#Charles got a little angsty and John felt out of character for me but I just kept writing them that way and couldn’t change it

[lesbian-for-arthur-morgan]

Middle Class Lady Who has the Gang Sneak in Her Window

"The gang falling for a woman of a higher class and a father that doesn't approve of them so they usually sneak through their window to be together" @livingdeadgirly​

Genre: Fluff - some angst if you squint (Fem Reader uses she/her pronouns) Featuring: Arthur, John, Dutch, Javier, Charles, Sean, and Sadie Warnings: Mentions of guns, outlaw type of stuff

AN: I'm so sorry these took me forever to write! if some of them seem a little out of character please ignore it and pretend they aren't :D ---> Requests are open! Check out my guidelines if you have any questions

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Arthur Morgan:

Your father owned his own saloon which gave him an incredible insight into the type of men who frequented his establishment. He thought of this as a blessing once you started growing older and wishing to be courted, he could keep an ear out for anyone that he deemed unworthy for you.

Unsurprisingly, anyone who frequented the bar was not someone your father wanted anywhere near you. Especially when it came to an outlaw by the name of Arthur Morgan. The two of them had a long-standing feud (actually it was your father who hated Arthur and Arthur was too busy being infatuated with you to notice).

The first time Arthur was seen speaking to you in front of the saloon, your father came barreling through the doors to usher you inside. He instructed you to never speak to him again. Of course you didn’t listen.

Months go by and Arthur has made an extreme effort to get as close to you as he can without your father’s knowledge. The two of you will just so happen to go to the same general store at the same time every Friday by ‘accident’, you just so happen to run into him when you take your horse for a little trail ride to exercise, and every once in a while you both somehow end up behind the theater at on show nights by some strange chance of fate.

After a while, you’re so sick of having to keep your interactions short and sweet and secret in the public eye (lest anyone witness it and run off to tattle to your father). You write a quick letter to Arthur one day asking him to meet you at the side of your house at midnight.

When he gets there and you’re nowhere to be found he’s beyond confused; it’s not until he hears a sharp whistle and looks up to see you waving at him from your second story window that he understands your plan.

“The things I do for you, woman.” He grumbles with a smile and begins hoisting himself up the tree conveniently located right by the window.

You’ve already got the window open as he reaches the top and you begin helping him crawl inside. Now Arthur is a large, bulky man he isn’t exactly as nimble as he might have been once upon a time. You can barely contain your giggles as he lumbers into the room ungracefully and nearly face-plants into the rug on your floor.

“I ain’t had to do this since I was a boy,” He smiles down at you once he steadies himself as you grin up at him widely.

“You’re still young enough to climb through a lady’s window yet, Mr. Morgan.” You tease.

It’s the first time the two of you have ever truly been alone since you met and the tension in the air is palpable. Arthur looks between you and your carefully cleaned and decorated bedroom, then down at his dirty boots on your rug and worn denim pants. He was the complete opposite of you - he didn’t deserve to ruin your space with his grimy life and clothes.

“What you thinking about, Cowboy?” You place a hand on his cheek and turn his head to make him look back at you. He’d confess a few of his doubts, not trusting himself to tell you that he doesn’t deserve you flatout, and you’d shake your head and lead him over to your bed and have him sit down.

You’d kiss him and quiet his thoughts, allowing your actions to say more than words ever could and from that moment on he’d find himself climbing up a tree every other night.

Your father didn’t figure it out ever, even though Arthur and you were hardly ever quiet.

John Marston:

You were the most beautiful person that John had ever seen in his entire life. You were walking in the middle of town with some man nearly twice your age and John figured you were married to him - some lady victim to a man with money and a ring.

John fantasized about swooping you into his arms and saving you from a life of excruciating monotony. He’d tell the old man to kick the bucket, maybe rob him of whatever cash and valuables he had on him, and let you live your life free with him.

When he overheard you refer to the man as your father John felt absolutely giddy. He took his hat off and tried to smooth his hair down as he moved to approach you and introduce himself.

Your father watched the outlaw walk up to the two of you with a skeptical eye. He was hoping the cowboy would walk past you, but he stopped right before you and held out his hand to you. “John Marston, Miss….?” He prompted.

Your father shut it down immediately. He was so incredibly unamused that he stepped between you and John and shoved his arm down. He told John to basically get lost, but John ignored him and kept his eyes on you.

It was like love at first sight.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his and couldn’t hide the growing blush that heated your cheeks as he ever-so-slightly smiled at you. A small smile that disappeared as your father demanded his attention.

“Now son you get out of here before I get angry. I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter, you got that?”

John wanted to laugh at his vague threat. Who did this guy think he was? John put both hands up to show he meant no harm and took a few steps back.

“Didn’t mean nothing by it, sir,” He shrugged, “Was just being friendly.”

Your father scoffed saying he didn’t want any of John’s kindness and neither would you. You caught John’s eye while your father was speaking and mouthed ‘sorry’ with a sweet smile.

John was smitten immediately. He may seem like a big tough outlaw, but the guy is secretly a huge soft romantic. He was already envisioning your wedding and the type of house you two would build together in the middle of the prairie where no one would bother you and you could leave your respective lives.

He may have been getting ahead of himself.

Your father dragged you away and into the general store, John went off to finish a few more errands. He didn’t think he’d actually ever see you again until the moment he went back to his horse to ride back to camp.

He felt a quick tap on his shoulder and there you were looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

From that moment on the two of you had to meet in secret - away from the watchful eye of your father. John took to sneaking in your bedroom anytime he got the inclination to see you (which was a daily occurrence tbh).

He’d take a stroll around the house to make sure your father’s room lights were off and see if yours were on and you were still awake. Due to his frequent visits, you were always up late waiting for him to call on you.

It was all fun and games until he’s waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to climb back out of your window before your father woke up to find him lounging in your bed. That would be a messy scene.

Dutch Van Der Linde:

Dutch thought he was too old to have to worry about meeting parents and getting the approval to see the lady he fancied. He was an old dog; he liked younger women of course but never the type who were of a higher social standing than him and needed that.

Then he met you.

You swooped into his life with your pretty dresses and sweet words and you didn’t want him at all at first. It made him want you even more.

It’s no secret that rich men are corrupt and willing to meet with anyone to make a quick buck. Your father met with Dutch to provide some intel about a train full of valuables and treasures that were interesting to both parties involved. Your dad wanted a cut of what was on that train provided the Van Der Linde gang robbed it.

Your father wasn’t a good man. He enjoyed money a little too much, and saw you as property more than his daughter. He was overprotective of you - to the point that he refused to ever let you out of his sight for even a second.

You went to every meeting between the two men and at first didn’t give a damn about Dutch. You thought he was handsome, but not the type of man you’d ever be interested in. Not until your father warned you to stay away from men like that.

He even went so far as to comment that he didn’t like the way Dutch looked at you. It fueled something inside of you. The idea of rebelling in such a way. Dutch was attractive, he had money, an exciting life, and most of all it would piss your father off if you courted the gang leader.

The next time there was a meeting between the three of you, you bat your eyelashes and laughed at Dutch’s jokes a little too hard.

Dutch bid you farewell by kissing the knuckles on your hand, and you loved the way your father basically had smoke coming out his ears at the action.

Your father didn’t bring you with him the next time he went to a meeting with Dutch. He locked you in your room, and only unlocked the door to check on you before bed that night.

You were pouting and writing a long sob-story in your diary when you heard a soft tap on the glass of your window.

You pulled back your blinds to see Dutch crouching in the dirt by your window with a wicked grin on his face.

“Can I come in, Darlin’?” He cooed with a sweet voice. You opened your window immediately and he ducked through the frame.

“You didn’t come with your father today, he said you didn’t want to attend the meetings anymore.”

You explain that you’ve basically been kept a prisoner in your room all day since your dad was convinced Dutch was trying to steal you away from him. You grumble out a few curse words after you explain and roll your eyes.

“What if I am tryin’ to steal you away?” Dutch whispered, his eyes dark and sparkling in the lamp light. You didn’t realize how pretty he was.

You bite your lip and smile, trying to keep on a tough act at his words. It’s no use, though. He’s charming, it’s why he is who he is.

“Maybe I’d let you,” You reply in a sultry low tone.

That’s all Dutch needed to hear. He helped you pack a small bag of items to bring with you and he brought you back to the camp where the gang was staying.

On your bed, you left a note telling your father you were running off with a man. Shortly after that Dutch mailed out a post saying he didn’t want to do business with your father anymore. It was all settled.

He stole you away to join him at camp, and that’s where you stayed.

Javier Escuella:

You met Javier by chance one night when you were being harassed by a local lawman after a night out at the theater. Javier rushed to the alley when he heard your shouts ordering the man to stay away from you.

Javier saw red and let his instincts take over him. He grabbed the man by the collar of his very nice shirt and used it to throw him to the mud.

“The lady asked you nicely to leave her alone. Now, I won’t be so nice if I have to ask. So, tell me, do I have to be the one to request you leave her alone?”

The man scrambled in the mud, splattering it on his dress pants and coat, as he picked himself up and ran away.

Javier introduced himself and offered to walk you home. You were a little wary of him at first, what with the guns at his belt and the knife at his thigh, but he assured you that he was not a threat. He just didn’t want you risking getting harassed again on your journey to your house.

You took him up on his offer and as he dropped you off at your front door you gave him a quick, shy peck on the cheek and asked if he wouldn’t mind coming to visit again in the future.

Javier is a blushing bumbling mess but somehow finds the words to agree and see you again later on in the week.

From that point on, this man spoils you in every possible way. He brings you flowers, fine pelts, jewelry (don’t ask where he got it), and little poems he writes or likes just so that you have a little piece of his heart.

Does your father care about all of that? No. He just cares about Javier’s status as an outlaw, a killer. He’s heard the rumors about the Van Der Linde Gang and he refuses to allow one of the members anywhere near you.

Javier is willing to do anything to see you, though.

You started leaving your windows perched open during the warm summer nights, and a low whistle alerted you to a person sitting right outside the glass. Your curtains were fluttering slightly with the wind and so all you saw was the shadow of a figure causing your mind to think of the worst scenarios possible.

You drew a knife from your vanity and clasped it in your hand ready to call for your father, but you heard a familiar voice lowly call out.

“Mi amor?”

You let out a sigh of relief and pulled the curtains back fully to see Javier smiling at you with a bouquet of wild flowers in his hands. “I wanted to see you and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You asked him to wait outside while you barricaded your bedroom door with a stool, then opened the window wider for him to duck inside.

At first he didn’t really know what to do with himself, he planned to give you the flowers and have a quick kiss before needing to leave -  he did not expect you to usher him inside.

You took the flowers from his hands and placed them on your dresser next to the box of trinkets and gifts Javier has given you before.

You sit on your bed and make a spot for him to sit beside you. He isn’t really sure what the gentlemanly thing to do is in that situation, but just to be safe he sits on the floor by your feet. He’s gazing up at you as if you were the moon itself and doesn’t even try to hide the way his breathing quickens every time your eyes meet.

It becomes routine for him to visit you nearly every night and wait for you to barricade your door before allowing him in. Eventually he gets more comfortable and feels better about sitting next to you on your bed - though he knows it was not the proper thing to do.

He really wanted to court you the proper way, but with your father being so hesitant to know him outside of his status he had to be a little lenient on conventional courting methods.

Charles Smith:

Charles has been sneaking into your room for years.

You were childhood sweethearts, but your father had hated the relationship from the moment you expressed any sort of soft feelings for the boy.

When he first started sneaking in, it was just because your father didn’t want you to be friends. You and Charles were inseparable, so he’d sneak in when he could to read your books and play with your toys while your father was at work.

As you grew older, your feelings grew too.

You developed a strong crush on Charles and he was completely oblivious to it. At first, since you didn’t know how to express your feelings, you pushed him away and told him to stop visiting you.

Charles was crushed when you essentially told him to get lost. He couldn’t understand what caused your change of heart - he figured maybe your father had finally gotten to you and you realized you were too rich, too pretty to be his friend.

Charles stopped climbing through your bedroom windows and started only seeing you in public spaces or whenever you took your horse out for a ride.

Eventually, though, even those interactions dwindled and Charles stopped seeing you altogether.

It broke you when you didn’t speak with Charles anymore. You thought it better that way. He couldn’t find out your feelings for him - especially since you were certain he didn’t feel the same way.

Years go by, you stop seeing Charles even in fleeting moments. You heard he ran off and was living alone in the wilderness.

It was your fault, you thought. You pushed him away during his time of need and now there was no way of knowing what became of him. Whether he was alive or dead.

You grow older, your heart growing cold and calloused, and you never really recovered from the hurt you put yourself through.

One night, you’re a passenger on a train taking you deeper into the west of America when there was a loud commotion at one end of the passenger car you were in.

You put down your novel and see a group of masked men with weapons demanding valuables from every patron they pass by. They were slowly moving down the aisle, approaching where you were sitting at an alarmingly fast pace. You couldn’t think of a way out of the situation without giving away every last bit of money you had on you.

That is, until one of the masked men gets to you and instead of the harsh demands and pointed threats you expected to hear, you hear your name being whispered softly.

You look up, skin ablaze with fear and eyes watering. Through your tears you can see a familiar set of dark brown eyes peering down at you as if you were a ghost.

“Ch…Charles?” You squint. You questioned if it was just a mirage, a trick of your brain due to fear, but there was no doubting it. Those were Charles’ eyes.

He softly grabbed you by the arm and helped you out of your seat.

“Come with me,” He whispered as he pushed you through the aisle towards the exit. “I promise nothing will happen to you.”

It was stupid, but you blindly agreed as he led you out of the train and onto the dusty earth.

Charles and you caught up as the rest of his posse finished robbing the passengers of the train. You learned that he had been taken in by the Van Der Linde gang and was making a living as an outlaw. After seeing what you did on the train, that part of his story checked out.

You caught up with him as well, you informed him of your father’s fate and how his will left everything to you. How you regretted pushing him away as a teenager and how you wished he could forgive you.

“I never even hated you for it,” He said softly, “There is nothing to forgive, it’s how the world is sometimes. Cruel.”

You tried to explain your feelings at the time, but the embarrassment of it never let you fully explain.

Charles offered to take you home, but you wanted nothing more than to continue catching up with him and learning about his new life, his new family. Charles took you back to camp, and you ended up staying there with him for a few weeks. (For a fee of course, as Dutch had so cleverly thought up)

Your feelings for Charles rose to the surface once again, and you weren’t sure when or if there would ever be a time to explain how madly in love with him you were.

Sean MacGuire:

The first time y’all met was when he was sneaking through your window late one night.

Dutch had given Sean a vague plan about robbing a local lawmaker’s house while the man was scheduled to be two towns over for some political business. Dutch figured it would be a quiet, simple mission to grab some extra loot and not worry about being caught.

Sean paced around your house a few times after midnight the day your father left, and when he didn’t see any lights on or movements he figured it was safe to go in.

He checked a few key points of entry, but the windows on the ground-floor were locked and he didn’t want to risk leaving any evidence of there being a break-in for when the lawmaker came back.

Sean noticed that a window on the second floor was open the tiniest sliver, he’d be able to use a dagger to wedge it open wide enough to slip his hand in and open it fully.

He climbed up some vines growing on the side of the wood paneling and pulled his dagger to wedge it open. Once he got himself inside, he turned towards the window to close it.

His entire body stiffened when he heard the metallic click of a pistol being cocked from behind him.

“Now I’ll only say this one time, Mister, you need to get outta here before I blow a hole in you and make a mess all over these clean floors.” The threat was serious, Sean knew that, but he couldn’t help but perk up at the sweet sound of your voice as you told him you were going to shoot him if he didn’t leave.

He put his hands up, dropping the dagger he had, and turned to face you slowly. The house was dark. Shadows danced across your face and shielded your eyes making you look lethal with the gun pointed at his chest. Sean thought you were beautiful.

“I mean no harm, Miss. Just business ‘s all,” Sean gave you a toothy smile which only made you narrow your eyes.

You told him you were going to give him one chance to leave and he’d only stay if he had a death wish.

Sean wanted nothing more than to stay with you and use whatever methods he could to woo you, but he was familiar with the look in your eyes and the tone of your voice. He was scheduled to meet the gods above if he didn’t slip back out that window and into the night.

After he left, he was already planning the ways he could meet you again - under more favorable circumstances of course. He decided to visit you the next day with a peace offering and a smile.

Once dawn broke over the horizon, painting the world in a golden orange light, Sean was already up and out of camp heading to your large house on the hill.

He knocked on the door and you answered after a few minutes. Your hair was messy from sleep and your nightgown was covered by a long robe that was hastily thrown on to save your modesty.

“What the hell?” You grumbled and looked at Sean as if he had grown three heads. “Either you are the stupidest man on the planet for comin’ back here, or you truly do have a death wish. If it’s the latter give me a second to grab the gun.”

Sean was in love immediately.

“I wanted to apologize for last night. I never woulda thought ‘bout stealing from a man with such a pretty woman living under his roof.” He handed you a small box saying that it was a piece offering. Inside was a large silver coin and a note that said ‘thanks for not shooting me’.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, but pocketed the coin and note nonetheless. You invited him in, but warned him any funny business would not end favorably for him. He only shot you a coy smile and promised that he was only coming as a gentleman, not an outlaw.

The two of you grew as friends at first but once things seemed to grow more romantic, you had to start sneaking around and avoiding your father finding out about the relationship and how it started.

Sean was glad he got the practice sneaking in your window that first night, though, because it was common practice while the two of you had to keep your romantic relations a secret.

Sadie Adler:

Sadie was a shell of herself when you met her.

She was still mourning the loss of her husband and trying to become accustomed to her new life as a member of the Van Der Linde Gang when you stumbled into her one day.

She was just starting to get back on her feet and was at the tailors in town when you strolled in with your fancy clothes and styled hair.

She wasn’t intimidated per say, but she felt a little inadequate in comparison. What with her ragged hand-me-downs from Miss Grimshaw and her few coins that she saved to buy a new linen shirt - you were like royalty compared to her.

You approached her first at the tailors. You asked if she had been in town long as you didn’t recognize her, where she came from, where her husband was (assuming she was married). Sadie didn’t know how to answer all the questions you threw in her direction.

You broke down her walls, though. You bought the shirt that she wanted and even invited her to tea with you at your house to talk about what had been plaguing her the last few weeks.

She didn’t want it to help, but Sadie could physically feel the relief flood her chest as she stopped holding on to her emotions and let them flow freely. A friendship between the two of you grew quickly and rapidly.

Then, it grew to be a little more.

Sadie had been working on jobs with Arthur and gaining her confidence back. In doing so, she finally got the nerve to kiss you goodbye one night when she was getting ready to go back to camp.

She gazed at you nervously after she did it. She couldn’t figure out what your expression meant - whether she went too far, or if you even liked her back in that way.

Tears slipped from your eyes as you looked up at her and grabbed her cheeks, shoving your lips against hers. Her kiss was sweet and gentle, but yours was aggressive and needy. You didn’t realize she felt the same way about you, and knowing that she did created a swell in your heart that never went away.

After your first kiss, you had to keep your relationship on the downlow. Your father knew that the two of you were friends (he hardly liked even that), if he found out that y’all were girlfriends he would separate you for good.

Sadie came up with the plan to visit you during the day as a good honest lady of society, but at night she would climb up through your window to enjoy spending time with you as a partner instead.

Friend by day, girlfriend by night.

Sadie slipped through your window every other night, quieter than a shadow when she came in. Sometimes you’d turn around and she would just be getting in and it would make you squeak a little as it startled you.

She kissed you to keep you quiet when that happened, though (teehee)

Sadie would spend hours with you at night. You’d help her brush her hair when there were missions she was on that took days and she wasn’t able to care for her locks. You’d let her borrow your nightgowns if she ever wanted to stay and relax in your bed until dawn.

The two of you would hold each other and talk until the mourning doves sang their melancholy songs in the early hours of the morning.

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[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

books i actually like

A solid 97% of my ‘book reviews’ (for lack of a better term) are bound to be just me bitching about said book for way too long with way too many expletives, because books I genuinely adore rarely invoke the visceral reaction within me that causes so many of my ‘reviews’ of books I don’t like to be so impassioned and long-winded. Here’s to kicking this dumpster fire off with a little positivity, because that will be little and far in between henceforth.

Harry Potter – J. K. Foul Thing I never understood how someone could appreciate the art and not the artist until Harry Potter. JKR’s dead to me, but the seven original (and only, because I refuse to accept the flaming pile of dog shit that was The Cursed Child as canon) books remain i c o n i c. And you’ll probably witness a LOT of Harry Potter-inspired shitposting on my part if you decide to stick around, because Harry Potter trivia makes up a solid chunk of my personality, and I like to shove my fandoms in other people’s faces. Again, I’m cute like that.

The Diary of a Young Girl – Anne Frank By some odd coincidence, my mum got me Anne Frank’s diary for my 13th birthday, and I always felt like a Super Special Snowflake because of that. Obviously, I can’t relate to being Jewish and in hiding during WWII, but there’s a lot of Anne’s views and thoughts that… resonated with me (ain’t that the most basic-ass description of a book, ever). There’s always the lingering sadness while reading because you know how her story comes to an end, but it’s a book that’s still stuck with me six years later, and for the rest of my mortal life.

The Book Thief – Markus Zusak Why Must I Adore Books That Give Me Naught but Pain: An Autobiography.

Freak the Mighty – Rodman Philbrick Ditto.

Bad Alice – Jean Ure When I first saw the cover, I expected a lighthearted, cheery book. I was very much mistaken. Duffy, a self-proclaimed ‘oddball’, and Alice, another self-proclaimed ‘oddball’, are easily two of my favorite fictional characters, ever. The subject matter is pretty damn dark and rereading the book as an adult is actually kind of scary, but it’s so well-written and engaging and this sounds like I’m an elementary school teacher writing a report card so I’m just gonna stop here.

Tiger Eyes – Judy Blume A true Relic of the angst-riddled phase of my adolescence (I say as if I am not still going through said angst-riddled phase). I’ve been a fan of Judy Blume’s work since one of the girls in my third-grade class bestowed upon me Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing; growing up, I’ve become more detached from Blume’s work but Tiger Eyes is a book that’s never gotten old for me. Davey, the angst-riddled adolescent protagonist, is also stubborn and headstrong and angry and scarily relatable to myself at her age, though under wildly different circumstances.

Changeling – Philippa Gregory I’ve read a couple of Goodreads reviews on the Order of Darkness series, and I’ve garnered that Philippa Gregory fans (Philippans? Philipinos?) are not fans of the series. I can’t vouch for that, given that I’ve only ever read the said series, and I’m admittedly not a fan of books two through four (which is basically every book of the series published to date, exempting the first), but Changeling is a book I liked enough to attempt to handwrite it in a notebook back when I was 12 (I gave up after, like, two sentences because my hand started cramping), and also to try and write a ripoff, featuring an angsty young preteen girl with (short) wavy black hair and eyes like limpid tears (gee, I wonder who that could be) (my eyes are brown, though; I dunno why I wrote the self-insert to be blue-eyed).

The Secret History – Donna Tartt My first foray into dark academia; sadly, reading The Secret History before any other books in the (sub?)genre made every other book pale in comparison. What’s so special about The Secret History for me is that I hate every main character, with passion. Each and every one of them; not just Bunny, but Richard and Henry and Charles and Camilla and Francis and Julian can all go fuck themselves for all I care- but I find them so fascinating. The story and the way it’s written is pretty over-the-top dramatic and my struggling bilingual arse had to look up every tenth word or so, but I adore it with every fibre of my being. Well, the leftover fibres of my being that aren’t simping over Kim Seungmin.

A Series of Unfortunate Events – Lemony Snicket Does this count as the first step of my emo phase? Shoutout to the girl in seventh grade I sat next to for, like, two weeks, who lent me The Wide Window and got me hooked on the series.

Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll This entire book feels so trippy.

The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett It’s corny and Everything Works Out Swell for the Goody Guys in the End! in period-typical book fashion, but it got me through many a boring class in the spring of my ninth year of personhood, so I’ll always have a soft spot for Mary and Dickon and Colin and the rest of the gang. It also inspired me to Cultivate, and there are two pretty bougainvillea plants in my garden thanks to one Mary Lennox.

The Miseducation of Cameron Post – Emily M. Danforth Cameron Post: the lesbian baddie we all aspire to be.

Vicky Angel – Jacqueline Wilson Yet another shoutout to my seventh-grade seatmate for lending me her copy of Vicky Angel, which I read under my covers like it was a bloody nudie mag.

A Song of Ice and Fire – George R. R. Martin Where’s Winds of Winter, George?

Turtles All the Way Down – John Green Paper Towns used to be my favorite John Green book until I read Turtles All the Way Down last year. I adore John Green’s writing style (maybe not the #deep #woke #sadboi #middleclass #white #male #cisgender #heterosexual #personalityofabreadroll leads in a solid chunk of his books, though) and okay, so maybe Davis fits all of the above, but my true faves are Aza and Daisy and their dynamic.

To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee I keep calling this ‘HOW to Kill a Mockingbird’ in conversations and it gets really fucking inconvenient.

Coraline – Neil Gaiman I just wish I’d read this sooner than I did.

[dreamdaddydutch]

Desert Blooms

What can I say? This isn’t a happy one... I started this months ago, kept coming back to it and well it’s finally done. This is a Javier-centric piece set post rdr2, there’s a lot of reminiscing and it’s quite angsty, though kinda bittersweet (I mean there’s flowery, poetic language used. Standard). A fair warning - there’s references to suicidal thoughts and an implication to it at the end. 

Character: Javier Escuella   I    Word Count: 3,117   I  Category: Angst/Nostalgia  I  Warnings: Depression & Suicidal thoughts/implications 

I want to tell you a story. It’s about love and loyalty, family and betrayal. Most stories you find in the lost pages of old fairy tales and on your screens, they have happy endings, perfect endings. Stories designed to fill a void that nihilism has created, caused by modern living to make you believe in something that died long ago. God is dead. 

I want to tell you a story about a man who had everything and lost it, who knew what it was like to be loved before his dying days. It is a cautionary tale of hubris. 

He sits and watches the world go by, it isn’t like the old days when he had to worry about his next move, when things were timed and he had a purpose. Now he is free to idly watch as the sun moves across the sky, relentless, heat beating down on the cracked earth, parched and crying out for water. 

He shifts his weight a little, uncomfortable from where he has been sat for so long. An hour or four? He isn’t sure, it all feels the same now. The days they blend so easily into one, it reminds him of mirky soup… Being lost out at sea in a fog where you lose all sense of time and direction. 

His boots had once been one of his prize possessions, immaculate leather, polished daily, golden tips always gleaming in the sunlight, moonlight, by grace of day or night he always looked the part. Now his boots were beat up, worn leather, the gold had long since lost it’s shine. They were caked in dust after too many nights falling down drunk under the stars.

The only thing Javier cared about anymore was Boaz, Boaz had treated him well for so many years and now he poured all his remaining love into the old horse. Any spare money he had after the essentials and the odd woman or poker game, that went on Boaz. New brushes to brush out his mane and tail, the finest snacks and saddle rug. As long as his old boy was happy he still had some purpose. 

As they rode past a cluster of tall Cacti, he watched the flowers bloom with fascination. Yellows, oranges and pinks, bright beacons against a never ending wasteland. The flowers were honest, they knew their place. Javier contemplated how fragile life was, he plucked one of the flowers from a Cactus and held it close to his breast, he sighed, where had all the years gone? He was youthful once, wasn’t he?

Back in the cheap hotel he’s been staying in he looks at his reflection in the mirror, he’s looking old, scars more prominent now. He finds himself missing his longer hair and youthful charm. 

Downstairs in the saloon someone is playing the piano and singing softly. Javier closes his eyes for a moment and remembers the past, somewhere across the hills he can hear the gang sing round Horseshoe Overlook. 

When he’d first left Mexico and met Dutch he had nothing, Dutch had given him everything and then taken it away again in a matter of 10 years. Javier sipped his whiskey slowly, swirling the liquid round his mouth, taking in every individual note and remembering the late nights sat up with the others drinking. 10 Years and they had been the happiest 10 years of his life, until the end. 

Javier joined the others downstairs, sat in a corner watching handsome men and beautiful women in their charm, stumbling and stuttering and twirling in the candle light. 

It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. But with that comes knowledge, the knowledge of what life could have been. With it comes pain. 

In a mirror he sees the reflection of someone sat behind him, all smiles and laughter as their man recounts tales of their youth.

Oh what Javier would have done, what he would have given had he of known what path the gang were going to take. He was blinded by loyalty he knew that now and his chance of growing old with the others had slipped from under his feet. He had wanted to be free for so long so that when he got it he had desired more, coveted what others had and believed that under the guise of freedom fighters, Dutch would bring them more glory.

Hubris. Yes. How he should have listened to his mother and his older siblings. For a moment he had it all, the gang had it all, they just needed to run away to live free without the endless pull of gold. The unsatisfying unrelenting beat of the word ‘more’. As one delves into sin without remorse, but then why should one? Naked flesh against his own as windows steam up in the winter. He had tasted that sweet fruit that had turned now and twisted his cheeks, made them bitter. 

The threads of life were so fragile, like seedlings, they needed attention, care, if forgotten for more than a few days, life would be drained from their small foundations. And like a seedling he had been, so too were the others, all of them without the nourishment they needed to survive. 

At first he had been furious with Arthur, John, Sadie and Charles, he found himself hating them and wishing they were dead. But now he felt nothing but sorrow when he thought of them, he missed them dearly. He wanted to say ‘I’m sorry,’ wanted to go back in time to amend what had happened. 

He missed Sadie’s wild nature and attitude, John’s care with Jack, fishing with Arthur, telling tales round the campfire with Charles.

Small precious moments that he held dear now and never spoke a word of to anyone. 

Only fools rush in, and oh how Javier had done that before he met Dutch. Back in Mexico the woman he loved had been his world and to be so betrayed by her in the end, he would have laid out in the dessert ready for death’s cool embrace if it hadn’t of been for Dutch.

Something in Javier had always made him run, made him keep fighting one more day. And the following day he felt the same, and so there was always the option of sweet release and ending his own life. But every day he promised himself one more day and so like the relentless turning of seasons, so he beat on. 

He nursed the drink in front of him and thought of Mary-Beth, in particular one conversation they’d had one night.

He’d just finished playing Cielito Lindo and had walked off for a cigarette away from the group when he heard her voice, light and airy, inquisitive, caring…

“Hey Javier,” Mary Beth was sat on a log writing in her notebook.

He’d looked across at her, acknowledging her greeting without responding with words. 

“Wanna sit?” She was kind, too kind he often felt. 

“Sure,” he sat next to her and offered her a cigarette which she accepted with thanks, her thin long fingers curled round it. Javier lit hers first and then his own. 

It was silent for a moment, not an uncomfortable kind of silence, more the silence that comes when you’ve been friends with someone for such a long time that you can sit in stillness and it doesn’t bother either of you.

They watched small particles of ash rise from the campfire, tiny flames in the air like fireflies. Above them somewhere an owl hooted. 

“How you are?” She asked softly. 

He tried to force a smile but it didn’t come, he wanted to lie to her to say things were fine, but she was an intelligent woman who would have seen right through it.

He bit down on his lower lip considering his response, “I’m alive.”

Mary-Beth wanted to reach out then, thought on the correct response only there wasn’t one. In the end it turned out that the company of the other was enough to make him feel a little better. Moments, there had been plenty, when words would not suffice, but there was a unity that made them feel close. Just to sit in another’s presence, glance over at them occasionally to know you weren’t alone, so watch the rise and fall of their chest and hear their gentle breaths.

That memory was one of his fondest, it was the closest they had been. His hands either side of him, warmed by the soft earth, a blackbird in the trees that told them they were alive. Gossamer threads, an orb spider just feet away spinning a web on a holly bush. Bright red berries, the smell of damp earth, wild garlic and mint. The horses close enough to hear them. Stream running. A small moth that landed on Javier’s hand just as Mary-Beth had stretched her own fingers out enough that the tips of their fingers met. Contact. Human contact. Love. Devotion. A promise and prophecy in her words.

It was gone now, and he hoped she was well, that she had found a better life for herself, one that she deserved. 

Another night sat in the hotel saloon, drinking and Javier sipped the warm beer, barely enough to quench his thirst though nothing now truly satiated it. Nothing sunk as deep or warmed him in the way libations with his family could have. The taste of the barley hitting the back of his throat, took him back to a particular night when Jack was returned safely home.

The alcohol had flowed so freely, and he had danced, something that he rarely ever did. Even Dutch seemed happy and at peace. He could feel the warmth of the fireplace, hear the laughter that permeated the air and Jack, he was always there to make them smile. Like a mascot Jack had been the life of the gang, at its very heart and all of them would have done anything to protect him.

Javier had dreamt of having a child of his own, believed that one day he would settle down and live a simple life. That was not to be, he could not argue with fate.

The adrenaline that came with a shoot out and destroying enemies meant that parties would last long into the night, often until dawn broke. That was the unofficial end of such parties, the sky painted like a fields of forget-me-nots. There was no happiness like it, nothing even came close.

In the years that followed the fall out Javier had tried to recreate the feeling through new friends but none of them came close.

Javier found some solace in believing that maybe it was better he was alone, at least now he was incapable of hurting anyone else, of betraying his brothers or falling for the promises of a narcissist. 

He emptied his glass, smiled to the bar maid who winked at him in return. Maybe he could fall for one more night of company. Though the laughter of others was nothing like that of Tilly, Mary-Beth or the other girls.

If he sat still enough in the shabby room that he rented in the hotel on the outskirts of the desert, he would make pretend just like he did when he was a child. He would close his eyes and when focused could believe he could smell the outdoors. Hear a fresh stream running, birdsong, the bustle of the camp, home. 

Sometimes that home was with the gang, sometimes it was in Mexico with his parents and siblings. More often than not the two got muddled together, the sound of birdsong, of Pearson whistling, Dutch reading aloud entwined with the sound of a skipping rope scuffing across the dusty earth, his sisters singing… In the end he virtually stopped this practice, the mixture of sounds and images they conjured in his mind became more like a migraine, a picturesque and chaotic raging storm. 

He recalled with fondness one fishing trip with Arthur, the two of them had rode out a short while from camp, a rare moment they shared together where Javier experienced what some would call brotherhood. They had talked about the English language and how things were pronounced, the had laughed and Javier had shared some fishing tips with Arthur.

They had sat in a comfortable silence for the most part, a silence that was born of understanding and belonging.

Javier spent a lot of his days playing cards, drinking, riding out with Boaz, but he didn’t touch his guitar not anymore.

Life, Javier believed was sacred. Whilst he had lost those he held dear, he felt he had been blessed to have shared the most beautiful years with those who had made life worth living. To be human was to love, to hurt, to feel joy, to suffer… And Javier have lived at times deliciously. He had borne back against authority and control; he had been free allowed to be a player in a tremendous adventure.

Javier had known love thrice in his life, once as a child. He recalled his mother cooking stew, his sisters making flower crowns which they would try to place on both his head and the head of his brother from behind without them noticing it. Then there was a woman, as golden as the dawn in spring and finally his new found family. Some never get to experience love, but he got to know what it meant, got to feel it in his veins and that made him feel distinctly rich.

Rejection – he had rejected his past life, one that felt so distant like the first-time smoke swirled in his mouth. His family, they had set him free and he had abandoned them. He had consoled himself with the knowledge that this was for the greater good, with a lie that told him ‘I will come back for you.’

And he did. Too late, the years had wiped any trace of his siblings and mother from the earth.

Love was the remedy but also the poison.

Hunting, that had come before fishing, he had hunted often with his father so that when he joined the Van der Linde gang, it was too painful to recall. The rod instead became his comfort.

His hand stretched towards the sun, a hopeful orb in a desperate world.

He had liked fishing with Arthur, it was peaceful and reminded him of more simple times. He could hear Arthur’s humming, contently tapping his boots in time against the bank. The sparkle of the water at midday, the glimmer of water as fish swum underneath and the ripples spread out.

 He recalled picking daises with Tilly, it was something to pass the time, an easy distraction from a more difficult situation. Between them they must have picked 70 daises or more. Tilly had made herself a small flower crown from them and woven leaves in between, Javier thought it made her look like a goddess. They’d sat on the grass afterwards drinking wine and reading, back against back for support, for comfort, just to know that they weren’t alone.

He’d liked those days where there was time to read in amongst the heists and the chaos. Dutch had given them life so he believed, only now he realised it had all been a trick. Dutch had conjured such beautiful imagery, but now the veil had been lifted he saw it for what it was, cheap parlour tricks like the kind Trelawny would perform with his cards.

He remembered in Shady Belle sitting on the wooden decking with Jack and trying to reassure him after what happened. He’d allowed the boy to hold his guitar, and started to teach him how to play, simple cords at first, simple melodies for simpler times.

  More nights he reflected on the drinking and singing, his love of entertaining the others and the fact that his guitar gave him a role and a place among them. The days were long since gone where he believed in Dutch, his saviour. Even that word, saviour, now made him feel sick to his core. How could he have been so blind to believe such a man? Though he were certain in the earlier days Dutch was true, wanted freedom, equality and was not a bad man, no, but a selfish one who would allow harm to others to ensure he thrived. The hypocrisy of what Dutch became and those he was willing to sacrifice, that was what Javier couldn’t stand.

And the fact that he stood by him? The fact that he, after all he’d been through and who he was, he stood by and said nothing, he shook Micah’s hand and oh… Javier felt the bile rise in the back of his throat, he clutched at his breast, no more, he would beat himself up over this no more.

That was how a cult operated wasn’t it? He stared at his drink. It had seemed so appealing a moment ago, golden and cool, now the nectar had gone sour somehow looked more like unsightly bodily fluids left smeared on walls of unsuspecting victims. Javier was so tired; sleep had never been more inviting.

Now back in the desert, away from humans was where he spent several hours a day. As he stood and went to brush the dust from his clothes, he stopped. It didn’t matter anymore, the clothes on his back were old and torn, no amount of dust was going to make them look worse than they already were.

The leather straps of his sandals were worn, red sand underneath his feet, too hot now. 

Javier guided Boaz out to where the wild horses were and set him free, watched with a gleam in his eyes as he witnessed his old friend finally experience the freedom his master had longed for. 

He took one step, then another and another. He still had to pay the hotel, he had thought he would only be gone for an hour or two, he hadn’t planned for things to work out the way they did. 

But now after 100 steps into the desert, it seemed so irresistible to him. Sand dunes in the distance of a great wide no where. He imagines how the stars would look at night. Determined, loyal now only to himself, he continues to walk until he fades like a mirage. Watch now, look out onto the horizon, can you see him? He’s there if you look hard enough, search hard enough so he isn’t forgotten. 

No point turning back now.