#Pinkerton corrupt

[zombie-eats-world]

Hey the Pinkertons are trying to hire more people, wouldn’t it be a shame if their corrupt jobs got spammed with fake applicants?

[caswensworld]

A few similarities, a few differences

One got away

One was corrupted

[master-of-47-dudes]

Oh! For those of you who like Lancer, I've made major progress in the campaign I'm writing: Kindness of strangers!

LRBT-III, otherwise known as Blanche to the locals. This sun-baked dustbowl of a planet has the high honor of being one of the few habitable terrestrial bodies that anyone has discovered in the Long Rim, and probably the only one that's actually any use to anyone. Luckily- or not so luckily, if you ask some people- it was Union that found it first. Well, about 70 years ago when they stumbled across this star system they got it in their heads that the Long Rim's days were numbered. There’s untold millions living out there scattered along the emptiest shipping lane in the known galaxy who'd need a way out once no one needed to pass them by, and by Christ the Buddha Union was gonna be there for them waiting with open arms.

All of that is background, though. You? You’re a bunch of mercenaries who got their hands on a couple of GMSes, decided to make your manna selling violence for pay. Worlds like Blanche don't take to colonies very well, so even two generations in there's still plenty of frontier out there being settled and railroad tracks being laid. The people out there struggle day by day to survive, and people like you are there to protect them from those who got sick of the hard life. Not everyone out there has the guts to stand up for the little guy- that's why you're called Lancers.

A setting and a campaign all in one, Kindness Of Strangers and its (eventual) follow-up Dancing With the Devil are a series of Wild West-themed 2-mission adventures intended to take players from 0-12 as they find themselves embroiled in the midst of a corporate conspiracy to overthrow the Union-backed government of the isolated colony of Blanche and a ploy to seize control over a nearly completed Blinkstation. All the while, a strange religious movement worshipping an eons-dead alien civilization grows ever more influential in the background...

This campaign tackles themes of colonialism, nationalism, corruption, and conflict between indigenous peoples, settlers, and immigrants, all in a world where well-meaning intentions have gone sour and the ghosts of the past have come back to haunt it.

Kindness of Strangers, Missions 1-3

Field Guide to LRBT-PN

Exotic Gear Documentation

Variant Frame Documentation

Kindness of Strangers Worldbuilding Short Stories

Kindness of Strangers LCP, Maps, and Assets

This latest update includes the first(ish) draft of Mission 3: The Field of Blue Children, allowing play of the first half of Act 2 and extending the LL range from 0-3. Mission 3 is heavily intrigue and RP focused, featuring a wide suite of characters, relationships, and locations in the Tourist town of Baugh- a thriving immigrant community situated on a soda lake.

The PCs have been hired to investigate a bomb threat at the newly completed Baugh Pumpworks, and water filtration and chemical processing facility that stands to end the water shortage and threatens corporate control over the colony's water supply- but is everything really as it seems? In the process, the PCs will go toe to toe with teenage gearheads, Pinkerton-expies, and a group of Sparri Espadas who got roped into this whole mess, and uncover the mystery behind the threat!

Also, there's a subaltern that talks like a pirate and catholicism.

Anyway this mission also includes a custom NPC Template (kind of, I don't know how to design the LCP for that but i did include instructions on how it works), several new reserves, and several custom sitreps!

So, check it out- I'm always looking for feedback.

[reddeaddamnation]

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 PREFERENCE: Their reaction to your death

Arthur Morgan

"Get me a doctor, come on!" Arthur yelled, galloping into camp with you in front of him, seemingly barely hanging on on the saddle. The gang immediately gathered around, shocked and worried about your condition. "What happened?" Dutch asked. "O'Driscoll boys." Arthur sneered "Ran into us on the way back. Got them to back off but not without trouble."

Miss Grimshaw carefully took you down from the saddle, grimacing at the gushing wound on the side of your belly from a gunshot. "Miss Grimshaw. Put her to lay down somewhere. John, go into town and get a doctor. Quick!" Dutch started barking orders around "Mr. Pearson, give her something for the pain. Arthur..." he looked at the man with a look of sadness and muttered quietly "I'm sorry, son."

"I don't think she's gonna make it." Micah said indifferently, watching Susan carry you away, as you slipped in and out of consciousness while stumbling on your way. "You shut the hell up!" Arthur yelled, jumping down from his horse and grabbing Micah by the shirt "What do you know?" Micah scoffed "I know enough that if there's an exit wound, she's lucky enough to make it here alive enough to say goodbye."

John Marston

Someone ratted you out. This was a trap. The stagecoach was a setup, because as soon as you, Arthur, John and Sadie stopped it, you were overrun by Pinkertons, who chased you into the woods to a cave where you hoped to hide. Except that they cornered you inside and were nearing your hiding spot while Arthur was cursing and looking for a way out discreetly behind some stalagmites. There was a tight opening near them, but you would be too slow to escape in time. You looked at John, heart pounding in your chest as the voices neared. Arthur was urging Sadie to go in the opening and beckoning you to follow her. You squeezed John's hand. "I got this." You got up, ignoring the hushed scolding "Are you insane?", "What are you doing?"

"Sirs." You walked out of the hiding spot slowly, hands up "Agent Milton." You nodded at the Pinkerton. There were at least 15 people aiming at you. "It seems... you caught me. It was a fun chase." You scoffed. "Surrender your weapon, miss L/N." Milton ordered "This doesn't need to get bloody." You slowly dropped your gun to the ground, side eyeing the others, who watched you from behind the rocks. "Where are your associates?" Milton interrogated. "It seems we got split up. I'm lost and they left me behind." You answered, walking closer to them so their attention is only on you.

"This one could be a valuable asset to lure Van Der Linde out of hiding, sir." Agent Ross mumbled to his colleague "With her, we don't even need to look for the others. They will come to us." Until the end, you were sure nobody would shoot. You knew they know how close your gang is. Surely even if you were captured, they would come to save you and the agents knew it. Milton was thinking silently. "You know what, Ross?" He thought "I don't think so." Gunshot. You gasped and hunched over, leaning on one of the rocks, holding your chest, where blood quickly painted your shirt red. "It's easier picking them out one by one."

John wanted to scream. He wanted to jump out and massacre them all. You slid down the stalagmite until you were sat. Your eyes briefly met his before the life drained from them and he was left, locking eyes with a corpse. He was ready to jump out and start shooting, before Arthur grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back roughly. "We'll come back. We'll avenge her. I swear. Let's go."

Charles Smith

How many more people was he going to bury? Lenny, Hosea, Arthur... now... the unthinkable. Saint Denis wasn't a place for you and he was cursing himself for bringing you here ever since you settled in. You always told him how much you hate the big city and how would love to have a homestead somewhere in the countryside... he knew everything about you. How depressed you feel in this grey, corrupt city, how it made you feel chained and small. He swore you will buy a homestead soon when you have money.

But that day never came. Today, tuberculosis finally got the better of you. And Charles blamed everything on himself. From where you contracted the illness, he didn't know. All he knew was that he despised this disease ridden society. He couldn't listen to your painful hacks and coughs day and night without his heart wretching in pain. You were such a shining and bubbly person before the illness dimmed your flame.

After the burial, he sat at your grave all day. Neither crying nor smiling, not thinking or moving. He felt empty. For all he cared from now on he could die too for bringing this upon you. He knew he shouldn't have moved you here... he would blame himself for the rest of his life.

Dutch van der Linde

Guns blazing in the distance. The O'Driscolls scattered, panicked, reaching for their guns. You watched them with a smirk. Dutch was coming. You heard him. "Face me, you scum!" He yelled, mercilessly shooting anyone in his way, his gang behind him. "He's gonna get you now, Colm." You teased your captor "And he won't be as gentle as you were." You sneered menacingly, spitting blood on the ground, which had been drenched in your blood from five days of torture and malnutrition. "Shut your mouth, harlot." Colm was panicking. "I told you but you didn't listen." You laughed "What do you know, huh? We've been through this before, me and Dutch. And I'd do it again." Colm grabbed you by the throat "You're just a disposable toy to him. I bet in a month from now I'd be doing this with another wench I don't even know the name of." You spit in his face, making him back off.

"I'd think you're in love with him more than me, Colm. You're obsessed. You wanna be next in line, huh?" You mocked, laughing loudly to let Dutch know where you are. "Why you..." he grabbed you by the hair and aimed his gun at your neck. "Colm!" Dutch kicked the door in, aiming his gun at Colm's head, along with Arthur and Bill.

The house you were kept in was in a remote place in the mountains near the Grizzlies. Dutch must have rode for days without rest for him to find you so fast. "Here we are again, Dutch." Colm smirked "Too bad I don't have a brother for you to kill nearby."

Dutch growled "It will not happen again. I guarantee it." Silence. Colm thought for a moment before raising his hands "Alright." He cut the ropes holding you up "You win, Dutch. You outnumbered me. I won't be the one to kill her." You fell to the ground, wrists sore from the days of being hung up. Colm backed away towards a window. "My darling Y/N." Dutch held out his hand, but not leaving Colm out of sight "Let's get out of here."

You were about to stand up when a gunshot pierced your side and Colm disappeared through the window, broken by the bullet. "No!" Dutch screamed falling to his knees to hold you. He didn't have any words left to describe his hatred for Colm. No punishment would be enough for him. Arthur ran to the window but quickly ducked before the sniper could shoot him. "Y/N.." Dutch caressed your cheek "I'm here." History was repeating itself. "Dutch..." you whispered before passing out. If he didn't have a reason to live before, Dutch was now determined to destroy Colm O'Driscoll's life and give him the most painful death.

[revolversandlace]

Corrupted Hearts - Part I

Dutch x f!Reader, Arthur x f!Reader

Warnings & Tags: MINORS DNI, Dutch x f!Reader, Smut, Blowjob, PiV, Doggy, Choking, Toxic & Unhealthy Relationships, Dom/Sub

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Dutch makes yet another plan. One you ain’t so sure of, so you do what comes naturally... go to his tent to convince him otherwise.

a/n: I have no idea how long this is going to end up being, or how many parts. Just got to hold on for the thirsty ride!

Series Summary

AO3 Link

You sat at the table, your chin resting in your hand as you gazed intently at Dutch as the wooden surface dug into your elbow. 

'If you all play your part, and do exactly as I say - this will not fail.’ He said with a dangerous rasp in his voice as he eyed each of you in turn. 

No one said a word, you could feel the tension in them all. The way that Arthurs shoulders and jaw tightened with each delegation, with how Javier shifted the weight on his feet behind you. It was a big plan, a ballsy plan, and you knew it. But what you also knew was that you were not going to be the one to voice your concern - not yet anyway. You were the one to make sure that everyone was to do as they were told, exactly as Dutch had mentioned. 

As you and Dutch shared a silent look of knowing, you knew that’s precisely what he wanted from you as well. 

‘You and Arthur are on point,’ he continued, looking at you from underneath the brim of his bowler, as you gave him a nod in agreement. 

That was the part of the plan you didn’t like. 

You trusted Arthur, not that he was a hard man to trust. Ever since you fell into the gang two years ago, you and Arthur had quickly formed a mutual respect and trust with one another. A few close calls with bullets and the law later, you gladly called him a friend which was easily done after a man saved your life. You both worked well with one another, quickly, efficiently and above all you were both invaluable shots. 

So much so, that you didn’t think that the both of you leading everyone else was the best idea. Sure, if the law or bounty hunters weren’t tailing you, the explosives went off correctly and there was the exact amount of security you expected - there wouldn’t be any issue. But if there was one thing you knew about riding with the Van der Linde gang was that things rarely went as planned.

One stagecoach, at least twelve escorts and the difficult terrain of the West Grizzlies - trusting the information Bill provided them was any good… it was a hell of a gamble. Although Dutch was exuberant, he at least had a modicum of caution. But there was something about this job that almost had him salivating. You'd be lying if you weren't swept away by the way he spoke about it, hell the way he spoke about anything.

He had you all on a knife edge, this was no different than any other time. He sang the song that promised gold and riches, of another job to get you all that one step closer to freedom, to build with him an America that he and all of you envisioned. A way to make payment to leave your sins and horror behind. 

But through all of your bloodlust and desire to jump into any opportunity to kill the law or one of those Pinkerton fuckers, no amount of gold or slit throats was enough to eradicate the ever growing niggle. Your life was the only thing worth a damn, and not something you would easily negotiate no matter how pretty Dutch's words were. 

'Micah,' Dutch said, turning his gaze to the greasy blonde man, 'I want you at the back, keep an eye out for any trouble.'

'’Course, Dutch,' Micah said, his rotten breath detectable even from the other side of the table.

That was the second part of the plan that you didn't like. Although Micah had proved somewhat capable in getting the job done, you've been in enough shootouts with him to know he favoured shooting with two guns in any direction he could. He didn't care who was in the way, and that was the last person you wanted at your back. 

He was a man that clearly believed quantity over quality and you were sure he was overcompensating for something in some capacity. Not that your mind would venture into imagining Micah in a scenario of those sorts. The sheer notion was enough to turn your stomach. 

'The rest of you,' Dutch said, stabbing his finger in the air before him, 'ride hard and ride fast. And don't mess this up. Dismissed.' 

The gang scattered for the most part as Dutch turned his back, strolling back towards his tent as his gun belt rattled across his hips, his spurs clinking across the hard ground. 

You inhaled deeply, reaching for your smokes as Arthur mimicked your action, lighting one for himself. 

'You thinking what I'm thinking?' You said in a low tone as you lit the white stick. 

Arthur only grumbled as the silence settled between you. You mind was alert, your wits sharp as always as you ran every scenario and every fuck up possible through your head. You just wanted those damn gold bars and for all of you to get back in one piece. Well most of you anyway. 

'Can't say I like Micah pointin' a gun at the back of my head,' Arthur said after a moment, almost reading your thoughts. 

You were to ride at sunrise. The horses were to be fed, guns cleaned, ammo stocked, the plan clear in all of your minds. The routine was the same as always and as the sun began to dip across the treeline, you knew the evening would be the only chance to get a hot meal down you before the job. 

'Guess I'm taking this turn with Dutch then?' You said, finishing your cigarette as the idea of a warm venison stew slipped from sight. 

Much like with everything, you and Arthur had an understanding when it came to disagreements with Dutch. Do it quietly and take it in turns. Dutch was not a man that was fond of the same person bringing the same complaints with them. 

‘Guess so,’ Arthur said with a shrug, standing up from the bench at the table, ‘sure you can find a way to persuade him.’ Arthur gave a low chuckle, slapping the back of your shoulder gently. 

‘Don’t be an ass,’ you huffed as you too stood, already trying to formulate a script in your mind. 

Your relationship with Dutch was no secret around camp. No one said anything directly, not that they ever did when it came to that sort of stuff. The odd joke here or the sly quip there, but never, never in front of their leader. Dutch had made that clear the day Micah had decided to be clever, not long after he joined the outfit. 

He made a joke, or at least that’s what you had always hoped, about if Dutch was the sharing sort. Him and Dutch had disappeared for sometime after that, with Micah returning the most quiet you had ever seen him and you can only imagine the well spoken threats Dutch had whispered to him out of camp. 

For that you were grateful. Micah was a detestable piece of shit and although that wasn’t the last time he said anything to you out of earshot, it was the last time he was so brazen about it. 

The relationship between you and Dutch wasn’t a complicated one. It wasn’t any of that fancy lark that filled Mary-Beth’s books of love struck letters or declarations of anything. The only promise he made you swear to him the first night you found yourself in his bed, was that you were his. You were loyal to him, to the gang, to nothing else. You would follow his orders both in and out of his tent, and the moment any of that changed, you would no longer “be an appropriate fit.”

Dutch had a way with words, a way that thrilled and scared you. And from that moment you were hooked. You were sure there was a layered meaning to the words he spoke to you that night, but you didn’t care. Even if he was a fraction of the man he was, you’d finally found a place that was warm, with people who could and would look after you. In your mind that was a worthy price. 

As your feet carried you to Dutch’s tent, you sighed to yourself before pulling back the flap, not enough to see in but just enough so you would be heard. 

‘Dutch?’ You said, your voice and as low and as silky as you could manage. 

‘Enter,’ his voice was clipped, a sure sign this wasn’t going to be easy. 

You pushed through into the tent, the soft melody trickling from the gramophone as Dutch sat up in his cot, his legs outstretched with a book in hand. He didn’t even look up at you. 

‘Can I help you?’ He said, his eyes not leaving the book. It was worn, the spine fraying and the text utterly faded but you could put a week's worth of work on what it was. 

‘Dutch, it’s about the job.’ You stood there before him, your hands at your hips that were cocked to the side. 

‘Go on.’ he said, licking the pad of his thumb as he turned the page. 

‘I don’t think the plan will work,’ you said, sternly and frankly. You spoke to Dutch enough, had enough conversations with him that you knew playing coy wasn’t going to get you anywhere. He had never let on to it, but you were sure that’s what he liked about you. You were never one to mince your words but still smart enough about when you vocalised anything. 

‘Is that so?’ He said, his eyes briefly pausing on the text in front of him.

‘Yeah,’ you sighed, crossing your arms in front of you, ‘look Dutch, I ain’t questioning you but-’

‘It sounds like you are doing exactly that, my dear,’ he said, continuing with his reading. 

‘I just don’t think it’s much good having your best two shots up front is all. And Micah? You honestly trust him to cover our backs?’ 

‘I trust he will do as I say,’ he said, his teeth almost gritted as he slammed the book closed with one hand. 

The sound made you jump slightly as he turned to look at you, running his fingers over his moustache. 

‘Will you do the same?’ He stood, pacing towards you as your breath caught in your throat, your heartbeat rising. 

‘Dutch you know I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just concerned,’ you said, your arms falling to your side in exasperation. You really weren't in the mood for games but it seemed, as always, that’s exactly what Dutch wanted. 

He stood in front of you, all but towering over you as you could feel the heat of his chest, even through his waistcoat. You slowly raised your gaze to his, meeting his eyes as he looked down on you like a piece of prey. 

‘I just think,’ you said as calmly as you could without faltering, ‘that I could be of better use if -’

He cut you off, his deep rumbling laugh filled the air around you. Within a flash his hands wrapped around the back of your head, gripping your hair tightly, his rings digging into the back of your scalp as he forced you to keep eye contact with him. 

You knew this game, and you played it well. You were sure all the other women gave him that doe eyed look of submission. Yes sir, of course sir. But you weren’t one of those women. You held your gaze, your eyes narrow and mouth taut. You were sure there was to be some speech, some threat, some whisper of seduction. You just had to wait. 

‘I know all of your uses, miss,’ he hissed, giving you hair a small but tight tug. 

You didn’t flinch. 

‘Do you think you’re the one giving orders now?’ He said, his moustache twitching impetuously. ‘Perhaps, I should leave the gang in your capable hands.’ 

You didn’t fight him. You didn’t move. Not because you were scared, oh it was the exact opposite. You hate the way he could play your body so easily. The way your veins and bones and all your insides craved for the danger, for the thrill of the chase. To be so close to the edge of something dark. Time and time again you let him push you there and you doubted that tonight would be any different. But you never let him fuck you over that line without a fair fight. 

‘You know it’s a bad call, Dutch,’ you said, your eyes flicking briefly to his lips. 

‘I don’t make bad calls,’ he rasped, the smell of cigars and a faint hint of whiskey filling your nose. 

You pushed your head into his hand ever so slightly, a small smirk turning at the corner of your lips. 

‘Well I’m here ain’t I?’ 

That earnt a laugh from him as he nodded slowly, gently releasing your hair. 

‘I’m in a generous mood,’ he said, stepping back from you, to sit on the edge of his cot, ‘Micah will stay up front with Arthur, you at the back.’

You smiled, warm and genuine but that did not once soften him one bit.

‘Do not mistake that for charity,’ he said, fetching his glass of whiskey from the side and taking a gulp, his throat swallowing deeply as the liquor left a few small flecks of liquid on his moustache. 

There was a level of danger with Dutch that you had never seen anywhere else, a man who could move his fingers into people’s minds and bend them to his will. A part of you shivered at the thought, a part of you loved it. And he knew it. It was perhaps what drew him to you, ever since that moment he first saw you running a blade across that man's throat until his pleas and gurgles turned to nothingness. You always supposed it was your calm ruthlessness and knowing exactly when to keep your mouth shut that made you so attractive to him. 

‘Take off your clothes,’ he said, not moving an inch as he looked you up and down, that familiar hunger stirring in his eyes. It was so much more than a demand. It was the way that oil would smother the surface of water, coating it in its pearlescent darkness. 

You stood for a moment, allowing him to drink you in, to let the thought creep into his mind about how he would punish you if you didn’t obey. But you would, eventually. Where you were stubborn, he was patient and so precarious with when he chose to exercise that particular trait. 

But you weren’t one of the men that would take his command so easily. Not in the tent anyway. For whatever game he wanted to play you were a worthy opponent. 

So slowly, you raised your fingers, oh so delicately to the first button on your blouse. You worked at it with precision but you certainly took your time about it, prying it from its hole. You moved onto the next and then the next. It was so painstakingly slow even with how salacious you were feeling. 

A part of you wondered if it would always be like this. Between you and him, between you and any other man. The constant manipulation from either side, the intimidation and playing every move like you were locked in a life and death battle of chess. But you’d never known anything else, and this is why you were so happy to comply, between that and the burning heat between your thighs. 

All the other men before him were just a training exercise for Dutch van der Linde, wanted dead or alive in five states. 

When you finally unbuttoned your blouse you slowly shrugged out of it, pulling it from the waistband of your jeans, almost doing a dance for Dutch as you allowed it to pool on the floor. But that was exactly what he wanted. An obedient little performance, just for him. 

No matter how abashed you should have felt, you moved to your gun belt, slowly flicking at the metal as you teasingly coiled it in your fingers, wrapping it around your hand and placing it gently on the floor and not once taking your eyes away from his gaze. You were a lot of things, but a coward was not one of them. 

Dutch pulled out a half smoked cigar from the inside of his waistcoat, the thick half burnt end turning into a bright orange glow as he lit it. For all the times you’d been intimate with him, it was rare you saw him quite like this. It almost seemed that with how little he was moving, aside from the occasional puff on his cigar, all of his effort was spent keeping himself grounded, all of his energy going into not pouncing on you like a mountain lion. 

But if there was one thing you knew about Dutch was that every single bit of this was on his terms. His pleasure, your pleasure, would be exactly as he wanted it. However he commanded it. 

When you finally made your way to your jeans, unpopping each metal button slowly down the fly, you took your toes to your heel, kicking off each boot as steadily as you could muster before wigglily your jeans past your hips and down to the floor before you stepped from the arrangement of garments.

You stood there in your smocks, presenting yourself like a piece of art. 

‘Did you misunderstand me?’ He said, low and fearsome as the smoke billowed between you both. 

Oh no, you hadn’t misunderstood him, not for one second. Perhaps you were pushing your luck this evening. Maybe it was the thought of the job tomorrow as it glistened at the back of your mind that made you feel so bold this evening. 

The night had well and truly come now and before you knew it, the only light was that of Dutch’s cigar end and the dying fumes of the oil lamp, casting weary, blinking shadows on the canvas walls. 

You continued with lazy fingers, pulling the straps from your shoulders as the chemise soon followed the others to the floor in a wispy twirl of silk as you then removed your breeches. You held his carnivorous stare, standing before him like a sculpture made just for him. Which is exactly what you were. A licentious being created by the higher powers just for Dutch. 

He stood, prowling towards you as every part of your body tried to not recoil and run. A childish instinct built from childish notions, and you were anything but. He closed the space between you, as your nipples very nearly brushed against his chest with each breath that you took. He looked over you, savouring you with narrow eyes and furrowed brows as he carefully raised his hand, touching at a lock of your hair. 

‘You gonna behave for me tonight, miss?’ He snarled, his fingers passing through the thick strand of your hair, twirling it like a ribbon. 

You swallowed, sensing something dark within him. But this was always how it went, this little game of his. You undress as he coerces and cajoles until every part of you is stuffed with him and his words, his promises and threats. Until your mind was consumed with nothing else other than all the things you would do for release. 

You doubted tonight would be any different. 

You eventually gave a weak nod, knowing that this would be drawn out whatever way you played it, and as always, he was right. If you did as you were told, it would be easier for you. 

Dutch stepped in closer, his boots echoing on the wooden floor of his tent as he bent his head down to your ear, peppering tentative kisses along your jaw and neck. A faint moan escaped you as your whole, naked body shivered under his touch. You could feel the corners of his lips turn into that wicked smirk of his as he came closer to your ear. 

‘Get on your knees.’ For words so quiet and near soundless, the authority behind them was unmistakable.

You body obeyed before your mind could question it, completely and utterly under his thrall as you did exactly what was asked of you. The wood splintered into your bare kneecaps, digging in and pressing on that familiar nerve as you tried your best to not wince and move yourself as delicately as possible. You looked up at Dutch, as any faithful servant on their knees would, as he unclasped his belt buckle, the metal harshly clanging in the nighttime air. 

You could already see the painful bulge in his trouser, hard a prominent even in the low light, as he shoved his hand into his jeans, pulling his cock free from the confines. 

‘Open,’ he growled, as you complied instantly, your mouth falling open, your tongue already glistening with spit as with one hand, Dutch grabbed the top of your hair, pulling your mouth onto him. 

However, Dutch, although a forceful man, was not a rough one. Slowly, inch by inch he pulled you mouth further down his cock watching even wince, every second your breath grew more and more strained as your cheeks hollowed, waiting for his instructions. 

He smiled down at you, the sadism plastered all over his smug face as you kept your tongue flat, desperate to not make any decisions on what he would or would not like. You would be told in good time, when he was ready. 

You felt the tip hit the back of your throat, your mind fighting against the need to splutter and gag as you could feel his excitement growing with every morsel of cock that you were gratefully taking. It was a challenge, you knew it was. How far he could go with you before you said no, before you refused to take it anymore. But that wasn’t you. Never once had you backed down from a challenge, and tonight wasn't going to be the first time you relented. 

You took a deep breath through your nose, using the muscle in your stomach to help open your throat and you felt Dutch’s cock slide further down, making it near impossible to breath. You held yourself, your knees starting to ache and cramp, the oxygen in your lungs slowly seeping like sand in an hourglass. But your lips remained wrapped around him, your mouth filled with saliva and precum as you held your gaze and your breath. 

Dutch didn’t move, his rings tangled in your hair and a look of superiority consumed his features as he looked down his nose at you. 

You could almost hear the words in his head, the words of degradation that he never said aloud, not that he needed to. He could make you feel them in one swift movement, as though he possessed some supernatural force. It was almost cruel in a way. The way he could make you think such things and still have you cunt dripping and aching, your slick coating your calves as you remained kneeled, paying homage with your mouth. 

Answering your silent prayers, he pulled his mouth out slowly, just as slowly as it went in, enough to allow you some breath back into you. And God, did you take in as much air as you could through your nose as you supposed it would be the last chance you had. 

Your mouth was growing as wet and as messy as your cunt and Dutch languidly moved your head up and down his thick shaft, burying himself to the hilt one moment and leaving you near empty the next. But you held on, no matter how much your jaw complained, or your stomach tightened from the intrusion, all of it was a small price to pay for the ever building heat between your thighs. It was a painful taunt, your mouth being used in ways you wished were elsewhere. But that was how Mr Van der Linde liked it. He like to torture you, he liked you as a play thing for pleasure, pain and killing and everything in between. 

The only difference between you and the dog of the camp was what he was doing to you right now. And hell, you were more loyal than a beast. You didn’t even need leftovers to be bent to Dutch’s whim. 

‘Your much prettier when you’re quiet,’ Dutch growled, using your mouth to pleasure himself as he stood stoic and poised. 

Your eagerness grew as a muffled whine heaved from you, closing your throat around his cock and you saw Dutch’s eyes fluttered in pleasure. Good. The better it was for him, the better it was going to be for you. 

He pulled your head back roughly, taking his cock from your mouth as a trail of silvery spit still connected you. You weren’t far off slobbering everywhere as he smiled down at you. Working his fingers out of your hair, he stood back, making his way to the cot once again as he sat on the edge, his cock shining in the last of the lamp's light. 

‘Get up,’ he said, beckoning at you with two fingers. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, a sticky trail of a mixture of fluids coated your skin. You complied, making your way over to him. He trailed the curve of your breast with a single finger, tracing it down your stomach as your whole spine felt as though it would dissolve. You were desperate to be touched, to be used, to find some sense of everything you were feeling, your carnal desire yearning for more. 

But that did not come for you. He stopped just above your slit, his finger falling as he gripped his cock, stroking the full length slowly. Not a hair was out of place. If it wasn't for him showing himself to you, he looked the same as he always did. Polished jewellery, a pressed white shirt, an immaculate image of refinery and ferocity melding into one. In all the years you have been with him, you had never once seen him unclothed. 

There was a reason for that, as there always was with Dutch. Some calculation behind every decision he ever made. What that was however was never something he divulged, nor did you ever ask. But you knew it helped the image of him as all powerful beings, without the same needs as the mortals around him. Come to think of it, you never saw him eat, or bathe or any other necessity. Perhaps he really was from another world. An entity sent to deliver those from the wicked corruption of the new world. How much you believed that though was another matter. 

'Turn around' he said, as your brows pulled together. You almost opened your mouth, a natural response to argue or to say something but you decided against your better judgement, pivoting on the balls of your feet.

He grabbed at the soft flesh of your hips kneading at your sides in unison. He brought both his hands across your ass cheeks, under where they curved and cupped at them with a firm squeeze. 

You moan at the sensation, the dominance spilling over from the gang leader. Your leader. 

Giving you a decisive smack with one hand, you felt the sharp sting as your ass wobbled, your eyes closing briefly as he brought his hands between your thighs but nowhere near high enough to where you needed them.

Pulling apart your legs, he slotted his knees between you, pulling at the side of your thighs to get you in the perfect position as you became straddle across his lap, hovering precariously. 

You didn’t dare plead or beg as your heat awaited its overdue appraisal. 

The head of Dutch's cock ran up your slick, warm and wet like freshly skinned veal as he teased the head of his cock at your entrance, threatening to envelope his masculinity within you. Your breath heaved, eyes closed, hoping, as you were invoking the deliverance you knew he could provide you. 

As you stared into the darkness, you felt his large hand on the small of your back, pushing you forward slightly as you sat down onto his lap, your hips doing everything but grinding. Rolling your shoulders, you hoped beyond hope the torture would be over as you began to whisper, beseeching into nothingness as your mind mumbled it’s secret petition. Your mouth moved silently, your soft lips gracing each other as your whole mind, body and soul begged for something more, something beyond sense or reason. 

You could feel his hard cock against your ass as you gripped onto his knees in front of you, waiting subserviently for your next orders. 

He held your cheeks again, massaging them roughly, the cold of his jewellery creating a stark contrast between the warmth of his skin as he pulled you apart, rubbing his length upwards and between you, using your ass to gratify himself. 

His tip coaxed across your asshole, as Dutch pressed your cheeks together around his cock, his grip tightened as he thrusted slowly. His hands held you fiercely, depressing into your soft skin as his movements quickened. You whimpered as his shaft continued to work on your skin.

It was enough friction for your body to ache and your need to be satisfied grew to unbearable heights.

He pushed you slightly, holding your hips as he speared his cock inside of you without warning. You nearly screamed but your body seemed to take over your mind as not a single coherent thought was left within you, as you felt Dutch's hand snake across your throat forcing you to let out strangled sobs.

‘Shh…’ he whispered, his voice low and menacing.

It was almost too much, your breath coming faster now that his cock was buried fully into you, filling you up as you stretched around him. He moved slowly, making sure to leave no part of his shaft untouched. He moved like a predator, stalking and pouncing at just the right time, making it seem as if it were all planned to be this way. It was all calculated to make you feel the full extent of his power over you, to use you as he pleased.

Your mind was awash with lustful images of what was happening to you. The sensations consuming as Dutch moved his cock in and out of you whilst you helplessly rolled your hips. You were already on fire as his thrusts grew more frenzied, sending ripples of pleasure and pain coursing throughout your entire being. He didn't even bother to move his hips, as yours naturally ground against his as you rose to meet his thrusts. Your eyes closed, a moan rising from your throat as your back arched. A slight gasp escaped your lips at the sensation of having his cock inside you once again.

‘What do you want?' He growled into your ear.

But it was no use. All words had seemed to escape you as you chased your own high. Everything else ceased to exist as you clung to his knees desperately, letting him have his way with your cunt as the coil began to tighten between your thighs.

'Tell me,' he said again.

'Please, Dutch,' you whimpered pathetically, your mouth dry from panting as you couldn't even peel your eyelids open.

He made a sound of satisfaction, a low mmm as you felt his chest reverberate behind you. His grip tightened on your throat, as you felt his hand move from your hips to between your legs, the place where you needed his touch the most.

‘I need you to tell me' he said again, his breath hot against your neck.

You were not a stranger to this, and you knew better than anyone how to please him. But more importantly how he could please you.

He pressed his fingers onto your clit, pressing down on it hard as you squirmed and twitched on his lap, his cock still working its wonders on your insides. But then his fingers started to move, deliberately and forcefully as he buried himself in you, his thumb pressing on the side of your neck in just the right place for you to see black spots, your mind becoming more absent by the second. 

The waves crashed over you sooner than expected, as the whole world turned black. Your only senses were that of the coursing pleasure that coated and licked at every morsel of you, your whole body spasming, as Dutch held you in place, coaxing out every perfect second of your orgasm. His hand dropped from you as he pulled out of you in haste, your hearing slowly returning from the ecstatic buzz as he grunted behind you with the hot ropes of spend hitting your back and hips. 

You both sat there for what felt like an eternity, both panting and sweating as the musk began to fill the tent. When the feeling eventually returned to your legs, you stood cautiously and made your way to the wash basin precariously. Dutch meanwhile, tucked himself away, returning to his half smoked cigar and dog eared book. 

You cleaned, dressed and took your leave as you always did when the night was finished without another word. 

You still weren’t even sure if that man ever slept.

[brothermoth]

1890s America and Red Dead Redemption

Part One: Violent Delights and Violent Ends

-----

The latter half of the 1800s was a time characterized by struggle. Off the back of the Civil War, a country divided in not two but four by the rising industry to the east and the stubborn pastoralism of the west. The southern portion of the country beaten down, burned and disgraced, and the northern portion rolling in gold and prosperity. Whether they knew it or not, the common American had their life ultimately shaped by these divisions.

As the opening lines of Red Dead Redemption 2 state: "The age of outlaws and gunslingers was at its end" (Rockstar, 2018). Yet contrary to the following text, America was far from becoming a "land of laws". Laws for the poor, perhaps, but the wealthy still thrived and skirted just beyond the boundaries of human decency.

From the 1870s to the 1920s, miners and railroad workers unionized and carried out often violent protests in the hopes of gaining better working conditions. The poor had little but their fists, and they had no qualms about using them. It is in this turmoil we find Dutch Van Der Linde with his Robin Hood-esque visions of a crumbling elite and prospering poor. The struggle between workers and their iron-fisted overseers was bloody, and Dutch would not have it any other way. Those he took under his wing were the beaten down lowest tiers of society. How could they not see him as a shining idol of American idealism? What he wants, what he fights for, it is for them. Outcasts with nowhere else to turn, given a cause and a home and something that perhaps felt real to them for the first time in a long time.

Race is a topic not wholly explored, but touched on certainly within the game. Tensions rose as racial divisions were made even clearer, black Americans fighting for their own foothold in a world that has just opened up to them and their children. Lenny Summers is the first in generations to be born free of slavery. Javier comes from a country that has been terrorized by colonialism and corruption, yet he still dreams of returning. 1890s Mexico (and what we see in RDR1) is a topic of its own, though the spirit of people downtrodden by colonialism is echoed throughout both games. Sean, who was chased from the country his father fought for. Whose father was killed in his own bed, likely in the same room as his son. Violence in this world is inescapable, a swirling vortex that consumes everything in its path.

Dutch embraced this, as many leaders of the past and future have. If you cannot fight with peace, then sticks and stones make for much better conversation. I can't say I disagree with him, in all honesty, and that is what makes him so fascinating. He's right. He has a point, a cause. What went so wrong? Do heroes not get a happy ending?

In 1892, railroad employees of Carnegie Steel in Pennsylvania's Homestead plant went on strike when chairman Henry Frick cut their pay dramatically. 300 agents of the Pinkerton detective agency arrived, escalating tensions. Violence erupted, the Pennsylvania national guard was called. Sixteen men were killed.

Leviticus Cornwall is Andrew Carnegie, Andrew Carnegie is Leviticus Cornwall. The Pinkertons are rightful villains in our narrative, the gang is a thorn in their side which must be cut free. Law and order, right? Dutch was right, his killing of Cornwall was arguably deserved. Yet what makes it so wrong?

Dutch's actions are selfish, in the end. Not because he doesn't care for the people around him, as I believe he truly does. He sees things getting worse and worse and only digs in his heels. Dutch is the American Dream. The bloody messiah to the poor and disadvantaged. He guts them the same as any railroad magnate. Power corrupts, this is what we learn. Power and vitriol and paranoia. The people left struggling in his wake are the common folk who get caught in the crossfire, used and abused only to prove a point. They know nothing but violence, and who is to tell them otherwise? Even Arthur in his end of life maturation cannot pry himself free. He kills and kills and in the end he dies for it. Even John, who tried to leave it behind. Even Sadie, who was ruined by it, embraced it in the end.

The American dream is indecipherable from the American nightmare. They are lovers and companions. There is nothing to do but fight, and even then you have no hope of winning. It's a beautiful tragedy, is it not? All these people who never had a chance, yet who tried anyway. Workers who gained little and lost everything still took their signs and marched for what was right. Black Americans who were beaten down again and again still got up each and every day and did whatever it was they had to do. Native Americans, who were nearly erased. Who still cling to their heritage and claw back what has been stolen. Red Dead Redemption is about the small people. The forgotten in the annals of American history.

[dailyanarchistposts]

F.6.2 What are the social consequences of such a system?

The “anarcho” capitalist imagines that there will be police agencies, “defence associations,” courts, and appeals courts all organised on a free-market basis and available for hire. As David Wieck points out, however, the major problem with such a system would not be the corruption of “private” courts and police forces (although, as suggested above, this could indeed be a problem):

“There is something more serious than the ‘Mafia danger’, and this other problem concerns the role of such ‘defence’ institutions in a given social and economic context. ”[The] context … is one of a free-market economy with no restraints upon accumulation of property. Now, we had an American experience, roughly from the end of the Civil War to the 1930’s, in what were in effect private courts, private police, indeed private governments. We had the experience of the (private) Pinkerton police which, by its spies, by its agents provocateurs, and by methods that included violence and kidnapping, was one of the most powerful tools of large corporations and an instrument of oppression of working people. We had the experience as well of the police forces established to the same end, within corporations, by numerous companies … (The automobile companies drew upon additional covert instruments of a private nature, usually termed vigilante, such as the Black Legion). These were, in effect, private armies, and were sometimes described as such. The territories owned by coal companies, which frequently included entire towns and their environs, the stores the miners were obliged by economic coercion to patronise, the houses they lived in, were commonly policed by the private police of the United States Steel Corporation or whatever company owned the properties. The chief practical function of these police was, of course, to prevent labour organisation and preserve a certain balance of ‘bargaining.’ … These complexes were a law unto themselves, powerful enough to ignore, when they did not purchase, the governments of various jurisdictions of the American federal system. This industrial system was, at the time, often characterised as feudalism.” [Anarchist Justice, pp. 223–224]

For a description of the weaponry and activities of these private armies, the Marxist economic historian Maurice Dobb presents an excellent summary in Studies in Capitalist Development. [pp. 353–357] According to a report on “Private Police Systems” quoted by Dobb, in a town dominated by Republican Steel the “civil liberties and the rights of labour were suppressed by company police. Union organisers were driven out of town.” Company towns had their own (company-run) money, stores, houses and jails and many corporations had machine-guns and tear-gas along with the usual shot-guns, rifles and revolvers. The “usurpation of police powers by privately paid ‘guards and ‘deputies’, often hired from detective agencies, many with criminal records” was “a general practice in many parts of the country.”

The local (state-run) law enforcement agencies turned a blind-eye to what was going on (after all, the workers had broken their contracts and so were “criminal aggressors” against the companies) even when union members and strikers were beaten and killed. The workers own defence organisations (unions) were the only ones willing to help them, and if the workers seemed to be winning then troops were called in to “restore the peace” (as happened in the Ludlow strike, when strikers originally cheered the troops as they thought they would defend them; needless to say, they were wrong).

Here we have a society which is claimed by many “anarcho”-capitalists as one of the closest examples to their “ideal,” with limited state intervention, free reign for property owners, etc. What happened? The rich reduced the working class to a serf-like existence, capitalist production undermined independent producers (much to the annoyance of individualist anarchists at the time), and the result was the emergence of the corporate America that “anarcho”-capitalists (sometimes) say they oppose.

Are we to expect that “anarcho”-capitalism will be different? That, unlike before, “defence” firms will intervene on behalf of strikers? Given that the “general libertarian law code” will be enforcing capitalist property rights, workers will be in exactly the same situation as they were then. Support of strikers violating property rights would be a violation of the law and be costly for profit making firms to do (if not dangerous as they could be “outlawed” by the rest). This suggests that “anarcho”-capitalism will extend extensive rights and powers to bosses, but few if any rights to rebellious workers. And this difference in power is enshrined within the fundamental institutions of the system. This can easily be seen from Rothbard’s numerous anti-union tirades and his obvious hatred of them, strikes and pickets (which he habitually labelled as violent). As such it is not surprising to discover that Rothbard complained in the 1960s that, because of the Wagner Act, the American police “commonly remain ‘neutral’ when strike-breakers are molested or else blame the strike-breakers for ‘provoking’ the attacks on them … When unions are permitted to resort to violence, the state or other enforcing agency has implicitly delegated this power to the unions. The unions, then, have become ‘private states.’” [The Logic of Action II, p. 41] The role of the police was to back the property owner against their rebel workers, in other words, and the state was failing to provide the appropriate service (of course, that bosses exercising power over workers provoked the strike is irrelevant, while private police attacking picket lines is purely a form of “defensive” violence and is, likewise, of no concern).

In evaluating “anarcho”-capitalism’s claim to be a form of anarchism, Peter Marshall notes that “private protection agencies would merely serve the interests of their paymasters.” [Demanding the Impossible, p. 653] With the increase of private “defence associations” under “really existing capitalism” today (associations that many “anarcho”-capitalists point to as examples of their ideas), we see a vindication of Marshall’s claim. There have been many documented experiences of protesters being badly beaten by private security guards. As far as market theory goes, the companies are only supplying what the buyer is demanding. The rights of others are not a factor (yet more “externalities,” obviously). Even if the victims successfully sue the company, the message is clear — social activism can seriously damage your health. With a reversion to “a general libertarian law code” enforced by private companies, this form of “defence” of “absolute” property rights can only increase, perhaps to the levels previously attained in the heyday of US capitalism, as described above by Wieck.

[gorjee-art]

HOWDY ! tis i :] Would it be alright to inquire in what your oc story is about ? How do Claire and Charles meet, do they have any history together ? And what's my guy Sebastian up to what's that old man doing...

Hi! Firstly, Always see your tags, great comments as always, they bring me so much joy! Makes me go YIPPIE in my chair...Now...Onto the questions! What's the Story of Dog's Dinner? 🎉 NOTHING!!!!!!! 🎉 ... At least...not a narrative, not...yet. The "story" of Dog's Dinner (in heavy quotes) is about stowaways on a long-forgotten man-made island...named Elysium. Or as its residents "lovingly" nicknamed it... "Isle of Slapstick".

Started way back in the 19th century, what was meant to be mankind's greatest feat, a revolution of engineering and prowess, to make land, countries, and homes, for everyone. Now in the 1940s, it's a sorry sight, a hell on earth, in the midst of the sea with its people stranded on it.

Sickly and immoral, its people are poisoned by the unnatural environment, rendering many of its people infertile, sick, and hungry. It's a dog-eat-dog world, many scrounging for rations, and medicine. However...Elysium is unique in its culture, corruption oozing like the disease it was born from, business can be made with such...desperation for survival. Import businesses, smuggling rings, prosthetics, false fake organs, and even...trafficking. Whether it'd be desperation for new healthy viscera or...desperate mothers hoping for a child. Not many of the people outside the island knew (government officials especially), that with no law to stop the progression of its science...anything is fair game.

Elysium runs on the clever and the heartless, it's a hierarchy of power, and those on top, rule the island with an iron fist, and the smaller ones make do with what they have, collecting scraps, surviving day by day. However...they say, that on the island legends are born, and it's the small voices...the eyes peering through the dark, and the teeth glistening ready to strike. A person, beyond feared, beyond loathed, said to be the severed head of Cerberus under human skin. No one knows where he came from, new arrivals are usually announced to the high heavens, who doesn't love fresh new meat? No...he arrived from the mists of the blackened sea, his eyes glowing with rage. The Devil's Dane lurks, as Elysium's...bounty hunter. The cursed repo man of the island said to punish the unholy, immoral, slimy, goat vomit with the boiling cinders of his unrest. Tattered with scars, a giant never meant to be witnessed, stapled together haphazardly to contain whatever MONSTER was inside. From that day...he will know no PEACE, until he cleansed this perdition, himself.

-But...Those are tall tales, the story actually follows a bounty-hunting group named Cerberus, Charles the muscle and minute-man, Sebastian the group's cleaner and harvester, and Joe the sniper, gambler, and spokesperson. Together, they make a pretty great team, a found family within the walls of this dump. Until...one mission- How did Claire and Charles Meet?

Claire had always seen him at the corner of her eye...Not a first-time guest. His glasses glistened, reflecting her spotlight. He stood so still...the only indication that he was alive was the smoke escaping his lips. Claire has an open secret, she's not just a pretty face, honied voice, and bodacious body for her shows... she's a spy, a keeper of secrets, a great judge of character, and....oh so persuasive, luring poor men and women, to tell a little more than they should have, strumming the strings of their poor little weak hearts. With a generous offer of dough...she'll tell you some particularly juicy blackmail, schemes, and plans from rival groups. An amateur Pinkerton! Quite a business she's mucked up...and...seeing the Dane makes her nervous. She wouldn't believe such stories about one person! Would she...? Well, she certainly doesn't do a great job of covering up that she's scared out of her wits, when her voice, croaks just slightly during one of her performances. Her throat tightened even more seeing another plume of smoke blow out in the darkness, his face illuminated by the dim candlelight, she could even make out that he began to lean in his seat, possibly intrigued by what he was seeing, she couldn't help but warble in her singing voice, as she just knew that he saw her fear. Her dear boss Jones had warned her before that some bad men wanted to hunt her down for all the information she had. He wasn't sure who, but he'd overheard a gruff voice spilling out his plans to: "Wring that little bird's neck until she SINGS FOR ME", thus she was given a gift of a revolver and ammunition, she even scoffed over just how tiny it was, but...admittedly it was portable. It was best to lay low and wait. She sat back in her seat attempting to relax, but couldn't help to recheck the lock and observe her gun several times.

She's never been a great fighter, she never even shot a GUN before...she knew of the environment and its consequences but...to kill a man...? It was justified! Yeah, it's justified. Simple self-defense, play stupid games win stupid prizes! Right? With all the whirring and spiraling in her head, to the best of her ability, she eventually fell asleep. Until quickly, startled awake by the sounds of splintering wood, right outside her door. Heavy footsteps creaked down the halls of the complex. She carefully grabbed her gun and pointed it at her front door. Steady breath, eyes like pins, alert to any sounds of shuffling, she jerked up as she heard the careful turning of the door knob. To her terrified confusion though, the clinking of the copper quickly turned to moans of metal breaking. A short gruff of a man's voice, then her heart sank to her stomach, watching as the doorknob, fell to the ground. Her hands shivered as she watched, a giant of a man, opening the door damn near throwing it off its hinges, enter inside after kneeling down, to squeeze himself into the apartment. His glasses glinted, head quickly turning to the sound of Claire's shivering voice, attempting to feign assertiveness. "Not. Another. Muscle. Or I'll shoot." He trudges himself forward. "I WILL. Don't you DARE test me." He ignores the threat, proceeding to invite himself in. "I will...I-I. Will." she whimpered as the two now were just a foot apart from each other, him clearly observing her. She shuts her eyes tight, turning her head away until a- Click was heard. Confused, she looks down at her shaking hand.

Click...her life was beginning to flash before her eyes, checking the chamber to see it was empty. Weakly chuckling to herself as she spots, her ammunition sitting on her dresser. She knew she was forgetting something, but wasn't sure what she forgot. Her smile quickly fades, however, as she sees this beast now inches away from her face. His voice was haunting, like a low humming growl, deep within his chest, and yet he was merely whispering... "Today's your lucky day." In her eyes, the world faded into a black void, feeling the ground fall beneath her...she had fainted! A very long story short, turns out they were dealing with the same person! Charles searched for the man who wanted to use Claire for his sick gain, the two had suddenly had a common enemy to deal with. It just so happened that he'd...end up in her apartment in search of clues, unknowing of the fact she'd be there waiting (he assumed she didn't know anything about this, but ho-hum.). Thus this entire thing led to a partnership, and now she is a part of Cerberus, nicknamed by the team as "Persephone" now the spy of the group, until this problem goes away...which it does and she goes back to shows. However, with now lingering feelings on both sides, but they wish to remain..."professional" ( it fails spectacularly) . What's Sebastian Doing? Oh I know...he's fine, probably cleaning the preservative jars, observing a dead rat, doing some healthy business...the usual! He's a chipper fellow and a beloved peepaw, so he's never truly alone.

[the-twelve-daggers]

🏴‍☠️ ⤷ Davy Jones: The Truth Behind The Ruthless Villain

Several of the pirate characters in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise were based off of or inspired by one or a mix of real-life pirates, most of whom sailed during the Golden Age at the beginning of the eighteenth century when the franchise itself was set. This applies to the movie's mystical characters too, like Armando Salazar and Hector Barbossa.

However, concerning the initial trilogy's villain, this is a bit of a grey area.

Whilst there are various myths and direct sources linking to the origins of concepts like Davy Jones' locker and Jones' ship The Flying Dutchman, the actual man himself has very vague historical links (unless, miraculously, he was based on The Monkees singer, which I highly doubt).

But, nonetheless, let us look through the theories...

Davy Jones: The Welsh Pirate

One story suggests that the Davy Jones character came from the frightful pirate David Jones, who sailed during the 1630s in the Indian Ocean. However, there is little known about him, which only makes this concept even more unclear.

"During the 1630s, a pirate captain named David Jones sailed through the Indian Ocean, but many historians believe that he was not famous enough to be remembered for quite a long time." [Kouachi, Mecheri & Zerrouki 25]

There are also rumours of a Welsh pirate Dafydd Jones, though it is unclear if these are the same two people. Either way, there is too little known about the figure(s) in order to make strong connections. But, having said that, if the myths of his ruthlessness are true, there is definitely a connection that can be made to our contemporary Davy Jones.

Davy Jones: The Pub Owner

A slightly stronger theory that has been circling around is the figure of a London pub owner, who would drug and/or heavily intoxicate his customers and sell them to ship captains, where they would wake and find themselves unwillingly in the middle of the ocean, or technically, 'Davy Jones' Locker'.

Some stories go on to say that Jones eventually became bankrupt, stealing a ship and becoming a pirate himself. He would sail around the Atlantic, keelhauling or decapitating other crews as well as locking them to their sinking ships.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any direct references to quote, but I have linked some articles below that discuss this theory.

Davy Jones: The Prophet

There are some rumours that Davy Jones, or at least the origins of his name, derives from Saint David, the patron Saint of Wales, as well as the figure of the prophet Jonah from the Bible, who was swallowed by a whale.

I think it better to include this in the words of W. Pinkerton, in the scholarly journal Notes & Queries in 1851:

During many years of seafaring life, I have frequently considered the origin of this phrase, and have now arrived at the conclusion that it is derived from the scriptural account of the prophet Jonah. The word 'locker', on board of ship, generally means the place where any particular thing is retained or kept, as "bread locker", "shot locker", "chain locker", &c. In the sublime ode in the second chapter of the Book of Jonah, we find that the prophet, praying for deliverance, described his situation in the following words:—"in the midst of the seas; and the floods compassed me about; the depth closed me round about; the earth with her bars was about me." The sea, then, might not be misappropriately termed by a rude mariner, Jonah's locker—that is, the place where Jonah was kept or confined. Jonah's locker, in time, might be readily corrupted to Jones's locker; and Davy, as a very common Welsh accompaniment of the equally Welsh name, Jones, added, the true derivation of the phrase having been forgotten. [Pinkerton 509]

Davy Jones: The Devil

A very early (perhaps even the second after Defoe's writing in 1726) mention of Davy Jones' and his Locker is in 1751, in Chapter XIII of Smollett's The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle. Here, Jones is described as a devilish sort of character, with a terrifying appearance that almost resembles the typical imagery of Satan:

“By the Lord! Jack, you may say what you wool; but I'll be damned if it was not Davy Jones himself. I know him by his saucer eyes, his three rows of teeth, his horns and tail, and the blue smoke that came out of his nostrils. What does the blackguard hell's baby want with me?[...]” This same Davy Jones, according to the mythology of sailors, is the fiend that presides over all the evil spirits of the deep, and is often seen in various shapes, perching among the rigging on the eve of hurricanes, shipwrecks, and other disasters, to which a seafaring life is exposed; warning the devoted wretch of death and woe. No wonder then that Trunnion was disturbed by a supposed visit of this demon, which, in his opinion, foreboded some dreadful calamity. [Smollett 105]

This was then illustrated in 1832 by George Cruikshank, visualising all of the characteristics mentioned above.

Whilst this depiction is rather different to the one we get in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, with horns rather than tentacles and blue smoke rather than the classic pipe, it's still interesting to see how Davy Jones was sometimes thought to be as horrifying as we see him now, simply based on his involvement with death at sea.

Overall, I hope that we get to find out more about the initial myths and legends that surround Davy Jones in real-world context, as I think that the information from word-of-mouth stories that we have so far are compelling already. I would love to read more older texts that reference him or his Locker, so that we might gain a better understanding of his place in seafaring history.

CITATIONS:

[Abdenour Kouachi, Ahmed Soufyane Mecheri, and Zina Zerrouki. Tracing The Origin Of The Stereotypical Image Of Pirates. 2021. https://bucket.theses-algerie.com/files/repositories-dz/1921423357564832.pdf]

['Notes and Queries'. Vol. 3, Issue. 86. 1851, pp. 490-512. https://archive.org/details/sim_notes-and-queries_1851-06-21_3_86/page/512/mode/2up]

[Merchant Mariner Guide. Davy Jones: The Legend, The Pirates, and The Flying Dutchman. 2023. https://merchantmarinerguide.com/blog/f/davy-jones-the-legend-the-pirates-and-the-flying-dutchman?blogcategory=History+]

[Famous Pirates. Davy Jones - Legend, Facts and Biography of Famous Pirate. http://www.famous-pirates.com/pirates-facts/davy-jones/]

[Owlcation. Old Sea Legends: The Incredible Story of Davy Jones and His Locker. 2023. https://owlcation.com/humanities/Old-sea-legends-The-Incredible-story-of-Davy-Jones-and-his-Locker]

[Marine Insight. The Real Story Behind The “Davy Jones’ Locker” 2022. https://www.marineinsight.com/maritime-history/the-story-behind-the-term-davy-jones-locker/]

[Smollett, Tobias George. The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle. W. Strahan, G. Robinson, T. Cadell, 1784. https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_the-adventures-of-peregr_smollett-tobias-george_1784_1/mode/2up]

[tavolgisvist]

The wife of the mayor of M in the USA came to visit us in the summer of 1964. We were staying in the Something Hotel in her husband’s city and the Beatles were asleep after a show the night before. It was the usual state of siege with the street scene spilling into the hotel lobby and armed guards everywhere. Pinkertons and cops and plainclothes men, men with short-sleeved white shirts and thin grey ties and short-sleeved white minds and thin grey thoughts, checking and re-checking passes and authorisations and the only person who reached us on our floor that morning was, naturally enough, the wife of the mayor. It was around eleven o’clock and I was asleep too. There was a knock at the door and a guy standing there said I had an important guest and I should be real nice to her on account of she was the wife of our mayor. Oh, great. I mean, really fantastic. I dressed and took two small yellow dexedrine tablets and cleaned my teeth and combed my hair and put on a tie – the essential routine of those days. The wife of the mayor was in a room across the corridor and she had her daughter with her, a sweet little thing of nine, and there was also a reporter. The wife of the mayor said she had come to meet the Beatles and that was it. I said they were sleeping and she said that had nothing to do with her. ‘Wake them.’ ‘Pardon me?’ ‘Get them up. I am not here to waste my time.’ I looked at the woman, I mean really looked at her. She was nice to look at, hard as hell but quite nice. I said I hadn’t had breakfast but I was prepared to have a screwdriver if she would like to have a screwdriver. So we screwdrove together and she said she had been disgusted by the goings-on the night before, ‘I mean, four young long-haired louts from nowhere messing up that fine auditorium and creating so much chaos and trouble that decent people trying to behave properly were prevented from going about their business.’ Oh? ‘Nothing’, she said, ‘but nothing would have persuaded me to let my daughter into such an environment.’ So what was her daughter doing right now, trying to meet the four louts? ‘I am insisting upon it because these four people are in our city and in their way they are famous,’ and, she said, they had a fascination for her daughter which, though incomprehensible, was something that had to be faced in the proper time and in the proper place. The point was, she said, that right now was the time and right here, in the Something Hotel, was the place. But the Beatles are sleeping, I said, and she said she heard me before, but I didn’t appear to have heard her. ‘Get them up. They have no business to be asleep at this time of day.’ And, she said – and don’t take me lightly, she said – there was this reporter who would bear witness to my refusal, my outright refusal, to let the daughter of the Mayor of M meet these four boys who had received so much money for a half-hour show which no one could hear. The reporter, a plain and pleasant girl of about twenty, blushed. It was getting very heavy. The wife of the Mayor of M said, further, that while she had the opportunity to talk to a visiting Englishman, she would like to make it clear that M was a very fine place to live, and it was in no way to be confused with Chicago which was a dirty, corrupt and badly administered city. Phew. Wow. Oh, well … there is no punchline to this; the daughter of the Mayor of M got to meet the Beatles later that day. Did you doubt she would?

(As Time Goes by Derek Taylor)

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI)

[princesscolumbia]

So a small sidebar to all the everything I'm doing, I'm kinda using "Code of Ethics" to function as a bit of a warm-up for producing original fiction that will sell under the 'self-publishing' model. I'd eventually like to be able to get a full publishing deal for something, but that won't happen until I can show off my writing chops in a non-fanfic level of writing.

(Just to reassure my fans of my Ranmafics and Horsefics, no, I have not abandoned writing any of those)

With that in mind, I've had a few projects that aren't fanfic based sitting in my "to write" pile that I haven't gotten to because I was operating under the notion that nobody would read my stuff if I wasn't writing fanfics. Well, CoE is damn near the closest to fully original fanfic I've ever written. Sure, I use QuietVallerie's framework and foundation for it, but I've got completely original characters (I've MENTIONED some names in the other Troubleverse books, but if I were to swap those out this would be a fully 'ties-cut' original fic from the character standpoint), a VRMMO setting that I'm stitching together from whole cloth and a lot of inspiration from a game QuietVallerie doesn't even play, and the ending isn't dependent on anything QuietValerie's doing whatsoever. She's even acknowledged that most of her work is blatantly 'inspired' by other sci-fi works, so even if all I did was change a few names it'd be a wholly original fic that simply drew from the same inspirational sources for Troubleverse.

That said, I want to keep CoE a firmly Troubleverse fic. Not only would I like to someday (hopefully, wishful thinking, please-please-please-please-please!!!) be granted 'canon' status by QV, I dislike the notion that I should divorce MY stuff from its origin just to make a little cash. The people that are reading CoE are doing so because I set it up as a Troubleverse fic, attempting to divorce my work from that franchise after I've gained a following would be disingenuous at best.

So all that brings me to my first (public) foray into original fiction. I've decided I'll be posting to the following with a 1-week gap when I publish a chapter, and I'll be aiming for 1 chapter per week:

Patreon

Scribblehub

Archive of Our Own

And what, you may ask, will be my first project? I put the choice to my most important audience in all the multiverse; my daughter. From the available options I gave her, she picked...

Goldrush, CO

Over a century after its establishment as a 'company town' for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the town of Goldrush, Colorado was finally sold off "at cost" to the town citizens, fully separating them from the agency that jumped the shark during the union busting of the 1900s. The town has secrets, starting with the biggest one of all; Goldrush was founded as a 'dumping grounds' for the weird and unwelcome. From dumb artifacts that can control the weather (and corrupt the user) to steampunk androids to a pod of selkies, if the Pinkertons were hired to investigate and dispose of it and it was in some way 'supernatural,' then it went to Goldrush. Now that the town's independent, they still have an entire warehouse district of artifacts and paraphernalia that doesn't officially exist that needs to be stored and managed, so the town hires a logistics specialist. Lois is a woman who's just looking to start over after a nasty divorce that was followed by the tragic death of her ex-wife. So she packed her bags and moved to Goldrush from San Diego in hopes of immersing herself in the history of the unusual town to forget her own tragic history. If only she could do her job without bumping heads with the (unreasonably attractive, built like a Valkyrie from myth and legend, frustratingly stubborn) town sheriff the new job would be perfect.

If you're picking up shades of "Warehouse 13" and (more subtly) "Mystic Bayou," I've done my job in selling this right.

June will be all about finishing CoE as quickly as possible (while still maintaining the quality I demand of myself) so I can clear the decks and focus on doing as much with Goldrush, CO during July as I can before I start releasing on Patreon in August.

I'm excited about this, I hope you are, too!

[inconsistentcharacterizationcomp]

Actually, more info about the development of the game’s ending:

"A particular point of struggle was the game's ending. They knew from the first game that it was important that the final challenge not be the most difficult of the game, but rather focus on story. But early versions were terrible, and it was getting dangerously late in production when they still had no idea how to end it. Flopsweat soaked meetings, Wolpaw explained, had the writing team failing to get anywhere with a finish that was good enough. One version saw an incredibly anticlimactic finale, fighting the corrupted Wheatley, in which turning the machine off involved uttering the word "Yes". Chell was to speak! Just one word, but a word that would end everything. "And it sucked," said Wolpaw. But then, strangely enough, it was some goof endings that saved them.

Playtesting the first game had revealed that there were some players willing to die in the game's false ending. As they descended toward the fire pit they accepted their fate, and were perfectly happy to let the game end there, before the final third's dramatic escape sequence. Which inspired the team to put in opportunities like this into the sequel. A number of points where the game could just end if the player let it, even only minutes in. There would be a song for each, appropriate to the nature of the death, and frankly that sounds brilliant. And one of these planned endings was to have you be abandoned on the moon.

A scene was going to have a crack in the ceiling, through which the moon was visible. A player adventurous enough to try firing a portal that way would find themselves transported into the vacuum and asphixiate, after which a song about how sad it was to die on the moon would play. And it was this that they finally realized was a big enough, and funny enough idea to put on the end."

— “The Portal 2 That Could Have Been” an article from Rockpapershotgun

Anyway, the point is that the devs weren’t very focused in making Wheatley’s character motivations consistent with his established cowardly and vulnerable personality and Stephen Merchant ended up doing a lot of the legwork when it came to giving Wheatley the emotional depth that he had during the boss battle:

"We certainly let him chew on the material, and develop it. If there was a way that his character would say it differently, we definitely gave him the freedom to explore. One of the most surprising things is that there’s a bit of range to Stephen Merchant that I don’t want to spoil. But he’s more than just funny at times, and it was a real eye-opener to me that he had this much range."

- Jay Pinkerton

.

[misspearly1]

When Two Worlds Collide Series

Chp1 || Chp2 || Chp3 || Chp4 || Chp5 || Chp6 || Chp7 || Chp8

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader x Arthur Morgan

Chapter Six: The Life of An Outlaw Gang

WC: 8.3k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Alternative TLOU & RDR2 Universe. M/F/M Relationship. M/M Flirting and Kissing. Lots of angst in this chapter (eventual happy ending). Dark Themes and Graphic Violence. (usual outlaw stuff). Joel and Arthur sustaining injuries; bruises/strangulation marks. Mentions of Blood.

⚠️RDR2 Spoiler Warnings in the AN Notes Below⚠️

AN: Blessed Are The Peacemakers mission in game is a little different here (the mission where Dutch and Colm meet up for a parley). There are mentions of Tuberculosis in this chapter as well, but it’s not what you think - I promise. I’ve changed a few details from the game's storyline to fit my own story here. I do hope you enjoy the reading. We have another two chapters to go before the story is finished, thank you!

Once upon time, you didn’t explicitly believe in the act of violence. It’s barbaric and more often than not, it just causes even more pain, which isn’t necessary for anyone involved. Besides, there are better ways to resolve an issue. There’s usually always a better way to avoid the barbarity of conflict between rivalrous individuals, gangs or organizations. 

Having said this, there was a time when you didn’t have any rivals. There was a time when you didn’t know your way around a gun, how to use it or how to fight with your bare fists when faced with savagery and heartlessness. There was a time you didn’t believe in violence because you didn’t live a violent way of life. You avoided the risk of danger or the likelihood of a conflict and always sought peace instead, but sometimes there can be no peace and brutality is summoned from the deep dark depths within… The dark places within that had limits you didn’t know could be reached or the extremities that could be harnessed when fighting for your life. 

You truly never faced a dangerous situation that forced you to do the unthinkable before. It was an inexperienced concept for you, but that has since changed. Your eyes have been opened and things are different now because you’ve sampled the atrocities of what it means to be an outlaw in the year 1899. You’ve witnessed only a glimpse of life that Arthur Morgan and his fellow gang members have lived for years. It’s not pretty, of course it isn’t, but every dark cloud has a silver lining and while the Van Der Linde gang has been engulfed with an excruciating cloud of bad luck, more so in the last few years, they’ve always persevered and carried on. 

Even in the face of great difficulties and devastating obstruction, Dutch held the gang together and carved out a fighter in each and every one of them. It was truly admirable and inspirational to see the lengths that they would go to in order to protect each other. You’ve seen it with your own eyes now, and so has Joel. They’re not some ruthless gang running from the authorities. They know the clear difference between what’s right and wrong, and place themselves comfortably in the middle that avoids violence, death and destruction, but they fill their pockets with riches stolen from the wealthy and undeserving corrupted portion of society. And that’s what puts them on the wrong side of the law. 

Exactly three months ago, you and Joel accepted that there was no way home and this would be your life now, which is helping Arthur and his gang as they work tirelessly to find a secured future where they never have to steal, pick-pocket, scam or rob people for money ever again. It’s been hard work, day in and day out, and yet it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. The gang has since moved on from Horseshoe Overlook. They were chased off by the Pinkerton Detective Agency, driven to pack up camp and set up someplace else, which brings you and Joel to where you are now – Clemens Point. 

The gang wasn’t overly welcoming of outsiders in the very beginning, but Arthur prepared you for that in advance and kept you in close proximity of his hideout instead of just bringing you right into the camp. You and Joel remain in your own camp within walking distance, and the gang knows of your presence now, but only Hosea knows how and why you’re here. And it will stay that way too. 

No one else needs to know about the fact you’re from the future, possibly even a different timeline, and you came here through a magical mirror. It sounds bizarre anyways so it’s not like anyone would believe you. The reason you think about violence today though, is because you’ve just caught wind of a job today that requires Arthur to accompany Dutch in a meeting with Colm O’Driscoll. You don’t like the sound of that idea, not in the slightest, and going against Joel’s protests, you marched your way into the Van Der Linde’s camp to voice your opinions on the matter. 

Colm isn’t someone you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting before, but you’ve crossed paths with his gang members on numerous occasions now and they’re a vicious sort of people. The kind that do know what’s right from wrong, but choose wrong every single time. 

Making your way towards the tent that you recognise to be Arthur’s, you find the man standing at the rear end of the ammunition wagon with Dutch, Hosea and Micah, no doubt talking over the plans of how they approach the situation with Colm. “Hey, Arthur.” You called out with Joel hot on your heels. He was expressing an apologetical look on his face for the earful you're about to unload. “I need to talk to you… Why in the hell are any of you meeting with Colm O’Driscoll? I’ve only heard about the cruel bastard, but you guys know him personally.” 

“Jesus… Who told you about this?” Arthur grumbled, then looked at Joel over your shoulder for answers, to which he replied quickly. “Don’t look at me, brother. I didn’t say a damn word.” He said in his defence. 

“Wait, so you knew about this and didn’t say anything!” You turned to ask Joel, your voice rising slightly with your growing frustrations, but before he could even open his mouth to answer, you held your finger up and shushed him. Then you turned to face Arthur again. “Why are you doing this? You ought to know better. I can see that it’s a trap.” 

Now the man looked directly at Micah and scowled, knowing that he is the one who told you about this job today and it pissed him off because he explicitly told everyone not to speak a word about it around you. Arthur could be wrong about who’s at fault, but the way Micah’s lips curled upwards with a smirk only solidified his assumptions, and now he wonders why the little toad was so eager to cause an issue. But he didn’t have the time, nor the patience, to find out why and directed his focus on you instead. He moved toward you and Joel, ushering you both to one side to have a moment in privacy. 

“Sweetheart, listen to me.” He spoke quietly, keeping his voice low and reassuring. “I already know this doesn’t sound like a good idea, but that’s why I have to be there. Dutch needs me to keep an eye out on him and Micah from a safe distance. I’ve got my rifle with me and everything will be just fine.”  

“Oh really?” Crossing your arms now, you begin to tap your foot against the ground as you boldly suggest: “Well if you really believe that, then you won’t mind me tagging along to keep you company, won’t ya?...” He, as you expected, tried to object, but you swiftly cut him off. “Oh no. Everything will be just fine, Arthur. You said so yourself.” 

“She has a point.” Joel agreed, eliciting the man to look at him with betrayal in his eyes since it wasn’t the back-up he needed right now. 

“Could ya help me out here?” Arthur muttered with desperation, but because of the silent response from you and Joel, he threw his hands up in the air defeatedly and scoffed. “Do you really think I’m gonna bring her anywhere near those bastards?” 

“No, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying.” Joel replied immediately. Cinching his brows together while pondering for a solution, he palmed a hand over the back of his neck and racked his brain for answers. He had one idea, but wasn’t sure you’d agree upon it. In fact, he isn’t so sure you’d even entertain the idea at all. 

You and Arthur look at him now, noticing the way he was visibly hesitant on speaking his mind before you both asked in unison. “So what are you saying, then?”

After a few more moments in silence, he finally answered. “I’ll go with Arthur and keep watch.” He said, and to his surprise, you actually started contemplating his suggestion like it was a better alternative.

Truthfully, it was the best option because you’re not nearly as skilled as Joel or Arthur around a gun, and they’re far more alert and ready for conflict than you’ll ever be. Albeit, you are learning each and every day, but knowing how and when to be violent in times like this isn’t your speciality. It is, however, Joel and Arthur’s speciality. 

“Ok.” You relent. Easing up on the pressure you were applying to Arthur, you feel a whole hell of a lot more reassured knowing they’ll be together on this one. You know with certainty that they will have each other’s backs out there, and they’ll be safe too. “Ok, Arthur… I’ll stay here and get off your back about this job, even though I think it's ridiculous, but as long as Joel is with you, then I’m okay with it.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He nodded appreciatively. “It’s just a simple parley to settle the feud. We’ll be back before you even know we’re gone.” Stepping closer, he held your arms gently while leaning in to plant a firm kiss on your forehead, your eyes closing naturally with the comforting sensation that it brought. You know deep down that whatever happens, they will always look out for each other and do whatever it takes to survive, but there’s always that chance of something going severely wrong, and of course, you are going to worry about that. It’s the very reason why they didn’t want to tell you about it in the first place, and you also wonder why Micah was so eager to let you know about it. 

As he pulls back to look into your eyes, you cup his face and return the kiss on his lips before breaking off to look at Joel. “Come back to me – both of you.” You expressed vehemently, your pleadings falling on their ears loud and clear as they both nod in response. Leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips as well, you didn’t care about the gang seeing you kiss two men and making their own assumptions about the dynamic of your relationship. It was your business and no one else's, and besides, Joel and Arthur didn’t seem to care anyways. They each held a hand to your hip and gazed into your eyes for a moment, reassuring you without a need for words that everything will be ok before turning away to leave. 

Immediately, you missed the warmth of their hands on your skin and yearned to feel their touch again, like it wasn’t just hours ago you lay in the same tent together completely nude. You’ll never miss the way their skin-on-skin contact feels against your body when cramped inside a small space. It’s just the most pleasing way to sleep together, especially a few yards away from the gang hideout where you're shielded with privacy and supplied with the freedom to open the tent during the night and soak up the cool breeze. 

There’s a big difference between sleeping in a homestead and a tent, but to be quite frank, you’ve enjoyed the latter so much more. It’s nice staying by the river now and feels much more secure being closer to the gang too. Although you miss those days sleeping in a large bed with Joel and Arthur, it doesn’t really matter where you stay, it matters that you have each other in close proximity. It matters because you know they’re safe and sound when sleeping right beside you at night. 

Watching them work together as they gathered all the supplies they needed from the ammunition wagon, it made you smile fondly to see them communicating strategically and purposefully, as if they were determined to get the job done and return to you as quickly as they could. Joel and Arthur never forget to remind you just how much you actually mean to them. They have their ways in showing it; whether that be a kiss on your forehead, cheek or lips, or something as simple, yet equally beautiful, as bringing you a flower that reminds them of you, or the way they look at you like you’re someone they couldn’t live without. 

It’s been a crazy and chaotic four months since you got here with Joel, and it’s still a really big adjustment in lifestyle too, but you wouldn’t change a second of it so far. The love between three people grows exponentially each and every day. It still feels as though you were made for each other. Like this is the way things were meant to be. You belong with Joel and Arthur, and they belong with you.  

“So what���s the secret?” A voice from behind you asks, her question interrupting your thoughts. You turned around and smiled at Karen as she approached. “How do I get two good looking men to be so madly in love with me like that?” She reiterates. Glancing at Joel and Arthur then back into your eyes with an envious smirk on her lips, she was happy for you, there was no doubt about that from the look in her eyes, but there was just an envious notion of yearning to have what you for herself someday. 

“Honestly, I don’t really know what the secret is.” You shrugged earnestly with a smile. “But trust me, the moment I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know, babe.” You winked, and together, you giggled in content. She even began to blush from the friendly term of endearment, the sight making your smile grow with joy and hope of becoming friends with her. Though, the sound of your laughter caught the attention of an unwanted pair of eyes and ruined the mood. 

“What ya’ll tittering about?” Micah strolled toward you and Karen with his thumbs hooked inside his gun belt like it was supposed to look attractive. It wasn’t. But you do find that sort of thing attractive with Joel and Arthur. As a matter of fact, they do a lot of innocent looking poses, stances and gestures that just really turn you on. For example, when they’re laying on their backs with a hand behind their heads, emphasizing the muscles in their biceps with the position. You don’t know why it’s so appealing, but it makes you want to climb onto their laps every single time. 

“It’s none of your business.” Karen answered the man during your silent thought of riding Joel or Arthur later tonight, the idea making your cheeks heat up with desire, which quickly turned sour the moment Micah opened his mouth again. 

“Oh, don’t get shy on me now, pussy cat.” He winked at her, the gesture making Karen retch before he looked at you with a dirty smirk on his lips. “Personally I think ya’ll were giggling about what Y/N gets up to with Joel and Arthur in that tent over by the water. Must have some fun out there, huh?” 

“Ugh!.. Gross.” You cringed without constraint at his remark, feeling sick to your stomach at the mere thought of him sneaking around your tent at night. It was nauseating to even think about it, so you ignored the man and turned to Karen instead. “I’m gonna go now. I’ll catch up with you later, sweetie.” Squeezing her shoulder as you walked passed her, you despised the way Micah laughed and tried to shrug off how disgusting he sounded. It was a dark and horrid dry-heaving kind of laugh, and it wasn't pleasant in any sort of way either. 

“C’mon now. I was only messing around.” He called out after you, still laughing pervertedly and disgustingly, but to his surprise and disappointment, you didn’t keep your mouth shut and yelled back: “Why don’t you go rub one out behind a tree or something? You old rotten piece of shit.” Micah suddenly became very quiet while the majority of the camp heard what you said and responded with laughter. You enjoyed the resonance of their reactions, the sound was humiliating for him, but victorious for you. 

Joel and Arthur, on the other hand, shared a few chuckles under their breaths over your insults, feeling a mutual sense of pride washing over them as they grinned. “Atta girl.” They whispered in unanimous agreement, then individually thought about how they could reward you later for sticking up for yourself and for making a fool out of Micah Bell. 

But first things first; getting the job done, then return to your arms safe and sound. 

“So what’s the deal with this Colm guy anyway?” Joel asked casually. Getting into position by laying down on his stomach, he stayed close to Arthur and looked down at the rifle's scope. They were on a high ridge far enough away from the danger and kept themselves concealed as they watched over Dutch and Micah – who were currently riding across the plains to approach four men on horses. Should a gunfight break out, they’ve got it covered from here, but so far everything looked fine and dandy.  

“It’s a long story, brother.” Arthur shook his head and tutted, displaying his feelings towards this ongoing feud between Dutch and Colm. “It’s always been a game of tit for tat between them that never ends. People have died because of it.” He explained with a sigh of irritation. “But maybe a parley will finally settle this dispute once and for all.” 

Joel shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, maybe.” After a moment, he then changed the topic of conversation that better suited their interests and asked. “You wanna do something later? Just me, you and y/n... Once we’ve settled this, of course.” He lowered his rifle and turned to look at Arthur. “I was thinkin’ bout visiting the saloon for a few beers, maybe have a dance and a little fuck around under the table.”

“Hell yeah.” Arthur chuckled, the offer making him feel more at ease as he wonders what exactly Joel means about ‘a little fuck around under the table’. He wasn’t sure if that meant something sexual, but hoped it was nonetheless. “That sounds like a great idea. I think Y/N will like that too.” He expressed, to which Joel hummed in agreement. A few minutes go by in silence as they both smile at the thought of having some fun with you later. It’s been a while since either of them have taken you out and it’s something they’ve missed terribly as of late; having that quality time with just you. 

Getting back to the task at hand, Joel picked up his rifle again and looked down the scope to check in with Dutch and Colm. Everything still looked fine from up here, but they couldn’t hear what was being said and only relied on the use of body language to understand what’s happening down there. It didn’t look tense or heated, but remained vigilant just in case. 

After a little while, Joel lowered his rifle again and grumbled with annoyance. “This is taking too long.” He said before quickly rising to his feet, but keeping himself crouched to not give away his position. “I’ll be back in a giffy. I gotta take a leak.” 

“Want me to hold your cock, big boy?” Arthur smirked as he said that, prompting Joel to playfully smack his ass while he whispered ‘yes please’ under his breath. It was a humorous gesture, one that made him fight the urge to gasp and groan from the contact. Although, he was being serious about that offer and would gladly abandon his position to go hold Joel’s cock. He felt his cheeks burn and a familiar heat blossoming in his abdomen at the thought of holding him so intimately. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last either. 

The print of Joel’s hand on his ass cheek however, burned deliciously and made Arthur crave more; more of the sexual teasing and flirtatious banter. I’ll get ya back for that, he thought, then wondered how he could return the favor in a pleasurable way later tonight. But, as much as the man would have loved to cogitate on the matter of his dirty minded thoughts of pleasuring Joel, he couldn’t stray too far away from remaining focused. As the crickets chirped and the sun sat above the horizon, he hoped this parley wouldn’t take much longer. 

When Arthur saw the gap between Colm and Dutch starting to get smaller, he kept his finger carefully hovering over the trigger of his gun. It wasn’t enough cause for concern just yet, but he calculated the probability of a gunfight and lined up the rifle on Colm’s face to make sure he’s precise. They were still talking to each other, and it still didn’t look heated or intense, but the proximity was alarming and Dutch was outnumbered down there. What was reassuring is the sound of Joel’s boots scraping against the ground behind him, meaning those odds would be evened out with another man behind a rifle to help. 

*Thwack*

Arthur was struck in the back of the head and instantly, his vision went black as he fell down. The sound of him being knocked out was so audible that Joel heard it and sprung into action seconds after. He was hidden by a large boulder when taking a leak thankfully, so the O’Driscoll didn’t know he was here and that gave him an advantage. It provided Joel with a little more time to figure out what to do next and how he can help without getting himself or anyone else killed. 

Using his rifle, he quickly checked up on the situation down below with Colm and Dutch and noticed that they were parting ways now. Everything was fine for them, but nothing was fine up here for Joel or Arthur. There wasn’t just one O’Driscoll. There were three more and the odds of surviving in a shoot-out weren't looking so good. If he steps out of cover, the O'Driscoll's will start shooting and he won’t be able to help while bleeding out with a gunshot wound. The best course of action is keeping distant and following them diligently. However, there was yet another problem — his horse. 

As soon as the O'Driscoll's found the horses, they quickly realized that Arthur wasn’t alone either and responded by pointing a gun towards his unconscious body. “We know you’re here.” One of them announced whilst drawing back the hammer, emphasizing the threat to pull the trigger. “On a count of three, slowly step out and we won’t put a bullet in ya friends head. One…… Two…”  

“Fuck!” Joel cursed under his breath. Seeing as though he was all out of options, there was no choice but to step out and show himself, even if it meant taking a bullet for Arthur. “Ok! Alright!” He yelled out before they could count to three, raising both arms above his head to show the rifle as he slowly stepped out of cover. “Just take it easy.” 

Revealing himself to three guns lined up in his direction, he glanced over his shoulder and looked at the steep drop in the cliff-edge, wondering if he could survive the fall. It wasn’t looking good. Not good at all, but by some miracle, they didn’t shoot on sight and gestured to him to walk forward. “Nice and slow.” One of them pointed out, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he gripped hold of his gun. If Joel didn’t know any better, he would assume he was afraid. And so they should be. 

In the last couple of months, Joel and Arthur have made quite the name for themselves because of how many O'Driscoll's they have killed. It makes him realize now that they probably recognized him and the very reason they didn’t shoot on sight is because Colm will want him alive to deliver his revenge for killing his men. “Stop!” The O’Driscoll commanded, to which Joel obliged and waited cautiously for their next order. If the rifle he had was a repeater, he’d take his chances on killing all three of them. But it wasn’t a repeater and he couldn't reach for the six shooter. 

Joel’s an exceptional shot, and he’s pretty quick with it too, but nowhere near as fast as Arthur. The safest bet was following their instructions for now until there’s a better opening to escape. “Throw your rifle away, then get on your knees with your hands behind your head.” One of them barked, and Joel continued to do exactly as they said. Once the gun was discarded at a reasonably comfortable distance, he knelt down and placed both hands behind his head, then they moved towards him, one of them keeping his gun directly in front of his face while the other tied his wrists behind his back with some rope. They made sure it was tight, knowing all too well that underestimating his strength and ability to break-free would be a grave mistake. 

Glancing at Arthur and feeling the blood starting to boil in his veins, he wanted nothing more than to tear the faces off the O'Driscoll's at this exact moment for what they’ve done to him. He lay on his side, face in the dirt and his body slouched with a prominent red mark on the side of his temple. They could have killed him. It’s possible to end someone's life with one blow to the face like that, but fortunately, the man was breathing. Joel could see the steady rise and fall of his chest and it put his mind at ease knowing he was alive. 

“Get up!” The O’Driscoll shouted. Yanking Joel to his feet, they marched him towards a horse and assisted him onto the saddle before returning to Arthur and lifting his comatosed body off the ground. They stowed him on the back of their horse like he was just a dead body to them. It looked horrific and saddening, the sight fuelling the raging ball of fire inside of Joel. He studied their movements carefully and waited like a predator ready to attack at the right time. It’s just a matter of when and where he chooses to attack. 

But when that time and place does come around, it will be hell on earth for the O'Driscoll's. 

The atmosphere in Clemens Point right now could be described as dark and depressing. Hours have passed without a sighting on Joel and Arthur's whereabouts, and no one knows what happened, nor do they know what went wrong because the parley with Colm O’Driscoll had apparently gone smoothly.  

When Dutch returned without Joel and Arthur, you immediately knew something wasn’t right. You knew it wasn’t a good idea for any of them to go out there, and now you’re left feeling distraught with worry over what went wrong. You have no clue what’s happened, and what’s even scarier is that Dutch doesn’t know what happened either.

Pacing back and forth like there was no tomorrow, you couldn’t stay still and fought the crippling anxiety eating away at your gut. Hosea tried to keep you calm, but nothing was working, not even his reassurances that everything will be ok. It won’t be ok. Not until you can see with your own eyes that Joel and Arthur are safe and sound. Then and only then will you relax and settle your nerves.

Turning to Hosea, you asked. “Why aren’t we doing anything about this?” Biting your nails as you move to take a seat beside him, the man wraps an arm around your back and squeezes your arm gently, still trying to keep you calm. Even though it really wasn’t working, it’s better than nothing. Some members of the gang – Micah in particular – weren’t even affected by this whole ordeal. It was irking you that he didn’t seem to care at all in the slightest. How could he not fret over their safety? You questioned. 

After a moment of silent thinking about what might have happened out there, you began to shake over the endless possibilities of something going wrong. There’s just so many scenarios running around in your head and each of them makes you panic even more. “Something terrible has happened.” You trembled. “I just know something isn’t right. They’re out there somewhere, Hosea. They’re out there and they need our help. I can feel it.” 

“I know y/n, but these things take time and preparation.” He replied solemnly, his face downcast and crestfallen. He, just like yourself, is feeling distraught and torn apart with worry. The man has become fond of you and Joel over the last couple of months, but Arthur is like a son to him and it hurts to think that he could be out there somewhere, injured and helpless. “Listen to me.” He grabbed your attention with a firm tone, trying to put his own mind at ease as well as yours. “Charles and Javier are already out there looking for any signs of a struggle and as soon as they come back, we’ll devise a plan from there on how to find the boys and bring ‘em home.” 

“But what if… What… I–” You choked up. Leaning into his side and resting your cheek against his shoulder, you choked on the lump in the back of your throat and closed your eyes to repress the tears. Try as you might, it was difficult to remain strong and hopeful at a time like this. It was hard not to break down and fall apart, but the reminder of the fact you aren’t alone in this whole ordeal was comforting. You’re not the only one suffering. “I just fear that we’re wasting precious time, Hosea.” You breathed through the distress. “I… I feel useless and weak, unable to fight for their lives like they do for me… for all of us.” 

Nodding in agreement, he held the palm of his hand over your cheek and consoled you plentifully, the gesture easing your emotional turmoil, but not taking the pain away all together. It was still there, eating away at your gut and clouding your mind, thus making you feel dizzy and light-headed. The life of an outlaw is dangerous, difficult and violent, but this seems to be like any other day for the gang. They’re used to this sort of thing and know how to fight back, whereas you aren’t used to this at all. 

Suppose you’re still adjusting to it all really. Suppose you’re still trying to accept that this is the norm and you should learn to deal with it like everyone else does. You need to be strong and resilient instead of beating yourself up over not knowing what to do. Perhaps busying yourself would be helpful. Hosea is right; once Charles and Javier come back, the gang will devise a plan to bring Joel and Arthur back home, so you should prepare for their return and gather everything they may or may not need. Rising to your feet and taking a deep breath, you found a slither of strength to push your own emotions aside and be the person that they need right now. Hell, even Hosea needs it. 

“Jesus. This is hard work.” You exhaled heavily, shaking your head at the man with a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I don’t know how ya’ll do it, but fuck…. I can’t sit around and do nothing. What can I do?” Jerking your chin outwards in question, this new sense of resilience and durability was uplifting for him to see. “I could gather the guns, ammunition and medical supplies? Maybe set up a little area where Joel and Arthur can be treated if they need it? Miss Grimshaw… She has some nursing background, right? Maybe I can help her.” 

“That’s a mighty fine idea, y/n.” Hosea rose to his feet as well, encouraging your sudden turn of taking action instead of sitting around getting yourself worked up. He displayed a glimmer of hope with a smile. “Tell you what, I’ll pitch in to help. Let’s start with getting the horses ready, shall we?” He suggested, to which you nodded anxiously in response before making your way over to the hitching posts. Once there with Hosea, you worked quietly and quickly, making sure all of the saddlebags were filled with everything they needed and were good to go at a moment's notice. 

While turning away to move onto your next task, you caught a glimpse of movement between the trees surrounding the camp and narrowed your eyes with focus on the object. It was barely noticeable at first. You had just caught sight of a big dark shadow in the corner of your eyes and immediately reached for the gun on your hip, the action making Hosea do the exact same thing. The sun was long gone now with the moon taking over to light the skies above, so you couldn’t see very well to begin with, but when that shadow got closer, it broke off into two figures shaped like two men atop of their horses. 

Relief didn’t even have the chance to breach the surface of your emotions once the two men emerged from the trees and revealed themselves. “Oh my God.” You faltered, hands trembling so much that you dropped your gun to the ground below then held both hands over your mouth. It was Joel and Arthur, not Javier and Charles, and their return should have brought you relief, but it didn’t. It brought your heart into your mouth instead, sickening your stomach with dread and paralyzing you with fear. 

Hesitantly, you walked towards them with the gang following closely behind, expressing the same amount of shock and horror in their reactions. They formed a small crowd and struggled for air, each of them making a surprised sound as they stared at Joel — at the blood straining his face, hands and clothes. It was thick and black like tar, the metallic smell so pungent that it was nauseating enough to make you gag and feel the bile rising in the back of your throat. He looked out of his damn mind, his eyes dissociated and lost, as if he were absent from this level of existence. 

Arthur dismounted his horse quickly and moved towards your first, pulling you in close to whisper into your ear without the gang hearing. “Get him out of here.” He said with a saddened grimace before moving past you to talk with Hosea. The sound of people panicking over your shoulder could be heard as you reached out for Joel’s hand and helped him climb down from his horse, guiding him in the direction of your own camp outside of Clemens point. He began to shake and gripped you so tight that it hurt, the action making you wonder what the hell he’s had to do out there in order to survive. 

Dutch marched towards Arthur, reaching out to grab and squeeze his shoulder. “Does Joel need help? Is he hurt, son?” You heard the man ask, to which Arthur replied. “No. That’s not his blood.” He said blankly, the unaffected tone of his voice spine-chilling. As you walked further away from camp, you couldn’t hear what he or the gang were saying anymore and directed your sole focus on Joel instead. He’s come back to you a number of times with blood on his hands, but nothing like this before. You could even see the residue of skin beneath his fingernails, the sight making you grimace, but it’s evidently clear that he’s in a state of shock and needs some form of aftercare. 

Taking him towards the waters edge, you help the man remove his clothes slowly and gently, starting with his shirt first. You don’t even bother with the buttons and just lift the blood-stained fabric over his head before tossing it into the fire. You did the same thing with his jeans too. They can’t be salvaged, but even if they could be, you don’t think Joel would want to wear them again anyways. Once he was stripped to his union suit, you popped open the top few buttons then pulled the clothing off his body, leaving him completely in the nude. 

“Go in the water. I’ll be right behind you.” You whispered. Watching him enter the river with a slightly hunched over posture and his hands balled into fists at his sides, you felt a strong surge of worry passing through you. It was harrowing to see the man so visibly affected by whatever happened out there and you tried your darn best not to crumble beneath the crushing weight of anxiety. He needs a strong pillar of support right now, and you’re the only one here to help until Arthur gets back. He’ll know what’s best and how to take care of Joel as he’s probably been through a lot worse before. 

After grabbing some soap, a loofah and a nail scrubber, you quickly undressed yourself then entered the water carefully so as to not startle Joel. He was so unusually quiet and looked to be disconnected from the reality of this whole ordeal. You can’t truly understand what he’s going through as you weren’t there and didn’t live through the experiences that he has, but to some extent, you understand that he won’t be able to bounce back from this quickly. And while you have a lot of questions and curiosity as to what the hell happened, you didn’t wish to ask anytime soon. He needed all the comfort and security that you could offer.

“Hey.” You said softly when reaching out to touch his back, the contact making the man flinch ever so slightly was upsetting to say the least. He’s never flinched like this before, you thought and after a moment or so, his muscles began to relax and leaned into your touch with a steady exhale. The water was just above your knees at the moment and you needed to move forward in order to submerge him and get the dried blood off his body. 

Slipping your arms around his front and urging him to go deeper into the water, he turned to face you once the water level was just below his chest. “I’ll b-be alright.” He croaked shakily then closed his eyes, as if he were annoyed with himself for not being able to act normal. “I just n-need to…” He tried to speak properly, but to no avail. “I just need… I c-can’t–” 

You cut him off and place a finger to his lips, “It’s ok, baby. Don’t worry about me or anything else.” You cupped his cheek, reassuring him generously. “Just talk when you’re ready and rest for now, okay?” He leaned into the palm of your hand, nodding slightly with his eyes screwed shut like he was seconds away from losing his grip on keeping himself together. “You did what you had to do, Joel… It’s okay, baby.” You reassured him again, and again, telling him exactly what you would want to hear in a time like this. 

While in the process of lathering the loofah with soap, Arthur had made his way over to your camp by the river, quietly got himself undressed and approached the water. It water until you heard him trudging his way towards you and Joel that you realized he was here. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you both, leaning over your shoulder to place a loving kiss on the corner of Joel’s lips. It was a sight you’d never tire of seeing between them, witnessing their friendship blossom into something more romantic and meaningful. 

“You good, brother?” He asked when breaking off to rest his cheek against yours. Joel only hummed in response and expressed a look that says he’s somewhere in between. He wasn’t fully ok, but he wasn’t too bad either, and you can live with that for now. It’s only a matter of time and patience for him to heal and overcome the traumatic experience that he’s lived through. You know in the back of your mind that he will eventually be okay again, but for the time being, you have to make sure he feels safe, secured and comfortable. 

After handing the loofah to Arthur to wash Joel’s arms, you took your soapy hands and carefully washed his face, ridding him of the bloodshed and carnage he endured in the last couple of hours. You scrubbed his nails twice before moving onto washing his hair. Arthur cupped handfuls of the water and wet his head, then you helped by massaging the soap through his scalp. It was a team effort, and although you didn’t favour the reason why you’re in the river bathing him like this in the first place, it was nice to actually do such an intimate task together. 

Joel dunked his head under the water and rinsed his hair of the soap before repeating the process another two times, just to make sure he was thoroughly clean. He stood with his eyes closed for a few moments and relished in the soft trickling sound of water sloshing around your bodies, the sensation making him feel like he was floating along a cloud. It was pleasantly soothing, and it helped with putting his mind at ease. 

“We were supposed to go out.” He broke the silence first, opening his eyes to look at you and Arthur. “We wanted to take you out to the saloon in town before… Before all this shit happened.” 

“It’s ok. We can go out some other day, handsome.” You shrugged forgivingly. Cupping his face as he held onto your hip with one hand, and Arthur’s hip with his other hand, you gazed into the man's eyes with an appreciative smile on your lips. Their plans to take you out tonight was thoughtful and generous, even though it wasn’t going to happen now, you would have loved to spend the evening in the saloon with just Joel and Arthur. Realistically speaking, it wasn’t the time nor the place for him to be social after what happened today. Maybe tomorrow would be better to go out for the day and do something fun together; to get away from all the violence and take a much needed break from being an outlaw and everything that comes with it. 

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here before we catch a cold.” Arthur jerked his head to the side, pulling on you and Joel to follow him out of the water. 

Once you were back on land, the man took hold of your hands and guided you into the tent, closing the flap behind him before laying you both down onto the cushioned bedding. Unlike any other night, you didn’t take up your usual position and laid Joel between you and Arthur instead, hoping the sleeping arrangement would better suit his comfort. Which it did. He pulled you into his chest as close as he possibly could, then reached behind him and urged Arthur to come closer too, using the skin-on-skin contact as a reassuring blanket of warmth and security. Neither of you were fully dry, but neither of you seemed to care enough to do something about it either. It was getting cold fast and the need to sleep was affecting Joel the most. 

“Me and Arthur are staying right here.” You said after noticing him fighting the urge to close his eyes and go to sleep, the dark circles and puffy pockets under his eyes noticeable.  “And we aren’t leaving your sight.” Pulling the covers over your bodies, you then laid an arm over both of them and snuggled in extra close, cosying up together more than you usually do. It didn’t take long for Joel to slip into a deep state of unconsciousness after that, and you spent a good while examining him while he slept peacefully. The bruises were starting to flourish now; bruises that you didn’t notice before. 

His knuckles were torn up, displaying a dark purply red in colour, but the markings around his neck were most upsetting. It couldn’t have been made any clearer for you that he was strangled. Or at least, someone tried to strangle him before they met their demise. Arthur had a prominent red mark on the side of his temple, and his knuckles were also dark purply red in colour, but much to your relief, he didn’t have any hand impressions left around his neck. He did, however, have a busted lip and the little gash kept splitting open. 

Arthur noticed you watching him and Joel; noticed your eyes studying the injuries they sustained and quietly asked. “You ok, sweetheart?” 

“I should be asking you that.” You laughed dryly, humourlessly, then shook your head. “I’m fine, baby. Just worried about you and him.”  Looking between them with saddened eyes, it hurt to even imagine what lengths they had to go to when escaping a bunch of O'Driscoll's. It’s obvious that they were ambushed. The parley wasn’t a meeting to make peace. It was a distraction to snag Arthur, only they didn’t anticipate that Joel Miller would be there too. They saved each other’s lives, and you’re most thankful that they were together, otherwise things could have gone much differently. 

Closing your eyes on instinct when feeling his hand run along the curve of your hip, Arthur assured you that he was okay and would tell you everything tomorrow. “Not now.” He whispered with a subtle shake of his head, darting his eyes to Joel. “Not now and not here, sweetheart.” 

“Of course.” You nodded. Lifting your hand to cup his cheek, you ran your thumb along his lip carefully and smiled a grateful smile; an exceptionally grateful smile that resonates just how relieved you are to have them back in your arms, somewhat safe and sound. It could’ve been worse, you tell yourself inwardly. It could’ve been worse… 

As the minutes turn into hours, you lay in silence thinking about everything while Joel and Arthur slept undisturbed. They needed the rest, and you needed the time to question the life you have here. It’s been four months in this otherworldly dimension, three of which you’ve spent working alongside the Van Der Linde gang, and it’s days like this that really make you miss home and the safe life you lived. You wished there was a way to make things better. Not just for you, Joel and Arthur, but for the gang too. You wished there was a way to give them the life they so desperately want — the life they’re fighting for. 

While you can’t exactly say each and every member of the gang wants the same thing, it’s a common desire amongst the members to just live freely without stepping across the wrong side of the law. They just want enough money to buy their very own plot of land and settle down for the rest of their days. It’s hard to imagine just how much money that would take. You’ve seen Arthur holding more than five thousand before and he gives almost everything to Dutch. He has a savings box, albeit there was a lot more stored somewhere in Blackwater, but you wonder how much money the man needs exactly. 

You see what this life does to Arthur and the gang, what it has done to Joel today, and you secretly wonder if being an outlaw is worth it. You wonder if there will ever be enough time and money for Dutch Van Der Linde. Will he ever be satisfied and stop giving the law plenty of reasons to put a price on his head? Probably not. It feels as though things are going to get worse before they get better. Like there was a storm closing in because you’re beginning to see the lies that Dutch sells to the good people in his gang. You’re beginning to see the infection that is growing, that infection being Micah Bell. 

However, like most dark clouds, there is always a silver lining to look for and hold onto with a slither of hope. And the silver lining that you see in Micah, is that his life will soon come to an end and this foolishness will be no more. He won’t be able to sway Dutch anymore, and things will get back on the right track; back to the way they used to be. Arthur told you of his younger days where he was like some sort of Robin Hood, robbing the rich to give back to the poor, and that’s where the true value lies with being an outlaw. That’s when it becomes worth it. 

You won’t kill Micah. He’s sick and riddled with disease, and that will be his demise. You noticed that today when the man was laughing sadistically. It sounded like he was coughing up a lung, and it all made sense when you realized that he paid a visit to a man named Thomas Downes who owed the gang some money. That poor man was unwell and Micah beat him to a bloody pulp. Two days later, he died and left his wife and son with a debt to be repaid. 

But he didn’t, however, leave this world without spreading tuberculosis to Micah Bell first.

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[master-of-47-dudes]

So I showed the early stuff off a bit a few months back, but I've finally completed the first draft of Act 1 of my Lancer adventure path, Kindness of Strangers! The deets can be found on the pilot net discord, but:

LRBT-III, otherwise known as Blanche to the locals. This sun-baked dustbowl of a planet has the high honor of being one of the few habitable terrestrial bodies that anyone has discovered in the Long Rim- and probably the only one that's actually any use to anyone. Luckily- or not so luckily, if you ask some people- it was Union that found it first. Well, about 70 years ago when they stumbled across this star system they got it in their heads that the Long Rim's days were numbered. There’s untold millions living out there scattered along the emptiest shipping lane in the known galaxy who'd need a way out once no one needed to pass them by, and by Christ the Buddha Union was gonna be there for them waiting with open arms.

All of that is background, though. You? You’re a bunch of mercenaries who got their hands on a couple of GMSes, decided to make your manna selling violence for pay. Worlds like Blanche don't take to colonies very well, so even two generations in there's still plenty of frontier out there being settled and railroad tracks being laid. The people out there struggle day by day to survive, and people like you are there to protect them from those who got sick of the hard life. Not everyone out there has the guts to stand up for the little guy- that's why you're called Lancers.

A setting and a campaign all in one, Kindness Of Strangers and its (eventual) follow-up Dancing With the Devil are a series of Wild West-themed 2-mission adventures intended to take players from 0-12 as they find themselves embroiled in the midst of a corporate conspiracy to overthrow the Union-backed government of the isolated colony of Blanche and a ploy to seize control over a nearly completed Blinkstation. All the while, a strange religious movement worshipping an eons-dead alien civilization grows ever more influential in the background...

This campaign tackles themes of colonialism, nationalism, corruption, and conflict between indigenous peoples, settlers, and immigrants, all in a world where well-meaning intentions have gone sour and the ghosts of the past have come back to haunt it. It comes with:

- A setting guide for LRBT-III and its weird-as-hell star system!

- A 0-12 campaign split up into two books, Kindness of Strangers and Dancing With the Devil, that are made up of three 2-mission adventures each. And then a final mission to tie things up.

- 4 Alt-Frames: the IPS-N Nemo, the SSC Painted Lady, the Horus Roper, and the HA Grant (still working on these)

- New Reserves! (still working on these)

- New Exotic Gear (still working on these)

- New NPCs! (still working on these)

Things to look forward to:

- Rallying a town to fight off a horde of bandits!

- An epic duel at sunset!

- Accidentally walking into a partial metavault and escaping with the only scars being mental ones!

- A weird amount of references to the works of Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller, like a probably legally dubious amount!

- Exploding plants!

- Exploding wildlife!

- The **CHRISTHEBUDDHASAURUS**

- Helping striking miners fight off Pinkertons!

- Investigating the bombing of a water filtration plant!

- AND MORE

...so this is really my first time doing this kind of thing so I don't entirely know what all to put here BUT I've put together first drafts of both the Field Guide to LRBT and Kindness of Strangers Act 1: A Streetcar Named Desire. They're not in any state where I can charge for them- I'd call them "playtest and editing ready" rn- but I figure I can share them here so people can give notes. If people think it's cool I could possibly do a kickstarter or something to get the money needed for art and help with editing and lcps and such.

Field Guide to LRBT:

Kindness of Strangers Act 1: A Streetcar Named Desire:

[dappercyborg]

I’ve been thinking about police abolition for a while, and honestly if you abolish the police as a public service you are just going to end up with private police, less regulated, more corrupt, explicitly In the service of capital rather than simply implicitly doing that, in short, fucking pinkertons

[walker-extended-universe]

I'm of two minds when it comes to Kate. On the one hand, we know that she is against corruption of any kind, which is the reason she left Pinkertons and wants to fight against the Davidsons. However, the reason Abby and Tom are going into the business together against the Davidsons is because the current legal system makes it too easy for the Davidsons to win. They're fighting fire with fire and trying to make a better world in the end and Kate might appreciate that. I'm just having a hard time deciding which way she would go.