#IVE GOT PLANNNNS DUTCH

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

Hi!! I just found out you had a tumblr and I saw your rdr2/tfp (of timelines and trolleys) crossover idea and I was just wondering if you’d be willing to expand on that? 👀 (unless you don’t want to give away any spoilers lol)

My rdr2 and tfp hyperfixations have made resurgence lately and the idea of that crossover sounds so cool!!! (I’m rereading your fic atm, it’s so fucking good I need it injected directly into my bloodstream)

WELCOME!!!! and thank you so much for the compliment （＾ω＾）

I've actually been working on the rdr crossover here and there, but I'll definitely start giving it more attention. (I feel I've moved to the acceptance stage of grief, but writing fanfic about it might implicate bargaining... eh I'll get some laughs out of it regardless)

I do want to make a mini-fic that's more put together than my PJO au, but has more content than some of my drops in Worlds of A Disgruntled OC so instead of rambling, how about I give you a sneak peak of what I'm working on?

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Ashlyn Moore was an incredibly unlucky person. It wasn’t a matter of opinion, it was an objective fact of the universe. As cut and dry as gravity’s rules or the laws of energy conservation. A dependable and evidentially supported fact of life, and much like Murphy’s Law, it could be invoked at any moment.

Such as right now.

Here, lying here, with a rock pressed against her spine and dirt rubbing against her skin, Ashlyn Moore was faced with such evidence that would seal her title as the unluckiest person in the world. Because how many people crossed dimensions not once, but twice within a year?

Wrinkling her nose, the girl didn’t bother to open her eyes. She was content to simply lay there, in the dirt, ignorant to the specifics of whatever world she’d wandered into for now. Not much different from what Ashlyn had been doing with the voices, and that had been working out great so far.

As much as she would love to reveal in unknowing bliss, dimensional travel had a very distinct feeling. An odd dreamlike haze, as if reconnecting a mind to a body that had been nothing but split atoms and a handful of migrating molecules moments before was an arduous task. A process not quite complete, even after eyes opened and sight returned. Ashlyn only had a rough guess of the moment her world had first blended with fiction, the transition too vague to truly define, but the sensation of other was too distinct not to connect to. And now, she had relived it once more. That was one aspect of reality, of whatever had happened when energon met that stupid rock, that she could not ignore.

The world had shifted, yet again, and she had no clue how to fix any of it.

Honestly, it was rather predictable, wasn’t it? Didn’t take a lot of brain power to figure out once those few details became clear and the story came into focus like the tapes of an old film.

Miko had tried to sneak out and watch a bot fight. Jack following to make sure the girl didn’t get herself killed was typical. Ashlyn, herself, had been bored out of her mind and resorting to watching mind-numbing videos of a survival expert cooking some Michelin-level salmon with tin foil and alternating to a shirtless man digging out an underground house with a piece of bamboo. Feeling faintly inspired, she’d been prepared to give the latter a try in the base’s walls. The fact that mud and roots were replaced by stone and steel would only add to the challenge. When Jack had catapulted after Miko, narrowly missing in his half-hearted tackle attempt, it was like a dinner bell rang.

Entertainment! Come get your free, entertainment! No broken nails or mining is required!

A pity, she’d been fascinated by the chance to create a hiding place in the walls for the whole 5 minutes the idea had spawned in her mind.

But this would work too.

Sharing a look with Raf, the pair had slyly put the computer down, still playing a collection of YouTube’s greatest survival tips, and followed their fellow homo sapiens. She may have been the oldest of the quartet, but Ashlyn was not their keeper. She was going to enjoy this little impromptu field trip while she could. 

Hidden on a cliff-side, the group held front-row seats to the mini-battle that unfolded beneath them. Ashlyn hadn’t recognized the scene or location, so she’d been too engrossed in the drama to take note when Miko had once again started to move. She’d only realized that anything had changed when Raf had asked what the younger girl was doing near a cave.

Ashlyn hadn’t stopped Miko from interacting with the carvings. Not from the photos or touching the chipped pieces. The design was familiar, even as it seemed jarringly wrong, but Ashlyn couldn’t quite identify what episode those odd drawings were part of. But if they were here, they must be important. 

Who was she to stand in the way of the plot?

Her hesitation was a mistake.

Bad luck had decided to strike again, and the last thing Ashlyn remembered seeing was a sudden blast and hearing the sudden screams of her companions.

In the glare of the light, Ashlyn could have sworn that the carvings had started to dance.

Thus, the latest evidence proving the Laws of Ashlyn had been added to the cosmic tally. She was unamused, but at least she was no longer bored. Ashlyn almost wished she was bored.

Yet, one must count their blessings. The air was warm and pleasant, breathable which was good. The rock that was pressing between the vertebra of her spine had not cut into it, and the tickling sensation of grass and dirt proved that she still had sensation in her limbs.

Somehow she was the unluckiest person in the world, but she still had enough luck in her to walk away with that evidence. Perhaps, in another life, she might’ve been a cat. A black cat with nine lives and the audacity that can only come from not having a single one stolen.

She smiled at the thought of sauntering down fence tops and lounging on tree branches. It must feel something like this, shadows dancing over her face as leaves danced in a merry breeze. Warm sunbeams caressed her form as she would laze away the day, blissful and unconcerned about the troubles of reality.

If only she was actually a cat.

Maybe if she opened her eyes she’d find that such a dream had been fulfilled.

Considering her luck, probably not. But now, with everything but her soul in question, she couldn’t prove that she wasn’t one. Schrodinger’s Cat was her preferred state of being usually, just for the simplicity of it. Why tack on a feline version for her sanity’s sake? 

She is a cat. She is not a cat. She is Ashlyn, and that’s more than enough.

With that line of thought, the girl’s mind drifted off into a strange breed of nonsense that could not help but taper off into a dream. Ashlyn Moore took a nap, not knowing where she was but quite sure that she was alone and that such problems could wait for whenever she deemed it prudent to leave this uncomfortable spot.

Had she not been so nonchalant, some things would have carried on very differently. For instance, a man, full-bearded and with a sour attitude came across the sleeping girl. Spotting a young woman, dressed oddly and splayed out beneath a tree, Bill Williamson shouldered his gun and stared.

What exactly was he supposed to do here?

Bill had seen many strange things in his life, from his stint in the army to his career as an outlaw, life had a way of tossing weird shit all over the place.

Stepping closer to the stranger, dry earth crunching beneath his boot and fingers itching to grab the carbine repeater once more, the man gave a start as some wild beast bellowed in the distance.

It took a moment to realize it was just the lady snoring… so she was alive then. Sleeping like a baby grizzly, complete with a little snot bubble that rose and fell with every “mehu.”  

Stepping back, Bill sighed and rubbed his head. Just their luck that first thing after getting off that goddamn mountain a stranger appears right outside of camp. The women hadn’t even unpacked yet, Mr fucking Morgan’s wagon with Hosea and Charles hadn’t even arrived yet! Dutch hadn’t even done one of his speeches yet and already something unexpected had happened. Lone woman or not, the situation was suspicious.

The gang couldn’t risk gaining any attention or trouble, not until they had the money to split properly. Or until Dutch come up with another plan. 

Looking back at the woman, Williamson took in her odd clothes. Jeans a few sizes too small, boots that didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen and a jacket that might’ve dyed leather. Oddly dressed, yes, but, other than a branch sticking out of wild hair, she was well-groomed and appeared healthy from a quick glance. Not some poor waif, likely had a family that would notice if she went missing.

Drat.

Dutch also wouldn’t appreciate killing a random woman just because she decided to nap near the camp. Besides, there was no confirmation that she’d seen anything. No confirmation that anyone knew where she was or would suspect them if she went missing. Valentine was a small town. People talked in small towns. People were suspicious.

The Van Der Linde Gang did not need help to be seen as suspicious.

Poking her with his boot, Bill watched as that lady scowled and swatted it. He thought he could hear her muttering about something.

Leaning closer, Bill hovered over the girl in hopes of overhearing. Maybe pick up some clues on this latest shit that had been tossed his way.

He failed to account for the girl waking up.

Ashlyn Moore, opening her eyes to a strange, kinda familiar, ruffian hovering over her acted on pure, engrande reflex.

Always aim for the eyes, her mother had told her.

Her hand moved quickly, fingers winding in the coarse foul-smelling beard, and pulled. Her other hand met the surprised and teetering man’s face.

A solid crack sounded off as blood spurted. The man screamed, shrill and high as he fell back on his heels, hands too occupied with his broken nose to reach for his gun.

What luck. What wondrous, good-for-nothing, terrible luck.

“Y-you! YOU BITCH!”

Amid the whining, Ashlyn could hear trees rustling and other voices sounding off in the distance. Had she not just woken from a nap, the girl might’ve taken her wake-er hostage with that pretty rifle. Or maybe she would have demanded to speak to his boss, manager, or mother about his horrid manners. Alas, still sleep-addled, Ashlyn felt the incoming forces of retribution and bolted out of the forest, into an open clearing, and ran out into the plains without bothering to think about where she was going.

Bill for his part, was left with explaining to Javier what the hell happened when the Mexican bounded over pistol drawn and just quick enough to see a shadow darting away. As Mrs. Grimshaw set his nose and smacked his head, Javier wouldn’t stop laughing about Bill losing a fistfight to a deer.

Uncle said it must have been a branch.

Bill remained quiet, sulking as Mr. Morgan drove his wagon in and listened to the tale.

“Nah. Must’ve been a twig.”

Bill really wished he had shot that girl.