping his distance as you crawled out from your tent and stood up, making you feel a little taller when you stood opposite of him. Already by his posture you could see that he was about to complain. You despised this judgemental stance.

"Good for you", you replied, crossing your arms.  

"Could it be that you missed a couple of bucks after the bankstage robbery?", he asked. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how you reacted.

"What business is it of yours?"

"I have already been reduced to the camp's debt collector by Herr Strauss, I don't mind beating up one more person that owes money", Arthur hissed in a low voice.

"Listen", you started, puffing out your chest, "apparently you can do the maths, so do me a favor and count up what I contributed the four days I've been here and compare it to the money a Swanson or this Uncle guy contributed the last years and you'll find that I have surpassed them by a lot. So I don't know why you keep bothering me."

Then you just crawled back into your tent, closing the flaps and waited for Arthur to go away.

Those and similar conversations started to become an almost daily occurence. You started to like disobeying small rules, only to see Arthur get all riled up. The double standard amused you. He could kick a Uncle out of his sleep, you weren’t allowed to insult his lazy ass. Nobody checked if Arthur shared half the money he made, or any other person for that matter. You knew Micah wasn’t sharing half of his.

Before either of you realized, more than a week had passed since you joined the gang.

Arthur had just finished his morning coffee and was strutting towards his tent. The plan was to shave and then head to Valentine, beating some time, maybe run some errands. But he didn't even get to his tent, because he heard his name yelled by Dutch. You stood next to Dutch, his big hand resting on your shoulder in a friendly and proud manner.

"Come over here for a second!", Dutch waved to Arthur.

Immediately, Arthur's mood worsened. Just yesterday evening he had to listen to one your ramblings about why there shouldn't be so many people in the gang that can't contribute with money. You had Micah's full support, the rest of the listeners were rather hesitant to agree with you. Arthur had left his spot on the log as soon as he had seen you come over, but yours and Micah's conversation was loud enough to haunt him while he tried to sleep. Somewhat apprehensively, Arthur joined Dutch and you.

Dutch was in high spirits, proclaiming: "Micah told me you two work well together.

You sighed a: "Did he?" While Arthur simultaneously grumbled a "Of course he did..."

"Called you a dream team", Dutch raised his eyebrows, looking at Arthur for confirmation. But before Arthur could open his mouth, Dutch went on: "Javier told me about a lead yesterday. However, I sent him on a different business today and I thought, maybe the two of you could work together to rob a little homestead."

Dutch looked so convinced of this, you supressed rolling your eyes.

"Alright", you crossed your arms in front of your chest. You weren't exactly the type of person to refuse a good lead, especially when it gets suggested by the leader you were told to appease and please.

"What exactly are we talking about?", Arthur asked. His hands settled on his gunbelt, and he looked at Dutch, trying to forget that you were there.

"Javier told me about a family of crazies living in the woods. At Chez Porter, apparently. The talk is that they sit on some cash", Dutch finally took his hand from your shoulder to stroke his mustache.

"Fine. We'll do it. Come on, Morgan", you commanded, heading towards your horse before either Dutch nor Arthur could say anything. Arthur sighed while Dutch chuckled: "Oh my, Arthur. Good luck. I'm sure you can handle her."

I'm not so sure about that, Arthur thought to himself as he followed you to the horses. He watched as you confidently swayed your hips and swung yourself onto your horse. You waited patiently with a cheeky smile on your lips until Arthur had mounted his horse with a grunt.

“Know where we’re headed, Morgan?”, you asked.

“Vaguely.”

“Guess I’ll take the lead then”, you stated, riding on ahead. Arthur let it go, it didn’t feel like this was something worth arguing about. There was no talk between the two of you the whole ride. Sometimes, you could feel his gaze drilling holes into your body from behind, but you ignored it, deciding you wouldn’t give him the attention he’d need to start another argument. You were close to Chez Porter when Arthur finally opened his mouth: “Let’s leave the horses here.”

“We could at least ride them up the hi-“

“We’ll leave them here”, Arthur interrupted, dismounted and gave his horse a few gentle pats on the neck before he took a rifle, “We’ll sneak up and check how many armed people we’re dealing with.”

“Come on, Morgan. The two of us could take out a whole army if we wanted to. You don’t need to be afraid when I’m at your side”, you mocked.

“This is the only reason I am afraid”, Arthur grumbled before the two of you started climbing up the hill. You had a nice view on the property. Arthur took out his binoculars, trying to count how many people were on the ground.

“Okay. We got a big barn in the back…and a large house. Must be a lot of people living here. I ain’t so sure about this. Maybe if we draw ‘em out or somethin’…”, Arthur said. When he removed the binoculars from his eyes to decide on a plan with you, he only found an empty patch of grass next to him. Suddenly, he heard the shots. Only a second later he had eyes on you again, strutting onto the property as if it was yours. Curses were falling from his lips as he sprinted down to catch up with you. Three man were already dead on the ground while you stood far from any cover, aiming for a woman at the upper window of the barn. Arthur shot two men who were running towards you. For a moment, it was silent with only an echo of Arthur’s last gunshot ringing in your ears.

Arthur started to call out your name, but you had seen and killed the last man before he could pull the trigger once.

“Easy!”, you exclaimed and holstered your guns, “Money’s probably in the barn. They really tried protecting it.” You turned around to Arthur, only to see him approaching you angrily.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what? I cleared us the way!"

"You would have been shot if I didn't cover for you. Why didn't you stick to the plan?"

"Because the plan was stupid and just because you are a pretty boy who doesn't want to get his clothes dirty, doesn't mean I'm changing my methods."

"What?", Arthur growled. There was this nick name again. He hated it. Why did it keep following him?

"Oh, you heard me", you replied.

"You think I want Micah to make my life hell, because you bite the dust on a job with me?"

"Micah doesn't care shit about me! It's an unlucky coincidence that we share the same father."

"Okay. Doesn't mean that you can run towards the enemy like-"

"Oh, shut up. Just because you're too yellow."

"Well…maybe I want to live!", Arthur yelled with a grand gesture of his arms.

"Oh bullshit. I can shoot like this because I got nothing to live for, and neither do you. So stop whining."

"You don't know nothin' about me, so-"

"I know you ain't such an idolized fool as your old friend Dutch, so you're definitely not living to prove the government a point, nor do you have a family. And if you did, you sure as hell left them behind years ago or you wouldn't be here!"

"The gang's my family", Arthur said after a short pause.

"Ugh. Sure. Most of them would betray eachother for a handful of gold. Nice family you got"

Arthur didn't answer. He just strut towards the barn that had been so eagerly defended. It didn't take him long to figure out the best hiding place. He moved the crate, though it was hard on his own, to reveal a hatch under which a box had been hidden.  

"Take your cut and get out of here", Arthur harshly slapped a couple of bills into your hands.

"Gladly."

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Next Chapter here!

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[mollierdr2]

Cherry Waves

hey guys here is my fic

Summary: Long play off of Harvest Moon (and another bit I should probably write at some point) that takes place during Chapter Six. F!reader wants Arthur to leave the gang, but he feels a sense of obligation to his family, so he wants to stay.

Warnings: Majorly canon-compliant, could have been shorter, cussing????

Word Count: 13k

'He thinks we’re a lost cause, you thought. He thinks we’re not gonna get out in time.  Deciding not to press it, for fear of getting a response you didn’t want to hear, you nestled your head into Arthur’s chest.  “Goodnight.”

Arthur kissed your head, saying, “Mmm, goodnight.”

He knew you knew.'

In the swamp, you found that a shift had occurred in yours and Arthur’s relationship.  He was more distant, spending more time away from camp.  He’d come back exhausted and bloodied, often crawling straight into bed without a word.  When you asked why, he’d give you the same answer: ”well, somebody’s gotta do the work”.  You’d noticed a new weakness in his muscles, a hollowing of his face.  He’d acquired a cough, too, and sometimes you’d wake up to him hacking in his sleep.  He blamed it on the weather, saying that he was just getting used to being back in America. 

It was no surprise when, after a day out with Sadie, he came and told you that he was sick.  “What is it?” you asked, looking up at him from your shared cot.  He stood, hands on his hips, in the corner of your rickety room.

“Tuberculosis,” he said, wiping his face with his hand.  “I ain’t got much longer.”

“Okay,” you said after a while, staring at his worn boots and swallowing hard.  “What are you gonna do?”

“I dunno,” he admitted, looking past you.  “I can’t just die though.”

“No,” you agreed.  “We could head West and get you some good air, maybe?  Colorado?”

“They know us there; we won’t be able to hide out.”

“Not if we stay in the mountains.  Hell, you could stay in a sanatorium and I could-”

“I ain’t goin’ to a sanatorium.”  Arthur put his hat on the small table next to your cot and took a seat.  He shook his head.  “That won’t work.”

“So what will?  We can’t stay in the swamp.”

“Dutch wants me and Charles to go find us a new camp anyway–somewhere North of here–so it’ll be better.”  Arthur took a deep breath, wheezing.  

“I suppose,” you said, taking his hand.  “It’ll be okay.”

“Sure,” he said, grim.  

*****

The new camp was bleak.  Everyone was on edge with each other, and poor Molly had been killed–bless her soul–for none other than loving Dutch.  She’d never taken to the rest of the group, becoming a bit of scapegoat, but you had tried a couple of times to know her.  You figured her death was more of a reason to get away from the gang you had loved so much; you weren’t sure how much longer you guys would have together.  In your almost 6 years with everyone, you’d never seen someone from the gang killed in camp until now.  You felt bad.  

The whole deal felt bad.  Seeing Micah and his new “friends” filled you with an anger you couldn’t describe.  Seeing Dutch pull away from the rest of you, abandoning the gang that he had created was infuriating.  Watching your husband the workhorse go and do everyone’s bidding while he was dying made you feel the worst, though.  His plan, you had learned, was to change nothing.  He’d just keep chugging along, doing the same as before, despite the obvious restrictions his body was trying to put on him.  He’d thinned considerably, attempting to hide this with vests and jackets, but you noticed how his shirts hung from his shoulders.  You noticed the circles around his gray eyes, which used to glow green and blue and gold.  

You nagged at him constantly–about eating, getting away from the gang, resting when he needed to–but he never listened to you, always dismissing it with yes, dears and we’ll sees.  You hated it.  You hated that the two of you were stuck in this mess.  Arthur needed to get away from this!  He was dying.  You guys had a limited time together, now more so than before, and you didn’t want to give any of it up, but he was just throwing it all away.  To keep your mind off of this, you spent your time split between Abigail’s tent and your own, either talking to her or reading (you found reading to be the perfect escape).  In doing this, in keeping to yourself and avoiding the war that tore down the only home you’d ever known, you found yourself resenting it all.  You resented your husband for staying here and getting himself sick.  You resented Dutch for leading all of you into this mess.  You resented Miss Grimshaw for continuing to put you girls to work, despite her obvious knowledge that it was all going to shit.  Most of all, though, you resented yourself for letting this happen to you.  Yes, Arthur had dragged you to camp all those years ago, but you had chosen to stay.  You chose to marry him, to love him in sickness and/or in health, and now you were face-to-face with the reality of that statement.  To run away on him–to get the hell away from this disaster and go somewhere proper–would be a betrayal, and that was something you weren’t willing to do.  

Arthur was away with Sadie–shooting some O’Driscolls, or so you’d heard–and you occupied your mind with a poetry book.  Back against a big tree, you lazily gazed upon the words on the papers, hardly comprehending any of them.  You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even come back.  If he’d get himself killed this time.  You could picture it perfectly: Sadie would come riding back into camp, calling for you or Dutch or John or maybe all three of you.  She’d tell you guys that something’s wrong–something with Arthur–and that he fell and couldn’t get back up and she wasn’t strong enough to get him herself.  Dutch would send out battalions to fetch him (or at least the Old Dutch would, but that seemed to be an entirely different man, as of recent) and you’d sit and wait like you always did, just hoping to God that Arthur would come back home to you and cup your face and kiss your forehead like he always had.  And he wouldn’t.  John would tell you that Arthur was dead and you wouldn’t even cry.  That was the worst part of these visions–you wouldn’t cry in any of them.  You couldn’t bring yourself to shed a single tear, not even in your imagination.  No tears for a man who did it to himself.

The truth is that you felt, in the deepest part of your psyche, that things would be easier if Arthur would just die.  If he died, you could breathe again, even if only for a little while.  You knew your husband; you knew he’d never leave.  And you would never leave him because he’d been there for you for everything.  He was there when your mother wrote, asking for help.  He was there when you pretended to hate him and instead of being angry at you for it, he told you he loved you–the first person to say that–and danced with you all night long.  He was there when you learned you were pregnant and he was there when the baby was born blue.  He was there for everything, so you had to be there for him.  

When Arthur did come back, you hadn’t even flipped the page.  You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice him striding toward you, quietly coughing into his fist.  “Y/N,” he said, catching your attention.  “Hey.”

“Hey, Arthur,” you said back, not looking at him.  You felt bad for what you’d been thinking about–thinking about how it would be if he was dead–but you couldn’t help but ponder these things.  It was a very real possibility that he would leave and never come back.  You used to go with him on these things, that way you never had to sit and worry–besides, you knew your way around a weapon–but since you learned you were going to be a mother, you hadn’t picked up your rifle.  It didn’t matter that your son hadn’t lived; you were trying to be a new woman.  Less angry, less impulsive.  Less like Arthur, you supposed.  You weren’t the one flirting with death.  You were caught up in their torrid love affair, waiting on your darling lover to come back home and realize he wanted you.  The waiting killed you.  The realization that it would be easier if you didn’t have to wait any longer on him–if it would just end then–killed you a little less.  

“Whatchu readin’?” he asked, sinking down next to you.  “Something far beyond my level, no doubt.”

“No, it’s just Dickinson,” you replied softly, resting your head on his shoulder.  

“Read to me.”

Taking a shaky breath, you sat up and recited the poem on the page, saying, “‘There is a pain—so utter— / It swallows substance up— / Then covers the abyss with Trance— / So Memory can step / Around—across—upon it— / As one within a Swoon— / Goes safely—where an open eye— / Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.’”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Arthur said, chuckling a little.  “But it sounds pretty, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.  You put your head back on Arthur’s shoulder, inhaling sharply.  “I’m glad you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“Did you think I would?”

“Maybe.  You know I’d prefer that you… minimize your excursions.”  You folded the book shut and held it in your lap.  “I don’t want whoever you’re out with to bring me back a damn corpse for a husband.”

“I ain’t gonna get killed-”

“You’re killing yourself right now, Arthur.  Don’t be a fool,” you interrupted, sitting up.  “This is killing you, and you know it as well as I.”

“Don’t talk about that here,” Arthur said, hushed.  “We can discuss it later, okay?”

“Okay,” you said after a while.  “Okay.”

“Let’s just sit here for a while, though,” Arthur said, grabbing your hand.  “It’s rest, like you’ve been askin’ for.”

Electing not to argue, you leaned back into Arthur’s side.  You had fought and fought for the past month, and it was nice to pretend for a soft, sweet moment that everything would be alright.  That he wasn’t going to die.  That you probably wouldn’t go with him, whether you wanted to or not.  The dread had weighed on your chest since you’d heard his diagnosis–like a heavy man was sitting atop your ribcage–but you could ignore it when it was just the two of you like this.  And then Arthur would cough or wheeze and the weight would be back.

*****

Days later, Arthur was supposed to blow up a bridge with John.  Sitting in your tent with the canvas drawn, you said, “What’s the point of this anyway, Arthur?  What’s this gonna do?”

“I dunno,” he admitted, standing next to his wardrobe, grabbing a black shirt.  “But Dutch is convinced that the ‘noise’ that will come with it is gonna help us; I can’t see how.”

“You’re a fool if you do what he says for much longer.  He’s not worth it anymore.” You grabbed your book–a new one, called Her Ladyship’s Elephant–and lay back on the cot.  Arthur tucked his shirt into his pants, wheezing a little.  Your stomach flipped.

“I know he ain’t, but…”

“But you’re too loyal to do anything about it; I know.” You opened the book to the page you were on, adding, “I’d just like to get to spend more time with you, you know.  Away from all of this-”

“Y/N…”

“But you won’t leave; I know.”

Arthur put his hands on his hips, breathing shallowly and looking at his feet.  “Now, I-”

“Don’t try pretendin’ otherwise.  You know it.  I just want to spend my last days with you someplace nice; not in this shithole.”  You stood, walking over to your husband and linked your arms through his, wrapping yourself around his weakened torso.  “I love you too much for that, okay?”

Arthur returned your embrace, saying, “Okay, darlin’... okay.”

You dug your chin into his chest, taking him in with all you could muster.  He was dancing a dangerous line, teetering closer and closer to death every day.  You wanted to remember every detail, every single sensation you felt as he held you in his arms which, even in their weakened state, were strong around your body.  “For me?”

“For you,” Arthur agreed, pulling back and holding you at an elbow’s length.  You pretended not to notice his hesitation in answering.  “I’ll try my best to get us outta here.”

“That’s all I ask.”  

He cupped your face, kissed your forehead, and said, “I gotta go now, okay?  I’ll be back in an hour or so; no longer.  Just gotta blow up this damn bridge and I’ll be back to you and we can work on findin’ a way out.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you too.  More than anything,” you answered, smiling softly.  “I’ll see you soon, cowboy.”  Arthur jokingly tipped his hat and exited the tent, leaving you with your book.  You climbed back onto the cot, opened the book, and started reading, enveloping yourself in a world you could never escape to.  

When Arthur got back, the two of you laid on the cot together.  You read him passages from the book that you found interesting, and he listened, despite having no interest in a woman who had randomly acquired an elephant.  At this stage, the two of you spent every possible moment together, clinging to the other’s company like it was the only thing preserving your sanity.  Maybe it was.  You never could tell when Arthur would meet his maker, so you felt every inclination to stay as close as you could to him; to hold on and never let go.  When it got dark, you put up the book and turned to Arthur, asking, “Did you talk to John?”

“About what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Arthur; about leaving?” 

Arthur glanced down at you, brow furrowed.  “I told him that he needs to get the hell out of here before it’s too late, if that’s what you mean.”

“And what about us?”

“I’m not leaving until John is safe, Y/N.  He’s got… more, if that makes sense.  It’s not just him and Abigail; they got Jack, and the boy deserves a better life than this.”

You nodded, your stomach flipping again.  He thinks we’re a lost cause, you thought. He thinks we’re not gonna get out in time.  Deciding not to press it, for fear of getting a response you didn’t want to hear, you nestled your head into Arthur’s chest.  “Goodnight.”

Arthur kissed your head, saying, “Mmm, goodnight.”

He knew you knew.

*****

The day had started like any other–Arthur would wake from his restless slumber and scramble out of bed, pulling his pants and boots on, kissing your forehead, and leaving without waking you–but you were unable to shake the uneasiness that hung over Camp like a wall cloud before a tornado.  Dutch had disappeared into the cave and you could hear fragments of his conversation, though you couldn’t tell who he was speaking with.  Perhaps it was himself, or it was another one of his “visions”, where he claimed that he could see Hosea.  It wasn’t worth trying to figure out, at this point.  Dutch was more than a loose cannon; he was a lit fuse.  Everyone in Camp waited, air thick with anticipation, for Dutch’s inevitable explosion.  You couldn’t blame Arthur for leaving so early.  

“Hey, Y/N, would you mind talkin’ to Dutch for me?”  Abigail said, startling you.  You looked up from your journal, which you hadn’t written in for weeks, and snapped it shut.  “I think I’m onto something, but I need you to, uh…”

“Get him out?”

“Yes, if you would.”  Abigail smiled sheepishly.  “You don’t have to–I don’t blame you if you don’t want to–but I think I found somethin’ good.”  Leaning in, Abigail whispered, “I think he’s hidin’ our money in there.”

You raised your eyebrows.  “I can try, Abigail, but you know he’s not doin’ well.  He knows as good as you how I feel about this place…”

“I won’t be long; promise.”

“I guess you have yourself a deal, then,” You said, standing.  

“Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll kick you out of Camp.  That’d force Arthur to listen to you,” Abigail said, stepping off toward the cave.  

“Or I’d end up like Molly…” You responded, too quiet to hear.  

You glanced around Camp as you made your way to the cave, taking note of Javier and Bill’s strange alliance.  It had always been your impression that they hated each other–it seemed that Bill hated Javier for being Mexican and Javier hated Bill for hating Mexicans–but now the two of them found middle ground in their fiercely blind loyalty to Dutch.  Arthur was loyal like a dog, but even a dog learns to stay away from the owner that abuses them for so long.  It puzzled you, their loyalty.  You wondered how bad things had to have been for them to think that this–the constant badgering about faith and money and scores while running faster and further than you’ve ever had to run before–was better than what they would have faced.  Did they really still believe that this was freedom?  If you could still bring yourself to write, you figured, you’d write about that.  

As you approached the cave’s entrance, Abigail split off to the right, waiting in the corner behind Dutch’s tent, safely tucked out of sight.  “Dutch?” you asked, voice echoing on the cave’s moist walls.  “Are you in here?”

“Mrs. Morgan!” Dutch boomed, appearing from one of the many tunnels.  “How are you?”

“Well, I’m… I’m not well, Dutch.  Do you have a moment to talk about Arthur?”  You asked, craning your neck and frowning slightly.  “He’s in a bad way.”

“Of course!” Dutch put his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to his tent.  “We can always talk about Arthur and his issues with Old Dutch.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have issues with you,” you lied, “but I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s not doin’ too well.”  The two of you stepped into the tent, with Dutch motioning for you to take a seat in the wooden chair across from his cot.  He settled into a chair of his own.  Abigail scurried into the cave without catching anyone’s attention but your own.

“This is about that?  My dear, Arthur is fine.  Hosea was sick for years and that wasn’t what took him out.  It’ll pass–all things do.  This, this will pass.  I know things are hard for you right now, it’s hard for everyone, but I promise you that I will get us out.  We’ve got a train job planned and that will be it, Mrs. Morgan.  Just one more score and you don’t have anything to worry about.  We will hop on a riverboat and head to Chicago or New York and then head off for the tropics.  I have a plan.  You just need to have some faith.”

“Dutch, he has tuberculosis.” You said bluntly.  “He doesn’t have much time left.  I’m not asking for a grandiose speech to inspire me, I’m just asking that you help him out a little.  He’s sick.  I know that you love him–I love him–and I’m afraid that you’re working him to death.”  

“I’m doing no such thing!” Dutch said, raising his voice slightly.  “It’s all apart of the plan.”

“And what is that plan?”

“I told you: Tahiti.  One last score, and we can get there.”

“You’ve been saying that for as long as I’ve known you; how do I know that this is the real one?”

“Have some goddamn faith in me.” Dutch fired back, a scowl painting itself on his face.

“Why should I?” You challenged, leaning forward.  “Where did faith get Sean and Lenny?  Hosea?”

“Don’t talk about Hosea-”

“Hosea would be so disappointed in you.”  

“Don’t talk about Hosea!” Dutch repeated, glowering.   

“Why?  You don’t want to think about what he’d say?  I’ll tell you what he’d say; he’d-”

Before you could finish, Dutch was in your face screaming, “I have a plan!  You do not get to tell me anything.  I am sick of your incessant complaining!  You know nothing of Hosea, and you know nothing of this situation!”

You raised an eyebrow, holding your mouth agape.  The tension between the two of you was palpable; the hatred radiating off of his body was overwhelming, but you held his stare.  For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.  Arguing had always come easy enough for you–sometimes your timing was a little off or you didn’t emphasize the right words–but you rarely found yourself at a loss of words.  When you did find the right words, though, you knew they’d hit.  “I see straight through you, Dutch van der Linde.  It’s a shame that no one else does.”  Carefully, reeling from the encounter, you stood and excused yourself back to your tent, hoping that Abigail had made her exit from the cave in enough time.  

Upon exiting Dutch’s tent, you found that everyone was watching you, aside from Karen, who was passed out by a tree, and Jack, who was playing quietly in the dirt.  Javier gave you a nasty look and muttered something to Bill, who smiled.  “Gentlemen,” you quietly uttered, scurrying past them.

“You know, Arthur can’t protect you forever,” Javier called after you.  You kept your head down, closing the flaps of your tent.  You hadn’t intended to cause a scene, but you were having an increased difficulty in holding your tongue in times like these.  Maybe you were just tired of always doing what you were told.  You couldn’t tell.

It was no secret that you were unhappy.  You had your moments, sure, but you hadn’t been content since you lost your baby.  Samuel, your son, was supposed to make things better.  He would’ve given you a life away from all this.  Sometimes you’d lay awake at night and see his tiny, wrinkled face.  His face that never crunched up and cried.  And just like every image you’d conjured of Arthur’s death, you could not cry at the death of your son.  You could not cry at anything.  You could only observe, watching and silently simmering at the injustice that had been committed against you.  Your life, you felt, was an injustice.  You could’ve been good, somehow, and you never were.  It was easy to blame the circumstances–it was easy to say that this was Dutch’s or Arthur’s or Samuel’s or society’s fault–but you knew it was no one’s but your own.  You were bitter and devoid of anything positive.  You’d fought against living your whole life and now here you were, a shell of a person with nothing to come from an empty existence.  When you died, there would be no one left to remember you by.  

You climbed onto your cot and grabbed the journal from your nightstand, opening to an empty page.  You had nothing to write.  You wanted to write something, you wanted this desperately, but you couldn’t find the words to adequately express your emotions.  You were stuck.  You began scribbling the word stuck over and over and over again, handwriting growing larger as you went on.  You were stuck.  You could not leave but you could not stay.  You could not go to sleep but you could not stay awake.  You could not fully love Arthur but you could not hate him.  Stuck.

You were interrupted by the front curtain flap opening.  Quickly, you slammed your journal shut as Arthur strode into your tent.  “I been thinkin’”, he said.

“Does it pay well?” you responded, too quiet, in a daze.

“Funny,” Arthur fired back.  “Anyway, I was thinkin’ and you know how we need to get John and Abigail and Jack outta here, right?  All of the girls, too?”

“Yeah…” 

“I got a plan for it; I have to run it by John, but we’ll… what’s wrong?” Your husband took a seat at the edge of the cot, looking at you with a furrowed brow.  

“I talked with Dutch.”

“Why’d you do that?” Arthur leaned back, taking your hand.  “It wasn’t good, no?”

You chuckled slightly.  “Of course it wasn’t.  I was tryin’ to help out Abigail but instead made it all about myself; she must think I’m terribly selfish.”

“You live with criminals of the highest offense and you’re worried about bein’ selfish?” Arthur teased.  “She seemed fine; don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, you saw her?” you leaned forward, turning toward Arthur.

“Well, yeah.  She was gettin’ onto Jack about runnin’ away or somethin’.  It was pretty loud; I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.” He said it like it was obvious.  You sighed.

“That’s good.”  You leaned into Arthur’s side, resting your head on his chest.  “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, darlin’,” he said back, but you were sure that he didn’t miss you the way you’d missed him.  He put his arm over your torso, holding you comfortably.  

“You’re so warm.”  A soft smile crept across your face and you wiggled closer to your husband.  “What’d you do today?”

“Well, I went fishin’ with a Civil War veteran named Hamish and taught a young widow how to shoot.  Then I went into Annesburg for a drink and ran into Archie Downes–Mr. Downes’s son–and learned that him and his Mama never left like I told them to, so I went an’ fetched his mother and gave ‘em more money.  It’s the least I can do.”

You nodded.  “I got screamed at by Dutch and maybe threatened by Javier.”

Arthur chuckled.  “A day in the life.”

Smiling, you responded, “No doubt.” 

*****

In the week that followed, you watched and waited as Arthur followed Dutch around, doing whatever he asked.  You quietly simmered, doing your chores and reading without a word to anyone.  How could Arthur go and obey Dutch’s every word, execute his every whim, and not try to get you guys out?  Did he not value you?  The relationship the two of you had carefully fostered for the past 5 years?  Maintaining a relationship with Arthur was like trying to fight the government; you were always losing.  You’d fought the government for the greater portion of two decades, and you never won.  The same was true with Arthur–you never won.  At the end of the day, you might be in his bed, but his mind was occupied by Dutch Van Der Linde and his fancy words.  You knew when you fell in love 5 years ago that you’d never be the sole occupant of Arthur’s heart, but it was worse now, knowing that Dutch didn’t care for Arthur anymore, or at least not in the way he had.  For him now, Arthur was a weapon, and it simultaneously broke your heart and filled it with rage.  

Was Arthur this oblivious or had he just allowed it to happen?

You figured it was the latter.  You were tired of it.  When Arthur returned from the oil fields–Dutch’s latest escapade, with the intent of sticking it to the Army–it was late and you were looking for a fight.  You’d quietly stepped aside all week, but you were done.  You were sick of this, of giving Arthur everything and getting nothing in return.  

“You’re late,” you said, standing with your hands on your hips.

“It was a goddamn mess; I need to sleep.” Arthur sat at the edge of the cot, yanking his boots off of his feet.

You scoffed, eyebrows raised.  “That’s it?”

“Yes.  I don’t want to talk about it right now, Y/N, please.  It was awful.”  He stood and removed his gun belt and pants, tucking them neatly into his wardrobe.  

“It’s almost like I told you it would be bad–that all of this would be bad.  How long have I been trying to get you to leave this life?  A year?  I thought that getting sick would give you some sort of clarity–that you’d decide that this is what matters–and you’d finally choose me, but you’ve done the opposite!  You’re leaving more, and you come back looking worse and worse every time… When are you gonna come back in a casket, Arthur Morgan?”  You spat, voice hushed.  You were surprised that Arthur hadn’t interjected to defend himself.

“Not now.”

“Now,” you said, remaining firm.  “I waited for you.  Everyone got back here way before you did; why?”

“Because I got a goddamn boy killed, okay?!” Arthur fired back, looking up at you.  “I… I don’t know exactly how it happened, but we was leaving the building and I slipped and he saved me, but… not before it was too late.  He was shot in the belly for savin’ me.”

You were quiet at that.  “Oh,” you said, softening.  

“Dutch… he left me.  He could’ve turned around and helped me, but he didn’t and got that poor boy–Eagle Flies–killed for it.” He paused before quietly adding, “Charles and I brought him back to his pa before he died; that’s what took me so long.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to meet his eyes.

“I know you are,” Arthur answered, staring straight ahead.  Then, almost out of nowhere, he began coughing, his body quaking.  He stooped over, hands on his knees, hacking up blood, desperately gasping for air in between each croup.  You were at his side immediately, softly rubbing circles on his shoulder.  The pit in your stomach seemed to reach your feet.  You couldn’t help but feel selfish for all of this–for throwing a fit when a boy got killed–and now Arthur was hurting again and you couldn’t do anything to help him.  

As he continued to choke on his own air, you guided his shoulders down, laying him flat on the cot.  “Shh, it’s okay,” you whispered.  “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you watched your husband slip into unconsciousness.  You couldn’t fall asleep for a while–not until the sun was beginning to rise–and when you did, it was filled with the same bad dream, playing over and over in your mind.  You were stranded in a county jail when Arthur–young, healthy Arthur–came bursting in to bust you out.  Guns brandished, he told them that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot first and think second, something he used to threaten people with often.  Every time, the deputies elected to shoot him.  You watched Arthur die again and again and again, shot down by some scrawny teenagers with guns who shot for the sake of shooting, and there was nothing you could do.  He crumpled to the ground, crawling toward you, saying your name–a plea of sorts, begging you to help him.  Just as he’d get to you, finally gripping the cuff of your worn-out jeans, you’d wake up.  You’d wake up in his arms, letting the sound of his slow, steady breath ease you back into your fitful slumber.   

You slipped out of bed before he’d begun to stir, grabbing some coffee for the both of you.  When you came back, Arthur was sitting on the cot, legs hanging over the edge.  “Just the two of us today,” he said, taking the cup from you.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” You took a seat next to him.  “You takin’ me somewhere?”

“I was thinkin’ we’d go to Valentine or Strawberry–get you a book or something and rent a Hotel room.”  He took a sip of the coffee.  

“Careful, it’s-”

“Damn, that’s hot!” he said, yanking the cup away from his mouth.  The two of you shared a sideways glance and burst out laughing. 

“I tried to warn you!”  You said, setting your drink on the nightstand.  “I just poured it!”

A smile spread its way across Arthur’s face, but it faded as his laughs were replaced with coughs.  Right, you reminded yourself.  We can’t laugh anymore.  You took a sip of your coffee, cheeks flushed.  It was embarrassing to watch him like this.  You felt bad–the constant stomachache you had was a way of always remembering–but you felt embarrassed for seeing Arthur, a man used to being strong, in such a pitiful state.  It felt like you were looking down on him somehow.  

“I’m okay,” he mustered, still coughing.  “It’s… it’s okay.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, staring at the ground before you.  “I think we should camp out in Big Valley.  It’s so beautiful over there.”  

The coughing ceased and Arthur nodded, wiping blood from the corners of his mouth.  “Sure.”

“We could go fishing and then stay the night in Strawberry–I think a bed will help you, you know–and maybe we could get a portrait done… Well, I don’t know, there’s no portrait places around, but I think it would be nice,” you rambled, turning back to your husband.  

“Yeah, that would be-”

“Arthur!” Dutch called, side-stepping into your tent.  He shot you a dirty look.  He hadn’t been very welcoming since your encounter in his tent.  “I thought I heard you.  At least you ain’t run off like the rest of them.”  

“Whatchu mean?” Arthur asked, leaning forward.  

“Pearson, Old Uncle–the traitors–both gone at dawn.  They said to young Tilly they were runnin’ to save themselves.  I think Mary-Beth left as well.”

“So it goes,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head.  So it did.  If it were up to you, you and Arthur would have been gone with them.  Of course, it wasn’t, so here you sat, next to your husband and the man he loved more than anything.  You slipped your arm around his, a subtle and unconscious showing of possession.  

“They are goddamn cowards, Arthur.  Cowards.  Of all the time we spent, to run off…”

Standing, Arthur interrupted, saying, “Well I guess they don’t wanna die, Dutch.”  Your arm fell to your side.  

“Ain’t nobody gonna…” Dutch grabbed Arthur by the shoulder and led him out of the tent, leaving you to yourself.  You made it your business not to listen, out of respect for Arthur’s privacy, more than anything, and perhaps as a sort of guilt for the way you’d carried on the night before.  

You could hear bits of the conversation.  You heard Arthur loudly exclaim something about there always being a train, before coughing.  You heard Dutch saying something about insisting–and from his tone he was not happy–before Arthur came barging back into the tent, saying, “Get ready.  We gotta go rob this damn train and we need all the guns we can get.”

“Arthur, I ain’t been on a job since-”

“I know, Y/N, but I’d feel better if you were with me than if you were waitin’ back here.  Miss Grimshaw, Tilly, and Abigail can handle the packing just fine without you; I need you with me, okay?”

You nodded.  “Okay.”  You quietly stood and made your way to the weapon cabinet, digging your engraved Bolt Action out from the bottom.  Arthur stepped out, quietly talking with John about the train job.  You then dressed yourself in a purple checkered shirt and navy jeans, topping off the outfit with a black hat.  You clipped your gun belt into place, carefully tucking your volcanic pistol into its holster.  Arthur had his own matching set, engraved with his initials.  You hadn’t carried your weapons in almost a year in an attempt to get straight, but if Arthur said now was the time to dig them back out, you believed him.  And, admittedly, you had missed the rush you felt behind a powerful weapon.  

When you stepped out of the tent, Arthur smiled a little.  “Hey,” he said.

“Let’s get this over with,” you responded, walking past him.  Dutch stood at the center of the camp, rallying the troops in some way or another.  “Let’s ride out, gentleman,” Dutch shouted, arms raised.  Everyone muttered their agreements, climbing onto their mounts, as Dutch repeated himself, saying, “Let’s go!”

The group of you took off, heading South for what would either be your ticket out of hell or your ticket straight to it.  You stayed close to Arthur’s side, for fear of harassment by Micah or his lackeys, and did your best to keep the growing uneasiness in your stomach at bay.  Arthur had respected your wishes to stay out of the fight for almost a year–since Micah had joined the gang–and now he was asking you throw yourself back into it.  You wondered if it meant Arthur was worried–if he thought that it was going to be so bad that he needed you to be there.  You swallowed hard, paying attention to the road in front of you.  

“Okay, let’s pick up the pace,” Dutch called, “The train is due in Saint Denis in an hour.”

“We’re robbin’ a train in the middle of a city?” Arthur asked.  

“No,” Dutch clarified. “It’s going to stop there, take on mail and water, let off some boys headin’ home on leave, and then it heads out.”

“They know the bridge is gone, Black Lung,” Micah taunted, inching closer to the two of you.  “There’ll be a patrol past Annesburg, waitin’ down by the river to collect the money.”

“Shut up, Micah,” you whispered.

Simultaneously, Dutch said, “We sneak on quietly and then we get a short time to stop the train–before it reaches the patrol.”  The bunch of you continued forward before Dutch said, “John, you go get that dynamite.  We’ll meet back up outside of Saint Denis.”

“Y/N and I will go with him,” Arthur added, motioning at you with his hand.  

“As you wish,” Dutch said back.

The three of you broke off from the group, heading westward to wherever John had planted the leftover dynamite he and Arthur had used to blow up the bridge.  “It’s this way,” John instructed, leading the pack.  “It’s nice to see you back with the gang, Y/N,” he added.

“I asked her to come with,” said Arthur.  “It might be a shitshow–trains always are–and I wanted some extra insurance.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how all this will play out.”  

“This is one big goddamn group to be riding back into Saint Denis,” Arthur admitted, getting side-by-side with John.

“Yeah, and I heard the Pinkertons have pretty much taken over Van Horn,” John responded.  You nodded, as if either of them could see you.  “They moved a whole heap of men in there.  Things are closin’ in fast.”

“Shit,” Arthur softly exclaimed.  

John led you and Arthur the rest of the way to the wagon, and despite yours and John’s protests, Arthur insisted upon getting the dynamite himself.  You rolled your eyes.  He didn’t need to be carrying a 30-pound crate anymore.

“You know we can get that, Arthur,” you reminded him, leaning forward on Waldo, your horse.  A red chestnut Arabian, Waldo had been your horse for nearly as long as you’d been with the gang–you and Arthur found him shortly after you’d fallen in with them.  

“I’m fine,” he called back, a hint of aggression in his voice.

“As you like.”  You patted Waldo and gave him a sugar cube.  “You’re a good horse, boy.”

Arthur tucked the dynamite into his satchel and mounted back up.  “So listen,” John said, “Abigail just told me… the money… it’s hidden in the caves at Beaver Hollow.”

“What the hell is it doin’ that close to camp?” You exclaimed, falling into step next to John and Arthur.  

“I know!  Dutch is gettin’ even sloppier than we thought!” John said back.

“Are Abigail and Jack ready to leave?” Arthur asked.

“I think so,” John responded, an uneasiness in his voice.  

“Okay… Whatever happens with this job today…” Arthur began coughing, still saying, “wherever Dutch and them go next, we’re getting you the hell outta here.  We’re gonna get you the money you need.  Knowin’ the three of you got out, well… Maybe all this’ll still mean somethin’... Tilly and Susan too.  I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You hoped that included you.

He wouldn’t say it then, whatever plan he had for getting you guys out of there, and you knew that–it was a conversation for you two to have in private–and despite knowing the end was coming, you hadn’t anticipated its arrival to be this soon.  But part of you wished that he would have mentioned you–his wife, the woman who had stood by his side for nigh on 6 years now–because it would have meant that he believed that you were something he was fighting for.  

You’d talk about it later, if you could, and you’d apologize for making an ass of yourself the night before.  These weren’t things to be discussing with John around; he didn’t need to be aware of your guys’s relationship issues, especially when he was having his own.  “You’ve always had my back, Arthur,” John said.

“Well, perhaps not always,” Arthur corrected, and you smiled, remembering how angry he’d been when John left.  

“Anyway, here we go… One last train, guys.” John pushed forward.

“One last train…” Arthur repeated.  Your stomach flipped.  One last train.

*****

The three of you caught up to the rest of the gang soon after, and you couldn’t help but remember the last time all of you had ridden into Saint Denis–when Hosea died.  You slipped away with Abigail, but you still saw it all happen.  You shook off the memory, trying your best to seem nonchalant.  To the people of Saint Denis, you were just a woman with her husband and his friends.  Sure, the whole lot of you were heavily armed, but many people in Saint Denis were.  Besides, this was a city–people would have needed to worry about other people to care about what you were doing.  You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that you would be okay.

“You good?” Arthur asked, having noticed your anxiety.

You nodded.  “Just nervous, is all.  Haven’t been on a job in ages.”

“One last time, gentlemen,” Dutch started.  “I got us a river boat.  We’ll head up to New York or Chicago, and get a real boat from there to the tropics.”

“Chicago ain’t on the Coast,” you whispered, rolling your eyes.  He didn’t have a damn plan, and you knew it.  These other people, they might not have caught on, but you could see his bullshit from miles away.  

“So long as it isn’t Guarma,” Javier said from behind you.  

“Oh, it’ll be paradise, son!” Dutch reassured, as if he knew what paradise even was.  You were certain that he’d do the same thing he always had–the whole ordeal reeked of his and Micah’s ferry job in Blackwater, and all that had come from that ‘one last score’ was more ‘one last scores’.  

“It’s all coming together, Dutch, just like we planned,” Micah chimed in.  

“That okay with you John?  Arthur?” Dutch mocked, “Or do you ‘insist’ on something different?”  You wanted to say something, but Arthur put his hand out, as if to say ‘do not’.

“Sounds about as good now as every time I heard it before,” John fired back, saying exactly what you were thinking.  

“Oh, Abigail must be real excited, all packed up like she is,” Micah taunted.  “I could just see her in a little grass skirt-”

“Don’t talk to me, you son-of-a-bitch,” John interrupted.  

“Boys, boys, okay now, let’s keep it down,” Dutch said, attempting to slip back into the role of the level-headed peacemaker that he’d refused to play for so long.  “We don’t wanna draw attention to ourselves goin’ through here.  Nice and easy through town, fellers.”

Continuing to push, Micah said, “Ah, Saint Denis… good to be back.  Happy memories, huh, John?”

“Will you shut up, Micah?” you fired.  “He ain’t  botherin’ you.”

“That’s enough!” Dutch declared.  “Quiet, all of you.”

Dutch led the lot of you the rest of the way to the train station, occasionally nodding or saying hello to people on the sidewalks.  When you arrived, all of you dismounted, Dutch giving everyone their instructions, saying, “Cleet, Sadie, and Y/N, you board halfway along.  John, you and Arthur are gonna board at the back.  Rest of you, follow Micah and I, and join once they stop the train.”

As if on cue, the train came barrelling into the station.  Bill, in his infinite wisdom, said, “Here she comes,” as if it was not already abundantly clear that the train was on its way.  What also happened to be obvious was the fact that the train was not slowing down.

Arthur glanced at Dutch as the train passed you by, saying, “Should I just… sneak on now?”

“Goddamnit,” Dutch said, looking back at Micah.  It was odd how he’d gone from looking at Hosea to Micah, of all people.  “Well,” he decided, “everyone mount up.”

“We’re still going through with this?” Arthur asked, brows furrowed in disbelief. 

“Of course we are!” Dutch fired back, and the lot of you climbed back onto your mounts in hot pursuit of the runaway train.  John yelled at Arthur–something about catching up–but you ignored it, focusing on your own task: getting onboard the train and getting to the money.  You pushed Waldo forward, guiding him into a sprint.  You jumped onboard in the back carriage, which was flat.  Pistol drawn, you took out two of the guards that emerged from the car in front of you with a familiar ease.  You followed Sadie and Cleet through the train, taking out guards whenever you could.  The three of you made it through without much kickback, and it wasn’t until you heard yelling from behind you that you realized something had gone wrong: one of the train cars caught on fire, and John and Arthur were stuck on the other side of the fire.  

“Let’s get over there and see what we can do to help,” you said, motioning for the other two.  Without checking to see if they had followed, you made your way to the flat car in front of the one on fire.  Just as you got there, Arthur and John jumped onto the car from The Count and Brown Jack.  

“Uncouple that carriage, before it blows us all up!” Arthur shouted, pointing at the burning carriage.  

“I’m on it!” John called, running to the back of the car.  

In front of Arthur, there was a gatling gun, presumably left out open by whatever soldiers you’d shot down minutes before.  He looked around, taking note of the lookout on the hill–meaning you guys hadn’t stopped the train in time–and glanced back down at the gun.

“Man the gun, Arthur!” John shouted.

“Sure,” Arthur said back, grabbing the head from its wooden crate and latching it onto the post.  John uncoupled the carriage with ease, too, releasing the train from the fire that had threatened your pursuit.  John called for all of the riders to get on the train, and, as Bill jumped onboard, John was clipped by a bullet in the shoulder, sending him flying backwards off of the train.  

“John!” Arthur shouted, flinching from the shots.  Quickly, he whipped back around, shooting the soldier who had knocked John down in the head.  Dutch promised to get John, so long as the rest of you got the money.  

You nodded at your husband to reassure him, saying, “Man the gun.  We got you covered.”

“I’ll go stop the train,” Bill said, grabbing his rifle.  

“Do not stop the train!” You responded, shooting a soldier trailing you guys.  “You can secure up ahead, but do not stop this damn train or we’re dead, you hear me?”

“Got it!” Bill shouted back, heading to the front with Javier and Cleet.  

“Shit, we got a lot of riders on our tail, Arthur,” Sadie said, guns drawn.  

“I see ‘em.” Arthur was already shooting at the three or so men headed towards you.  As the soldiers approached from all sides, Arthur began swinging the gun around, killing men and horses alike–it’s hard to aim with a gatling gun, after all–and you and Sadie tried your best to assist him.  

“It’s nice to see you in action, Y/N,” Sadie shouted.  “I heard you was good with a gun!”

“I’m better with poetry books, but sure, I can handle myself in a gunfight,” you said back, shooting the hat off of a soldier in pursuit.  “There’s a horde of ‘em to the left, Arthur.”  Arthur nodded and swung the gun to the left as you shot at the soldier again, this time shooting him out of the saddle.  You and Sadie continued to shout your warnings at him.  After passing through a bridge, there appeared to be no one else on your tail, so you said, “Get off the gun; we gotta get to the money.”

The three of you pushed forward, only going a couple of cars further than where you’d been.  Arthur quickly dug the dynamite out of his satchel and placed it on the doors.  “Alright, I guess I better blow this thing,” he muttered. 

Stepping back, he shot the dynamite, and the doors came open.  He ran inside, with you and Sadie posting on either side of the door.  “We got something,” he said, looking around.  “We got something!” 

Throwing a money bag to you, he instructed you to catch.  “There’s more!” he said, tossing a bag the size of your torso at you.  And another.  And another.  You were so overwhelmed with the amount of money that you didn’t notice Bill barrelling toward you, jumping from the top of the carriage.  

“Morgan!” he said, “The driver’s dead!  This thing ain’t stoppin’, we gotta get off.”

“Okay then,” Sadie said, dumping a bag of money into Bill’s arms. “Let’s go!”  The four of you grabbed your bags and dove off of the train, barely making it off before it went flying from the bridge Arthur and John had blown up.  

You looked down at the wreckage, saying, “Jesus.”

“We’re alive,” Bill chimed in.

“Yeah, just about,” Arthur said back, looking at the rest of you and coughing.  

“Let’s get the hell outta here; regroup with the others,” you said, stepping away from the cliff, which you preferred not to be particularly close to in the first place.  The rest of them followed you back.  You were met on the tracks by Dutch, Micah and Joe.  “Where’s everyone else?” You asked, heaving your money sack onto the ground.

“Where’s John?” Arthur added, staring at Dutch expectantly.  The rest of the men–Javier and Cleet–fell in.

“I tried,” Dutch said, looking down at all of you.  You slipped your arm around Arthur’s–a reminder not to fly off the handle at whatever response he got.  “I tried.”

“He didn’t make it,” Micah said, peering at you guys from behind Dutch.  You felt sick.  With John gone–dead, apparently–Arthur was left with a choice you knew he’d never make.  He could stay with Dutch, link himself to the carnage, latching even tighter to Dutch’s dry, empty teat, or he could take you and leave, ending all of this once and for all.  “That patrol killed him.  We had to run.”

“Come on,”  Dutch said abruptly, before any questions could be asked.  “Let’s go.  Before another patrol turns up.”  The men took off, leaving you and Arthur on the tracks.  You watched him, trying to catch his gaze for just a moment, but he wouldn’t look at you.  He stared straight down, wheezing.  

“Let’s go, Arthur.  We don’t have time to fret, okay?  We can worry about this later, but right now, Dutch is right; we gotta go.”  You tugged at Arthur’s arm, dragging toward your horses.  He moved without protest, still quietly pondering the events that had just unfolded.  You had a feeling that whatever happened after this would not be good.  

You and Arthur saddled up, taking off after the gang.  The ride back to camp was… solemn, with no one saying much.  As tense as things had gotten between everyone, John was a part of the family, and that took its toll.  At least it did on most of you.  Dutch and Micah seemed to be just fine about the ordeal, quietly chattering at the front of the pack.  You were sure Arthur had noticed this too, but didn’t say anything about it–he wouldn’t be in the mood to talk much, not after what you’d learned.  

Right before the turn to enter camp, everyone in front of you slowed up.  You eased Waldo to a halt, looking around.  “What’s goin’ on?” you asked Arthur, brow furrowed.  

“Don’t know, but I don’t like it,” he whispered back.  

And then you heard it.  Young Tilly, scared out of her mind, saying that the Pinkertons took Abigail.  Arthur sent you a sideways glance, an odd expression painted across his face, and you realized that he’d chosen to fight for John, even though he was out of the picture.  The family he never had, or something like that.  Maybe if your son had lived, he’d fight like this for you, you thought.  Micah insisted to let Abigail go–to let her die–because John was already gone, and despite Arthur’s pleas, Dutch could not be swayed in the opposite direction.  

Arthur threw himself out of the saddle, positioning himself beneath Dutch–in front of The Count–like he was begging him to go rescue Abigail.  Tears swelled in your eyes at the sight of it–seeing your husband begging Dutch to save a woman he’d refused to let go hours earlier–and you knew that, despite your own protests to the whole affair, you’d go with him.  You’d help, not because you thought it was the best way (you couldn’t help but side somewhere in the middle with this; you found yourself wishing for a third option where you waited a while before sneaking in and getting her out), but because you knew that it was the only way Arthur would go, and you were afraid he’d get himself killed while you weren’t with him.  

They ignored him and rode past, leaving you and Sadie and Arthur and Tilly and Jack to yourselves.  Arthur coughed, putting his hands on his knees and spitting blood.  “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”  He stood.  “All them goddamn years.”  Without pausing to think, he grabbed his horn to mount up.  “I’m goin’ to get her.”

“Not without us, Arthur,” Sadie said, pushing forward.  You nodded, adding, “We’ll cover you.”  

Arthur frowned, saying, “No, Y/N, you need to stay.  Me and Sadie’s all we need.  Get everything together and we’re runnin’ after this.  We’ll go down to Big Valley and get that portrait.”  

You frowned.  “I don’t want to leave-”

“I know, but it’ll be faster.  Once Abigail is safe, we’re out of here, no questions asked.  Stay with Tilly and Jack.  We’ll meet up at Copperhead Landing and go from there, okay?”

“Okay,” you said breathlessly.  Climbing out of your saddle and making your way to him, you said, “Oh, Arthur, I-”  You leaned into his chest, holding back tears.

“I know.”  He cupped your face, kissing you softly on the forehead.  “I love you, darlin’.”  He reached into his satchel, pulling out stacks of cash and other valuables.  “Take this back and pack it up.  And the money, too.  It’ll get us out of here.”

“Okay.  Stay alive for me.”

“I will, darlin’.  I will.”  He kissed you again, this time with more urgency.  He mounted up, saying, “I’ll be back.”

“You’d better.”  You climbed back onto Waldo and watched as Arthur and Sadie disappeared into the distance.  Turning to Tilly, you said, “Take the money bags and Jack straight to Copperhead Landing and I’ll meet you there once I’ve got our stuff.  We’ll regroup there and get you someplace safe.”

She nodded, squeezing Jack as if to tell him that things would be okay.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go back into Camp.”  You added, and Tilly agreed, so you set off in opposite directions–Tilly towards safety and you towards a battlezone.  

When you got there, everything had been stripped.  Miss Grimshaw was ordering people around while Dutch and Micah conversed by Dutch’s tent, which hadn’t been touched.  You quickly dismounted and made your way to yours and Arthur’s tent, trying your best to be discreet, but it still caught the attention of Javier, who’d been sitting by the fire next to Bill.

“Running from something?” Javier asked.  

“I’m packing, just like the rest of you.”  You bowed your head and continued forward, stepping into your tent.  

“Where’s Arthur, then?” He followed after you.  

“Doing what you folk were too cowardly to do,” you fired back, closing the curtain to your tent in his face.  

As quickly as you could manage, you dug through everything, putting the essentials into a leather suitcase with your initials engraved on the handle.  You packed shirts, skirts, pants, books, and all of your valuables.  Arthur’s pictures, his mother’s flower, his shaving equipment.  Your wedding rings.  Newspaper clippings, your respective journals.  Little knick knacks Arthur had gifted you after his many journeys.  It scarcely fit in the suitcase, but you managed.  You layered your clothes to take more.  You couldn’t leave it all behind, not with the little money you two had.  You gripped your suitcase and hurried out.

“Leaving so soon?” Micah called after you.

“They’re traitors,” Javier taunted.

“I oughta show them what we do to traitors,” Bill said in response.  

You kept your head down and continued towards Waldo, strapping your suitcase onto his back.  The men continued to hurl insults towards you, about how you were abandoning them and that they knew Arthur was crooked.  You wanted to turn and scream at them, to call them fools for staying and bastards for refusing to help Arthur, but you kept your mouth shut, determined to let everything work out.  You’d get out.  You’d head somewhere new, somewhere he could breathe again, and it would be okay.  You’d get your portrait done and live on a homestead like normal couples did.  Maybe you’d try to have a kid again.  

“Going somewhere?” A familiar voice said from behind you.

“I do not wish to speak to you, Dutch,” you said, trying to sound cordial.  

“Ever since you came along, Arthur has been doubtin’ me, you know?”  He stepped next to you, putting his hand on Waldo.  “You’ve been whisperin’ in his ear for six years now.”

“Arthur’s not doing anything.  This is on my own accord,” you lied.  “I can’t stay here any longer–it’s too much for me.”  You mounted up, looking down at Dutch.  “I wish Arthur would agree with me, but he’ll be back, no doubt.  He’s too damn loyal.”

Dutch laughed, watching as you pulled away, riding out of Camp for what would be the last time.  You didn’t know if he believed you or not, but you hoped he wouldn’t follow you.  Everything would be fine if he didn’t follow you out.  You couldn’t imagine that what you did mattered, seeing as how you had hardly contributed to any of Dutch’s causes (except to say that they’re dangerous), but it was hard to tell with Dutch anymore. 

You waited at Copperhead Landing with Tillly for hours.  There was no trace of Dutch or Micah or any of the other guys from Camp, but there was also no trace of Arthur or Sadie.  Eventually, you grew restless, and left your things with Tilly so you could sneak into Van Horn yourself.  You hadn’t been on the radar of the law in years–they wouldn’t expect to see you barrelling into town, especially not dressed like a proper lady.  

You managed to walk through the town completely unscathed, strolling right up to the front of the building the Pinkertons had posted up in before you were questioned.  A fat man with a bald head asked you where you were going and you hastily held a knife against his throat, telling him you’d kill him if he didn’t lead you into the building.  The best part was–being that it was almost dark–that no one could see you.  He walked you straight in, hands up, telling them not to shoot you.  

In the room, you found Sadie hogtied and gagged on the ground and Abigail strapped to a chair.  Arthur was nowhere to be found.  “Put your guns down or I’ll slice his throat,” you instructed the two guards.  They did, raising their hands to the sky.  You stepped forward and kicked their weapons away.  “Untie them.”  You motioned towards Abigail and Sadie with your free hand, grabbing your pistol right afterwards.  

“No can do, Mrs. Morgan,” a voice said from a dark corner of the room.  

“Who the hell are you?”  you asked, looking towards the location of the voice.  

“Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency.  We thought you were dead until we heard of another woman running with the Van Der Linde gang on that train stunt you pulled earlier.  I never thought I’d see you in the flesh.”  He stepped forward.  

“I’ll slice this fucker’s throat-”

“I don’t doubt that you will.  But we have your husband back here, and it’d be a shame if we did the same to him.”  He grabbed a lantern from a table next to him, holding it towards the dark corner of the room.  Sure enough, there was Arthur, bloodied, barely conscious, and tied to the wall.  “Have you ever heard of lex talionis, Mrs. Morgan?” Milton asked.

“Of course I have,” you spat.  “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; what do you want in return?”

“Give me Dutch Van Der Linde or they’re dead.”  Milton smiled.

“I can’t,” you responded.  The man you were holding wrapped his arm around yours.  “He’s packing up to leave right now; I don’t know where he’s going.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth,” Arthur said weakly, coughing, from behind Milton.  “They’re leavin’ with the money.”  Blood dripped out of his mouth.  Milton turned towards him, setting down the lantern. 

“Calm down, Mr. Morgan,” he said.  “That’s quite a cough he’s got there.”

“Sure,” you responded.  “Tuberculosis.  He’ll be dead soon anyway… and you with him.”  You tightened your grip on your pistol, getting ready to aim, when the man you were holding flipped you over his body, slamming you into the hardwood floor, winding you.  In doing this, though, he’d managed to slit his own throat.  Suddenly, Milton was staring down at you, gun drawn.  The other men were trying to locate their own weapons.  

“Don’t move an inch!”  Milton shouted.  You still had the knife in your left hand, soaked with the man’s blood, and your pistol in the right.  “Let go of your weapons or we’ll shoot!”

You were effectively stuck.  A gun aimed straight at your face and only a knife to defend yourself with.  One of the men picked up his revolver.  You weighed your options.  You could try and get the knife to Arthur, but there was no guarantee that he’d be strong enough to do anything.  Or the gun, but you weren’t sure he’d be able to see well enough to shoot.  You could try to get it to Abigail, but she wasn’t untied.  Still, her bonds looked loose.  She started wiggling, nodding at you.  You flung the weapons towards her.  

“Arthur will be dead, sure, but I’ll be just fine.  We offered him a deal, Mrs. Morgan.  It’s a pity he refused to take it.”  He sneered at you.  

“He’s a fool.  I’ve been tellin’ him that for 6 years.”  The other two men appeared around you, pointing their revolvers at your head.  Abigail was wiggling her arm loose out of the corner of your eye. 

“Not all you folk have quite so many scruples.  Old Micah Bell…” Milton stepped back, leaning against the table that he’d set the lantern on.  

“Micah?” Arthur asked.

“You mean Molly?” You chimed in, sitting up a little.  One of Milton’s men shoved his revolver in your face, forcing you back down.  

“Molly O’Shea?  We sweated her a couple of times, never talked a word, had to let her go.  Micah Bell… we picked him up when you boys came back from the Caribbean and he’s been a good boy ever since.”

Abigail gave you a slight nod, free, and quickly got to untying Sadie. 

“Micah?”  You asked again, stalling.  “But he’s been so-”

“He told us about everything; the job today, your involvement with the Indians and the Army.”  Milton crossed his arms with a confident swagger.

“Then why’d you ask about Dutch?”  You asked, frowning.  “If you knew where we were the whole time, why would you ask?”

“Wanted to see if you’d tell the truth about the whole thing.  We’ve heard that Mr. Morgan was undecided.”  You glanced back to Abigail and Sadie, then back to Milton.  Arthur coughed, his head limp, and blood dripped from his mouth to the floor.  He looked pathetic.  You wished you could rush to his side and help him somehow, but you were a little occupied.  

You figured the best thing you could do from there was come up with a little sob story until Abigail had freed Sadie and gotten their weapons, so you said, “You know, I’ve waited on Arthur to get away from this for ages.  All I ever wanted was for him to cut loose and run away from that Gang.  I knew it would be our downfall.”

“That it was, Mrs. Morgan,” Milton said, but then a gun was fired and he crumpled to the ground.  Two more shots rang and Milton’s men followed suit, falling onto the hardwood floor.  

“Horrible men,” Abigail muttered, turning away.  

“You okay, Y/N?” Sadie asked, offering you a hand.  You took it and stood, nodding, and then made your way to Arthur.   

His arms were in shackles that were chained to the wall.  “Oh, Arthur,” you whispered.  “Search their bodies for keys to these things.”  

Sadie found them in Milton’s pocket, so you unlocked Arthur’s shackles and he came tumbling down onto you, unable to support himself.  “What did they do to him?” you asked, looking at the girls.

“They nearly beat him to death,” Abigail said, frowning.  “They caught him trying to untie me and attacked him.”

“Let’s get him up,” you said, motioning for Abigail and Sadie to get on either side of him.  The three of you stood in unison, supporting Arthur’s weight.  “They’ll have heard the commotion we made, so more of them will be coming, no doubt.  We need to get out of here.”

The three of you led Arthur to your mounts, helped him on, and hurried out of Van Horn, magically escaping a gunfight.  When you got to Copperhead Landing, Jack was asleep in Tilly’s arms.  The only light in the area was from the moon and stars.  You tapped Arthur’s thigh, saying, “I gotta get down.”  

Arthur nodded glumly and slipped off the side of Ralph, his horse (Abigail was on Waldo), and held on to his back for stability.  He couldn’t hold his head up all the way.  You wanted to take him away somewhere, to bring him to a place where he’d be able to rest, but you guys had a long way to go.  

“Where’s John?” Abigail asked, frowning at the sight of Jack and Tilly, but no John.  “He didn’t run, did he?”

“He’s… he’s dead,” you managed.  “He didn’t run on you guys–he wouldn’t do that again.  I’m so sorry, Abigail, but he… he fell and Dutch-”  Abigail burst into tears, pulling you into a tight hug.  “I’m so sorry.”

“We’ll go back for him,” Arthur mumbled, stepping away from Ralph and towards the two of you.  “We’ll go find him and give him a proper burial like you wanted, but I gotta have a little chat first.”

“Arthur-” You tried to interrupt, but he continued.  You broke from Abigail’s embrace.

“Abigail and Sadie, you go with Tilly and you find someplace nice to stay, please.  You got any money?”

“No, not-” 

“Here.”  Arthur reached into your suitcase and pulled out the stack of money he’d handed you earlier.  “Take it and get the hell away from here.”  You watched frantically as Arthur gave away your last bit of hope that the two of you would make it.  

“Oh, Arthur,” Abigail said, but Arthur put his hand up, telling her not to say anything and just go.  The whole lot of them did, leaving you and your husband with your horses.  

“What the hell was that?” you asked, brow furrowed.  “You’re giving them our money?”

“They need it more.”

“I thought we were running away.”  Your voice broke at this, tears filling your eyes.  “How are we gonna run away if you gave them all of our money?”

Your husband grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to look at him.  He looked defeated, in a way, as if he’d fought against himself about this and finally lost.  “I’m sorry.  I have to go back and warn them.  Micah, he’s… he’s leading all of them to their deaths.”

“They want to kill you, Arthur!  They think you’ve betrayed them!”  You pleaded, trying to catch Arthur’s gaze, which he refused to meet.  “Arthur, please.”

“It’s been 20 goddamn years; I can’t just let them die.”

“What about your wife?”  You begged.  “What about what you said earlier?  What about Big Valley?”

“I can’t… it’s… they need to know, Y/N, I’m sorry.  I need to tell them and then we can meet up again.”  He pulled you close and kissed your head, but you pulled away from him.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” you spat.  “I’ll never forgive you for picking them over me after they left you!”

“They didn’t-”

“They did!  You told me last night, Arthur.  They left you!  There��s nothing for you there anymore.  Abigail, Tilly, Sadie, and Jack are all gone.  Charles is gone.  John’s dead.  What more could you possibly get there?  I have all of our stuff!”  Tears spilled from your eyes, and as much as you tried to blink them away, they stayed steady.  

“I have to tell them about Micah.  I can’t leave them like that, not after 20 years, not knowin’ it’s him.  I don’t need you to forgive that, but I need to do it.”  He climbed onto Ralph, his amber champagne coated Missouri Fox Trotter, and looked down at you.  “I’m sorry, okay?”

“You’ll die.”

“Maybe not.  Go up to the Wapiti Indian Reservation and find Charles.  He’ll know what to do, darlin’-”

“-Don’t call me that-”

“-okay?”  Arthur offered a weak smile.  “I will meet you there as soon as I’m done, I promise you.”

“And then what, Arthur?  Then we help the gang get on a boat to New York because it’s been 20 years and you’re obligated to do that, too?  When will it end?”  You wanted to hit him, to curse him for lying to you, for almost dying, for leaving you alone.  You hated this so much.  He was going to his death.  You knew it.  You knew he would never come back to you, even if he said he would.  There was no way they wouldn’t kill him for accusing Micah–they were too blindly loyal–and you’d sit and wait.  The vision would come true.  He wouldn’t let you anywhere near Camp and, frankly, you didn’t care to be.  You didn’t want to fight in that battle because it wasn’t yours.  But you wished he’d see it your way, because his way had an awful ending that you were both all too aware of.  

“Y/N…” he said, his voice quiet.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, but I hate you.”  You wiped your tears.  “You’re killin’ yourself.”

“I know.”  He gave you a solemn nod. 

“Why can’t we just go be happy, Arthur?  Is that so hard?”

“This is all I’ve ever known.” He looked forward, grabbing his hat from his saddle bag and putting it on his head, which was bruised from the beatings he’d already taken.  He was hardly able to sit upright on Ralph, much less able to fight.  

“You’ve known me…”  He started heading towards Camp, unable to hear you.  “Arthur, you’ve known me!” you shrieked, sobbing.  “Oh, God!”  You fell to your knees, your entire body shaking with sobs.  He’d left you.  He didn’t wait to hear you out anymore–you knew he wouldn’t–and now you were on your own.  Nothing to live for, no one to remember you by.  He’d be dead before morning–you were certain of this.  Eventually, you managed to climb into your saddle and start towards Wapiti, but it was only out of fear that the Pinkertons would find you and have you shot or hanged for your entanglement with Milton.  

*****

In the weeks that followed, you fell into a terrible, hollowing depression.  You wouldn’t eat or drink anything that wasn’t forced down your throat, you wouldn’t talk.  Charles was there, of course, but he’d never be your husband and he’d never be able to bring him back.  Eventually, he went and found Arthur’s body, which was apparently at the base of a tree on a ridge that faced the East.  He let you choose a burial spot, which faced the West like Arthur had always wanted.  You didn’t know what to do anymore.  You’d always had some sort of hope for the future–you’d imagine what everything would be like when you guys finally managed to get away–but now that he was gone, there was nothing to imagine.  You quit reading and you definitely didn’t write.  You just sat.  It was a shallow existence, sure, but you did not know how to live without Arthur anymore.  He’d saved you all those years ago, and now he was just gone. 

You wanted to hate him.  The way he left you was shitty and you knew it, but you could not hate him for it because you’d always known that it would be like that.  You knew it would end up like that before he was even sick.  Still, you felt betrayed.  You were supposed to stick together in everything–he was supposed to choose you–and he hadn’t.  You were used to being the second choice, of course, but that decision cost him his life and you both knew it would.  He chose death over what could’ve been happiness with you.  You’d never forgive him for that, even with all of the love you had for him.  

“Did you eat today?” Charles asked, appearing at your side.

“No.”  

“Have some soup; it’ll hydrate you too.”  He handed you a bowl.

“I’m not hungry,” you said, trying to pass it back to him.

“I’m not asking.  Eat it.”  He pushed it back towards you.  “You have to eat something at least once a day.  You’ll starve yourself.”

“Maybe I want to die,” you fired back. 

“You don’t want to die of starvation.  That’s a painful death.”  Charles grabbed a soup bowl of his own and drank from it.  

“Maybe I want a painful death.”

“Eat.  It’s not a request.”  He forced your bowl towards your lips, despite your protests. 

“Fine!  I’ll get it myself!”  You slurped the soup loudly, just to annoy him.  “Better?”

“Yes,”  Charles said, then he stood and left.  He was never one for conversation, but you knew that he was there for you more than anyone else.  Probably more than Arthur had been, thanks to his loyalty to Dutch.  He checked in on you every day, forced you to eat, forced you to get dressed, and told you how horrible every way you’d tried to die would be.  Burns, for example, were far too painful to deal with.  It’d hurt to breathe.  You’d sit in the pain until your heart finally stopped because it was trying too hard to fight the burn.  Gunshots would be slow and agonizing, but also messy.  You’d bleed everywhere as the gunpowder spread around inside your body.  Knives were the same–far too messy and unreliable for convenience.  What would you do if you lived, after all?

You wanted to hate Charles for this, too, but you couldn’t because, like Arthur, he took care of you.  He was one of the only people in your godforsaken life who had shown that you mattered, so even if you were mad that he forced you to live, you were thankful that he cared enough to want to make it happen.  And he understood your pain.  He missed Arthur too.  They were best friends, the pair of them, so it was hard on him, too.  He wouldn’t show it, but when you couldn’t sleep at night, you could hear him moving restlessly, too.  You were in the same boat, in a way, except Charles had never been abandoned by him.  

*****

Years and years later, on your own homestead in Canada, you and Charles lived out a quiet life together.  He’d married a fine young woman from the Reservation and moved up North to get away from the carnage you’d both left behind.  You lived in a house separate from theirs, one small enough for you and another–room for Arthur, if he was still alive–and you were mostly content.  You’d go South a couple of times a year to visit Arthur’s grave–to keep it maintained and such–but you spent most of your time on the homestead.  You learned to work honestly.  You kept to yourself.  You wrote.  

One time, on a visit to Arthur, there was a man with dark hair facing the cross.  He was wearing Arthur’s hat.  You immediately burst into tears at the sight of his hat, which caught his attention, and facing you was none other than John Marston.  “Y/N?”  He asked, stepping towards you.  “Oh, my God!”

He wrapped his arms around you as your knees buckled, keeping you solidly upright.  “John,” you managed, hardly able to speak through sobs.  “How did… how did you…”

“They left me, Y/N, Dutch and them.  I got back to Camp when Arthur did and he… he helped me get out of there.  He was beaten pretty badly, by then, but he didn’t tell me nothin’.  How are you?”

“He helped you get out?”

John nodded.  “Said somethin’ about how he knew it wasn’t over and that he had to finish the job.”

“Did he mention me at all?  Was he going to come back for me?”  You sat on a rock facing the grave and John took a seat next to you.  You sniffled, wiping your face.  John was alive.  He was alive because of Arthur.  

“He kept talking about Wapiti, but he was spent before we got to the top of that mountain.  Gave me his hat, but I think you should have it.”  He took off his hat and offered it to you.  “It’s more yours than mine, anyway.  You knew him better.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, taking the hat from him.  “Did you see him die?”

“No,” he admitted.  “But I always assumed he did.  I learned from Charles a couple of years back.  I think he’s up North now-”

“He is.  We live on a homestead together.”

“Really?”  John raised his eyebrows, smiling a little.  “Good for you guys.”

“No, not like that.  He has a wife.  They just let me live there.  It’s good, honest work.”  You looked down at the hat in your hands, inhaling deeply.  “No, Arthur is my only love, I fear.”

John sat for a second, staring at the ground.  “He was a good man.  The last thing he said to me was to check in on you, but I never did.  I went to my family and we ran, but… I wish I had gone to find you.  Maybe I could’ve brought you back to him or somethin’... I don’t know.”  He took a deep breath.  “He loved you, though.  I know that.”

You nodded.  “Not enough to run away with me.”

“No, he was going to.  We’d talked about it the whole time we stayed in Beaver Hollow.  He mentioned it to Sadie, too.  I bet Charles knew he’d planned to.” 

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“Would it have made a difference?”  

You thought on that for a moment.  “I guess not.”  You smiled softly.  “I get the feeling that Charles has kept a lot from me.”

“He’s not very sociable,” John responded with a slight smile.  “I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N.”

“You too, John.  Last I knew of you, you were dead.  Where are you staying now?”

“Little ranch called Beecher’s Hope down in West Elizabeth.  You should come down sometime and visit.  It’s nice.”

“I’m okay,” you said, staring at Arthur’s grave.  “This is the furthest South I come anymore.  I don’t want to see anything else–no more reminders of Arthur, you know?”

“I suppose.”  John took your hand, shaking it, solemnly meeting your gaze.  “I have to get back to my family.”

“I have a couple of people to check in on, so that’s okay.  I keep tabs on some of the people who knew him.”  

John smiled.  “He’d like that.”

“I know.  He’d love the homestead I’m living on.  It’s so open and free…” You sighed.  “I miss him.  I see him everywhere.”

“Me too,” John said.  “Me too.”

*****

Years and years after the death of John Marston and Charles Smith, you found yourself ill with pneumonia.  You’d watched as the world grew up around you–becoming something you couldn’t recognize–and though you’d remained set in your ways, you felt that you lived in an entirely different place.  Your homestead had stayed the same, though, and it was here that you were determined to die.  

Janet, the great-granddaughter of Charles Smith, liked to listen to the stories you told.  She sat at your side and listened as you recounted the time you and Arthur danced under the stars after he’d told you he loved you.  You could see him then, sitting sweetly in the chair opposite Janet’s, and you could smell his musk.  People smelled better in 1966 than they had in 1899.  His hand was by your arm–you could practically feel the warmth coming from it.  His breathing was no longer ragged and weary like it had been in his final month, instead rhythmic and soft.  You smiled.  “He’s here now,” you told Janet.  

 She smiled back, thinking you were crazy, and squeezed your hand as Arthur eased you into a quiet, peaceful death.  You were together again, at last. 

#rdr2 #red dead redemption two #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur morgan #canon compliant #idk

[blackinquisitors]

Are there any characters or story beats that feel weak in rdr2 to you? Also, things you wished there'd been more exploration of, characters or ideas or themes

oh my god so much. I love red dead and its absolutely the best game ive ever played - and probably one of the best games ever - but its definitely not without flaws

Blessed are the peacemakers makes no sense in the plot. It does a few things: makes arthur doubt dutch, illustrates dutchs decline and his apathy (perhaps for the first time for the player), and shows that colm odriscoll is working with the pinkertons, possibly doing foreshadowing for micahs betrayal by showing you its possible for outlaws to become rats. BUT I think this could have been done in a billion other ways than "Lets torture arthur and never bring it up again!" bc he doesnt mention it, his shoulder injurt doesnt hinder him, he doesnt have ptsd from it. theres not a reason why that in particular had to happen. arthur could have been captured, but not tortured and shot, for example. maybe they could have drugged him and thru his haze he overheard colms plans and then managed to escape when he came to, only to find that it had been several days that he was missing and no one came to look for him. that sort of thing. same prinicple but without the ridiculous glossing over of TORTURE

Guarma. This one sticks in my craw and I get more annoyed every time I play it. R* originally was going to have villages and stranger missions on the island but abandoned it for some reason? time I guess? But I really would have liked to see a more personal look at the people there and how cornwall and fussar have hurt them. PLUS it would have been a very good opportunity to show how the way the rich men rob from the poor isnt too different from what dutch and the gang does. It would give arthur a really good image of how far they had fallen, that they were similar to these awful men, when they originally started off as robin hood-like men that gave back the money they stole to shanties. but no its just 3 missions of endless combat which can be fun but isnt really bc I dont even have my favortite gun with me. Also it didn't do a good job of showing Javier's sudden loyalty to Dutch/Bill/Micah. I would think that Arthur being stuck w these four, who eventually betray him, with nobody else would be a good opportunity to show how they all grow to hate him for some reason, but its not there. SIDE NOTE guarma is also glitched for me and this is a common bug. The time stays at 9am and half the guarma-exclusive animals dont spawn so I didn't get to fill out my compendium. R* never fixed this

I think all the girls could have been expanded upon. Tilly's role in the gang especially bc she was raised the same way as john and views dutch like a father, yet if you never heard her camp dialogue explaining this, you would never know. Molly especially needed more detail. She was supposed to be on the mission to go to the saint denis mayors party, and was cut for SOME REASON. but she would have done wonderfully. She should have had a part in it

The timeline of the gang and their relationships makes no fucking sense. Abigail says she always liked Mary, but Abigail joined the gang in 1894, and Mary and Arthur talk like they were in their early twenties when they were together. Theres a dialogue w Abigail and Uncle where they reminisce on her working girl days (bc Uncle was her pimp - very weird) and she says it was ten years ago. but that would mean she was working two years after she gave birth to jack which 1. didn't happen and 2. COULDNT happen bc I dont think men would want to pay for a night with a mother who had children fairly recently. the stretch marks and loose skin would give that away. Arthur has an antagonizing line to Jack that he looks like a williamson or an escuella- Javier didn't join the gang until about 1895, a year after abigail, and presumably when she was already pregnant or had given birth to jack. Theres other examples but these are the main ones I can think of

That encounter with Sonny in the swamp had no reason to be in the gang aside from R* thinking male victims of SA are funny

I wish they had more detail with Isaac. I mean clearly I wish that, ive got a 130k+ fic exploring arthur and Isaac's relationship, but within red dead I wanted just a bit more than a couple of lines. Originally Isaac and Eliza were both supposed to be in the game and Isaac was a newborn that would have frozen to death in the prologue, and I think Eliza would have ran away. Instead they went with making them a footnote in Arthur's story. On one hand, I understand why Arthur would rarely talk about them bc it would be too painful, but I also think if it was more overt, it would color his interactions with Jack/Abigail/John differently. Plus it would lean more into the themes of cycles of violence, and breaking out of it to be a father. Arthur didn't and he died childless, John tried to but he couldnt manage it and doomed his son to follow in his footsteps

THE EPILOGUE. Oh my godddd the more I play the epilogue, the more empty it feels and the more I realize why few people like it or finish it. It feels very tacked on. There needed to be a scene between the saddest video game death in history and John and Abigail arguing. The fact that there is no break inbetween like 2 hours of arthurs story wrapping up and another hour of John's story starting. Farm chores are fine but tedious if youve played it before. John being desperate for money and risking his life w sadies bounties makes no sense when Ive just done a treasure map and have $1000 in my inventory. "The gang needs money" is an endlessly attainable goal, moreso than "I need money". John's player model is just Arthur's reskinned- But they originally planned for you to play as John's npc model. You can see this in the pictures they have in the menu of John in the missions. The fact that there are NO NEW STRANGER MISSIONS aside from evelyn miller which is really nothing. They unlock new austin, but theres NOTHING to do there except collectiables and sight seeing and a couple bounties. Why even bother? When you compare how dense New Hanover is with Stuff To Do compared to New Austin which is HALF THE TOTAL MAP, its ridiculous!! I think it was just rushed and needed either more fleshing out, or cutting out completely bc John doesnt even live in new austin, and doesnt visit it until rdr1. Doesnt Bonnie give him a tour bc he doesnt know where things are? I may be misremembering that

Money. Money is so inconsistent and the values make no sense. Right its 1899. I rob a stagecoach and get $40 for it. This must be like $1000 in todays money. Wow Arthur beat a man to death for $40. This must be a lot of money. What do you mean a pair of jeans is $15. Thats how much they cost now! Wait why is this can of bean $1.40? I can buy them now for 40cents! Not to mention the Valentine bank robbery gives you $2000, essentially making money completely useless. Add on all the treasure maps as well as random gold bars lying around, which is 24 accoring to gamerant. $12,000 for all of those. So once you have this much money, all the fun outlaw stuff of robbing stagecoaches, mugging people, robbing stores and trains, is completely irrelavent. I never do any of it bc its not worth the bounty for 50 bucks. And paying off bounties isnt a big deal either bc its barely a dent in your pocket. Basically it takes the difficulty away, and the need to engage in these criminal activities for afford anything in the game. Its hard to take dutch seriously w his "We need more money" when I have a cool 8k in my man purse. Its also hard to believe Arthurs lamenting about his behaviour "I'm a bad man I rob and kill and am so terrible to people" no you aint but I dont make you do anything criminal unless the game makes me in a mission

Theres a lot of cut content and I wish almost all of it was back. Most notably, roulette tables, boat to guarma for John, more stranger missions, more companion activities in camp. I think they were orginally going to allow come sort of companion mechanic where people from camp could accomanpy Arthur on his adventures. I understand why they didnt bc that would require 10x more voice acting and would be really complicated with stranger missions, but I would have loved it all the same

Okay. I was going to add another one but tumblr said I reached my limit. my last thing is I wished they didnt play the native american flutes every time anyone in the wapiti tribe came on screen. silly.

anyway NOW I'm done. I think. Ill probably think of more but this post is already very long

#long post

[mamahex]

This is a very edited little story (the one on AO3 is VERY NSFW). So if you want to see the porny version, it's on there. I just want to say that this really hurt to write. It seems ridiculous, somehow, that I'm a forty two year old woman, sat here crying about the long since death of a fictional character from a game... but yet here I am. I'm really, really sad right now... 🥺

Why Does It Feel Like We're Saying Goodbye

By the time we got to Shady Belle, I knew the end was looming.

I can feel the end of us as if it were a physical thing, a giant creature that has been chasing us all since Blackwater, stomping at our heels no matter how far we ran. And I'm not stupid, I can see the decline in Dutch as clearly as if I were reading his story in a book held tightly in my hands, but I am as powerless to stop his decline as if it really had been a book that someone else had written many years before; beginning, middle and end.

Of course, I think of my boys... My two boys who I love with every ounce of feeling that's still held inside of me, but also the others, the women and little Jack... I've told them, time and time again to get out while they still can, because I know the end is near and I know there's no hope, no escaping this monster at our back's, no Tahiti...

But most of all, the thing that hurts the most, more than losing my own life or losing any one of my sons... I think of Dutch.

He has always suffered from these dark moods, retreating behind his impenetrable walls that I could never breech. He was always so full of life and light and love that each time he retreated into his darkness, it felt as if the whole world had suddenly been rendered black and desolate. It always hurt. But I had always been able to coax him back out, eventually, back to us, back to me. But since he killed that woman in Blackwater...somethng had changed, and I simply couldn't reach him.

And I know I've been as bad as the others have been, agreeing with his plans, encouraging him even when he rants about Tahiti or wherever else he plans on running us all to, and I do it just to see him smile. I do it just to see a faint flicker of life light his eyes again, like they used to be lit. And sure, we've argued, we've debated, we've stormed off from each other's company plenty times since Blackwater, but I haven't dissagreed even nearly as much as I should, and I hate myself for that. I'm weak...I'm a weak and pathetic old man, agreeing with a madman just because I love him...

I love him so much that it's beginning to kill me, seeing him like this.

Arthur simply agrees with Dutch, like he always has, because he loves him too. John is beginning to question him now, and that does surprise me somewhat, but all his doubts are doing is pushing a larger wedge between Dutch and they boy he loves. Dutch won't ever listen, won't ever hear him.

And Micah... Micah is the devil, I'm sure of it. I truly think that the end has come for me, for us all, and that the devil himself has come to march us all to hell. But of course, Dutch won't see reason, he won't see the truth, because the more we doubt his erratic plans and argue with him, the more Micah is there to tell him he is right and we are all wrong, and that's always the best medicine for Dutch: having someone tell him he is right. So long as he believes he is right, he will hear no other truth.

I went up to his room in the old, run-down plantation house without any sort of plan or reason. I just... I just needed to be with him. Sometimes, I simply need him, without words, without questions, as it has always been between us. Throughout all the years, it has always been the same. The love we share, it's never needed an explanation, or an identity, or a question... We have never felt the need to be each other's Only, to cuddle by the fireside, holding hands and showing everyone our love. We just simply have always been... We could have months pass without so much as a touch, but then I, or he, would simply walk up to the other and fall into his arms, and be taken, without question, and loved.

Molly answered the door, looking angry and dark. "No," she simply said, staring up at me. "No."

"Go sleep somewhere else tonight, honey," I said, feeling tired and old and not ready for a fight. I don't know if she had any real idea why I was there, why Dutch would simply not be there with her, some nights, but the look on her face told me she perhaps had an idea. But the fight had already been wrung out of her by then. I think that she, too, must have felt the end coming, more so for her and Dutch than for the rest of us. She simply scowled at me and pushed past me and left.

I went into the room and quietly closed the door behind me.

There was an old tin bathtub in the middle of the room that some of the boys had carried up for him to use. He was laying in the bath, then the hot water gently steaming the room, making the already swampy and humid air even more unbearable. He looked up as I approached and smiled at me. There was no question, no surprise. He knew why I was there, as was our way.

Without a word, I walked over to him and leaned into a crouch by the side of the bath, leaned down, and kissed him. We hadn't been together, like this, since before Blackwater, but the time that had passed and everything that had happened had done nothing to change our unspoken closeness, our unquestioning love for each other.

Dutch took a hand from the water and lightly pulled me closer, his hot wet hand touching my hair and making me damp. He leaned up and kissed me, one deep and lingering kiss on the lips, before sliding back down to sitting and taking back his hand. I got down to the floor, stiffly, and sat beside him.

"How's the headwound?" I asked, reaching out and stroking his wet hair, being careful not to touch the most sore place.

"It's better," he said. I nodded, still running my fingers through his hair. "I've missed you, old girl," he said. His voice was deep and quiet and full of thoughts.

"I've missed you too, my love," I said, and I felt as if I might weep, there, on the floor beside him. "I need you tonight," I said, my voice coming out thick with feeling.

Dutch turned to stare at me, his black eyes reaching inside of me to gently pluck at the very most hidden places. I was afraid, then, that he might reject me for the first time in over twenty years. But his dark look melted into a half smile, and he gently took my hand from the wet tangle of his hair and slowly began to kiss my fingers, my hand, trailing slow delicious kisses up to my wrist.

"We don't have to...if you are too tired..." I said, suddenly feeling shy, suddenly feeling the distance that had pushed us apart since Blackwater. I didn't mind if we didn't have sex, I just needed to be with him, very suddenly.

"I always want you, Hosea..." he spoke between kisses. "I'll always want you..." He turned back to look at me and gripped my hand a little tighter and tugged my hand into the hot water. He held my hand over his hardness, "I always want you..." he repeated, his voice grainy with lust.

I bent to kiss him again, a hungrier kiss than the last. As our tongues began to gently entwine, I felt my own arousal, my own need begin. We broke apart, panting slightly, staring at each other.

In one sudden movement, Dutch lurched to stand, water sloshing over the sides of the bath to sink into the floorboards. He stood before me, the fire in his eyes almost terrifying. I got to my feet and let him come at me.

He climbed out of the bath and went to me, pressing his wet body against my dry clothes, and kissed me. I felt the hot water from his body begin to soak my clothes, but I didn't care.

Dutch pulled away from me and began to tear at my clothes, his hands fumbling in his desperation. I helped him as best I could, stripping my damp clothes and casting them aside.

We made love then, a desperate, needy love that I hadn't realised I was craving until it was consuming me.

I gasped a laugh. "I'm getting too old for this..." I said.

Dutch smiled at me, and my heart flared at the sight of it.

"We'll never be too old for this."

"Come to bed?" I asked.

Dutch took my hand and pulled me into his bed. I gladly fell into his embrace, resting my head on his chest, running my hand through the hair on his chest. He held me tightly, his body warm and familiar and safe. We clung to each other, and there was nothing but love and the promise of a better future there, in that bed.

But, of course, I knew it was only temporary...

I know that, in the morning, we are to rob the bank at Saint Denis. I know that it's meant to be our last big heist. I know it's meant to be the last big take we need before...Tahiti.

I sighed, feeling the bliss of our lovemaking leaving me.

I couldn't shake the feeling that this was the last time we will ever lay in bed together. I can't shake the feeling that I was saying goodbye...

"Dutch," I whispered.

"Mmmm," he said, half sleeping beheath me.

"Tomorrow... after the bank job...after we get the money..."

"What?" he asked, waking up a little more.

"When we get the money, when we leave...I've been thinking...I want to go away with you. Just you...I want us to go away somewhere and... just be together. I can't lose you, Dutch."

I felt tears begin to sting my eyes, and the awful, desperate feeling that I was losing him gripped my chest like a vice.

Dutch peered at me. "We can't leave the gang..."

I sighed, swallowed anything that was trying to come to the surface. I knew I'd never be able to convince him that the gang was finished. I knew that he believed in his promises of a life in Tahiti... I knew he wouldn't listen to reason, and I didn't want to end this night with another argument. So I did what I've done all along, and I let him keep a hold of his plans, his dreams, simply so I didn't have to watch him retreat back into his own darkness once more and leave me cold without his light.

I'd wanted to ask him to come away with me, to let the boys go... I wanted to get him away from Micah and then, just the two of us, we could be safe, and I wouldn't have to lose him. Of course, I wanted Arthur and John to remain close, but the gang was done...

But I couldn't say it. I couldn't ask it.

"I know, Dutch... I don't mean we leave the gang... After, when we are settled... How about you and me go somewhere together, just for a while, just the two of us... Somewhere, we can grow into older old men, with each other. And when we get back to the gang, watch our son's grow, whatch our...family thrive? But before that, before that, let's just let it be you and me for a little while..."

Dutch stared up at the cieling, deep in thought.

"We need to get everyone settled..." he said.

"I know, and we will... But once they are all settled and safe, lets just you and me go away together, sleep together like this every night. No more running, no more hiding... We can be free after tomorrow. The bank job is going to work, we are going to be rich, and when the family is safe, we can be together."

Dutch smiled up at the cieling and smiled up into his dreams.

I sat up and looked down at him and stroked his hair back from his forehead.

"Tomorrow," I said, "we are gonna be rich. I say we send Micah back to Blackwater for the rest of the money while we book passage to Tahiti, and then we can meet him out there... and once we are settled... we can be together like this forever."

I knew that the words I had been trying to say had morphed into a lie, but I simply couldn't bring myself to disappoint him...

I smiled and bent to kiss him.

"I love you, Dutch," I said, and again, I could feel tears begin to choke me. "Whatever happens tomorrow, with the bank job, with the plan... just remember that I love you. I'm in love with you, I have always been utterlly in love with you, and I always will be, until we are both up in heaven..."

"I love you too, Hosea," Dutch breathed, huffing a slight laugh at my unusual display of affection. "Why does it feel like we're saying goodbye?" he asked, kissing my forhead and holding me a little tighter.

"I'm not saying goodbye...I'm just saying I love you, Dutch...and I'll always love you."

"I love you too, old girl... there is no world without you in it... you are my world...if something should take you from me...I dread to think what would happen to me."

"I'm not going anywhere without you, Dutch," I whispered, stroking his face.

Dutch grinned at me. "See, you are finally starting to believe, Hosea! We are gonna be all right, we are gonna be better than all right! We are gonna be rich and safe and free, just how we planned it, right from the start..."

I kissed him softly, our lips warm. "Get some sleep," I said, snuggling back down into his chest. "Tomorrow will be difficult."

I felt Dutch snuggle deeper into the old and battered matress beneath us and sigh, sleep taking him.

I tried to sleep. I lay there, feeling his breathing slow and watching him doze off, but sleep wouldn't come to me. I gently slipped out of bed and retrieved my still damp clothes from the floor. I bent to kiss him, just before I left him sleeping, and smiled as his brow furrowed slightly at the invasion.

Sitting here now, writing in this book... That awful feeling is gripping me once again. The man I love is soundly sleeping upstairs, my boys, my family, they are all well around me. But...for how long?

Tomorrow, we are to rob the bank at Saint Denis, and it was my own plan, so I know that nothing should go wrong. So why does it feel like the end?

I don't know what the morning will bring, but I'm determined that, however this plays out, wether its Tahiti or the end of a rope for us, I'm going to make sure Dutch is with me.

#vandermatthews #ao3fic #red dead redemption fanfiction

[funkwhistle]

Sunrise

Pairing: Sort of Dutch x GN!reader, sort of Micah x GN!reader

Warnings: None, not even fluff

Words: 2k

Notes: Micah and you go for a ride to Saint Denis, it’s just a bit of comfort tbh

Nothing had made you feel quite as alone as he did, even though behind the protection of canvas walls he could be the most doting partner. His constant doting on her, the fact he'd spent more time drinking with Hosea than speaking to you over the past month, it all just hurt. And you couldn't say anything, of course, he was the gang leader and whatever you had to say would be dismissed by whichever fanciful excuse he would concoct in retaliation. 'He always paid attention to you', 'People like him were always busy', all excuses he'd given you before, you didn't need to hear them again. Even if you could speak out, you'd be kicked from the camp, and with nowhere to go you'd end up selling yourself in the corner of the bar again, as you were when he rescued the first time. 

You watched them from across camp as Dutch spoke to Mary-Beth again, cracking jokes and covertly giving her a brooch he'd stolen. You couldn't bring yourself to hate her, she was too innocent to fall a victim to him, and you'd repeatedly tried to warn her. In her view, this was the fairytale she'd dreamed of, that she would be rescued by a handsome outlaw, who would woo her and they'd flee away together. And for a while, you'd hoped that would be the case with Dutch as well, but the whirlwind romance was over before it started.

Part of you wanted nothing more than to stay with the gang, bringing in money like Arthur did, but the other half of you wanted to run back to the comfort and certainty of a small-town job. Not one part of you wanted to continue like this, your only job was to sit and look pretty. Brushing your clothes down, you stood up, deciding to leave camp for a change of scenery; you'd love to visit Saint Denis, some others spoke of it as though it was magical, rumoured to be ten times the size of Emerald Ranch, where you'd grown up. But even a walk around some swamp of Shady Belle would be better than nothing, the peacefulness of being alone was something you envied. 

As you were leaving camp, you crossed paths with Micah, who was riding into camp with a satchel full of what looked like money. Micah wasn't bad, you spoke to him a lot while the pair of you would wait for Dutch. And even though he was not eloquent with his words in the way Dutch was, he still would manage to make you laugh, his sarcasm as self depreciating jokes reminding you of what you'd been like before you joined the gang. As he passed you, he made sure to flash the contents of the bag at you, winking and saying;

“See? I pay my rent,” he jabbed, knowing how you felt about your lack of job in camp. You didn't grace him with a reply, opting instead to flip him the bird. As he rode off, you heard him laugh at your reaction, going to give his take to Dutch. You continued out of camp, until you were far enough not to hear the constant noise from it, finding a tree to lean against as you watched the swamp move in the sun. The warmth from the summer had made everyone's temper's short and while it was better than the snow of Colter, you were sick of the bugs and lack of sleep. 

The sun passed through the sky as you sat there, watching an alligator lazily flick its tail on one of the islands in the centre of the swamp. If you strained your eyes, you could see the train when it had passed, but you could definitely hear it, and you yearned for nothing more than to jump on and ride into the city. Nobody had come to check on you, they were either too busy, and Dutch wouldn't care until he wanted you. So, here you sat, peacefully observing the evening as it drew in, breathing in the deliciously cool air.

“Thought I'd find ya here,” a familiar gruff voice said from behind you, shaking you from whatever you'd been thinking about. Craning your neck, you saw Micah, leaning against the same tree you were sat at the base of, smoking again. 

“What do you want? Is he looking for me?” you said, disgusted at the hope in your voice. Micah laughed at your question, dropping the cigarette on the floor and squashing it with his boot. 

“Dutch, looking for ya? That's a good one doll,” he looked down at you for a moment, before staring off in the same direction you were. Inside, you'd known the answer before he'd spoken, but for some reason unknown to you, you were still hopeful that he'd change.  

“You ever been to Saint Denis, Micah?”“Why doll? You plannin' on running away?”“I've never been, and people say it's a big place, that was all,” Regretting asking, you looked over the swamp again. Distantly, there were plumes of smoke which you could only assume was the city, although you didn't realize you were camped that close. 

“Wait here,” he said, moving away from the tree and back towards camp. You assumed he was leaving, to do something more interesting than sit with you; not like you had anything interesting to tell him anyway. Relaxing back into the tree, you wrapped your arms around yourself in a hope to keep you a little warmer. 

Micah didn't return for a while, but the sound of hooves approaching made you turn, suddenly alert, hoping it was just someone leaving camp and not some person coming for you. The hooves stopped a few feet away, the bushes too dense for you to see the mysterious rider. Anxiously, you moved to shelter behind the tree a little, wishing you had something to protect yourself a little.  “You still there darlin'?” It was Micah, thank heavens, and you poked your head out to see him, looking for you in one of the other bushes. 

“Micah,” you approached him, confused as to why he'd left earlier, but as soon as he saw you, his face lit up.

“Thought you'd left,” he said, the smile fading as his usual gruff facade returned. You shook your head, shivering a little at the cool evening wind. “I got this for ya,” 

He passed you a coat, not yours, but one you presumed was his, it smelt like him anyway. 

“Couldn't find your one without meeting Dutch. It's got a hole in the left arm though,” he said, watching you pull it on. Immediately, the chill of the wind was lessened, and you smiled gratefully at him, this coat, even with the hole, was better than any coat you'd ever owned. It was well-worn, and the tough leather was soft on your skin, and in one of the inside pockets you could feel a pack of something, most probably oil or smokes.

As you were pulling on the coat, Micah started back through the trees to where his horse was, beckoning you to follow him. Pushing through the bushes, you came to Micah's horse, Baylock, and Micah pulling on his riding gloves. 

“Get on then,” he said, jerking his head to the horse, as he pulled one of his stirrups and swung himself on. You looked up at him, confused, you'd only ever ridden a horse once, when Dutch took you from Emerald Ranch, and you didn't know why he was asking you to get on now. At your look of confusion, he offered a hand down to you, explaining;

“You wanted to go to Saint Denis?” In your mind, the last puzzle piece clicked into place, and you, albeit with a lot of scrambling, got up onto the horse behind Micah. For the first time in a while you were excited, not caring about what Dutch would have to say when you returned. You wrapped your arms around Micah, holding yourself on, as he kicked the horse into a fairly leisurely canter. 

The journey was longer than it looked, but you were comfortable on the back of Baylock, the steady rhythm of hooves on the ground providing comfort to you, and making you less nervous about riding. Micah's hands would brush against yours every few strides, as he directed the horse a different way or relaxed a little. Somehow he was a lot warmer than you were, and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder as you went along, nearly falling asleep.

By the time you'd reached the city, the moon, and the street lights were the only source of light. Glad to have Micah's jacket, the pair of you rode through the town, your eyes boggling at the size of it. Occasionally, Micah would point out something interesting, like the tram, or an interesting looking alleyway. When you reached the stable, Micah hitched his horse outside, walking towards the docks. 

Micah stopped as he reached a tall looking building on one of the jetties, waiting for you to catch up; you were too busy taking in the bustle of the city, and the fact that even now, at night, it was busier than Emerald Ranch in daytime. Once you had reached him, he began to scale the side of the building deftly, hooking his feet into little gaps in the wood and metal cladding. 

“C'mon, don't tell me you ain't climbed a building before?” he asked once he was sat on the roof, looking down at you seriously. Sure, you used to scale the buildings in Emerald Ranch when you were younger, but that was a long time ago, and this seemed difficult now. Not wanting to disappoint him after he'd brought you this far, however, you began to climb, slower than Micah, but steadily getting higher. 

“That's it, just don't look down now,” he said as you reached the top, grabbing your arm as soon as he could to help pull you up. From here you could see much further, over Flat Iron Lake and the large ships which were docked in the harbour. Micah explained what some boats were for, and ones he didn't know he made up stupid jobs for.

The roof was corrugated, but it provided you wit some grip as you sat there, lisening to his stories. Neither of you had ever realy spoken about yourself before, and you enjoyed listening to Micah's wild tales that you weren't sure were completely truthful. But it didn't matter if they were all lies, listening to something other than Dutch's worries was welcome. And Micah seemed to be enjoying it, the fainest hint of a smile would cross his face when he remembered the events. 

“That one is perfect for raiding, they never lock the cabin. And that one looks like it goes fishing, but I nicked it before, and it had nothing on,” he smiled a little at the last statement, glancing over at you. While you were listening to him, you were looking down on the people working in the city, happy with the fact you'd seen the city everyone spoke about, even if it was dirtier than you'd imagined it to be.  

“Thanks Micah,” you said as he took a break from his stories of the place. He's just finished telling you about the time he evaded the law by running on people's roofs, and that an old woman had told him off for it.

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

“You didn't have to take me out, not like you was plannin to go out again,” 

“What else was I gonna do then doll? Sit and get hammered at the campfire again? I like this more,” he answered, pulling a can of beans from his satchel. “You hungry?” 

You nodded eagerly,  remembering you hadn't eaten since before you'd left camp yesterday. He passed you the open can, and the pair of you sat on the rooftop, you eating beans, watching the sun come up over the city. And sure, when you returned to camp, you'd have to face the repercussions of felling to the city overnight, but for now, you could push that to the back of your mind and enjoy the sunrise.

A/N: I’m not sure if I love or hate this, but here we go, it’s been in my head for quite a while. Also catch Micah being sweet for the first time, we love to see it.

#micah bell x reader #micah bell/reader #micah bell x you #dutch van der linde #micah bell #saint denis #sunrise #red dead redemption imagine #red dead #red dead redemption 2 #reader insert #rdr2 #rdr2 tilly #rdr

[blurryumbrellas]

Unpopular opinion: Dutch had regrets during events of Ch.4 - Mid Ch.6

'n Dutch haters come at me all you want but he's my comfort character so there...

⚠️SPOILERS FOR RDR2 BELOW THE CUT⚠️

After the trolley incident in chapter 4, there is a shift in Dutch's behavior and just the way he is. Dutch hasn't always been a nice person, IF he's even been that. However, he was a man who would usually not think before his actions. Once meeting Hosea, Hosea was the one who kept Dutch in line (for the most part; hinting at going after Bronte, Hosea tried to stop Dutch there but there wasn't much more the poor man could do to stop his friend.) This made Dutch more of a man who thought before he acted, this maybe becoming a habit of his once being with Hosea for so long...

But after "Banking the American Art" mission in the end of Ch.4, that’s when we saw Dutch really start to go, becoming the more cold and suspicious man we know him as in RDR1. Without Hosea, Dutch had started to become undone. That being said. A friend of mine reminded me of how in the beginning of the end (Ch.6) Miss Grimshaw may tell Arthur that someone has smashed the donation box. Now it can be implied that the good ol'camp rat Micah had done it, for whatever reason he felt so inclined to, however I have a theory, not that its a grand one but still...

I'd like to think that there was a point where after the trolley incident, Dutch became more of a man based on acting before speaking once more. Since Hosea was gone and Micah was there to fill that void, Mr.Bell only pushed Dutch on to commit more violence than to help the gang along; Really, to only help the two of them rather than the gang itself. But amidst all that, I think there we're moments where Dutch had much regret of his actions. He hated to see the man he was becoming again, but he couldn't do anything to stop that, for there was no proper person to guide him in the right direction after Hosea’s passing. I'm unsure as to exactly why but, I feel this rage and separation between the gang, the untrust, the disloyalty, etc. And maybe even Dutch's questioning and confusion towards himself, Arthur & John, caused him to go over the edge, smashing the box and maybe putting the money aside in the chest, who knows.

Dutch felt like he was beginning to break everything he touched, but could not fix it without Hosea's help. So he turned to Micah out of desperation to fill that void rather than Dutch working on things by himself. Again, this is just me kinda blabbing, maybe projecting a bit, I dunno. But I thought it was a thought interesting enough to post. Let me know whatcha think! 🥭💵

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde #yeehaw #yours truly a curious umbrella #yours truly a theorizing umbrella #rdr2 theories #red dead redemption 2 theorizing #theorizing #cowpoke umbrellas screencaps (rdr2)

[neon-junkie]

Duality - Chpts 1,2&3

Summary: There's a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you've told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 8837 (ongoing work) 

Rating: NSFW Warnings: Depictions of Violence (Reader is fine)

Tags: Dead Dove: Do not eat, Fights/Arguments, Slow burn, Hate sex, Enemies with benefits, Enemies to lovers, Pity sex, Vaginal sex, Outdoor sex, Creampies, Blood kink, Knives, Choking, Breath play, Rough/Manhandling, Heists & Robberies, Nipple sucking/licking, Making out, Sloppy kisses, Dirty talking, Grinding.

Notes: This fic was inspired by the gang of children that recently decided to start hurdling abuse at me simply because I enjoy Micah character. If he bad then why he make my pussy go brr?? I ain't ever gonna stop writing for him, somebody's gotta love the ratman so I guess I'll volunteer as tribute. This piece is inspired by @deputytrash​ and their work called ‘Micah Bell is a Rat Bastard,’ that I can’t actually link here because Tumblr hates links:))) so please go stalk them for the original fic. shoutout to all the other Micah fuckers out there; we're kinda fucked up but hey, we ain't hurting anybody<3

[Chapter 4]

Some men are born with the purest of hearts; they're full of good intentions, kindness, willingness to help others. They want to see the world go round, they enjoy watching the days go by with their loved ones around them. They want nothing more than love and equality, happiness for everyone, and they strive to achieve that. Those men, such as Arthur, are ones that you obviously enjoy for such reasons, and you enjoy watching them on the sideline, smiling at the way they make everyone happy. You've tried dating those men before and something felt... off about them, almost fake; you wish to enjoy such relationships with the purest of men, but you've never been able to sit in that saddle comfortably. The leather smells off and something constantly jabs at your tailbone. It's fine, honestly, to not sit comfortably in that saddle. Others can enjoy those men, ones who deserve them, ones who are just as pure and wholesome as those men they seek out. You're happy for them, you enjoy seeing them enjoy each others company, they really do deserve it. Only that leaves you with the problem of 'who the hell am I meant to fall for?' There are others who are sometimes split down the middle, with good and bad intentions, men such as Dutch who eventually crack under so much pressure, as expected. But these men have never really taken your fancy either. You curse the Gods for creating you with no intentions to seek out those pure of heart, or even slightly pure of heart. Why can't you be considered normal? You're a good person, yet you don't long for someone as good as you. 

Instead, those who have only ever walked the darker path take your fancy. Those men who have no good intentions in them, who only look out for themselves and sometimes (but rarely) the few people closest to them, if you're stupid enough to get close to them, to begin with. You enjoy the challenge, you enjoy taming the beast, being the one person that someone so wild can trust. It's a generic trope that you've read in romance novels where the princess falls for the villain, but they always seem to have the happiest of endings? and the stories themselves are so juicy, so rich and full of layers. The generic happy couple trope gets so boring, nothing to read into. But if you're given a story about a well-layered villain who softens out within time then you'll eat said story off the dirt if you have to, it's always so rich and fulfilling, though you never expected to end up in one. "Which book are you reading today?" Mary-Beth asks you as she joins you on the beach, leaning back against the log you're leaning against. You do miss sitting on the cliff at Horseshoe Overlook, peering up at the landscape whenever your eyes need a break from being so engulfed in whatever book you were reading. But there's something just as good as looking out at the water, hearing the waves lapping against the shore as you read, enjoying the river breeze on a hot Lemoyne day. "The same as last time, that one centered around the villain," you tell her, your eyes momentarily peeking up to watch as she sits down beside you. "Still? Oh, you and your dark fiction," Mary-Beth replies with a laugh. She'd given your book that nickname after you explained the plot to her. Mary-Beth, as wholesome and pure as she is, couldn't quite understand why you'd get so engulfed in a book where the princess falls for the villain, completely ignoring the stud hero and running off with the bad guy instead. After explaining how layered the villain was, and how his actions were the result of past trauma, she somewhat understood but decided that she's happy with her sappy romance novels. That's understandable, your taste isn't for everyone, and you'd both agreed on that. "Like I said, I just find it more interesting," you reply, your eyes trailing over to the landscape. "Which book have you got?" you ask. "Oh, the same still. I've almost finished it! The poor man in it has finally been turned away from that woman, though they're both in love," she replies. "But from what you've told me, she's not exactly... the best person in the world?" you ask. "I guess not. Maybe I am into a little bit of dark fiction then, hm?" Mary-Beth questions with a soft laugh, finally opening her book to pick up from where she left off. "Maybe-" you begin to speak, but the sound of shouting draws your attention back to camp. You and Mary-Beth peer over your shoulders to watch the commotion in the distance. Ugh. It's Micah again, screaming at Bill for being so kind to the poor dog Jack had found, Cain. He's hollering away, something about not being soft on strays, that they'll only follow you around for food, whatever. You try to hold in your laughter when Micah does the last thing you'd expect, literally barking at Bill before storming off. "That man sure is evil," Mary-Beth comments. "I still ain't sure why Dutch allows him to follow us around, a bit like Cain really," she frowns, turning her gaze away. "He is, funny that he can't see just how much of a dog he is," you laugh along, returning your focus back to your book. "Has he bothered you again recently?" she questions, knowing that your last run-in with him was only a few days ago. "No, he ain't spoke to me, he ain't even looked at me." "Good, probably because he's still got that black eye you gave him," Mary-Beth replies, trying to hold back on her laughter. "Well, he did deserve it." Micah had pestered you a few days ago, stirring up some shit simply because he was bored. You were sat by yourself in camp, playing a solo game of solitaire whilst the wind was quiet, your cards not blowing away for once. He waltzed over, as always, looking like he owned the place; he only acts that way because he sucks up to Dutch, a bit of a teachers' pet, though he's definitely never stepped foot in a school. "Hey," Micah says to you. Well, you were unsure if he was speaking to you as your head was down, focused on the cards, so Micah quickly snapped when you didn't reply. "I said hey. You deaf?" he asks, lightly tapping the back of your shoulder. You let out a long sigh as you roll your eyes and look up. "I didn't know you were speaking to me, Micah," you reply. "Well, who else would I be speaking to, doll? There ain't anyone else around here," Micah says with a laugh, waving his hands about to gesture that nobody was nearby. "I can see that now," you sigh. You begin to put your cards away, knowing that if Micah's here then there's no way you'll be able to play this game in peace. Whatever, you were stumped anyway, considering calling this game quits, and Micahs appearance had encouraged you to do so. "What're you doing?" Micah questions. "I was playing solitaire," you reply, shuffling the cards back together and returning them to their container, an old mints tin that you found fits the cards much better than their old paper box. "And why have you packed up, hm? Is it 'cause I'm here?" Micah asks, knowing the answer. "It is," you say as you stand and put the tin in your pocket, beginning to walk off. The last person you ever want to talk to is Micah, but it seems he really wants to talk to you as he begins to follow you. "Where're you going? I ain't that bad. I know we don't exactly get along but you can't fault me for trying to right these wrongs with you," Micah begins, playing the white knight card as always, batting his lashes as if he hasn't made a handful of remarks towards you in the past, ensuring there's a thick barrier between the two of you. "I ain't interested in making friends with you, Micah. Now leave me be," you snap back, picking up the pace as you storm past Dutch's tent, hoping he'd pick up on the small commotion but his head is buried deep in his current Evelyn Miller book. "Such mean words coming from such a pretty face," Micah pouts, still on your trail, letting out his generic laugh. "Wouldn't you rather have friends than enemies?" "I'd rather have nothing to do with you, Micah," you tell him as you come to a halt, stopping in the dead center of camp. If Micah won't leave you alone then hopefully someone will step in, as their eyes had begun to peer over to the commotion; even Dutch has put his book down. "Easy there, sweetheart," Micah coos with his generic laugh. He goes to speak again but you're quick to cut him off. "I ain't your sweetheart, Micah. Quit calling me those names," you huff. "Of course, you ain't. I like a bit of fire in my women but you're just a bit too reckless for my taste," Micah tells you, his tone slowly turning to frustrated. He's quit the innocent act, lowering his hands as he had them raised as he followed you throughout the camp. If he can't win you over then he'll ensure you never even slightly consider him a friend, beginning to insult you to burn whatever was left of that bridge. "Good, I'd hate to be your taste. What an unlucky woman she must be for the likes of you to have eyes on her." Micah lets out another laugh as he takes a step closer to you, a little too close, and you're quick to cut him off before he can open his mouth. "Back off, Micah. Don't you try and get close to me," you order him. "Why not, hm? You scared someone is finally gonna put a woman like you back in her-" That's enough. Without hesitation, you clench your fist and swing for that vermin of a man, if you can even be kind enough to call him a man to begin with. You were aiming for his nose but hit his cheekbone instead, which is just as good as his eye had swollen up from the impact. Micah stumbled back and hit the ground with the most satisfying thud you'd ever heard, the sound still making you smile whenever you think about it. You didn't stick around much after that, burning the image of Micah lying on the floor clutching his eye into your memory before turning heel and marching off, wandering off into the trees so you could cool yourself off and devilishly admire your bruised knuckles. You refused to bandage them up, even after Charles had practically begged you, but you were eager to show off your trophy, even flaunting it at Micah from a distance whenever he came into your line of sight. His eyes hadn't met yours since, but you could feel his burning glare on you whenever you two were within ten feet of each other. You'd even overheard him attempting to bitch about you to Kieran, who simply nodded along to prevent himself from getting pulled into this mess. Needless to say, you and Micah do not get along. There's a handful of camp members that don't get along, but your burning hatred for each other seems to stand out the most. You're always eager to step in whenever Micahs attempting to chew someone's ear off, and he always gives you that same laugh as he attempts to mock you, but he often turns heel and storms away, calling you a bitch or whatever petty insult he has on his mind. But since that interaction, Micah has stayed well clear of you. Dutch probably told him to stop pestering you after you'd almost knocked his lights out, though you doubt that as Dutch ended up doing something that only seemed to make your 'friendship' worse. ----------- Another day, another dollar, or whatever the civilized phrase is. It's a quote you've heard within towns and cities, something bosses drill into the minds of their workers to stop them from realizing that they're being used as workhorses for less than pennies. At least out here you can work on your own terms, your only boss is Dutch and he always ensures that everybody gets a fair cut. Why slave away in a factory when you can rob some folk that needs robbing and make a few hundred off them? Dutch has a heist planned for you today, one that he says needs a woman touch. Karen is the only other gunwoman in the camp but Dutch has told you that she's a little too reckless for the job. Dutch knows that Sadie is also a gunwoman but she's still in mourning, arguing with Pearson every so often, but she isn't ready to step up to that rank yet.  "And that's why I need you for this job. It's genric and old fashioned of us, but there's a payroll heading up into Rhodes and I was thinking you could play the damsel in distress, hunched over at the roadside, pouting sweetly as you ask them for a ride into town," Dutch tells you outside his tent, a week or so after your last run-in with Micah.  "And if they don't stop?" you question.  "Why would they not stop? A pretty lady such as yourself asking for a ride? When they're already heading that way? They must be some cold-hearted folk in order to turn down such a simple request," Dutch explains.  "What will you and the others be doing?"  "We'll be hiding nearby, waiting for that opportunity to rob them. Once you're on board then they should hand over the cash, I don't see why they'd want a poor innocent woman to be hurt. Hosea will be waiting in Rhodes to bring you back to camp, and you won't need your guns for the job. A kind, working woman such as yourself wouldn't carry them anyway," Dutch replies with a grin, stubbing out his cigar with the toe of his shoes.  The plan seems simple enough, and what have you got to lose? So, you agree to the heist, heading into your tent so you can change your appearance to look like the average working woman. You dress in a simple skirt and shirt, your hair neat and your makeup simple, just how the women in Rhodes dress.  Arthur gives you a ride to the location, your horse staying back at camp, as well as your guns. You feel a little uneasy heading out of camp without them, but the boys are hiding behind what's left of a wall nearby. You overheard Arthur protesting with Dutch, saying they shouldn't be robbing folk so close to camp, but Dutch assured them that this would be fine.  Dutch has brought along Arthur and Lenny, and unfortunately, Micah, who still hasn't spoken a word to you, but his eye is now unfortunately better. Dutch didn't even mention to you that Micah would be coming along, seeing as your paths weren't meant to cross. This was meant to be a simple holdup job after all, only this gang seems to be cursed as things always go wrong.  You're walking along the road, acting as if you're exhausted. The sound of a wagon approaching can be heard, and you peer over your shoulder to see it coming into view. You begin to wave your arms, signaling for them to stop, and thankfully, they do.  "Are you alright, Miss?" one of the men questions, the one driving the wagon. There are two more men on horseback behind them, not many guns for a wagon that's carrying payroll.  "I do apologize to ask such a request but my horse bucked me a while back, I'm only trying to head into town. Are you heading that way? Would you be able to give me a ride?" you question. You play out the usual body language, slouched shoulders, batting your lashes, and pouting your bottom lip. This is a mans world, after all, but you know exactly how to play the game. The driver and the shotgun speak to themselves quietly, clearly bickering about the fact that they're carrying payroll, but they eventually come to an agreement.  "You're welcome to climb on the back of one of the horses, though we can't let you on the wagon, Miss," he replies. Well, that's good enough, at least you're still somewhat of a hostage. "Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!" you smile sweetly, heading over to the nearest hired gunmen and climbing on the back, loosely holding onto his shirt as you get comfortable on the horse's rear.  They return to their journey, barely making it a few meters down the road when one of those slimy Lemoyne Raiders appears from behind a boulder and attempts to hold them at gunpoint. Your eyes peer over to where the gang is hiding and thankfully, Dutch steps in, one gun pointed at the driver and the other at the rival gang member. You're still unsure on what Lemoyne Raiders are. Inbred? Wannabe military? Either way, they're stupid enough to fire without warning, and completely miss Dutch, though Dutch doesn't miss him. The plan goes to shit and you're caught in the middle of the gang war, your gang and the Lemoyne Raiders fighting each other, as well as the wagon.  The gunman that you were holding onto slouches over his saddle, a bullet ripping through his side, thankfully missing you. You think Arthur had shot him, but either way, you're pushing his body off and stealing his horse, riding out from the commotion. What help are you now without your guns? It's best that you run away and fast. As you near the camp, you notice a small group of white hats approaching round the bend - lawmen, so you decide to keep riding forward towards Braithwait Manor, dipping off into the trees before they can notice you. You'll find somewhere to hide out until nightfall, riding through the thick forest until you find a shack down south, close to Shady Belle, but far enough from the commotion so the law shouldn't tread down here.  The stolen horse is hitched by a tree and you're about to head inside, but the sound of hooves approaching startles you. You hide behind the tree, not providing much cover, but hopefully enough so you can decide how to approach the incoming stranger. If it's a lawman then you can simply burst into tears whilst saying that the horse bolted and you couldn't steer it up into Rhodes, and if it's a fellow gang member then you'll be fine. Well, it is a gang member, just you were hoping for anybody but Micah. He slows Baylock to a halt as you come into his line of sight, stepping out from behind the tree looking like an angry kitten.  "You alright?" Micah asks, swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping off his mount.  "Go away, go find somewhere else to hide. Shoo," you wave your hands at him, only making Micah laugh instead. "What's a matter? Can't I hide here with you?" he questions as he approaches you.  "No, you can't. Go bother someone else, you're the last person I'd ever want to hide from the law with," you huff. Micah isn't budging, he continues to approach you until he's stood in front of you, grinning from ear to ear as he lets out that awful chuckle of his.  "You don't mean that. Besides, how're you gonna defend yourself without your guns, huh?" Micah questions, resting his hands on his gunbelt. "Well, you know that I can swing a punch, can't you, Micah?" you tease, giving him a smug smile which wipes the grin off his face, turning into a frown.  "And here I was just tryna look out for you. Nasty thing, aren't you?" Micah spits.  "I am, and I ain't welcoming to you, Micah," you huff again, resting your hands on your hips.  "Now, I'm gettin' real sick of the way you talk to me, girl. I ain't been nothin' but nice to you," Micah tuts, taking another step towards you. He's pressed up far too close to your chest, puffing his own out as his icy blue eyes scowl into yours. "You may be a big girl in the eyes of Dutch, but you ain't to me."  "I don't care, Micah. I don't need your approval, nor your company, so scram!"  This time, Micah goes for you, reaching out to grip ahold of your arm. He takes a firm grasp of you but before you can find out what he was planning on doing, you're pushing him away, shoving him back by the chest. He stumbles backwards but doesn't slump to the ground, catching his own fall as he glares at you. His death glare makes your face turn sour and you begin to foresee that one of you isn't going to make it back to camp. Micah lunges for you again, grabbing onto your shoulders as he begins to try and tackle you to the ground. You manage to shove him off and land a punch to the same cheekbone, only it's not enough to stop him. He continues to fight you, eventually managing to shove you to the floor. He tries to climb onto you, attempting to pin you to the ground but you land a swift kick to his baby balls. He lets out a choke as his body goes limp and you jump at the opportunity to shove him onto his back, pinning him down instead.  Micah attempts to grab onto you but you're quick, taking his own knife from its holster and pinning it beneath Micahs chin. He stops, freezing up and removing his hands from you, lying in the dirt with his swollen eye locked onto yours. There's silence, no words spoken from either of you, just heavy panting and the sound of the trees rustling. Micah licks his lips, tasting the blood that has trailed down from his nose, and eventually speaks.  "Go on, girl. Do it," he tells you, his Adam's apple bouncing against the blade as he speaks. You don't reply, so Micah jumps down your throat again. "I said do it! Show me what a big girl you are," he says with a laugh. "If I am to kill you then I'd rather do it with my bare hands," you spit at him, pressing the knife sharply on his neck. From the way Micah attempts to flinch back, you're certain you've managed to cut him. Good, he deserves it.  "Do it then. Go on, get rid of me already. Just do everyone a favour," Micah replies, his hands raising yet again, doing that generic innocent pose even as he has a knife held to his throat. As much as you'd love to, you know the consequences for killing other camp members. You could say he died in combat but Dutch knows that Micah can take on a bunch of Lemoyne Raiders with his eyes closed. Plus, it's far too suspicious for you to be the one breaking the 'bad' news. But you might as well scare some sense into Micah, maybe choke him unconscious then bail back to camp before he can wake. Hopefully, he'll finally get it into his thick skull to stay away from you, though you doubt it, but at least you'll have fun.  You remove Micahs own knife from his neck, stabbing it into the earth beside his head. He watches you with wide eyes, attempting to look at his knife but you grip onto his throat. You know how to choke someone to death, and you know how to choke someone unconscious, so you go for the second option and tighten your grip under his jawline, avoiding his windpipe so that he doesn't stop breathing.  He lets out a choked exhale as you begin jabbing your fingers into his throat, pushing more than hard enough to eventually knock his lights out. You know you look a mess, covered in dirt with scruffed up hair, a glare on your face that could easily kill a man; Micah looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he attempts to breathe. You can hear the pressure on his throat with every breath, his lips remaining parted, blood still trickling from his nose, and his eye swelling up more by the second. His clothes are just as dirty as yours, his hat has fallen off his head a long time ago, his white pants are almost brown from rolling in the dirt, and his red shirt is missing a few buttons from where you've grabbed him.  Micahs parted lips quickly turn into a grin as his eyes begin to fall shut. You've never seen him pull a face like this, but he looks... pleasurable. He somehow has enough energy to reach up and grip onto the waistband of your skirt, trailing his fingertips along the band before settling each hand firmly on your hips. He's... enjoying this, isn't he? Your thoughts are confirmed when Micah opens his eyes again; his pupils are blown, wide and full of lust, gazing up at you like a piece of meat, ready to pounce on you (if he could.) You want to feel sick. Why don't you feel sick? Why isn't your stomach turning at the sight of Micah taking pleasure in your attempt to kill him? You push down harder on his neck, wishing you were gripping onto his windpipe instead. His smile eventually fades away, his eyes rolling shut as he lets out slower muffled breaths. His grip on your hips falls limp and you know he's finally unconscious.  This was meant to be the part where you run, heading back to camp before he can wake, praying he never even looks at you ever again. But you remove your hand from his throat, noticing how his body twitches as he begins to breaths properly again, and using the same hand that you just choked him with, you land a harsh slap right across his face. It's loud and sharp enough that it echoes throughout the forest, startling the horses and scaring a few birds away. You instantly regret your decision, your hand throbbing from how hard you slapped him, but the way Micah jolts awake gives you a sickly satisfaction.  He begins coughing, propping himself up on his elbows as he attempts to catch his breath. You don't move off him, sitting back on your knees, his legs beneath yours, watching in delight as he returns to the conscious word. Micah lies back down, his deep breaths eventually turning into a chuckle as his eyes meet yours.  "I knew you were just like me," Micah says with a sniff, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His nose is still bleeding, turning his moustache red, and now his cheek as he's smeared his own blood across his face. "I knew you were sick..." he laughs.  "I ain't sick, Micah," you frown.  "If you ain't then you won't enjoy this-"  Micah somehow has enough energy to flip your bodies over, pinning you down to the ground, narrowly missing his knife that is still jabbed into the dirt. You attempt to push him off, trying to kick him in the balls again but he's pinned you down as well as you had pinned him down. He does exactly what you feared he'd do, wrapping his own rough hand around your neck, pressing on those spots under your jawline that you unfortunately enjoy.  You try and fight it, attempting to gulp down air, attempting to push him off. But the more you fight him, the more he holds you down, and the more you find yourself enjoying it.  "Give in to it, sweetheart. Just let it happen," he tells you, the words that you didn't want to hear, but only because they're sickly yet tempting.  Micah adjusts his grip and finally hits the nail in the coffin, your mind turning cloudy, the blood pulsating through your brain. That feeling in your stomach begins to burn, trailing down your body and making your pussy clench. You hate this man so much, yet you're allowing him to do this to you. "Atta girl," Micah praises you as you stop fighting him, letting your eyes shut and your mouth part.  You're weak enough for Micah to shift his weight, parting your thighs with his knees and sitting between them after he bunches your skirt up. One hand remains on your neck whilst the under sneaks underneath your waist, pulling your hips up onto his knees. His crotch pushes against yours, his hand trailing over your clothed thigh, moving up to your knee as he adjusts your legs so they're wrapped around his waist. For some reason, you cross your ankles, only encouraging him to grind his crotch against yours, rutting his hard-on against your pussy.  The mewl that escapes your lips is definitely accidental, but Micah tilts his head up to let out a hum of approval as he watches the colour continue to drain from your face. "Such a pretty sound coming from that pretty face of yours. You're goin' pale tho, darlin'. Least you ain't still spittin' venom at me," Micah smirks. The blood from his nose drips down onto your own face, painting your cheek, and the sight of his blood on you makes his pupils turn wide again, licking his lips as he finally removes his hand from your throat.  You gasp, gulping down air, letting out a few coughs as you manage to fill your lungs back up. Micah barely gives you enough time to come back to reality before he's crashing his lips against yours, pinning your hands on either side of your head, grinding his crotch down hard against yours. You let out a whimper as he manages to brush his crotch perfectly against your clit, making him chuckle against your lips as he kisses you. Are you kissing him back? Unfortunately so, but only because the taste of his blood on his lips is making your arousal grow, and he's grinding against you far too perfectly to ignore.  You eventually lap away at his blood, his nosebleed finally coming to a halt, and the feeling of his prickly moustache becomes more and more prominent. It's far too annoying for you to make out with him and ignore it, and it eventually irritates you to a point that you break the kiss.  "What'cha stopping for?" Micah pouts, halting his grinding for the moment. "Your 'stache is too long, it's itchy," you tell him.  "Well, I'll make sure it's trimmed for next time," Micah replies as he rolls his eyes. "There ain't gonna be a next time, Micah," you scowl back.  "Oh, that so?" Micah chuckles, doubting your claim. "Well, I'll just have to make this worthwhile," he informs you.  Micah moves his hands off your wrists, sitting up on his knees and pulling his knife out of the ground. He wipes the dirt off on his jeans then grips onto your undergarments, pulling the fabric away from your skin so he can slice down the crotch, ripping apart the garment and leaving a large hole right in the middle of them. "Micah!" you snap as you sit up on your elbows. "I'll buy you a new pair," Micah monotonously replies, a large lack of sympathy in his voice. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes as well. He holsters his knife and rips apart the hole even more, almost ripping the garment in two, exposing your pussy for his pleasure. Micah hums in appreciation as he gazes at the sight, pushing your thighs apart as he dips his head down and spits onto your folds. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it, and Micah picks up on the glisten in your eyes as he straightens his back up and begins to unfasten his pants, leaving his gunbelt on the ground beside you.  Micah pulls out his cock, an average looking one, rock hard and flushed pink at the tip. You're surprised that his pubes are neatly trimmed, just as dirty blonde as his hair, but he keeps his pubes neater for whatever reason. He ruts his cock over your folds, slicking himself up with his spit and your juices; to say you aren't wet is also a lie, you've been soaking the second he put his hand around your throat.  Micah finally pushes into you, slow and steady, letting out an "ooh" once he's fully sheathed inside of you. "It's always tighter if I don't finger you," he comments, licking his lips as he moves his hands underneath each knee, spreading your legs apart as far as he wants. Why are you allowing this man to fuck you? You're not sure, though you don't regret it, especially when he begins to thrust into you, surprising you with the way he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you with every thrust. If someone had told you this morning that you'd end up spending the evening with Micah Bell thrusting inside of you, after the two of you had had a fight and ended up aroused by it, then you probably would have punched them too after informing them that they're drunk. But here you are, allowing Micah to fuck you senseless, pounding you into the dirt as he lets out surprisingly pleasant sounds. "Shit!" you gasp as Micah shifts his weight, moving his hands off your knees to wrap around your waist. He pulls you up into his lap, lifting your ass off the floor and angling your body perfectly so he's directly hitting your g-spot with every roll of his hips. Micah's fucking you like a rabbit, fast and unforgiving, eager to make your walls tighten around him so he can fill you up with his cum.  Micah begins to bare his teeth, hissing through them as he pounds you. You're a moaning mess beneath him, not holding back on the volume of your moans as nobody is nearby, and your volume level is filling Micahs ego more and more by the second. "That's a good girl," he tells you, his hazy eyes meeting yours. "I always knew you'd be a good fuck, the feisty ones always are," he chuckles.  You roll your eyes at his comment, making him laugh instead. Ugh. That stupid laugh of his, the one he always drags out only because he knows it gets on everyone's nerves. You think fast, moving one hand back onto his throat to cut that dreadful sound out. His lips remain parted, slightly smiling as he continues to fuck you, enjoying that irritated glisten to your eyes. You tighten your grip on his throat, forcing a choked moan from Micahs lips. Micah's already hunched over you but you pull him down to your level, speaking right against his lips as you order him to "fuck me harder." "With pleasure," Micah manages to reply, gasping and straightening his back the second you let go of his throat. Micah keeps one arm underneath your waist, holding you firmly on his lap, whilst the other moves between your legs. His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb moving down to begin massaging your clit, flicking the bud in circles, his cock throbbing every time your muscles begin to shake. He's returned to letting out moans, followed by the occasional grunt through gritted teeth. You've seen Micah come undone before, you've seen that feral look in his eyes as he loses his cool and guns down an army of people. But this? This was a different look, just as feral but fueled by a mixture of lust and spite. Is he just using you for a fuck? Yes, but you're doing the same with him. And do you think you'll end up fucking him again? Possibly, but only if you can watch the life drain from his face again. It's sickeningly arousing, but Micah seems to enjoy it too. "You're gonna make me cum," you sigh, your thigh muscles beginning to shake, your eyes scrunching shut as your head rolls back in the dirt. "I know," Micah confidently replies, rubbing his thumb even firmer against your clit. What a cocky piece of shit, though you admire the confidence. You can't believe you're moaning his name as you orgasm, panting and shaking, wrapping your legs even tighter around Micahs waist as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and earns his own release. His hands grip onto your hips, his forehead eventually slumping on your chest as he pants and groans, filling you up with god knows how many months worth of cum, maybe longer, depending on whoever else has been stupid enough to sleep with him.  Micah eventually straightens his back and pulls out of you, letting your legs slip from around his waist as you untangle your body from his. He looks debauched, his hair and clothes scruffy and dirty, not to mention the dried blood smeared across his face and moustache. You're certain you look just as bad, spending your evening rolling about in the dirt with the man you hate the most. Hate? Or hated? as you somewhat like the sight of Micah like this. Maybe you could tolerate him under these terms, and only under these terms. You attempt to sort your appearance out as you stand up, stretching your legs, hearing your knees click after being bent for so long. Micah does the same as he pulls himself up, tucking his cock away then picking his hat up. He whistles for Baylock who had wandered off into the forest, probably not wanting to be around... that. The horse you'd stolen has managed to unhitch itself and disappear, and you honestly don't blame them, but that means the only way back is hitching a ride off Micah or walking for an hour.  "Looks like you're riding with me," Micah tells you. "I don't want to be seen trailing into camp with you, not when we both look like this," you tell him as he mounts Baylock.  "How's about I drop you off on the edge of camp then spend a few hours away? Would that make you happy?" Micah offers, holding out his hand at the same time.  "It would," you tell him, swatting his hand away and climbing up onto Baylock on your own terms. "So, you'll let me fuck you but won't even take my hand?" Micah chuckles as he clicks his tongue, letting Baylock go at a soft pace as you ride side-saddle.  "Yep, and don't forget that you owe me new underwear," you remind him.  "Oh, I won't forget to buy you some new panties, Miss. I'll buy you a whole set of lingerie if it means I get to cut it off your body," Micah teases but you know he's serious.  "If that's what you want," you reply with a shrug.  "You'd let me?" he questions, peering over his shoulder at you.  "I would," you reply. For some reason, you lick your thumb and attempt to wipe some of the dried blood from his cheek. Maybe the sight bothers you, but Micah doesn't seem to mind as he lets you clean him up, his eyes occasionally flicking onto the road.  "You wanna give me a kiss when you're done with cleaning me up?" Micah asks with a smirk.  "No," you frown, pushing his face away from yours. He laughs as he looks forward, returning his focus back to driving.  You and Micah don't speak another word on the short journey back, apart from a "thanks," from you as you slide off Baylock. He drops you on the edge of the forest, letting you walk down the path back into Clemens Point. You manage to sneak back into the camp; the only person who saw you in your state was Charles who simply said "I won't ask," when you gave him a look that said 'please don't.'  You feel much better once you've cleaned yourself up and got cozy in bed, though your body aches from fucking in the dirt, and you're almost certain you're going to have bruises around your neck by the time morning is here. But the fresh memory of having hate sex with Micah only seems to arouse you again; just like Micah said, you are sick, just as sick as him. But if this unspoken arrangement is a good way of letting out anger then why not continue it?  --------------- It's been a week since your accidental encounter with Micah. He's still not replaced your underwear, nor has he spoken a word to you, but you've picked up on those disgustingly arousing glances he sends you from across the camp. You've been tempted to chew his ear out about not paying you back yet, but he's not been in camp often, and when he has been in camp, it's been during the day and around others. The bastard knows what he's doing, and he definitely knows that you're still angry that he hasn't repaid you yet. You've been assigned guard duty tonight, doing lap after lap around the outskirts of the camp until 3am, which is when you can tap Bill awake and send him on his way to take over. Well, 3am is here and that's exactly what you're doing, prodding Bill awake and handing him the shotgun.  You somehow didn't notice that Baylock had appeared amongst the horses, but you do notice that distinct white hat on the edge of camp. Micahs stood on the beach, looking out at the water with his arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, the opportunity to chew his ear off. You stroll over, ensuring nobody else is awake, not wanting to question why you're eagerly approaching the man you despise.  "Micah," you greet as you stand next to him.  "There she is, just the girl I was looking for," Micah greets you as he exhales his cigarette smoke.  "You ain't looking for me, Micah. You're stood here having a smoke," you roll your eyes.  "I was hoping I would have fucked that attitude out of you. Seems I ain't fucked you hard enough," he says with a laugh. You peer over your shoulder, reminding yourself that nobody is awake, nor nearby, but you don't want to risk your chances. "We don't talk about that in camp, alright?" you threaten. "Fine, whatever you want," Micah shakes his head as he finishes off his cigarette, flicking it onto the floor and stomping it out. You're about to begin questioning him on your missing underwear but he begins to walk off, heading further along the beach.  "Where are you going?" you scowl as you follow him.  "Over here so I can sit down. Was gonna ask if you're joining me but it seems you are," he says with a laugh, leaning back against a large boulder. You frown at him but settle beside him, turning your attention to him again.  "I only came over here to ask you-"  "-s'on your bedroll," Micah tells you.  "What?" you question.  "That new underwear I promised, I've just placed it on your bedroll whilst you were on guard duty. Plus a little something extra to make up for how long you've waited for it," Micah answers, his eyes fixated on the water.  "Hmm..." you ponder, unsure if you believe him.  "What? Don't you trust me?" Micah questions as he finally looks over at you.  "Not at all," you scowl again.  "Well, you'll see that I'm telling the truth sooner or later. Go check now if you want, I don't care," he shrugs.  You stare at him again, trying to look for any signs of lying, but he gives you none; his nose doesn't twitch, his eyes stay glued to yours, he doesn't rub the back of his neck. Micah is probably telling the truth, knowing that you'll whack him over the head with a bottle next time you see him if he lies to you.  "See, told you I ain't lying," Micah snickers as he looks back out over the water. You don't reply, you just lean back against the rock and turn your attention to the landscape. Your brows remain furrowed, arms loosely crossed, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the moonlight only just providing enough light as you're far enough from camp.  A few minutes pass and Micah turns his attention back to you. "Why're you still here?" he bluntly asks.  "I ain't sure, I'm going to bed," you shrug. You begin to stand, barely getting off your ass when Micah reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a slight thud. "What do you want?" you snap, picking his hands off your waist in disgust, making him laugh at the sight.  "Just wanted to spend some quality time with my favourite camp member," he replies, though you're unsure if he's being sarcastic. "Well, you ain't my favourite," you huff.  "Always so feisty towards me, ain'tcha? What's wrong? You still hate me even after you let me fuck you?" Micah questions with a throaty laugh, grinning from ear to ear.  "I hate you even more now," you tell him, shuffling about on his lap until you're straddling him, one leg on either side of his hips, your chests almost touching.  "That'd explain why you've just got comfortable on my lap rather than walking away," Micah chuckles again, knowing he's damn well in the right. He slips his hat off his head, placing it on the ground beside him, not wanting it to get in the way. You let out a sigh as you roll your eyes. "Ain't I allowed to just take some attention from you, Micah?" you question, batting your lashes and removing the frown from your face.  "You're allowed to take whatever you want from me, s'long as I get something in return," Micah tells you as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. "So it's agreed? That we'll just... enjoy this pity sex? But only because it lets off some steam," you place the offer down, finally trying to decide on this agreement.  "It is agreed, sweetheart. You can call it pity sex or whatever else you want, but maybe I'll just fuck you so good that you'll end up likin' me?" Micah chuckles, pulling you onto his lap more as he speaks to you in a husk tone. "I ain't your sweetheart and I ain't ever gonna like you, Micah Bell," you spit. "Sure you ain't," he grins. So, this is what it's come to. You're sleeping with the enemy, pity fucking the man you hate the most, allowing him to pry into your private life and between your legs just for a little bit of satisfaction. Do you care? No. Should you care? Probably. But you're getting pleasure, finally, after waiting for so long. The gang is always on the move, running from the law and whoever else is chasing you, depending on where you are and who you've pissed off. You've flirted with other gang members before but it's never escalated anywhere, so if sleeping with Micah means you'll finally stop humping your pillow every night then why not?  And maybe you can fuck some sense into him, maybe a bit of kindness of basic respect? You doubt it, but it'd be nice. A life where Micah isn't chaotic would be perfect, or one where he entirely didn't exist. But this is the way the world currently is, so you'll just have to make do with what you've got.  You're still going to bark back at him whenever he kicks up a fuss in camp. If anything, you're eager to put him in his place. Maybe you can punish him every time he steps out of line? Maybe this... enemies with benefits, or whatever you want to call it, could whip Micah into shape and prevent him from being such an annoyance towards everyone. Probably not, but you can still hope.  Micah tightens his grip around your waist as he lets out a pleasing hum, tugging you down to his level so he can kiss you. You're reluctant as his moustache was so irritating last time, but to your surprise, Micah has trimmed it to prevent the irritation, his 'stache brushing against your upper lip rather than prickling it. Micahs kisses are a lot more tender this time, not covered in blood and heavy breathing, not battling for dominance whilst both your minds are hazy from all that choking. Micah moves one hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair, cupping the back of your head.  Your lips soon slide open, your tongue greeting Micahs. He bites your bottom lip softly, letting the skin slowly slip from his grasp before kissing you again, earning himself a soft moan as you shuffle onto his lap more. Things are slowly turning heated, Micahs kisses getting sloppier yet firmer by the second, drawing more moans and whimpers from your lips as he continues to make out with you.  You pray that nobody has woken up, not wanting them to see... this. How would you attempt to explain this? Could you say you tripped and fell into Micah after not seeing him sat there, and you'd just accidentally kissed him on the way down? Could you say this way a new way of fighting, to show him what he's missing out on if he'd just be a good boy? Yeah, those excuses are rubbish. But you're sure you'd hear anyone approaching, not unless they're stealthy.  Micah moves his hands to your chest, unbuttoning your shirt, stopping at your lower ribs. He breaks the kiss so he can pull your shirt open, cupping each of your breasts and leaning his head into them. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking at it surprisingly gently, flicking his tongue over the nub, tenderly kissing it. His hand massages them, kneading them softly. Micah moves onto your other nipple, repeating the process, sucking on your tits as he lets out a satisfying hum.  "I ain't sure what my favourite part of you is, these things, or that nasty bite of yours," Micah says with a soft laugh between kisses. "Oh, you have such a way with words," you roll your eyes. "You know, I think we'd get along much better if you'd just tease me with these things in camp," Micah replies, returning his focus to your breasts. "I'll remember that in the future," you say, making a mental note. Maybe you could find a way to manipulate him? Using your womanly charm to tame this beast? It's a push but it's worth a try. He continues to suck at them, making your arousal grow, and you know he's getting aroused as you can feel it pressed against your thigh. Micah moves off your breasts and gently pulls your head down, enjoying another kiss, still tender, not the style you expected a man such as Micah to have.  Micah breaks the kiss, urging you off him. "Now, come on. Before I start thinkin' with my dick and fuck you right in the middle of camp. But you'd like that, wouldn't you, you whore?" he questions, buttoning up your shirt for you.  "You admit to thinking with your dick, yet I'm the whore?" you smirk, pointing out the flaw to his logic.  "Real smart, ain'tcha girl?" Micah mocks, shooing you off his lap once your shirt is fastened. Micah stands first, pulling you up afterward. His hand lingers for a little too long in yours, though you don't move your hand away either. He begins walking with you back to camp, readjusting his hat as he walks. Micah dips before you approach camp, not wanting to risk anybody latching onto your agreement. Thankfully, nobody is awake, but you head straight to your tent anyway. You fasten the tent flaps behind you, lighting your lantern, and begin getting ready for bed. You notice the tailor box on your cot and open it up, revealing the replacement underwear, as well as the 'little something extra' that Micah had promised you. It's a full set of lingerie, an expensive-looking set too, a frilly white chemise, corset, and stockings. The chemise is definitely that short for a reason; you wonder what Micah's planning, though he did say that he wanted to cut it off you. You hope to at least get some use out of it before he does that.

#rdrwriting #multi-chapter #multi chapter #Micah Bell #f!reader #female reader #fem reader #reader insert #Micah Bell x you #Micah Bell/you #dark fic #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #smut #nsft #Micah Bell x reader #Micah Bell/reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #duality #enemies with benefits #enemies to lovers

[ttuesday]

I love your hcs, they're so funny, they always make me laugh. How about for the VDL gang cake or pie, and which flavour!

thank you so much! I really appreciate that <3

Arthur

Arthur enjoys the simple things in life. He doesn't understand why people bake cakes that have 10 layers and are full of sweets, or why people bake pies that have different 5 flavours condensed into a single pie

All he wants is a slice of some normal, basic apple pie. For Arthur, apple pie is that one food that makes all his worries go away. It's his ultimate comfort food.

Dutch

Dutch is a cake person but he always forgets to leave some for other people. Every year for his birthday, Dutch has a sponge cake that's covered in white frosting and sprinkles.

Unfortunately when Dutch sees the cake, he wants to eat it immediately. There's no easy way to say this, Dutch is that person that uses his hand to take a chunk of cake. Who needs to properly slice a cake when Dutch can grab you a chunk of cake with his grubby hands?

One year, Dutch lost his ring in the frosting. John was convinced he accidently ate the ring but thankfully Susan found it in her slice.

Sean

If there's one thing that will always remind him of Ireland, it's barmbrack. It's kinda like a bread but I think it could pass as being a sort of cake too.

It's full of raisins and dried fruit peelings and if used correctly, barmbrack can definitely knock a person out if you throw it at their head.

I think Sean probably uses barmbrack more as a weapon instead of actually eating it.

Lenny

Lenny not only loves pie but he also makes the best cherry pie known to man.

Even if you're not a fan of cherries or pie, I guarantee you that you'll become obsessed with Lenny's cherry pie. He has a secret recipe for his pie that he refuses to show anyone.

If you ask me, I think the real reason the Pinkertons started going after the gang was to get their hands on Lenny's secret recipe.

Bill

Bill has always liked pie but he’s always liked cake too. For years, he was neutral in the war of ‘is cake better than pie?’. He liked them both and couldn't decide.

That was until one day, Bill went drinking at a fancy saloon in Saint Denis. He was curious when he saw coconut cream pie on the menu and he knew he had to try it.

That was the day Bill fell in love. It was the best thing he's ever tasted. It was so overwhelmingly amazing, Bill nearly cried with happiness.

John

John is most definitely a cake person and there's only one type of cake that makes John drool whenever he sees it.

When John sets his eyes on a gooey, rich slice of chocolate cake, all he can think about is eating it. He will sell his left kidney for some chocolate cake.

Micah

Y'all know those cute little cake pop things that's basically a ball of cake on a stick? That's what Micah loves.

They're easy to eat and they're always delicious.

He has a secret stash of cake pops no one knows about.

Javier

Javier hardly ever gets distracted, especially on a job. But when he passes a bakery that's selling carrot cake, well he can't help but go in and buy some.

The job can wait, his main priority is eating carrot cake.

The best part is, the rest of the gang hate carrot cake so thankfully none of them will be trying to eat some. After finishing the job, he can relax back at camp and munch on some moist carrot cake.

Sadie

Sadie rarely has desserts but she can never turn down a slice of banoffee pie.

When she first heard about it, she thought it sounded disgusting. Who the hell would put bananas and toffee together? And then put it in a pie?!

After her first bite, she knew exactly why people would put banana and toffee together. Because it's absolutely amazing. She loves it, banoffee pie is the one thing she can count on to cheer her up after a bad day.

#I want Dutch to offer me some cake from his hand #I can confirm barmbrack is a great weapon #writings #headcanons #I hope these are ok!💕 #rdr2

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [17] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia, violence, angst. Micah. NOTE: Here is the next chapter to this! Thank you all for your patience, life has picked up again but I did want to get another part of this out. There’s some canon dialogue in here near the end, but I hope there’s enough original content around it that it’s not too boring.   TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx @r4reland @itsnothingwithoutchaos

What the hell were you going to do now?

The question plagued you for a couple days since that terrible sleep, a part of you liking to doubt what you thought you knew about it by calling it a dream, yet there was also a part of you that felt like it was more than that. It was wholly indecisive, a war that went back in your head for the last couple days. Chores had become all the more monotonous and you wondered what you were doing with yourself very often. 

You knew that you wanted to tell someone, yet you knew that doing so wasn’t as simple as it seemed. You knew you had fallen, suffered a terrible injury that took your strength and memories away. It nearly left you freezing to death, and you had a solid idea that Micah had been the one to put you in that situation. 

However, how would you make them believe you? 

You weren’t completely unobservant to the goings-on in camp, you knew Dutch liked Micah for some reason. It was hard to find something to like about the man, from what you had seen of him. Really, you had elected to avoid him where possible. Yet, you knew it would eventually grow hard to keep doing so. If you had to interact with that memory sitting in your head…

What if you were wrong? You knew you had a hard time trusting your own mind lately, yet...something about what you remembered happening didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t seem like something you had just made up. It had sat, lingering on the edge of remembrance and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. 

You just didn’t want to be dismissed. You didn’t want to stay in a camp with the person who had tried to murder you. 

“How’re you holdin’ up?” 

The familiar voice startled you out of your thoughts, turning your head sharply with wide eyes. Arthur stood somewhat awkwardly, his brow tightening somewhat as he seemed to take in your expression from where you were sitting. You let out a small breath, turning your head to look back out toward the water. 

“As well as I can be, I guess.” 

“Mary-Beth’s concerned, said she noticed a change in you,” he commented, “asked me to check in. Guess I wanted to, too.” 

“Oh.” You hadn’t thought you had been that obvious, yet...well, with everything sitting on your mind, you had found it very easily to slip into the mess that was there lately. 

“I know I’m the last person you want to be talkin’ to right now, but we do gotta talk,” he said after a moment, your ears picking up on him approaching where you were sat near the shore by camp. 

It was true, you hadn’t really been wanting to talk to him lately. Yet, on top of everything, you had almost let that settle into the back of your mind. 

Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself at the moment to protest his presence, Arthur moving around to sit down on the same log as you. He let out a small sigh, letting a silence linger for a few moments as you waited for him to say what he needed to. Back when you had first lost your memories and learned that you had been romantically involved with him, you had thought things couldn’t get any more awkward and confusing as that. 

Yet, sitting with him in the moment, you wanted nothing more than to cave into yourself from the stress of it all. As much as what you remembered about Micah on that mountain dominated your thoughts, the other parts of the memory hadn’t left you either. That genuine guilt over leaving someone you cared about behind, possibly to die. There had been that specific affection you held for him, the frustration at not being able to say what you truly felt about him. 

That person and the person sitting on the log with him in the moment felt like two different people. Yet, you somehow had to try to merge those experiences into your current. 

It felt like trying to shove your shoulder through a brick wall at points. 

“I’m sorry…” Arthur started after a moment, his voice surprisingly quiet from how it had been a few moments ago, “For what I did to your family, for doin’ that while I knew you was tryin’ to pay their debt.” 

“I know you are, Arthur,” you replied, “Yet, that doesn’t change what happened.” 

“No, it don’t. I wasn’t hopin’ it would,” he replied around a sigh, “You can hate me all you want for that, I deserve it. Yet...I-I don’t feel like I got much power here.” 

You lifted your gaze toward him at the tone in his voice, as much as you had been struggling to do so since he sat down. There was a certain frustration sitting there, a desperation, that you hadn’t heard from him before. Arthur didn’t meet your gaze, letting out a slow breath as he seemed to be collecting his words. 

“I don’t wanna make this ‘bout myself, but I hate doin’ that type of work,” he continued, “When I first joined this gang, I had always been told we was not goin’ to rob folk who don’t need to be robbed. Rich folk, other gangs, but...these people? They’re just tryin’ to get by and I know that. Yet...I’m good at intimidatin’, I’m good at violence.” 

“That’s not all you have to be,” you stated, “I...when I woke up...I had thought that I had stepped into a group of violent murderers, and I’m not so blind to think you’re not violent and people don’t die, but...it’s more complicated than that. You’ve shown me a kindness, an understanding. I guess...maybe I did forget about what goes on around here a little bit, but I had thought that…” 

You had thought you were closer than what happened, that it would have had him standing up a bit for you. Or, at least, your motives. 

“...You ever try to stop collecting debts if you hate it so much?” you asked after your pause, meeting his gaze for a few moments before he dropped it somewhat in thought. 

“I...the way things is right now, I ain’t sure I can,” he replied, “If it was just Strauss forcin’ me, I would’ve stopped a while ago. Yet, Dutch has turned it into a reliable source of money. It goes against everything he stands for, even says that sometimes, but he ain’t cut it out.” 

“Why doesn’t he?”

Arthur let out a soft scoff, “I dunno, might be somethin’ to ask him if he’ll hear it these days.”

That...didn’t sound good. Even Arthur’s facial expression tightened somewhat at the words that had just left his mouth, yet he didn’t say anything else for a few moments before he shook his head, glancing back toward you. 

“I’m tryin’ to hold things together. Feels like I’m holdin’ most of the weight of that, sometimes, and...I dunno, guess I felt like I had no alternative in that situation. Dutch thinks we got somethin’ here between these two families, might get us out of this mess. Next list of debtors I get...I dunno, I’ll think ‘bout if we really need that type of money.” 

“...Sure.” The word left your mouth somewhat resigned. You knew deep down that you couldn’t force him to do anything, and even if it did stop...well, the damage was done. Yet, you had to admit that this conversation felt a little more productive than the one you had with him right after the fact. 

“Arthur…” you started after a moment, “I...I can’t say I forgive you for what you did to my aunt and uncle. I...I guess I understand why you felt like you needed to, but...I don’t know. I still need time with this. After...I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. I appreciate you approaching me about it again, but I need more time with it.” 

“I understand,” he replied with a nod, “I ain’t expectin’ your forgiveness. I care ‘bout you--a lot--but I know it ain’t that simple.” 

“It’s really not.” God, you wanted to tell him about the mountain. Out of everybody, you knew he was the most likely to believe you, yet you found it sitting behind your teeth instead. 

You needed to be sure.

“Just…” Arthur started after a moment, raising from where he was seated, “if you need anythin’...” 

You could appreciate the offer, yet you knew for the time being it would be torn between just wanting to go back to how things were before all of this and not wanting to ask him for anything. Yet, you knew that there was no changing anything about what happened. It was just a matter on how you wanted things to be moving forward. At the moment, you really weren’t too sure what to say to that. 

Instead, you just gave him a nod, letting him walk off after as you let out a sigh through your nose. Despite everything sitting on your mind, at least talking about one of those things left you feeling like you weren’t as stuck. 

You just had some decisions to make. 

                                                                ***

A couple days had passed since your conversation with Arthur. You could still feel the weight of everything you had talked about, everything said and unsaid, yet you tried to pick yourself back up a bit. There was the issue of Micah, of course, but you figured you would get a chance to sort that out with some more thought. 

You tried to put some more work in around camp, making sure to give Mary-Beth a light pat on the back shortly after and to thank her for the concern. She had sheepishly admitted to asking Arthur to check on you, yet you couldn’t really bring yourself to blame her. 

Though, you tried to let things settle in your mind a bit, yet it didn’t seem like much had settled in camp before it seemed like another big event was going to take place. 

Really, you hadn’t meant to listen in on the conversation. Yet, with it happening in the middle of camp, it was hard to miss as you lingered somewhat near one of the tents as you heard Dutch greet Micah, Arthur, and Pearson as he approached. Pearson’s voice seemed to catch your ear. 

“It’s peace, Dutch. With the O’Driscolls,” he stated as the gang’s leader stepped into the tent behind him, “I mean, I think there’s a way.” 

“What on earth are you talkin’ about?” Dutch asked. 

“Get the words out properly, fat man…” Micah prompted with a slight wave of his hand. 

Pearson seemed to launch into a bit of a story about meeting some men in a saloon, mentioning something about tigers. You had wandered closer, not too sure what was happening but Micah seemed to be at the head of it and you couldn’t help but want to listen in. Still, you managed to remain far enough away to not cause them to catch you. 

“They suggested a parlay,” Pearson concluded, “to end things like gentlemen.” 

“Gentlemen?” Dutch returned, his tone disbelieving, “Colm O’Driscoll? Have you lost your minds?”

“You’re always tellin’ us, Dutch,” Micah started, “do what needs to be done, but don’t fight wars not worth fightin’.” 

“They want a parley?” Hosea called out from where he was sitting at a camp table nearby, “It’s a trap.” 

“Well, of course it’s...probably a trap,” Micah said, turning to address him somewhat before looking back toward Dutch, “but what have we got to lose?”

“Get shot,” Arthur commented. 

“We ain’t gettin’ shot because you’ll be protectin’ us,” Micah returned, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder that he shook off, “If it’s a trap, you kill the lot. If it’s not, that slim chance…” 

“I don’t see the point in any of this…” Dutch replied, stepping past them to walk toward the table where Hosea was sitting. You shifted back somewhat, crossing your arms as you watched on curiously. 

“It’s a chance we gotta take,” Micah asserted, following Dutch toward the table as the other man rested his hands on the top of it. 

“I killed Colm’s brother…” Dutch started, “...a long time ago. Then he killed...a woman I loved dear…” 

“As you say,” Micah returned after a short pause, “it’s a long time ago, Dutch.” 

There was a bit of a pregnant pause as Dutch seemed to decide on the course of action. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your gut, especially with how hard Micah seemed to be pushing things. Admittedly, you only knew a handful of information about the O’Driscolls from what you heard around camp and what you had just heard from Dutch’s mouth. Yet...well, even you were uncertain. 

“...Let’s go,” Dutch decided, “you, me, and Arthur protectin’ us. No one else.” 

“What about me?” Pearson asked. 

“This ain’t the time for tigers, my friend.” 

You stepped forward as the group dispersed, watching as Dutch, Micah, and Arthur headed toward the horses. A part of you was really wanting to quickly run over to catch Arthur’s arm, ask if he’s really certain about this. Yet...well, with Micah and Dutch waiting on him, you could imagine the answer. 

‘I don’t feel like I got much power here.’ 

“Shit,” you cursed, stopping your walk short as you saw them mount up and ride off into the wooded path leading out of camp. 

“You ain’t sure about this, either?” 

Hosea’s voice came from over your shoulder as he walked up to where you were standing, staring off after the spot your gaze was lingering on. 

“No. What can we do about it, though?”

“We wait,” Hosea replied, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Hope nothin’ happens.” 

You could hope all you want, but there was that sinking feeling in your gut that left you feeling all sorts of conflicted. It was hard to shake, and would be until they returned. You didn’t want to blame it on a pre-existing dislike of Micah, but with the memory of the purposeful gunshot he placed toward your horse that caused your fall…

Well, who could really blame you for being anxious about this? 

#my writing. #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

[vegetalass]

If you come back to this, would you consider doing hcs for the rdr2 boys coping with bad breakups? 👀🙈💖👉👈😳

I love your stuff btw! Hope the hiatus is going well and you're having fun being absorbed into new fandom stuff <3

JSKajhdhajfskhjdkajsh AHHHHHHHHHHH YOU ARE TOO SWEET WTF🥺🥺So I just went ahead and wrote this request for you LOOOOOL😎💘😳🤠

even tho I would still say I’m on hiatus.... I was just thinking about Mister Arthur Morgan today and how much i want to sit on his lap and hug him and kiss his cheeks and hold his face against my chest.... So I figure this is as good a time as any to write some stuff for rdr2...

Plus... I really am happy about the fact that people like my work enough to still send me asks!!! I miss the rdr2 fandom a lot tbh because as I’m sure you all have been know... The bnha fandom is a little..... wack tbh..... But regardless, I am having as much fun as i possibly can under the circumstances!!! Theres a lot of good content there... 

and just in case u like bnha... you can actually find me at @ihatebnha if you want to read any of my current BNHA stuff (tho im sorta taking a break there too temporarily). Either way, even if you don’t, i appreciate u all for sticking with me and I MISS U GUYS so i hope this does u all some justice!

anyway... i hope this is what you were looking for because I LOVE UUUUUU!! ENJOY💚🧡❤️

-

Arthur

First of all………. If you break up with Arthur I personally will come beat you up

Secondly….

Honestly, he probably just goes completely numb

He doesn’t have the emotional stability or strength to handle unpacking how or why it’s happening

You ask to break up with him and his soul leaves his body and he’s just “Ok.🙂Whatever you think is best, baby.”

And that’s the end of it. Won’t even let you explain.

This means don’t prank him by pretending to break up with him either because you’ll accidentally kill him

Like he genuinely probably thinks that he deserves whatever it is that made you want to break up with him and that there’s really nothing he can do to feel better about it

Even if was just something like, long distance problems or needing a break

This also hurts so badly because I feel like… getting to the point where Arthur even wants to date you takes FOREVER… He really really needs to trust and love the person who he’s with…

And so to see them leave would just break his heart up into pieces and he wouldn’t be able to handle that all over again

He just… becomes a ghost

Anyone from the gang even mentions it or asks how he is and he just tells them he’s fine and doesn’t need to talk about it

Even if he really is aching deep down… He just can’t bring himself to talk about it because it still doesn’t make any sense to him

And honestly, he just doesn’t want things to hurt any more than they already do by acknowledging them or facing them head on

So he just submits to it all being his fault, it was the right thing to do, that you’re happier without him, etc. and permanently shuts himself off

If you left him, that would be the absolute final straw and he would just throw himself into his work and never look back

And honestly wouldn’t even notice if someone else was making moves on you, that’s how out of it he is.

You wouldn’t even notice something was wrong unless you TRULY knew Arthur

He’s a tough cookie

John

John is the guy who acts like he’s fine if anyone sees him but cries 24/7 when he’s alone

If anyone asks him about it he’s like “I don’t care, it’s fine and I respect their decision… I’m a man, not a baby.”

But the truth is…. Sir… You ARE baby

Honestly…. He’s just saying all that so people don’t really know how much he’s hurting or think he’s weak and try to help

And in a modern setting, Abigail, Arthur, Hosea, anyone really, can’t go to his apartment because he’s lost all motivation to take care of himself

Dishes piled up, laundry everywhere, he’s been wearing the same pajamas for a week, his trash is full of microwave meal packages… It’s just so fucking bad

Single Man Shit

Probably goes through bouts of rage too

Was he not good enough? Did you think you weren’t good enough? Was it the fact that he has Abigail and Jack? Is he too ugly for someone pretty like you?  

It’s in these moments that he starts throwing stuff around and kicking chairs and whatnot

I imagine it’s all pretty nonviolent but he still just wants to make a mess to release all that pent up frustration

But he always just ends up on the floor or in bed crying again because he really doesn’t understand what went wrong since he was trying so hard to be a good partner

He wanted to be good for you :(

At least to make up for what he did to Abigail

Probably a couple months after the breakup he starts feeling better…

Picks his laundry up and does the dishes and starts to open up to the gang again

He’s definitely still sad when he thinks about it all… But he knows he’ll get over it as long as you seem happy from afar

If any of the other boys from camp try to make a move on you, he does his best to ignore it… Knowing it’s not his place to speak for you anymore, even if seeing you with someone else does make him sad

And he probably takes some extra time to spend with Abigail and Jack, too

There’s really no one like your family (even if they’re chosen) to make you feel better in situations like this

(Especially since they went through the same thing as him BY him)

Karma’s a bitch, lol

Charles

Charles... My love….. My baby…….

He takes a while to fall apart because honestly, he’s just so confused

He definitely does not recover quickly, but of course, appears to function kind of normally

If anything, he just gets more quiet and distant than before, simply because he needs a lot of time and space to think about everything

And because looking at you hurts so badly

When you mention breaking up, he probably just stands up and walks away

And if you chase after him trying to explain, he’ll tell you that you don’t need to justify yourself, and that he just needs to be alone

However, deep down, he’s gutted and really just needs the space to process what you said and then calm down

He doesn’t want to face the gang, and possibly you, again, crying, hence why he doesn’t come back for a while, but he knows that he can’t just run away from everything

He never thought that you’d be capable of hurting him in the way that you did

And he wonders what the final straw that pushed you over the edge was

He definitely saw you staying together for a long time, and had a lot of ideas for your future, so the breakup was especially surprising and devastating for that reason alone

And he would probably never want to speak to you again

Not really because he hated you, but because it would be too emotional for him to be around you knowing you didn’t feel the same as him

And even though he’s okay with emotions, the gang just isn’t exactly the right space for him to deal with them

Though he probably eventually talks about it with Arthur after a couple months, once he finds another normal, and bonds with him over the shared experience

He would never be able to ask you this, but he wonders if the reason you left him was for the same reasons he’s shunned in society

I think that would hurt him the most… if you didn’t want to be seen with him in public

Even though he knows that it’s unlikely, since he didn’t want to hear your reasons for leaving, it’s something that he thinks about

Even if it would hurt him to see you with someone else, he wouldn’t do anything about it

And as always, he’d just stay quiet, watching

Micah

Micah blames you

Everything is your fault. Everything.

Oh, you want to break up with him? When he’s been so nice to you? So good? He’d literally do anything for you, and you’re not happy with that? You’re such an ungrateful bitch! Fuck you! He never even wanted to date you in the first place, so it’s your fault for making him love you. Sorry he tried soooo hard.  

Any semblance of sadness he feels about losing you turns to rage so quickly since he just really cannot fathom why you’d leave him

Genuinely thinks he’s the best boyfriend you’ve ever had and ever will

SIR…????

Despite his anger, he probably is sad deep down… He just doesn’t really recognize it as sadness in the first place

His chest aches when he thinks about you? His eyes sting and burn when he looks at you? His stomach hurts at any and every thought of you?

You’re just an ugly witch who wants him dead.

He has never felt any of these things before, and frankly, he hates feeling like this.

And absolutely refuses to admit to himself that maybe… MAYBE… he just misses you and wants you back…

Honestly though, you will never get word nor wind of this, and before long, he really just does start to hate you.

If you weren’t in the gang, and were ever in a situation where you saw him again, he’d try to make your life a hell.

He’d tease you in front of whoever you were with, talking about how he’s probably the best fuck you’d ever have and that “if you still wanted to fuck him,” he “wouldn’t blame you…” and might even think about it going at it on more time

In a modern setting, he’s definitely a hate fucking type of ex

And if he ever saw you with a new boy, he would probably try to lay some hands on them for even thinking about touching you

AND STILL doesn’t realize that this means he still loves you… But whatever

If you break up with him, guaranteed you’re probably never getting back together

Dutch

Dutch is a tough one… I feel like it really depends on how long you’ve been together, the reason why you want to breakup, and how much value he has for the you and relationship itself

I think he’d be more upset about a long term relationship ending than anything and he’d definitely try to argue with you about any of the problems you bring up

He definitely hits you with the, “you should’ve known what you were getting into,” which, honestly, is a pretty fair point

He doesn’t actually want you to leave him, though… He just doesn’t really want to change

Which is why the whole thing ends up being so T O X I C

But if he realizes that you are actually serious about breaking up, he isn’t above saying that he’ll put the work into fixing everything

Though that’s kind of a lie, since he’s mostly just saying it to get you to stay

If the argument gets too intense, he’ll let you walk away

But only because he’s going to brainstorm about how to get you back

I’m sure this is a given, but none of the other boys at camp are allowed to even think about getting close to you

It wasn’t so bad when you and Dutch were still together, but if he wants you back, everyone is a threat

Arthur and John are given direct orders to not even comfort you… And Dutch even tries to get Miss Grimshaw to be mean to you

At least so he can swoop in and save you… Thinking that you’ll run right back into his arms if no one except him is nice to you

Because that’s where you belong

If he doesn’t manage to succeed in winning you back, the moment he realizes that everything is over, he will 100% start ignoring you

And don’t put it past him to try show off the fact that he’s found someone new to fuck

Honestly, since he’s the leader, at this point, he’d probably just be looking for a good way to get rid of you

Nothing violent, just find a little brothel he can pop you in when the gang’s about to leave some random town

Seems like a good idea to him… Since if he’s not special, no one is.

Same reason why, if you cheat on him, you will never see the whites of his eyes again

Much less anyone from the gang

Kieran

To give Kieran some credit... He’s probably the most in touch with his emotions

He doesn’t respond very well to the breakup, just says okay and lets you walk away, but he’s not above accepting the truth and just crying about it for a while

First and foremost, you need to be happy, even if it means without him

Part of him wants to beg for you to stay so badly… Hold onto the bottom of your shirt and cry… But I know that he probably thinks he doesn’t deserve to and would be able to stop himself

Obviously, you know better than him about everything so why would you be wrong about breaking up?

His work definitely lags and he ends up spending more time with the animals than anyone else, but he’s okay at holding himself together

No one would even know he’s still suffering unless they talked to him about it

Which they don’t, really, and honestly he’s sort of glad, because it gives him a lot of time to think about everything

Which is why, even months after the breakup, if he hasn’t found someone new, he still thinks about what it would be like if you stayed

Daydreams about cuddling with you, about dancing with you, about brushing the horses with you, starting a family, everything…

He wishes it were his so badly

And so seeing you with another boy, especially if it were someone else at camp, would absolutely kill him

And yet, he’d still manage to keep it all to himself. Nothing but his greedy eyes left

Self esteem gone forever… He’d take you back in a heartbeat

Doesn’t help that the poor baby definitely gets clowned by Dutch and Micah about not being able to keep “a good fuck” around

It really hurts… But in the end, he knows they’re right  

Javier

Javier probably gets over everything the quickest out of all of the boys.

I just see him as having the most romantic experience out of all of them, so he understands how relationships (and breakups) work

His logic is, why would he want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with him?

Which makes getting over you faster than normal

Especially since, regardless of why you wanted to leave, he’s going to respect your wishes

Definitely a little peeved at first though because he thought things were fine between the two of you

He’s just not going to bother trying to get you to stay

Especially since he knows that he can be kind of flirty with people even when he’s with you

That being said, if he sees any of the other boys at camp trying to get with you, he’s going to be BIG MAD

First of all, he was there first, so they should know better than to touch someone else’s things

And second of all, it would just feels like they’re showing off the fact that you left him, rather than the other way around

But honestly, he probably wouldn’t care if you found a stranger to mess with. It’s not like they know your relationship history, and honestly, he knows it wouldn’t be fair if he were ever to find someone else he likes.

So he’s fine watching you run around

It’s only ever late at night, if it’s been a while since you’ve spoken to him, or he’s feeling lonely, that he thinks about what things would be like if you were still with him

He wonders what really made you leave, and if you were honest with him during the relationship

Overall, he’d be okay, but would definitely still be down to fuck if you ever wanted! You may not want to be with each other anymore, but it doesn’t change the fact you guys had some bomb ass sex

Sean

Sean is another boy who’s going to be a bit more angry than sad

That being said, he’s no where near as bad as Micah and knows that the anger comes from the sadness

He’s just extremely frustrated that things didn’t work out, and resents the fact that you didn’t even want to try and fix things with him

It’s not like he really blames you for that… But he wishes that he could

Especially since throughout it all, even now, he doesn’t actually hate you, and still wishes that you would come back

He’s knows his personality can be a little overwhelming, but he would’ve been willing to change if it made you happy!

But honestly, since he doesn’t need to anymore, everything about him just gets a bit… Worse

Constantly making a show of showing off for the other girls at camp, always trying to flirt with the girls at the saloon, talking the boys’ heads off about anything and everything…

Just to distract himself and prove that he’s doing fine… That you didn’t hurt him at all, and he doesn’t need you

But even he’s not all that convinced

If any of the other boys at camp start messing around with you, he’ll definitely start a fight with them, feeling like were just doing it to piss him off

He’d lose, though, and would end up just going to bed and crying.

If he saw you flirting with a stranger, he’d be equally as mad, but he probably wouldn’t do anything other than get super drunk in front of you to ruin the mood

Eventually he starts feeling more like himself, and it definitely helps if you don’t treat him weirdly, but he finds that he does still think of you when he sees cute married girls or children, wondering what he would’ve had if things didn’t go wrong.

Especially since he also gets teased by the gang for not being able to hold it down… Despite his constant talk

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 headcanons #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 headcanons #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U WANTED #ur ask was just so sweet i had to write something for it #and this was fun #anon #ask #Anonymous

[coldmorte]

I want bring up another thing with the unpopular opinion in regards to Molly. I don’t dislike her character, but...if you don’t interact with her at all other than for certain points in the plot (like the one with the mission with Uncle), it feels like she’s only in the game whenever there’s drama (I.e. *spoiler* her claiming to be the rat and so on)

Hello (again)!! (ASK 2 OF 2)

Since this is a continuation from the previous ask, I will get straight to the point. I wasn’t originally going to put this ask behind a cut, but I realized it was kind of long... so I figured I might as well, just to be safe ❤️🖤

Plus, I am aware that I have numerous recent followers who have not finished the game yet, so this is to hide some MAJOR LATE-GAME SPOILERS BELOW.

(Although, I also try my best to mark all spoiler posts with the “spoilers” tag, so they can be blocked from view!!)

Personally, I don’t like Molly. To clarify, I don’t really hate her. I think she deserved better, but she had flaws and was not entirely innocent.

Also, I have to add that I understand why some people sympathize with her. I don’t mind if people who interact with me do like her!! That’s fine! I admit, she is very beautiful, and there is some wonderful art of her out there that I’ve reblogged (and will continue to feature on my blog). She just isn’t for me, that’s all.

Anyway, I definitely agree with you about her not getting much attention, aside from major plot points. I do really wish that more was revealed about her backstory, in particular. I want to know more about why she came to America, how she met Dutch, and what the start of their relationship was like. It would be interesting to see their early interactions, especially in comparison to what we actually see in the game itself.

(Plus, I would be very curious to see Dutch’s relationship with Annabelle. I feel like insight into it would reveal a lot about his true character... but at the same time, I do like leaving a lot unknown because it allows for more debate/interpretation!)

To her credit, Milton claimed Molly never gave information to the Pinkertons about the gang. Now, whether that was honest or not is debatable. I am inclined to believe Milton, and I felt bad when Molly died. However, as I discussed in the previous ask, I think she had selfish tendencies. I understand her pain and frustration in regard to Dutch’s neglect, but she went back to the camp to say she was the rat to intentionally cause him pain, nothing more (an eye for an eye). Dutch explicitly told her how distressed he was over the Pinkertons pursuing the gang and himself, and she used this stress point of his to get some form of revenge. The fact that he even admitted he was concerned in such a forthright manner during one of their arguments was honestly a little surprising, as he normally did not talk about what was bothering him. Dutch’s revelation showed that the emotional toll of running from the law was pretty hard for him to bear, and it was not a matter to joke around with. Molly knew exactly what she was doing coming back to the camp to tell Dutch she ratted on him, so she did kind of bring her death on herself.

Furthermore, she really did hurt Dutch because he believed her. This was pretty selfish, considering the pressure from the Pinkertons was still mounting. The sole purpose behind her claims of betrayal was to get Dutch to actually pay attention to her and inflict pain for not showing enough love in the past. It was motivated out of self-interest. Seriously, if she would not have lied to him, might he have suspected the real rat sooner?? Dutch had little reason to believe the rat was Micah, since Molly directly told him that it was her. I think Dutch was so distracted and hurt by this, it was easier for him to overlook Micah’s plot against him. And just look what happened as a result of Dutch not picking up on Micah’s real rat status sooner - it brought the entire gang to an end and got multiple people killed.

This is my take on the matter. I know it’s unpopular as well, so I don’t mind hearing your unpopular opinions! As long as people aren’t disrespectful to me for having different interpretations, I don’t mind if they disagree. Also, I am open to changing my mind on characters. There are plenty I used to dislike but now like and vice versa. Things are not always static with me!

I’ve said more than enough, so I will leave it at this for now. Thank you again for the asks, and I apologize for the wait! I hope it’s okay.

All the best to you! Stay safe out there!!!! 💜💜💜

#thank you anon <3 #it took me a few days to think and type my responses out... but I liked the challenge! #spoilers #ask #anon #anonymous #dutch van der linde #Molly o'shea #Micah bell #Andrew milton #Arthur morgan #annabelle #unpopular opinion #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #writing #original #rdr #red dead redemption #dutch apologist #susan grimshaw #pinkertons

[ajnerdess]

Feisty (Javier x reader and Charles x reader drabble)

I just wrote a little fluffy drabble involving a reader x Javier but also turned into a reader x Charles fluffy drable as well....... ENJOY! TW for Micah being a racist, sexist gross douchebag as usual though! 

You felt warm lips kiss your neck and you reached around to touch your lover’s cheek. Javier. He always woke you in such gentle ways, with soft kisses to your neck, cheek or forehead. His hands would circle your hip or waist as he drew you closer to him. You were thankful for his softness, you weren’t known as the easiest morning person.

“Good morning mi amor” he whispered to you, his unique moustache tickling your skin.

“Mm, good morning Javi.”

“Sleep well hermosa?”

You smiled, turning to face him. “I always do when I sleep by your side.” You ran a hand through his hair, you loved when he wore his hair down, then again, you liked his hair up to. The man always looked good, no matter what.

“Ah come on querida, we gotta get up” he told you.

You gripped him, throwing one leg over his own. “No please, stay with me, it is barely dawn Javi, let’s sleep a while longer.”

He chuckled at your stubbornness. “Mi amor, I can’t, I have to see Dutch about a train robbery.”

You pouted at him, causing him to laugh again. “If you loved me you would stay.”

He rolled his eyes. ���Aye, come on hermosa, that isn’t fair. You know I love you. More than you know.”

You trailed a hand down his chest. “Tell me. Tell me how much you love me.”

Javi stroked your cheek as he thought on it. “I love you so much that all this work, all this running, all this fighting. It’s all for you now. I want to buy you a house, a big one, with room for a kid or two. I want to get us a bed, a big bed, the most comfortable bed you have ever slept in. One I can make love to you in every single night. I want to keep you safe from the rest of the world, forever. That’s how much I love you.”

You smiled at his words, lifting your head to kiss him gently on the lips. “I love you too Javi. Please be safe out there. Come back to me in one piece alright?”

He nodded, sitting up as he changed into his clothes, looking fashionable as ever. He leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, his parting goodbye gift every time he left you for a job.

“Te amo querida” he whispered before leaving you to sleep.

Of course, thirty more minutes was all you had before Grimshaw called your name to start working. She was a dragon that woman, always barking orders at everyone for no reason.

As you set to work cleaning the camp members clothes, Micah approached you.

“Well hello there little lady.”

You tried not to gag as he spoke to you. You had experienced a few run-ins with him and you had promised Javier you would try not to get into trouble with him again, at least not when Javi wasn’t there to witness it.

“Good morning Mr Bell” you said, trying to concentrate on your work.

“Call me Micah please” he said, stepping closer to you.

“Is there something you need? Only I have work to do” you said, throwing a shirt into the water with more force than intended.

“Oh hey now, ain’t no need to be so angry sweetheart. What’s got you all riled up? That greaser of yours not pleasing you right darling?” Micah came up behind you to whisper in your ear, making you feel sick at how close he was to you.

“Why don’t you spend a night with a real man. I could make you feel real good darling, I could have you screaming my name in a way a darkie never could. Come on, I know you have had enough of a dirty greaser in-between your legs, just….”

There was a loud cracking noise as your first connected with Micah’s jaw. He stepped back in shock as he cradled his injured face but you weren’t done yet. You charged towards him, but before you could land another blow to his face, a strong arm caught you and held you back.

“Let me go, let me kill that sonofabitch!”

“Easy there hummingbird, he isn’t worth your time, calm down.”

You turned to see Charles holding you back. Ever the sensible one of the group, you took his advice and stopped struggling against him.

“You stay away from me Micah Bell you hear me? You stay away from me and Javier. And if I hear you say a bad word against Javier, Charles, Lenny or Tilly again, I’ll gut you myself” you called after Micah as he went to walk away.

“Crazy bitch, you put a leash on her redskin” Micah shouted back causing you to struggle in Charles’ grip again.

“Hey, it’s ok, ease your storm hummingbird, he’s trying to get under your skin, don’t let him” Charles told you.

When you had calmed down, he let you go and you walked off to the edge of the camp, Charles following behind.

“Are you alright?” he asked you when you finally stopped by the horses, giving Charles’ horse Taima a little pet.

“I just hate how he talks of others. What makes him think he’s any better than you or Javier, or anyone else in this camp? You and Javier are twice the man he is. He’s a selfish bully, I don’t know why Dutch tolerates him.”

Charles nodded. “He is a bully. Which is why you shouldn’t pay him any mind. Though I do appreciate it, you defending my honour like that, and I know the others do to, especially Javier. You are a good woman y/n.”

Taima nudged you affectionately. “Thank you Charles, and thank you, for stopping me from doing worse to Micah. You are right, he’s not worth it.”

Charles smiled at his horse nudging you softly. “You are welcome. Taima likes you, I’ve never seen her so affectionate around anyone but me.”

You stroked the appaloosa’s nose softly, digging out a peppermint for her. “She’s a lovely horse, though I should stop paying her so much attention, my Orion will get jealous, he’s got designs on her I am sure of it.”

Charles nodded. “Agreed. He’s a smart stallion that Orion, got the best taste in the ladies.”

You giggled softly. “That he does. Anyway, I should get back to work, thank you Charles, for stopping me, I’m sure Javier wouldn’t be too pleased if I deprived him the chance to take Micah out himself, or at least watch me do it.”

“You are welcome miss. I don’t think Javier would have been best pleased if I allowed his love to get hurt by Micah. Listen, I know you are more than capable of dealing with him yourself as you’ve shown today, but, you find me if that rat gives you any more trouble, alright?”

You nodded as you made your way back to the other girls. “You have a deal, thank you again Charles, you are a good man, a very good man.”

Charles had never believed such a thing, but when you said it, his heart lit up in such a way, he was inclined to finally start believing it.

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