#and is then like ''never again''? that's micah

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 9

Chapter 9: marauding Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur's mental health is kind of not so good...VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Guns and violence. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. WC: 5212 CHAPTER 9 !!! Thank you guys so much for all of your comments and replies and feedback, I've been loving it!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖 Thank you for all of the lovely asks as well, @frillydolle @emerald-ranch @teenalien-xx and anyone else who has sent an ask about this series… you guys are the best, I LOVE YOU watch out for meanie arthur AGAIN LMAO😈 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace. some scary shit, so watch out 👀Arthur being rude as always just... low honor arthur as a warning lol

You wait for Arthur to decide what happens to your family.

It’s entirely too still in your family home. The air is as stiff and immovable, just like the man, your man as he likes to say, standing behind you. Arthur’s presence is unwavering. As always, he has a natural inclination to hold dominance, to control. He doesn’t seem bothered by this situation, not like you do, not like your parents who watch on, powerless to stop him. In fact, it’s like he’s in his element. He holds himself with that signature cockiness, not misplaced for a second.

You pant in panic, feet shuffling underneath you. You grip onto the rough hide of his coat, scratching your nails into it, as if you can hold onto him for support but you know that whatever happens is ultimately Arthur’s choice.

Both of your parents have withering glances and worried stares. Their mouths are agape in shock, they try to move closer instinctively but Arthur cocks the hammer back on his gun. You can’t move, Arthur holds you much too tight, you almost can’t breathe. Fat tears drip down the roundness of your cheeks and down your jaw.

“You let her go, she didn’t hurt nobody, she never meant anybody any harm-” Your mother is trying to speak past her worry and anger. She devolves into a strangled cry, covering her face. Arthur has a rough chuckle, it grates on you. He thinks this is amusing, an exciting development.

“Yeah, gentle as a lamb, this one. You raised a real sweet girl, really knows how to make a man feel special, don’t she?” he has a light casual tone, as if he isn’t holding a gun up to your mother. His insinuation makes your face warm in shame, casting your gaze to the ground.

“Arthur…” Pleading with him results in nothing, you only want this to be over, you wish you could sink into the floor. At least then, you wouldn’t cause your parents so much grief. You thought he cared for you but that care does not extend past you to your family. This is simply how he gets what he wants and it doesn't matter to him that it’s your parents. That you beg him not to do this. Anyone who stands in his way risks their life.

“Honey, much as I like to hear you beg for me, now ain’t the time,”

Your father’s glare is full of disdain, disgust. Arthur revels in it, you can feel his chest puff up, he stands a little taller. His aim doesn’t dip at all, keeping his gun steady. He’s calculating what to do, where to go from here. All of you wait to see what he decides. It’s terrifying how it feels like he’s done this before, pointed his gun at innocent people to get what he wants. Arthur controls every single aspect of the situation with an untroubled air.

“We haven’t very much but you could have it all if it means you leave ‘er alone,” Your father’s hands are raised in defeat and surrender. Arthur scoffs.

“You ain’t got much, that’s true. Just one thing I want,” You whine, his grip isn’t rough, only firm, reminding you of how he thinks of you. You belong to him and you always will.

“Don’t want a goddamn thing, ‘cept her. What do you think, sweetheart? I take care of you?” You blink, you flush a little, unable to contain the joy his words bring to the sick part of you that likes Arthur. You can’t stand to look up and look at your parents. Their mortified faces, their utter horror. He becomes more vulgar as you fail to answer. Pushing you to say what he wants you to say.

“She might have a big mouth when it comes to this but her mouth weren’t so goddamn big last time I checked. Couldn’t fit all of me in there, now could you, pretty girl…could only stand to take ‘bout half of me,” your father’s disdain turns into disgust, malice. He looks as if he’s about to do something, angry tears well in his eyes. You can’t stand to see your family’s faces as they hear of the depraved things you did for Arthur.

“Yes! Yes, you… you took care of me,” you practically sob, mortified and humiliated, overcome by fear and a violent pang of regret. You focus on the wood grain of the floor, vision blurring with your own tears. Your voice is a shame filled whisper.

“Just stop this Arthur; I’ll go with you, please, let’s just go,” You beg again, hoping he’ll listen, that he’ll take you with him. That you can salvage whatever is left for whatever brief moments of peace you had with Arthur.

Your father says your name between clenched teeth. “You are not going anywhere,” his face twists, he doesn’t want to see you leave with Arthur but you don’t see another choice. Another way out of this situation without Arthur hurting your parents. All you can imagine is a hole in your father’s head, like the hole in the head of the man who tried robbing your campsite. The glazed over look in his eyes. Arthur hasn’t shown you anything that makes you think he would actually pull the trigger on your parents but right now, he’s a cornered rattlesnake. Poised and ready to strike if the moment calls for it.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that just yet,” Arthur huffs. You can almost hear the way one side of his mouth lifting up to show off that prideful smirk.

“What’s that you said? Didn’t matter, as long as I took good care of her. Never even said I loved her and you was ready to send her off. Don’t sound like anybody cares for her ‘round here. You sent her out there; for what? Don't you think ol' granny's lived long enough?” you look away, a subtle pain erupts in your chest. He never did say that he loved you.

There’s a cruel edge to his voice. He talks as if he's telling a joke. He motions vaguely in the direction of your grandmother. His casually callous words do seem to strike a cord with your mother; she closes her eyes, feeling the guilt he wants to inflict.

More tears spill over your lash line. If you had just been modest, if you had fought him, maybe you wouldn’t be so ashamed, you wouldn’t have disgraced yourself like this. But what hope did you have? He overpowered you then like he overpowers you now, his heavy arms slung over your neck, any shift from you and he presses his arm tighter.

“Should’ve known your Pa was spineless. Your woman's more man than you. Had more backbone than you; were you really gonna sign your only kid away like that?”

“You’re no man; no man at all,” Your father’s outcry at Arthur hits him more than he knows. “You’re nothing, just the scum of the earth here to take what isn’t yours,” your fathers tone is panicked still but you can tell he means every word, his face screwed up in anger. He may not know it but you know his comment impacts Arthur; more than Arthur would ever let on so obviously. But his hand squeezes harder at his gun, his posture stiffens behind you as you’re pressed against his body. Arthur doesn't have any room to hear your father’s complaints, does not let them go without consequences.

A bullet shatters something on the mantle and both you and your mother scream. You sob against Arthur, shock forces you still under his arm. The gun firing in the enclosed room has your ears ringing. You think your father is dead, you feel your stomach drop and more tears drip down your face. Everything fades away for a moment. You don’t know what you'd do if your father died today.

Your father clutches his shoulder, his hand comes away with blood. Your mother checks frantically over your father while his legs tremble, groaning in pain. Then he collapses into his knee. The smell of blood and his gunfire consume the space. You sniff, acknowledging that your father isn’t gravely injured but still, you thrash until he has something to say about it.

“Calm down, it ain’t exactly fatal,” he says, as if his bullet simply grazed your father’s arm. “Should teach you to keep your mouth shut. I’m usually less polite,”

“You’re a coward, is what you are,” your father struggles to speak past his pain. Your mother presses some fabric to his injury.

“You are really startin’ to annoy me. I ain’t got a single problem with leaving your neck a bloody stump but I don’t want her to see that. Do you?” His voice drops as low as it can go, a hostility that isn’t just for show. You whine, shaking your head, pressing backwards into Arthur. It doesn’t matter what happens to you, all you want is for him to take you away, to spare your family.

“No! No, Arthur, stop, I wanna go back to your house,” you attempt to pull his attention back to you. “Pa, I-I need to be with Arthur, It’s like you always said, right?” You look at him with as genuine a smile you can pull but the ache of your circumstances pulls you down. Your father shakes his head but you nod.

“Arthur, please…” you turn over your shoulder as much as you can. You plead with him with your eyes too. Imparting your desperation in your gaze. You know that Arthur, although steadfast and stubborn, can be moved by you. Something in you, whatever has captured his attention has him wanting to please you too. You can see how he huffs, looks this way and that. But he’s giving in, letting you have your way. His anger doesn’t dissipate entirely but he drops his shoulders.

“Alright, enough of this. Think we’re done with this little family reunion, ain’t we, sweetheart?” You nod vigorously, sniffing past your tears, trying to blink them away. You’re glad that endearing yourself to Arthur is still a trick you have up your sleeve. He seems to be done with whatever fight your parents put up, there isn’t a lot of it they have to offer. They cower at the end of his revolver. Your father puts himself in front of your mother, despite his injury bleeding onto the cloth your mother gave him. But he has no weapon to defend anyone with.

“No, you don’t have to go, sweetie,” Arthur’s finger twitches at the trigger, making your mother’s desperately hopeful voice fall silent. The teary eyed smile she gives you falls like her voice does.

“I’m not sure you heard what I said. But I’ll make it easier for you to understand. She ain’t your little girl anymore; she’s her own woman,” he mocks your mothers words. “N’ she wants to come with me,” you whimper as his arm gets tighter, unconsciously expressing his possessive attitude towards you. He looks down at you, lightening up a little.

“I’m real sorry it had to be like this, wanted somethin’ different for you. But I ain’t the one who went n’ messed it all up,” the blame he puts on you has your heart sinking. If you were just a better liar, maybe he wouldn’t be here, aiming a gun at your father who is already on the ground, staunching the blood which drips out over the fabric anyway.

“Shouldn’t hafta say this but I feel that maybe I have to. You make this difficult and I leave a bigger mess for your wife to clean up, you understand?” He’s speaking only to your father. His arm eases off of you, slowly. You can feel the underlying threat in his tone.

“Now, go and grab your things, honey.” His finality and the dead silence make you hesitate, like if you move it’s official. If you move, then you can’t go back to this moment again. To this place again. But he nudges you towards your room, motioning his gun, still pointing with that deadly aim you know he has. You go to your bedroom in a trance almost, walking past your parents, you can’t bear to see them. Their terrified faces, the mournful stare they watch you with. As if you walk to your execution.

In your room, the chest is much too heavy for you to take with you. So you leave your clothes and take only things you can’t get back. The most precious things to you. A book of stories from your youth, some toys and your favorite toy, figurines your father gave to you and a shawl knitted by your grandmother. Silent tears drip as you pack them into a much smaller valise, bead of water gathering over the wool of your shawl. Your supplies for knitting and embroidering are stowed away too but you don’t take any of the unnecessary bits you have.

You snap it shut. It feels like this chapter of your life is snapping shut too, you know it, so deep inside of yourself. That you’ll never see your family again. By some miracle perhaps, but never the same way at the very least. You wipe violently at your face, picking up your suitcase, changing quickly into a fresher set of clothes before you step out.

The smile he has for you is tinged with the violence of the gleam of the silver metal in his hand. That wolfish grin, a bear's snarl more than something that reflects any true joy. You walk to him, stand at his side, the way you know he wants you too.

Your father still has that gleam in his eye, like he wants to fight against Arthur. You frown. You don’t want him getting hurt trying in vain to save you. That’s the last thing you want. You know that sacrificing yourself for the safety of your parents isn’t what your father wants but you don’t want anyone hurt here because of you.

“Please, Pa. Just leave us alone. I… I want to be with Arthur,” you murmur. It’s harder to say as you look at your father’s hand clenching over his wound. You’re not even sure if you mean it yourself. But Arthur is your reality now. Whether you like it or not.

Your mother starts to cry louder now. You blink, holding back the loud noise of your emotions. You drop your bag, hugging your family tight in one strong motion, letting them hold you tightly. Your fathers blood stains your cheek but you don’t care. Your mother brushes it off your cheek.

You want to hold them for as long as you can. Your mother shakes against you and your father kisses your hair. You separate yourself slowly. You want to keep this moment forever. Maybe you’d see them again, you’d beg and beg Arthur to take you here again. But you doubt he’d say yes. Or even worse, your family would refuse to see you, the disgrace you’d be after leaving with Arthur.

“You don’t have to go with him…” Your mother pets your hair. You shake your head.

“Yes, I do. Pa’s already hurt, I can’t-” You can’t see anymore of this. You know he’ll survive this, he has survived worse. But you don’t want anyone else getting hurt on your account. Your mother and father tell you they love you. At least someone in this room has the sentiment in them to say it to your face. You tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, sniffing quietly.

“I’ll be ok, I promise,” you bid, trying to soothe their worries but it’s like they don’t hear you at all, as if you said nothing. You back up, one step at a time before you’re taking your things in both hands again, clutching at the wooden handle of your case like it's the only thing keeping you from floating away. Arthur has his revolver in his holster now. You give them a parting look, trying to absorb as many memories of your childhood as you can, before Arthur guides you out of the door.

The cold greets you again, you pull his coat around you tighter, letting him help you up into the wagon after he places your things in the back of the cart. You hardly look at him, instead watching your parents delicately step outside to watch helplessly as you ride away with Arthur. You can hardly stand to watch as your mother falls in a heap on the cold snow. Your father looks on, a devastation is made clear in his defeated posture, his somber gaze. You bring yourself to do it anyway, looking until you can’t see them anymore.

You don’t talk with Arthur. There’s a stiff air between the both of you. Any minute amount of companionship or whatever fake love he made you feel is gone. He has told your parents what happened, and threatened to kill them if they didn’t let you go. You don’t know what you had imagined when you first arrived at your parents house but it wasn’t this. You had prayed things wouldn’t end in blood but perhaps you were too hopeful to expect Arthur to keep his nature in check.

The clouds from earlier seem to have blown away for now. The winter sun is starting to dip lower, an orange hue lights the horizon beyond the dark trunks of the bare trees.

Arthur lets you have your space and some time to stew but he’s had enough. He heaves a sigh, like he knows you’ll be upset with him. But acting as if it’s unfair that you’re not in the best mood has you just about ready to slap him; consequences be damned.

“Listen, I didn’t want things to go that way,” his voice is hardly apologetic, some stuck on emotion that isn’t sorry one bit.

“So you didn’t mean to shoot my father? Arthur, don’t…I think you’ve said and done enough today,” you warn. You don’t want to listen to him talk. It's like he just likes the sound of his own voice right now more than anything.

“What did you say to your mama anyway? You tell her I held you down? That I violated you? Or you tell her how much you like my tongue inside your-“

“Arthur! Stop it. I- I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to,” you pull your collar to the side but only slightly. You show him the mark he left on you. “She certainly understood the message,” you want to cry, to show him the angry tears dripping down your face.

“I’m just lucky you didn’t leave my father’s neck a bloody stump, aren’t I?” You spit at him. You let your tears dry, only anger left inside you. A rage you didn’t know you had. An anger you’ve shown him before in brief glimpses when you give him lip but not like this, not quite pushed to the edge as now.

You ignore how his hands tighten on the reins. How his breathing becomes heavier. His eyes track over the mark. A symbol of his supposed ownership. The iris of his eye is such a pretty blue, hidden by the narrowing of his eyes and then the dip of his head, the brim of his hat lowering over them. His body postures, like he wants to act but he holds it all back. His shoulders tense under the brown fur of his coat.

“Maybe my Pa was right, huh? You; Arthur Morgan, can act all high and mighty, but I’m not sure you’re a man at all either,” you let yourself continue, not minding Arthur’s reaction which is about to boil over on you. “I’m not sure men are supposed to act anything like-”

Your defiant tone is clipped short by his hand on your face, the fingers are tight on your cheeks. It doesn’t hurt you but he holds you in place, pinned down like a lamb to be sheared. His eyes are cold now, his face is frighteningly neutral. He makes you look him in his eyes, meeting his frosted gaze. The anger in your face dissolves like sugar in water. Replaced by the surprise of his sudden action.

“Yeah, you are lucky I didn’t blow his head off, leave his brain on the wall for your Mama to scrape off with a goddamn spoon,” his voice is rough and low, touching something in your head that drains all the anger, some old instinct in you. But not a new one, one you’ve had before. Melting into him, the way you did the first time he grabbed you, he held you against the counter. “As for my manhood; I ain’t got nothin’ to prove. But you’re all too familiar with mine, ain’t you, girl?” You burn red hot at his derisive question.

His eyes are focused in a quiet rage, but he shakes his head, as if thinking of something, of a better way to handle it. Hopefully for your sake; something not too rash. Then he moves his sharp gaze to the lonely woods behind you.

“If you want to try and run now, by all means. Be my guest,” it’s maybe the last thing you would think he’d say. It’s against everything he’s done to you, you give him a look, bewildered. No way Arthur would let you go so fast. You’re almost confused but you wait for his catch. Things with Arthur are never so easy.

“But if I catch you, you’re mine,” A strange smirk and a cruel glare are what he offers. That easy cockiness returns to him, his sure attitude, the certainty in his brow. The leather of his gloves is cold on your face still. It’s a game he wants to play with you, a challenge. As if delighted by his own idea, he grins a bit wider.

“I’ll make it fair and easy, how ‘bout it? I give you a chance to get away. And if you do, I’ll go home empty handed, hell I’ll even leave all your stuff here and send your horse back to ya.”

“But I catch you; you come home with me. And you won’t be leavin’ me,” you stare at him, unsure and afraid. He’s giving you one shot at freedom. To leave him behind and go back to your mother and father.

“Arthur, can’t you see you’ve already gotten what you wanted?” you protest lightly. The imagery of besting him, the strong and capable Arthur Morgan does call to you but something isn’t right.

“You want things to be fair; I’m makin’ them fair. You keep actin’ like you don’t want this, like you don’t want me. Now’s your chance to prove it,” Each word he says is dipped in his frustration. He isn’t quite satisfied with how things went in your family’s cabin as much as you thought he would be.

“C’mon, angel,” he sighs, he looks excited. His breath comes heavier, faster. His eyes are blown wide, eclipsing his summer blue and prairie green eyes with darkness like the coldest winter. He’s grinning, pressing into you, his hand pinches at the softness of your cheeks. Not enough to hurt you. Only to remind you of his strength, his tenacity.

His hand floats down to your neck, yours comes up to hold his wrist. He looks too excited, happy to chase you, work for you. Show you the lengths he’s willing to go to. At first you’re not too sure why. You prickle; you know something isn’t right but you’re too attracted to the thought of winning his little game.

“Cute little things like you are good at runnin’. I’ll give you a head start,” his hand leaves you and he begins counting. You’re stuck, like your back is glued to the seat of the wagon.

“Two…Three…” you turn like a brush animal, jumping from the wagon and stumbling a bit before you’re running into the woods.

The rest of the numbers ring out eerily in the quiet of the woods before they fade into the background. Your heart jumps into your throat. He’s serious about this. You pant, lungs burning with cold air, fear pushes at your heels. His coat is heavy on your shoulders but you don’t want to die of hypothermia should you toss it in your haste. You gather it up, before sprinting as fast as you can. The sun's orange light is fading fast but you pay it no mind, kicking up your legs to carry you as far away as you can.

The light snow crunches under your feet and you run into the depths of the woods, where animals sense your coming and rush off, knowing a predator is stalking. You look behind you, face screwed up in fear, adrenaline almost makes you stand still. You can’t see him and you didn’t bother to ask how much time he would give you. Arthur isn’t always the giving type but you hope he has a shred of mercy for you. You think perhaps this is the exception.

Like a deer looking up at the smallest sound. You rush off, trying to pace your running. Eventually, your legs tire, your side hurts and your nose and lungs start to ache from the cold dry air flowing through them. You lean against a tree a moment, panting, feeling warm, uncomfortable in the fur of the coat. Your thoughts run dry like a dusty river bed, all you can think of is escaping. Getting away from Arthur.

You keep going for as long as you can but fatigue pulls at the muscles of your legs and thighs. You continue, looking for somewhere to hide at least. It’s quiet, no birds, no animals, no wind to even sway the branches of the trees. All you can hear is your own blood, your own breath. The puff of your gasping into the winter air clouds up before your eyes.

You look out at the trees, black slender trunks that reach far too high for you to climb. All of the brush has decayed for the winter. You see a part of the forest that tilts downwards, perhaps a bit too steep but you don’t have another choice.

You slip down the hill, trying to stay upright. You land in somewhat of a heap, on your behind at the bottom of the hill. There’s a cropping of some rocks and you can find something to hide behind, large enough for you to stay hidden. You cover your mouth, your heart beating under your chest. like you’ve trapped a song bird in your rib cage.

You don’t know what you did to be here. Except perhaps needing help in a vulnerable moment. You kick yourself, you should have just ran down the road back home but in all of your fluster, you ran into the woods, like a scared rabbit. Just to get away. You don’t know what Arthur will do should he find you but you know it won’t be a happy reunion, not a playful meeting like two children playing hide and seek. It will be something else, much more like when a wolf corners a lost animal. A domesticated creature meeting a wild beast of prey.

You wait there for what feels like the longest hours of your life. The sunlight almost disappears, it gets much darker than before, the dusk starts to close in. Especially in the valley of this little hill you hide in. It gets colder as the light fades. Through the quiet, you can hear him, his boots crunch heavily through the snow.

“Y’know, you ain’t any good at covering your tracks,” he steps up to the top of the hill you had gone down. His voice makes your blood run cold, you tense up, as if sensing he’s looking in your direction.

“But I played fair, gave you a little while,” he grunts as he makes his way down the hill. Much less sloppier than you. Your eyes squeeze shut, you clench your hands. You had forgotten all of his hunting trophies, all of the guns he had on display. He set out already knowing he would win. You deliberate bursting from your hiding place or waiting to see if he’ll find you.

In a split second, you’re up on your feet, running in another direction. He’s after you, you’re sure of it, you know you can’t stop. You can feel the desperate noises in your throat. You try to make it as far as you can, but Arthur has his arms, corded in muscle, around your waist. You let out a strangled squeak, as he lifts you off the ground briefly with a scary amount of ease.

“There you are, princess,” he has pride, a self assured happiness. But he isn’t surprised at all. He has you on the ground, even as you struggle against him. “Been lookin for you,” you’re held down in no time at all really, even as you struggle against his grip on you. Arthur is entirely too heavy.

“Settle down, girl, it’s alright,” he’s shushing you. You exhaust yourself, feeling yourself heave and sob in his arms. Why couldn’t he be a bit scrawnier? You wish he were the kind of man who could be easily kicked off but he’s anything but. The adrenaline courses through you, making you jitter but all you can feel is the defeat. Quiet resignation calms you down, letting yourself go in his arms. He’s much too strong for you to put up any real challenge. You should have known he had this in mind, an easy win.

“I got what’s mine. My wife…” He mutters, gloved hands petting your hair. The satisfaction in his voice sends shivers down your spine, the dredges of what feeling you had for him stir, even after his treatment of you and your parents. You wiggle, whining, trying to shake his hand off if you. Your heart beats faster at his words. His wife. You don’t want it to have an effect on you but you can’t help it, wincing in embarrassment. You watch helplessly as he bites his gloves off his hands, clearly intent on feeling every bit of you with nothing between your skin and the heat of his fingertips.

“Deals a deal, sweetheart, ain’t much else to it,” he sighs, a sarcastic disappointment in his voice. His face is so close to yours, he puts some of his weight on you to keep your half hearted thrashing to a minimum. You try to give him all you can in the way of defiance. But you know Arthur. He won’t let you go. This is his commitment to you.

His hips jolt, nudge your thigh provocatively. And you just now realize how his breathing hasn’t slowed down like yours. His eyes are wild, still swallowed in the black of his pupils, a crooked smirk pushes at his lips. You should have known better than to think Arthur would lose this hunt. He was destined to win. And you were always going to be the prey he would catch.

I would like to thank Twistidkiwi over on ao3 for the arthur hunting you idea, it was just... too good 🥹🥹🥹🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ thank you queen!! i hope you guys liked it!! i would just let arthur get my ass after like 3 miinutes of chasing me LOL ohhh nooo you caught me 😳thank you so much for reading and lmk what you think !! until ch 10 😏Series Masterlist

[micahs-chin-scar]

There's something funny yet tragic about people viewing Micah as such an embodiment of evil that even in one of his most vulnerable and human moments, when he asks Mary-Beth for a dance - hesitating beforehand, stuttering as he speaks, weakly protesting that he's "not a monster", then walking away visibly dejected by her rejection - they'll still find some way to spin it into him being a master manipulator or something

[a-boy-called-micah]

.

[bigboy-lovers-unite-writes]

Imagine slapping their asses 🙏🙏

•Dutch; immediately pissed off, depends on who slapped his ass, he might push his cigar into their arm or something out of anger. Will grumble if it's his partner and shoo them away, smokes enough cigarettes after that to take away ten years on his life (it definitely made a camp deafening sound when they slapped it)

•Arthur; the most shocked face ever, just has to stand there for a minute to figure out whatever the fuck just happened. Will stumble over his words, before glaring at the person and chest bump them a few times, but secretly he's nearly popping a boner 💔💔

•John; eye twitches, trying to hold back grabbing his revolver and threatening the person. Says something sarcastic and crosses his arms like the dumb child he is. Will definitely be so damn embarrassed that he flushes as red as Sean's hair. Definitely blabs about it to Abigail later and gets huffy when she laughs

•Hosea; jumps a foot in the air and his body bends like a banana 😭 he's not mad, he'd never get mad, but he is a bit embarrassed about that. He sighs softly, tells a little story about his youth and how he would be able to handle it when he was younger as he rubbed his sore ass, then says he's too old for all that 🫶🫶

•Javier; yells out the loudest Spanish he's ever said, nearly falls forward from the shock of it as both hands go to cover his ass. Can't see it since he pulls his poncho up over his entire face, but he is burning bright red and thinking about it for the rest of the month. Will never trust being around the person again, will side eye them and cover his ass with anything if he's around them again 😢

•Bill; Two different ways this could go. One, he's drunk as a bitch and he hurls a beer bottle them and starts cursing and chasing them all over yelling about how he's no queer, even if it was a woman that slapped his ass, or he will just glare and threaten them a little bit and try to intimidate them if by god he's not drunk

•Kieran; actually stands up straight for once instead of being like a shrimp literally 24/7. Looks like a bug when you pick up a rock, eyes all wide and face flushed even pinker than it usually already naturally is. Definitely looks spaced out the rest of the day, probably can't stop thinking about it for sure

•Sean; gasps and is completely over dramatic, falling and pulling whoever slapped his ass down with him. Definitely tells everyone that the person slapped his ass, and he sounds strangely proud about it too..

•Lenny; poor boy doesn't know what to do, he's stuttering and gripping at his favorite book that he was reading, glancing around as he tried to say something. Might quirk a smile after a while, but it's whenever that person isn't around (he's so embarrassed don't do it again he can't handle it 💔)

•Micah; immediately cracks up and dares the person to slap his ass again, sticking it out slightly. He then promptly slaps that person's ass twenty times harder than they slapped his. It becomes a little game between the two whenever they see each other

•Charles; the absolute politest, might get a bit grumbly. 'oh my' is the first words outta his mouth 😭 will ask them why they did that and if it was supposed to be funny. He's like a mother in this sense, but also can't stop grinning since he actually liked it ❤️

[meo-eiru]

OK SO my goodnight arts are usually stuff I think you guys would enjoy as well but this time I decided to do something for myself, went back to my roots and used Micah for color study again like the first time I drew him

Since I posted a speedpaint of an old painting right before this I thought I could record my process with this too. It's a bit lacking because i started recording after the first sketch and then added in some additional touch ups afterwards but here you go

I almost never use gradient maps but I thought this would be a good chance to try them out!

[johnpriceslamb]

arthur morgan + back shots🙏

suggestive content under the cut. MDNI.

The headboard of the bed banged onto the thin, hotel wall.

A rough, calloused hand muffled your mouth as his other hand grabs a fist full of your hair— practically forcing your back to be arched.

After a long train robbery, with Micah pulling at his last straws and the amount of people he had to deal with, this was his reward. The anger within him diminished into a small ball once he heard your shy, meek request in going to a hotel from the gang to have a break. What he didn’t know, was that soft laced matching set which delicately rested on your perfect figure.

“Yeah? Yeah? Feel that, sweetheart?” The hand which held the fistful of your hair travels down to where his cock shaped into you too well- the bump forming in your stomach reappearing each time he thrusted deeper into your tight, velvety walls. He presses his fingers down, hearing your muffled gasps and cries.

You sobbed into his hand when his hips slammed into yours multiple times, which lead to his fingers coming back to hold your hair to pull you back further into his touch. The tip of his drooling member reaching places you’ve never thought existed, pre-cum spilling.

The walls were thin, but so was his restraint in fucking you till you couldn’t think.

“What a— ffuu— What a real good girl you are,” he leans a down to grunt in your ear, gently nipping it. You unconsciously tighten around him at the praise, which lead to him deliciously groaning right in your ears. That sound alone could make you cum.

The bristles of his stubble graze your skin which made you softly whine. He peers down to admire your sweaty, sticky body only to bite his lip hard once seeing your plump ass. His hand travels down to roughly grab it, watching it bounce as his dick slams into you.

“Hnnn..” He grunts lowly, a slow smirk forming on his face as he feels your walls tighten. You were so close, too close. Drool escapes your mouth as his pace became slower, yet the everlasting thrusts become so much more harder. You could feel every vein on his cock drag. Your nails claw at the bedsheets below you. Finally, his hand leaves your mouth to place on both your hips to allow him to practically re-arrange your guts.

Your sweet moans were echoing throughout the walls, he ushers you to be quiet but it was far too difficult considering how he was handling you.

“P—please..” You babble incoherently, long lashes dripping with tears from the pleasure he’s giving you. You don’t have to finish your sentence because he knew all too well of what you needed. His fingers come below to find that sensitive bundle of flesh which was in need of attention, rubbing figure 8’s on it.

Your tight walls spasm around him, hands clenching on the bedsheets tightly with your doe-y eyes rolling backing— his other hand frantically grabbing your chin to turn your head around so he could see the expression etched on your delicate face. A series of cum coats his cock like a white rimmed halo, from that alone was your spend.

“Darlin’,” He kisses your cheek, “Where do i—”

“Inside,” You softly whimper, “Please, fill me.”

Whatever his baby girl wanted, she got. A few more rough slams and his climax came quickly, dripping inside of you. It filled you to the brim. Hot, wet, and sticky.

With just a few last pumps, the movement of his hips stop. He doesn’t remove it, rather he buries himself deeper inside your sensitive little hole. Any movement from him etched out a tiny whine.

A sleepy smile formed on your face as you watch his burly figure come into your vision. He handles you so delicately afterwards, watching his soaked fingers from the prepping he did beforehand cup your face to place a small kiss on your lips.

“Needed that.” He mumbles lowly.

“You’re welcome..” You quietly whisper back.

A moment of silence occurs.

His cock hardens inside you again.

<3

[jackdup]

So, y’know that universal “I just made a girl cry; I hope I die” feeling? That was pretty much how Timothy felt about Micah.

No weird implications here or anything, b-t-dubs. Just to be . . . totally, one hundred percent clear about all that, since Tim freakin’ knew people loved taking absolutely any thought and twisting it negatively (and screw you, okay— maaaaybe a bit hypocritical considering his own . . . pessimism; whatevs). The real point that should be obvious enough to blind the nitpicky, “I’m gonna look for reasons to be upset” folks was that Micah wasn’t supposed to cry, okay? Hell, Timmy would prefer making some sweet little girl sob over seeing that telling shimmer in Micah’s eyes, and whether that said more about him as a person or them . . . Who could say? All he knew was that when the dim light of the stars hit them just right, he saw that something about their conversation had affected them. And the gut reaction had absolutely been Oh god, no. What did I say? What did I do? I can fix whatever it was; just tell me.

Just. Please don’t cry.

If he channeled his inner Jack (ugh, wow, worst thought to ever cross his mind; but he did have something like that, didn’t he?), he would’ve laughed at the display. Probably done a little more than just “poke fun” and straight-up humiliate the poor thing. Emotions are for babies or something or some-such. Super that Timmy’s apparent “defense mechanism” against situations he didn’t know how to navigate was to just be Jack, but he’d address that little nugget . . . later. Possibly. For now, he swallows that entire ball of nerves lodged in his throat like it’s building a home there and faces the next quavering words that greet him: those that . . . partially explain where the solemn atmosphere came from.

And now he doesn’t know whether it’s the Jack influence or his genuine self that nearly blurts, Seriously? You’re worried about that? But it had two very different tones separating it, and the one Timmy felt the strongest wasn’t even remotely on the side of judgmental. . . . Let’s be real, kiddos, it was definitely that typical shock all but punching him in the face: the shock that someone like Micah cared about him so friggin’ much.

I’d like to make more memories with you.

Y’know . . . there were days—oh, there were countless days—Timothy wondered what the actual crap he was doing, where he was going, what the point even was . . . Maybe, through people like Micah, he was finally finding that “point”: that reason.

Sheesh, when did he become such a sorry sap? (Micah’s influence . . . ? Tim could live with that.)

They call him kind again. Something flutters clumsily in his chest. “Yeah, uh— That’s a relief,” Timmy finally breaks through his stunned quiet, though his voice is practically a croak that’d make a guy wonder if he gargled frogs as a hobby. There’s more he can say here. God, there’s so much more. But all he ends up murmuring next as a hand lightly squeezes his is “You really don’t deserve anything less than that.” Because they deserve a lot more. Insanely more than anything Timothy could ever offer them, but if Micah manages to still find happiness and worth in what they have . . . well, hell, he’s not about to complain. (And they make him want to try harder.)

Tim expels a long, low breath that cuts through the lingering heaviness in the air, and when Micah expresses their desire to rest, his laugh comes breezy. Light. Soft. “For you, Micah? Willing to give it my best shot.” He pulls them closer, readjusts to welcome more of their weight against him. “You go ahead, alright? I’m gonna stay up a bit longer, but I’ll, uh . . . I’ll keep an eye out for both of us and try not to wake you.” Timothy smiles, full and genuine. “Get some sleep; I got you.”

I laugh more when you tease that I don't seem to be the type to conquer. I take your hand and give it a light squeeze for that before I rest myself against you once more. "Oh, I'd be the best conqueror to exist, Timmy! The kindest one at that!" I play along in feigned serious tone, covering my face on your lap as an attempt to my hide silliness, albeit failing when my giggles are still audible, but muffled against the soft material. When you start to ramble onward, I rest my head on your legs and stare up at you with the stars above your head, my expression puzzled. I try to make sense of your words. I'm aware that it isn't always possible for anyone to be able to stay with me for long. I find a prominent pattern in my life that not many do or can not be part of my life after a certain period of time. I'd be betrayed or abandoned by some, the rest would... die.

It is one of the reasons why I always try to remain as bright and loving as possible to those I know. Because if someone have to leave my life by choice or force, I want them to remember that they will always be loved by people, like myself. I do not want anyone to especially die feeling lost and alone, like they have not done enough─ they are still not good enough. A terrifying thought flickers across my mind: I don't want you to die so soon. I find myself smaller at the inner pain that ripples through me and I sit up, my sad gaze dwells over my hands that reaches to hold onto the soft blanket, squeezing it for comfort. I know everyone will have to die one day, but I hope you won't leave so soon. I hope we can at least travel across the space just this once as we have made many memories for me to love and cherish closely before and after your death.

"Well," I start, quiet, trying to keep my voice unshaky, "If you're not here when I reach to the point of being able to travel in the outer space, I'll be sure to carry something that reminds me of you so we can still be travelling together!" My eyes sting at the soft sentiment and I realize they're tearing up. I quickly rub them with an arm and try to smile at you, yet, the weakness of my effort makes me find how completely vulnerable I appear. I don't hide it, though. I only feebly nod at your musing and rub my hands across the soft blanket over my lap. "Y- yeah, I think it would be nice for us to have an actual plan... I do very much enjoy our small adventures so far. I'd like to make more memories with you," I admit in a whisper, blushing harder. I've never been the kind who hide their emotions and thoughts from others, regardless how close or otherwise.

I just want you to know by this, ultimately, that I truly love to be with you and I would love to have more chances of being with you until death takes us apart. Us being like the sun and the moon together does have a kind ring to it, I think while I hear your laughter. My heart flutters at the sound and I shift my seat, listening to you further. When I was a child, I knew a lot of people who have hurt and abandoned me. These days, I've known most who were skeptical and closed off. In this kind of a world where death and destruction are more common than life and love, I can understand why many are much more familiar with violence itself than everything else. I do notice how you seem to be placing yourself down when I am only saying the most truth about you: You are indeed a wonderful friend─ overall, an amazing person.

I always think it is not the easiest to be kind, even after everything that would happen. Kindness only takes so much strength, a significant amount of it. The world would often ask me this, how is it possible that I can still be kind despite all of this burning? The guilt and grief. The ugly knowing that anyone can hurt me at anytime in the end. Even when I know so much about betrayal and abandonment since I was a child, I still smile anyway, weakly, but still brightly. I am not afraid of being hurt as I am being kind. I am only afraid of the possibility that my kindness would not be enough for anyone. "I've known a lot of bad people across my life, with some who does have valid reasons being so. But, in comparison to them, you're so much more kinder, and that means a lot to me." You can be irritable or sarcastic, but you're never cruel. You're good enough.

It makes me wonder what kind of people have you known. You mentioned how you would attract "bastards" and being associated with them, but just how bad were they? I truly hope they weren't the kind of people who have hurt you terribly, though, by the uncertainty you hold and how you lack confidence often times, my heart ache thinking you likely didn't have many good people in your life. "If anyone’s the ‘wonderful friend’ around here, though, it’s you." From the tears I had, my eyes shimmer more by your sweet words. A weak laughter escapes me and I feel like I'm on fire by how much my cheeks keep burning by your kindness. But nothing hurts. I just feel so safe with you. "We can be wonderful friends together," I say, my voice still soft, and I hold your hand. Unlike before, I don't let you go. "Thank you so much for being my friend, Timothy."

A yawn falls, indicating my exhaustion as my system and I need to sleep. "We should rest now." I don't feel like moving, however. I feel myself too comfortable by your side. Sleepy giggles leave me as I nuzzle your shoulder. "Have a good dream for me, okay?"

I most look forward to having a new day with you, friend.

It will be as delightful as it was tonight─ as the rest of our time together to the end.

[clauscielo]

⊰⊹ pure, uncorrupted

pairing: arthur morgan & virgin!reader.

summary: you are too pure, too naive. and he hates to see other men fantasizing about tainting you. so, before someone else does - he decides to do it himself.

warnings: mentions of rape/sexual abuse, past physical/psychological abuse, corruption kink, arthur takes reader's virginity, arthur is protective, but lonely and hates himself. legal age gap, oral sex (fem receiving), p-in-v sex, loving sex, creampie - english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes!

he would never forget that day. trelawny had told them a few weeks earlier that, southwest of valentine, just a mile from the village, there was a farm: two houses and a barn. trelawny claimed there was a large amount of money hidden there, illegitimately earned by the family.   

that's why they went. micah, bill and arthur set out into the night, riding toward that farm. thieves robbing thieves.   

the family consisted of a father and two sons. they had no choice but to wipe them all out. arthur had never liked to take the lives of innocent people, but these people... they didn't feel right.   

the house was very untidy inside, grimy, and there was a padlocked door on the upper floor. while micah and bill ransacked the downstairs, he took a look at the bedrooms, and of course, kicked in the locked room door.   

you were in there. cowering on the bed, pressed against the wall, shivering and sobbing. you had heard gunshots and banging, you had tried your best not to make any noise, but they had found you. arthur was perplexed. he studied you for a few seconds, processing the situation: this family had you locked in this room. you were wearing torn and dirty rags, and your room was even more neglected. there were flies, food from days ago, and only one bed in the room.   

“it's okay, it's okay. i ain't gonna hurt you,” he finally said, slowly approaching you.   

micah arrived shortly after, and a crooked smile came across his face.   

“well look at this, morgan! i say we have some fun. bill, get up here!” his cruel words irritated arthur deeply.   

“get out of here, you foul thing! wait downstairs!” he raised his voice, and micah only let out a challenging laugh. still, he obeyed, after arthur shot him a menacing glare. 

you, still shaking and weeping on the bed, watched him. the thought that the man in front of you had protected you from the others, soothed you a little.   

arthur couldn't kill you. how could he kill you? it wasn't an option.   

“what are you doing here, girl?” he moved a little closer and noticed that one of your legs was covered in bruises.   

“i-i was... grounded,” you mumbled, between sobs. arthur frowned and clicked his tongue.   

“were those your father and brothers?” he asked, his hand hesitantly stroking your forearm, seeking to calm you.   

you nodded, hot, copious tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. he sighed.  

“they're dead. i'm sorry,” he began, and his heart shrank at your obvious expression of relief. “you can come with us, we won't hurt you. we'll take you to valentine,” he added.  

you nodded, raising your arms toward him. arthur accepted the gesture, and with his strong hands on your armpits, he lifted you and carried you in his arms, heading for his horse.   

you refused to stay in valentine that night. you begged again and again to be taken with them. and this snarling, distrustful outlaw, softened at the image of you, a forlorn young woman alone in this world that had so embittered him over the years.   

“we're taking her,” arthur said to the other men.   

“morgan! we can't afford another mouth to feed!” bill protested.   

“we're taking her,” he insisted, his tone firm and intimidating, and the others snorted.   

 it had been months since that night. you were accepted into the gang of outlaws arthur lived with, but you had a hard time adjusting. you developed an unhealthy attachment to the man who had rescued you, who you considered your hero. whenever arthur was in camp, you followed him, trying to talk to him. being close made you feel better. but he was very cold most of the time.   

“girl, really, you need to leave me alone. what d'ya want now?” he said, his tone showing irritation, when you approached to talk to him for the tenth time today.   

 your smile vanished, your expression transforming into one of pain and embarrassment. you blushed and lowered your gaze, and before you could say anything, he snorted heavily.   

 “i'm sorry. i'm sorry, i just like to be alone, you know that,” he replied, exasperated. 

 you fiddled anxiously with the edge of your blouse, pursing your lips sheepishly.  

“i just wanted to be with you for a little while,” your voice came out shaky and low. arthur's heart almost melted.   

“come,” he said, curtly, sitting down on his bed.   

“no, n-no need. i'm sorry to disturb you.”   

“come,” he repeated, louder now, as a demand.   

 you shrank back but obeyed and sat down next to him. he looked at you, his blue eyes scrutinizing your sad, anxious expression, his frown easing.   

“i can't be with you all the time,” he explained. your lip quivered, and you nodded.   

“i know. i know. i'm sorry.”  

“it's not because i don’t want to. it's because this... this thing you got with me, it can't go on,” he said, his hand stroking your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear, his actions contradicting his words. “you're gonna have to leave here someday. and if we don't stop this in time...” his words trailed off.   

“i don't want to leave.”   

“you're absolutely gonna leave. don't be silly. you don't belong in this kind of life. when you get your strength back, i want you out of here.”

 you looked at him, wide-eyed, silent.   

“don't look at me like that,” he spat, annoyed. but a second later, he sighed. “we're not doing you any good. not me, not anyone here. you understand that, don't you?”   

“i don't have anyone else. i'll be alone,” you said, your heart racing with fear.   

 arthur stroked your cheek, thoughtfully. he had grown so fond of you these past few months, that he could hardly imagine his life without you anymore. but the rational part of him knew you had no future here, not with someone like him.   

 that's why he pushed you away. that's why he tried to ignore you. he couldn't stand seeing the way you looked at him, like he was a hero, a savior. because arthur was nothing like that. arthur was a criminal, a murderer, a ruthless, bitter, outlaw with no future, someone who only brought tragedy into people's lives.   

“i don't like it when you're this mean to me,” you muttered, pouting, still hurt by how he had greeted you when you came.   

“i know. forgive me,” he whispered, looking at your hand. he wanted to take it, to feel it, but didn't dare to.   

 weeks passed. arthur hated the way the men looked at you. micah, especially. that sick, deranged bastard. he mocked your innocence, your naivety.   

“well, i've been dying to deflower that little lassie, the new one. ever since we saw her at the farm i been saying we have fun with her, but morgan won't let us,” protested micah, sipping from his bottle of whiskey, one night by the fire.   

“do you think she's a virgin?” javier replied with curiosity.  

“please!” interjected bill, laughing. “that girl doesn't even know what screwing is.”   

 “of course she doesn't. i told her to blow me the other day and she just looked at me with those dopey eyes of hers,” micah cackled.   

 arthur overheard the conversation and felt his insides boil. listening to those nasty old men, talking so crudely about a young, proper lady like you, made him sick.   

 “what the fuck are you talking about?” arthur snarled. he snatched the whiskey bottle from micah's hand and faced him, with an annihilating glare. “if you ever talk about her like that again, you better make sure i don't hear. or i'll cut that throat of yours so you never say a fucking word again,” he said, his voice low and intense, getting micah to turn away, letting out a nervous laugh.   

 he retreated to his tent, furious, and was startled to find you there. he put his hand to his chest and shook his head. “what are you doing here, you want to scare me to death?” he wheezed, anger still boiling inside him.   

 you looked at him with a smile and showed him a flower crown in your hands. “look what i did,” you declared, proudly, your eyes on his, perhaps seeking approval in his expression. he eased back and couldn't hide a soft smile, gentle and loving. he took the floral diadem and placed it on your head.   

 “beautiful,” he whispered. you blushed heavily and pressed your lips together, excited.  

“i was reading and in the book, it explained how to make it and what flowers were ideal for it. i think it turned out really pretty,” you explained.   

 “yes. it looks very pretty. but you should be sleeping,” he scolded you.

 “i'm sorry. i was excited and wanted to wait for you to come back,” you defended yourself. he smiled.   

 he couldn't help but bring his hands to your face. you were so precious, so candid and credulous. and those abhorrent men were talking about deflowering you just a few minutes ago... it made him feel like throwing up.   

the affectionate gesture surprised you. your cheeks grew warmer. “what's wrong?” you asked, uneasy, and he dropped his hands to either side of his body.   

 “nothing. nothing,” he huffed, rubbing his face with his hand, frustrated, confused.   

 he knew he didn't do you any good. but how could he let you go? the world was full of disgusting men like micah. men who wouldn't hesitate to hurt this girl he had come to love.   

 he pushed past you and sat down on his bed.   

 “i want you to keep away from micah no matter what, do you understand? whatever he says to you. you stay away. and if he bothers you, you come and tell me immediately,” he said, without looking at you, his tone stern.   

 you didn't answer, you just nodded. you would do anything this man asked of you.   

 “are you sad?” you asked, moving closer to him. arthur was slow to answer, still not looking you in the eye.   

 “yeah. i am,” he admitted, sighing. you sat down next to him, and hugged him, trying to comfort him and also, seeking solace.   

arthur wanted to push you away, to scold you for invading his space, to urge you to leave him alone. but he couldn't do that anymore. he didn't want you to leave, and each and every time he had asked you to stay away, he had betrayed himself. he let himself enjoy your touch, your scent, and your warmth for the first time. he closed his eyes and leaned in slightly, sliding his arms around you.   

 “forgive me for being a sorry son of a bitch to you,” he whispered, very remorseful.   

“it's okay. forgive me for always being annoying.”   

 “you're not annoying. don't ever say that again,” he replied, his chest vibrating against yours every time his husky voice made itself heard. “i've been a real jerk.”   

 you fell silent. you didn't understand what this was about. and arthur was grateful for your ignorance. he wouldn't know how to comfort you, how to make you forget those nauseating words if you had heard how you were spoken of before.   

 “i need to lie down, sweetheart. i'm very tired,” he mumbled, pulling away a little. the affectionate nickname made your heart skip a beat. you nodded, watching him lie down, his expression one of displeasure.   

 “can i stay with you?” you whispered, fearful that he would say no. but he nodded without hesitation, and you settled in next to him. his heart was about to burst out of his chest. he let you snuggle up to him, and his arm slipped loosely around your waist.   

 “gonna stop by saint denis tomorrow to run some errands. wanna come with me?” he asked, and you looked up at him, your eyes widening with excitement.   

 “really?” arthur let out a chuckle and confirmed. “yes, please. i'd like that very much.”   

your excitement stirred something inside him. he felt a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. such a sweet being like you...and your father and brothers had you locked in a filthy room, only to be discovered by men who just wanted to fuck you and leave you stranded. what would have become of you if he hadn't gone and robbed that farm with the others that night?   

“okay, sweetheart.” he used the nickname again, which made you grin like a fool. “i'm gonna sleep now, okay?” he said, and stretched his arm over you, reaching over to the bedside table to put a glass over the candle to put it out.   

 you pouted, and rested your head on his chest. “okay,” you whispered back, closing your eyes.   

 arthur was trying to hide it, but he was so nervous. it had been ages since he'd been this close to a woman, let alone a woman such as yourself. his pants had started to tighten since you first curled up with him, though he tried to act normal, his heart pounding in his chest.   

innocently, you ran a leg over his thigh, sighing. his arm tightened around your waist. he was restless, tense, and kept shifting his posture every few minutes.   

 inevitably, his eyes opened in the darkness. he couldn't sleep.   

“i like being like this with you,” you whispered when you noticed he was still awake. “it gives me... this nice, funny feeling in my tummy,” you added, and arthur let out a shaky sigh.   

“oh, yeah...?” he replied, absently, your words replaying in his mind.   

 “yes... it always happens to me when i'm around you,” you confessed, your candid statement making his cock grow harder in his pants.   

“don't get used to it,” he growled. you looked up, saddened.   

 “don't you like being like this, together?” you asked, your voice low and apologetic. arthur exhaled hoarsely.   

 “too much, darlin'. too much,” he admitted, without looking at you. he was getting carried away.   

 you slid slowly onto his lap, and his breath hitched.   

 “what in the world are you doing?” he whispered. he panicked, feeling your pelvis right on top of his erection, which he had been trying to hide all this time.   

 “i want to be real close to you,” you whispered. “do you mind?”   

 he looked at you with pleading eyes and shook his head, he was speechless. he tried to push you away, but his hands wouldn't move.

 “the book talked about this too... about men, women...” you began, your voice shy as you explained.   

 “no. we're not doing this, girl,” he protested. but he didn't really mean it. the least he wanted right now was for you to get off of him.   

 “please...” you begged. “i just want to know how it feels.”   

 his face was burning, his cock throbbing desperately in his pants, needing urgent relief. so you were indeed a virgin.   

 this wasn't right. he wouldn't take advantage of you.   

 “why?” you wanted to know.   

 “you're a virgin,” he declared, in a low gasp. you didn't respond, just shrank back a tiny bit, with shame. “my god, you're a virgin... no, i... i can't. i can't.” he covered his face.   

 arthur had never been with a virgin before. let alone a virgin with a life like yours. were you even aware of the importance of what you were asking? 

 “oh, don't do this to me, please,” he whimpered, his hands sliding over your thighs, down to your buttocks. you blushed and let out a sigh of pleasure, rolling your hips against his, trying to ease the burning between your legs. arthur let out a low moan, his eyes half closed, his cheeks red.   

 “baby... we can't... not with me,” he whispered, desperate.  

“i want it to be with you,” you murmured. and he had no more strength to resist.   

“do... do you want me to put it inside you?” he asked, pressing his pelvis against yours, making you feel his whole erection, warm and big against you.   

 “yes, please...” you begged.   

 “oh, sweetheart...” he swallowed, flustered. it had been so long since he'd last had sex, and now he had a beautiful, untouched woman in his lap, begging to be fucked. it felt like a goddamn dream. and he felt disgusting about it, but he was so turned on by the idea of taking your virginity. he felt like a hypocrite.   

 his hand slid down your ass cheek and under your nightgown. his fingers reached for your panties, his arm around your leg to touch you.   

 “you're so wet,” he murmured. he closed his eyes for a moment, the heat feeling a little overwhelming. “take off your nightgown, baby.”   

 obedient, you removed the garment slowly, remaining in his lap, your body covered only by your bra and panties. arthur exhaled, salivating, his gaze gliding over every inch of your exposed skin.   

 “you are exquisite,” he said to himself, almost as a reproach. he shouldn't have to be doing this. but he couldn't stop. he just couldn't. he began to unbutton his shirt. “can i see your tits?” he asked, rhetorically, since he knew that without complaint you would take off your bra. and so you did.   

 his lips and tongue immediately landed on the soft skin of your breasts, after having devoured you with his gaze for a few seconds. his lips left kisses, his tongue caressing and frolicking around your nipples. you moaned and stirred on his lap, immersed in pleasure and desperate for more.   

 he removed his shirt, and eagerly, unbuckled his belt. 

 “gonna get on top, it may hurt a little this way,” he whispered between kisses. you nodded, and let him grab you by the thighs, your arms around his neck as arthur changed position.   

 he laid you down gently, and his hands crawled up your thighs, spreading your legs. his eyes lowered to your crotch, the fabric of your underwear was visibly wet.   

 “darlin'... i'm not gonna last. haven't done this in a long time,” he said, his hands shaking a little, he was so horny he could barely think coherently.   

 “i-it's okay,” you murmured sheepishly.   

 he knelt between your legs, and placed soft, warm kisses on the sensitive skin of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your center. he kissed your pussy over your underwear, and pressed his face to it, inhaling your scent.  

“delicious,” he purred, closing his eyes, sucking and kissing over the fabric. his hands, big and strong, squeezed your flesh, eager to feel you. his right hand traveled down to your crotch, pushing aside the annoying material of your panties. “what a pretty little pussy,” he growled, and glued his mouth to it, licking between your warm wet lips, sucking on your clit, devouring you like a hungry man.   

you moaned, your legs trembling. his hands pressed against your thighs, spreading them wider, and when his fingers left your panties, they again came between you and his touches.   

 “fuck,” he hissed in frustration, and roughly, he yanked them off you, sinking his face back between your legs, parting you wide and devouring you with both intensity and desperation. 

 “i'm going to put my fingers in, okay?” he warned, looking down at you, his beard wet with your juices, his cheeks red. you nodded, your gaze clouded with pleasure. his ring and middle finger teased your sensitive, dilated entrance. slowly he slid them inside, feeling the rough texture of your insides tightening around his thick digits. he moved them slowly inside you, curving and massaging your insides lovingly, while his tongue and lips fed on your juices and moans, sucking on your sensitive, sweet spot.   

 “you're so tight,” he gasped. he pulled away briefly, to pull down his pants. his cock sprung, flushed and swollen, eager for the delicious relief only you could bring him. “look how you got me, baby...” he whispered, wrapping his member in his left hand, squeezing it slowly. “how you get me, always.”   

 your pussy clenched around nothing, feeling emptier than ever. “please... arthur,” you whimpered. he looked at you, unsure, was he really doing this? you deserved better than this. something so much better than this.   

 but the urges in his body were too strong, they absolutely ruled him. he placed his cock against your center, gripping it firmly, and rubbing its tip between your lips, pressing lightly as it met your entrance, tiny but eager.   

 “darlin’... what the hell are we doing?” he said, sliding in just the tip, which was thick enough to make you whimper. “ow... baby.”   

 you felt so full. you looked down, and you could see his thick member, disappearing inside you. your pussy throbbed and squeezed him, unable to adjust to his size. he was huge.   

 before he got it all in, arthur had to pull it out a little. “you're too tight,” he let out a pitiful whimper. “i'm gonna cum.” he added with embarrassment.   

 he pulled out, taking a deep breath. he leaned down to kiss you. he kissed your lips lovingly. god, he'd been so rude, not kissing you all this time. he relished your lips, and you could feel the wetness of his beard against your chin and cheeks. he penetrated you again, and this time he entered you somewhat more easily.   

 “enjoy, sweetheart... just enjoy,” he whispered, watching your face contort in pleasure. he had to close his eyes, imagine the horses, the flowers, the bees, the smell of the barns, or he would cum right there, inside you. he pushed it all the way in, his tip pressing against your cervix. “does it hurt, honey?” 

 “no, no... i... it feels so good...” you moaned. you felt so full, his cock was so thick you felt like there wasn't an inch of you he wasn't touching right now. every little movement of his hips, pressing against yours as he nestled his face into your neck, made you shudder.   

 “fuck... yes, squeeze me like that,” he begged, closing his eyes tighter, starting to move his hips, his hands squeezing your thighs and pressing them against the bed, spreading you wide to penetrate you deeply. “thank you, thank you...” he gasped hoarsely.   

 your small hands clung to him, your nails sinking into the flesh of his back, his big, strong back, as his whole body enveloped and filled you.   

 one of his hands slipped between your bodies, and he began rubbing your clit, each thrust making his member bury itself deep and hard inside you, your tight body giving him no respite.   

 “please tell me you're close. i can't hold on much longer,” his voice sounded strained, cracked. the bed creaked beneath you, his hips slapping against your ass every time he bottomed out inside you. 

 “yes, yes, please don't stop,” you whimpered. his hot, sweaty skin clung to yours, the heat under the sheets thick. his smell, salty and masculine flooded your nostrils, and his cock filled you, again and again, your snug cunt squeezing, sucking him deeper and deeper inside.   

your orgasm was intense. you trembled beneath him, your cries and mewls getting louder, and you writhed, your pussy milking him dry. arthur frowned in concentration, letting out soft grunts and whimpers as he moved within you. he came too, couldn't help it, his legs quivering as well. his thrusts became ragged and desperate, his eyes rolled back slightly as his cum filled you, hot and thick. "oh, god," he whined quietly. his strong arms hugged you closer, pressing you tighter to him as he left you completely full of him.   

 “d-darling,” he gasped, shuddering on top of you, his strokes slowing, until he stopped. his hands, scratchy from work and guns, slid over your sweaty skin and squeezed your breasts and hips, before holding you tight. “don't leave me, please.”

[twola]

Can we have something with possessive/jealous Arthur Morgan? I can never get enough of this plot.

or...something with a pregnant reader? I don't know, I'm in my fertile period. 🙂‍↔️

¿Porque no los dos? Here is a little one~

Seething

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

The match sizzles as it hits the water.

Arthur runs his hand down his face, blinking at the match sink under the lake’s surface, not even interested in the unlit cigarette between his fingers. He shoves it back into his satchel as he loosens a long, worried breath.

Of course - he had known that this was possible. That this could happen. That he could be this stupid again. The worried look on your face when you came to him. The darkness under your eyes. The slipping out of his cot in the early morning you’ve been doing the last couple of weeks.

God damnit, Morgan.

Thoughts of a young waitress and a sandy-haired boy invade his thoughts. Regret, anger, fear, they rage in his gut, a maelstrom of repressed emotion threatening to boil over.

“Leave me alone-”

Your voice cuts through his wallowing like a sharpened knife. Immediately, all sense of his nervousness and pensive thought are gone - replaced by a burning rage - who could be making you yell out like that, threatened, aggrieved? 

“Come on now - honey, you know you want a real man to keep you warm at night.” A slimy, rough voice echoes from the glen where Arthur is quickly moving to. He’s gotten his answer, and as his hand closes on the smooth grip of his revolver, a natural motion whenever he senses danger.

Micah stands far too close to you for any man’s liking, and you scowl up at him from where you have gotten up from your seat on a fallen tree trunk.

You narrow your eyes as his hand closes around your bicep, “Let go of me, Micah.”

Micah smirks, his grimy hand moving up toward your neckline, “Morgan’ll never know -”

Before you can raise your voice at him further, Micah is yanked away from you, his hand around your arm jolts you forward before he lets go, but not before your blouse tears at the shoulder, the seam ripping along your neckline. You yelp as you regain your footing and clutch at the fabric of your blouse, your chemise and the swell of your breast visible before you can scramble to cover yourself.

“Tha’ fuck-?” Micah yells as he is drawn backward in surprise. You stumble a few steps back, the shadowed figure who pulled Micah from you visible now in the afternoon light.

Arthur grabs Micah by the neck, throwing him to the ground with relative ease. Swinging his leg over Micah’s chest, he leans over the man and sneers as he tightens his grip around his throat.

“I ever see you come near her again, I will rip your goddamn throat out.” Arthur threatens, unconcerned as Micah begins to gasp and cough under his iron grip. “You hear that?”

“Morg- ack- Morgan..-” Micah struggles, his hands around Arthur’s forearm, but he cannot move the larger man atop him.

“Arthur-” 

Arthur looks up, his heart racing in the way that a job gets him going - the thrill of the hunt, the joy of the kill. 

You look horrified, clutching at your ripped shirt over your breast.

“Arthur, stop. I’m fine - he - he ain’t worth it.” You breathe out. Arthur scowls in return.

“We’re getting outta camp f’r the night. Come on.” He seethes, dropping Micah as the blonde man gasps for breath on the ground.

-

Arthur does not say a single word to you the entire ride into town. Not when he stomped back to your shared tent. Not when he readied his horse. Not when he lifted you onto the mare’s rump, not when you arrived in town at the hotel, not when he gruffly requested a room and tossed a few coins at the poor clerk. 

Not when he closes the door behind you.

“Arthur.” You finally work up the courage to confront him, your hands clenching the fabric of your skirt at your sides.

He lets out a long, aggravated breath before turning around, pulling that old leather gambler’s hat, and tossing it onto the dresser next to him. He steps closer to you, but again, does not speak.

“Arthur, talk to me.”

“I-...” His hand slowly floats forward to lightly lay upon your belly, the softest, smallest swell beneath your skirts. It’s barely there, but your lover - he knows, he knows the changes in your body. The rounding of your breasts, the thickening of your waist. That swell; cradled above your hips. His child, growing there within you.

“I’m alright.” You try to calm him, covering his hand with your own and pressing it to your belly, “Nothing happened, Arthur. It’s all okay.”

“He touched you. He touched you and you’re… you’re…” He seethes.

“I’m yours.” You breathe, understanding what it is he’s stumbling over getting out, “I’m yours, Arthur. I’m yours and we’re gonna have our baby and everythin’ is going to be okay.”

“Let me…” He whispers roughly, reaching toward the shawl you wrapped over your shoulders to cover your ripped blouse. You shrug the shawl from your frame as he pushes at it gently. 

You’re drawn into his embrace forcefully, yelping slightly before he crushes his lips to yours. Your hands finally land on his biceps, steadying yourself as you return the kiss. At some point, Arthur gets impatient, grunting into your mouth as you feel his hands pull at the ties of your skirts. The fabric flutters to the floor as you start to work your ruined blouse off, gasping as his mouth moves to your neck, nipping with his teeth slightly before he lets you go to undress yourself, the blouse joining your skirt in a pile on the floor. You kick your boots off.

You pull your chemise from your frame, over your head, and throw it aside, and push your bloomers down your hips until they too fall to the floor with the rest of your clothing.

Arthur’s eyes darken, and those huge hands of his reach toward your naked frame. Those hands that murder and maim and steal and shoot.  But you know, as wound tightly as he is right now, those hands of his would never touch you with anything but gentleness.

You’re right, of course, as the back of his pointer finger lightly brushes a lock of your long hair back over your shoulder before his big, warm hand cups one of your breasts. You let out a breath of relief as he squeezes gently, pressing his lips against your forehead.

His other hand smoothes gently over your belly, moving down to that thatch of hair at the apex of your hips, his fingers slipping between your legs and finding your core with all the practiced knowledge of a lover. 

A swipe of those fingers along the seam of your body and he bites his lower lip against a groan when he finds you wet. “C’mon, hows about you lay down in that bed?”

You nod, backing up a few steps to sit on the hotel bed, watching him start to unbutton his work shirt as he kicks his boots off. You lay down as he rids himself of his pants, of his union suit. All six feet of him, scarred and muscular, paces toward the bed, a man on a mission.

Your arms snake around his neck as he climbs on top of you, bracing his weight on his forearms as he gently notches his cock between your folds. He has to stifle a growl at the gasp you make as his cockhead catches the rim of your cunt.

“Y’okay there?” Arthur rumbles, waiting for a response. You nod, opening your legs a little wider for him. He presses forward, the hot, hard inches of him sliding into your body - never forced, just enough pressure to make you throw your head back on the pillow.

Arthur doesn’t smother you, doesn’t plaster his larger body against yours as he usually does, keeping himself up on his forearms and bearing his weight on his knees. As much as he wants to pound into you, to stake his claim, to make you scream his name to prove to the world that you’re his - he doesn’t. He’s gentle, he’s slow.

You sigh contentedly as your fingers work through his hair, your hips moving in tandem with his as he thrusts into your heat. His heady, full rhythm has you nearing completion imminently.

Your heels dig into the base of his spine, and he knows you're about to come. Three more heaving thrusts and his name falls from your mouth as your orgasm licks up your spine, your hands clutching at him desperately as he rides out your high. He dips his head down next to yours and angles his hips downward, completely filling you, and one long exhale finds him releasing into you.

Moments pass, and in the room, the slowing of both of your breaths is the only sound

“All right now?” You pet his sweat-dampened hair before he grunts, extracting himself from you and laying on your side.

He doesn’t respond, not with words, at least.

You take his hand and press it against that soft, small swell of your belly as you close your eyes. You feel him moving next to you and when you feel his warm lips press upon your temple, you know, at least for now, he is all right.

[blvdheart]

one of his many journal entries about you

arthur morgan x fem!reader and male!reader <33

i won’t lie…i have 45 hours on the game and i’m not even past chapter 2 (っ- ‸ – ς) why progress when i can save myself the pending heartbreak and instead admire this pretty man and his journal sketches?

anyways…love all you arthur morgan kissers ♡

“my body doesn’t feel right as of late. my hands are too rough, my face is all wrinkled up, and my voice isn’t all that pleasant. if only i could sound as smooth as i write.

never been the most confident of men, but well, this body’s what i’m stuck with. used to go months on end without shaving until i realized my beard looked like bills. how embarrassing. miss grimshaw, the strong-headed woman she is, knocked some sense into me too. well…more like slapped me.

shaving makes me look more approachable, and that’s not really a good thing with my reputation. but, i did it anyway and spent a pretty penny on the barber up in valentine’s…had to pay a bit extra because of the drunken ruckus lenny and i caused there last time.

if my heart hadn’t been captured, maybe these worries of mine wouldn’t even exist.

oh, the ridiculous things love does to a man…”

꒰ fem!reader ꒱

“about as beautiful as the stars above; a woman so otherworldly that sometimes I have to look away. she shines too brightly for these tired eyes of mine. i suppose that’s for the best, ain’t it? a man like me, the walking embodiment of sin, isn’t worthy of such a loving lady.

but that doesn’t keep her away. she often asks me to recount some of my adventures, and i hesitantly do so, fearful she’ll think me a bad man. craziest thing is, she looks more worried than anything else whenever i do as told. telling me to be more careful with that honey-like voice of hers. could listen to it all day. it’s like a balm to the soul.

can’t keep myself away from her either. doesn’t matter what she’s doing, i always find myself wandering over to her. i don’t usually have trouble sleeping, i’m like some rock when it comes to it. but she’s occupied my mind too much lately, falling asleep is difficult. like right now. should be sleeping, but i’m not. just up wondering about the ifs and hows.

i’ve been saving up some money so i can go get her something real nice, maybe a pretty dangly necklace. could just steal one, but i want to prove myself to her. she deserves the best, not something that belonged to some other stranger.

god knows i’d do whatever i can to keep her safe and sound. i’d die for her. funny thing is, i considered myself to be a selfish man before breathing the same air as her.

i can say with absolute certainty that i would give up everything for a future with her.

if she’d have me.

…

now, this fool’s about to try and sketch her.

not sure if i can encapsulate her beauty onto a page, though.”

꒰ male!reader ꒱

“i fear I’m going mad. i never thought i’d feel this way about a man before. then again, pursuit of romance has never been a priority in my life. he’s one of a kind, something about him makes my palms feel all clammy.

he never leaves my head, every inch of this brain of mine is consumed with thoughts of him. his grin, the way his hat perches on his head, the stories he shares ‘round the campfire.

i’ve come across many men on all my journeys, but his handsomeness is unmatched. and he’s different. doesn’t nag me like dutch or get on my nerves like micah, but he isn’t just a brother like some of the other folks here.

i’ve been a bit too scared to drink these days. you know me, i spill my guts out and say stupid things like a damn fool when i get like that. wouldn’t know what to do if i were to sputter out how fine of a fella i think he is, or how grateful i am for him. is this only a special friendship? no, i don’t know how to describe this.

well, yes i do, actually.

love.

my fingers trembled while writing that.

some may call this spark a sin, but going down an altar with him would be a taste of heaven itself. that wish is too far-fetched though.

all i ask for is a sign. just one. maybe i’m misreading the glimmer in his eye, or the way the bastard slings his arm over my shoulder and sings after he downs some moonshine.

weird how life works, isn’t it?”

[nthspecialll]

I think we sometimes as a fandom tend to hyper-focus on certian characters' backgrounds simply because we like the character when in reality other characters who might not be as interesting has way better backstories, because no, Javier, Arthur and John are not the only ones with sad backstories

Like why does no one talk about what happened to Leopold's sister? Why does no one talk about young Lenny tracking down and killing folk? Why does no one talk about Javier actually in a way working for the government for a while and the reason why he killed that powerful military man? Why does no one talk about why Dutch is called Dutch and not by his actual first name? Why does no one talk about Bill's worst childhood fear coming true? Why does no one talk about both Swanson and Micah saving Dutch's life or that Tilly is also a murderer?

Anyways here is a full explanation of all the Van Der Linde gang members backstories.

Sean MacQuire

Sean Macquire and his father lived in Ireland possibly with more family but had to flee because the English (who were at the time in charge of ireland) were chasing them. They fled for their lives and they were in Boston for a month before his dad was shot in his sleep, showing the remaining Sean that there was truly no honor or shame in the world.

He was then sent to a reform school, which we all know was abusive and a living hell, so he ran, living as a low-life thief, he was a teenager, when he in a bar somewhere in North Elizabeth saw Dutch and Hosea and liked Dutch's watch. He followed the two into an alleyway and threatened them at gunpoint, however they laughed at him and told him to shoot, so he did, except the two others had noticed him first and taken the bullets from his gun. Sean started crying, thinking they were going to kill him but instead of doing that they gave him a home, a place to belong.

Lenny Summers

Lenny's grandparents as well as parents were slaves and his mother was born on a cotton field and taken away from his grandmother, who hadn't even known she was pregnant, immediately. His grandmother was then told to simply get back to work.

After the civil war, the old overseer kept making advandages towards Lenny's grandmother, to a point that in the end she needed to kill him and just barely escaped being lynched. Lenny's mother never saw the grandmother again.

Lenny's mother later met Mr Summers who was an educated man and taught Lenny to both read and write, however when Lenny was 15, his dad was beaten to death by several drunk men. Lenny stole a gun, tracked and hunted down the men, shooting them and showing no remorse even years later.

Kieran Duffy

Kieran Duffy's father was an Irishman who came to America with a dream of farming. It was there that he met Kieran's mother and not long after having Kieran, they both passed due to Cholera and not shortly after that the stables that he worked at to support himself threw him out. He decided to join the army to support himself but it didn't last long before he quit due to it "not working out well."

After returning from the army, he fell into work with a bunch of unnamed outlaws, though they all passed away, leaving him alone once again.

At some point he ran into the O'Driscolls who gave him a choice, to ride with them or to get killed, esencially forcing him to join them and work as a stable hand for them, though he was at the bottom of the latter simply working with the horses before being kidnapped by Arthur Morgan and joining the Van Der Linde gang.

Leopold Strauss

Leopold Strauss was born into severe poverty in Austria and his family struggled heavily with food. By the time that Strauss was only twelve, his older brother was beating up nightwatch men for whatever cash and food scraps they had on them. By that time Strauss's father had already sold his younger sister Anna, by the age of nine, into bonded labour to be able to provide for the rest of the family.

When Stauss was seventeen he was sent with his uncle to the US due to health problems, however the hellish sight of Brooklyn gave Strauss's uncle a heart attack on the spot, leaving Strauss alone in a forgein country. To survive he began doing illegal money scams and after doing so for years Dutch picked him up.

Tilly Jackson

Tilly Jackson was the daughter of a slave and became an outlaw by the mere age of twelve, running with a gang called the Foreman brothers who kidnapped her but after murdering the leaders cousin after he made advandages on her, she had to flee. She returned to her mothers workplace but found that she had already passed.

Later Tilly ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and as he was already taking care of John Marston and Arthur Morgan, he took her in, becoming just as much as a father figure to her as to the boys.

Micah Bell

Micah Bell was born directly into a life of crime as his father Micah Bell jr was a petty but ruthless and violent outlaw. Already when Micah was 17 him and his father were on run from the law as they had slid Jean and Roscoe Briggs throats and later hung them as well. His father was also his primary partner in crime, however he also seemed to have teamed up with his brother Amos a few times as well, however Amos regretted his past life and started a proper one with wife and children and threatened to kill Micah if he came close.

Micah had several partners in crime later in life, including Joe and Cleet who appears later in the game, as well as a fellow named Norman.

Micah runs into Dutch Van Der Linde in 1898 in a bar as Dutch is trying to sell some stolen goods, however the deal doesn’t work out and Micah steps in to help Dutch and save his life, earning a place in the gang.

Bill Williamson

Bill Williamson, also known as Marion Williamson, was born into an abusive family with a father who lost his mind to alchohol, even going to the point of mixing moonshine with whiskey. Watching this Bill always feared falling in love with liquor and suffering the same fate.

Bill always showed signs of being more of a troubled kid and being sent to a reform school did not stop him from building s solid criminal record as a kid.

Bill would later apply to the military and serve in the 15th infantry, fighting against the native americans before being dishonorably discharged for deviancy and attempted murder in 1892. For a year after he lived rough, truly falling in love with liqour and stealing from people om the side of the roads, one time being robbed himself by a "woman" (likely a cross dresser or genderqueer person).

In 1893 Bill tried to rob Dutch and got angry as the man simply laughed at him, however he calmed down as he was allowed a spot in the Van Der Linde gang.

Daniel(?) "Dutch" Van Der Linde

Dutch's mother was an english woman named Greta and his father a dutch man who lived somewhere near Philadelphia who fought in the civil war and died, which is why Dutch hated southeners.

Dutch's nickname rumors to come from his father's desperate attempt at keeping touch with his ancerstory.

When he was 15, he left home due to troubles with his mother whom he never got along with and simply saw him as a disobedient and troubled kid. He wished for freedom above all so to gain this he started a life of crime and in mid 1870 met Hosea Matthews.

(Second edit: I am not 100% sure Daniel is his true name, thus the ?, however I found it on his wiki page and added it)

Hosea Matthews

Hosea was born in around 1844 and lived the majority of his earlier life in the mountians, growing to love fishing and hunting. His father was mostly absent, living a life of "sin and debauchery that would make an emperor blush." Hosea saw his dad only about three times in his life but loved him none the less.

He tried to make his way with comedy as a stage actor, however he turned to petty thieft, stealing from his audience and later others in town. He was caught by the sheif stealing a chicken and sentenced to be hanged. Luckiy for Hosea the town folk saw it as a punishment too cruel and a riot broke out which ended with someone shooting the noose around Hosea's neck, allowing him to flee.

Mid 1870 Hosea found Dutch sitting by a campfire and decided to rob him, however found that Dutch had already robbed him. Hosea feared for a moment for his life but it ended with the two of them laughing it off and teaming up.

Molly O'Shea

Molly O'Shea was born into a wealthy Irish family, set up to live a proper and educated life, however she quickly got bored and showed little interest in the life set up for her, so she ran off to America in search of adventure and excitment. At some point she ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and found an interest in him and his life style, only to later genuiently fall in love with him.

Arthur Morgan

Arthur Morgan was born to Beatrice and Lyle Morgan in northen US. His mother died in his early life and he never really got along with his father whom there are rumors was abusive. Lyle lived a life of petty crime and was arrested and executed. Arthur saw his father die and although not having the best relationship, Arthur kept his father's hat and picture.

In 1877 Arthur was 14 and a wild delinquent. He ran into Dutch and Hosea, being picked up and taken under their wing, taught not only the ways of crime but also skills like reading, writing, hunting and so on.

Uncle

Uncle was born in Ohio (insert Penelope Braithwaithe shutter) with the only family present being his parents who died when he was nine and an "uncle" named Jeb whom Uncle hints at being a pedofile.

After his parents death he was on his own and was forced to a new city where he had to care for himself, and from that time to the game start in 1899, we know he has been married at least twice.

Uncle tells many stories of his past such as going to Africa and being worthshipped like a god by the locals, however the truth of these stories are highly doubted due to his tendency to lie. He does tell stories of being a "one shot kid" in his younger days, the truth of these also being doubted, however it may have been his tricket into the Van Der Linde gang.

Susan Grimsaw

Along with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur Susan was one of the founding memebers of the Van Der Linde gang, having run into Dutch during a poker game where both he and she found interest in one another, causing the curious couple and their unruly son to stay in the area a bit longer, paying poker long into the night while Susan sat on Dutch's lap.

Having gotten into a romantic relationship with Dutch, Susan was allowed to join the small group and even stayed when Dutch moved on to Annabelle, now serving as a form of housemother, making sure that people did their work, took properly care of themselves and made camp feel like home.

You can also hear Susan talking to Mary-Beth one time in camp, admitting that she had a fiance once however he went to heaven.

John Marston

John Marston was born in 1873 to an illiterate scottish father born on the boat to New York and a prositute mother who died during his birth. At first John lived with his father who constantly spoke of Scotland and his love for the country, however he was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicargo and later died when John was eight. The true cause of his father's death is unknown however John was told it was a barfight.

John spent a few years in an orphanage before running off and living on his own, at the mere age of eleven commiting his first murder by shooting a man, though he claims it was not his fault.

At the age of twelve John had been caught stealing from homesteaders who planned to have him hanged, however Dutch stepped in and took him under his wing.

Orville Swanson

Swanson used to wrok as a Clergyman but after indulging in the "earthly pleasures", being seduced by alchohol and sex, he lost his family, job and in the end faith, though he desperately tried to regain it.

At some point or another he fell in love with a woman named Margaret, though she was already married, so he simply added bigamy to the list of sins he had already commited. When the two of them were in San Fransisco, the law finally caught up wth them and while she fled onto a ship headed for Shanghai he was stuck and never saw her again.

Under unknown circomstances Swanson came to save Dutch's life and due to Dutch's debt to Swanson he was allowed to join the gang.

Mary-Beth Gaskill

Being a woman of good nature, Mary-Beth did not struggle getting close to her victims after having found herself needing to find a living in the streets. Due to her looks and personality she could with ease fool the richer men into thinking they were saving a poor maiden in need while her fingers slipped into their pockets.

It was through this that Mary-Beth got in trouble with not just the law but her victims as well. One night she had gotten a few foul men on her tail that she ran into the Van Der Linde gang who saved her and asked her to join them.

Charles Smith

Charles Smith was born to a Native Mother and a free African American father, all three of them living fairly happily with his mothets tripe together with a few other free men before the US army chased them away.

They continued to live together but a few years later Charles' mother was captured by the army, leading Charles' father to fall into alcoholism and a deep depression.

At the mere age of 13 Charles left his father and began to live on his own, becoming a supreme survivalist from an early age.

Some point during the late 1898 ran into the Van Der Linde gang in the Grizzlies and joined them.

Simon Pearson

Simon Pearson's family were whale hunters and although Pearson wished to follow in their footsteps it did not go that way due to the whale industry having lessened by the time that he got out of school. Having been forced to look for new employment options, Pearson joins the Navy where he even managed to get stranded for fifty days on a ship filled with plauge, watching his friends and coworkers slowly drop one by one.

After having returned from the Navy Pearson begins to struggle financially and takes a loan, however unable to pay it off loansharks comes after him and it is during one of these attempts at getting to Pearson that the Van Der Linde gang saves him and brings him to camp as a cook.

Abigail Marston

Abigail Marston, originally born Abigail Roberts, was orphaned at a young age and started roaming around bars, scraping whatever few coins she could take from folk before starting a work of prostitution, making an earning by selling her body and at some point running into Uncle at a bar who introduced her to the gang.

Now living with the gang, Abigail still worked as a prositute up until falling pregnant with Jack Marston by John Marston.

Josiah Trelawny

Josiah Trelawny was born in England though he has no memories of his life there, he later imigated to America where he starts working as a conman and trickster. It was during this line of work that he met yhe Van Der Linde gang and joined them bur with a special advandage as he, unlike the others, was allowed to appear and disappear as he pleased, always knowing when Dutch planned to cut him off and return with a big hit.

Josiah has a family living in Saint Denis concisting of a wife and two sons named Tarquin and Cornelius. Just as with the gang, he would disappear on them for months.

Karen Jones

Karen Jones lived as a scam artist in her early years and absolutely loved the outlaw lifestyle and hoped for a bit more which partly drove her to accept the Van Der Linde gang's invitation, hoping to achieve more.

Javier Escuella

Javier Escuella was born in Mexico to a drunkard father who worked for Allende' (a main antagonist in rdr1, a military man) uncle. When he was young he saw his own uncle as well as four other separate men get casterated and fed to pigs for simply suggesting fair wages for their work.

Javier moved on to become a violent and known bounty hunter and revolutionary, fighting against what he saw as a corupt system.

Javier ended up killing a powerful former military man for a woman that he loved, fearing for his loved ones life he fled to America where he knew no english and had no work or food, leaving him starving.

It was in America that he ran into Dutch as they both were trying to steal the same chickens. Dutch took Javier in, fed him, gave him a family and a life, leading Javuer to idiolize Dutch also for his revolutionary ideals.

At some unknown point someone attempted to kill Javier, leading to him having a prominent scar on his throat.

Sadie Alder

Sadie Alder grew up in a harsh envioment and from a very early age learned how to hunt and ride to care for herself, things that Jack Adler fell in love with. The two of them married september 1896, moving to a ranch in Ambarino where they had three happy years of marriage before the O'Driscolls arrived at their cabin.

[mx-pastelwriting]

RDR2 HC - Running away together & what would it take

RDR2 x GN! Reader

Summary: Running away together & what would it take for them to.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship, Running away, Some Happy Endings

Characters: Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Hosea Matthews, John Marston, Josiah Trelawny

Dutch van der Linde

- A hard task in itself, prying Dutch away from his power over the gang, it's an almost impossible task. Though echoing Hosea's words to lie low would earn you some time in having a voice over Micah's, he would consider it.

- Nightly talks cuddled up in his arms, imagining life away from the one you have aloud; he entertains it, but not without saying some doubtful scenarios. Having to change your ways, almost manipulating him into taking that life as a real thing.

- Never leaving his side, hearing every thought, not giving Micah a chance to talk to him in private, in turn driving you crazy. Doing anything for that good life, leaving your intentions to change just to get your Dutch safe.

- Every day drained you; all that work had finally caught up to you. Slowly, you lost faith as the gang came into more trouble, making you come to a realization. You made your choice.

- A night of loving Dutch one more time, cuddled up into his arms, then having to leave them. Leaving him in a deep sleep with a final kiss. Taking your horse he had gotten for you a long time ago and what little clothes you had left from all the years of running. Finally leaving in the cold night, not daring to look back.

A year had gone by, and still you dreamt about that day and its many outcomes, but all you could do was smile at the memory of his messed hair loving him for that final night. Telling yourself over and over that it spared the both of you, there was no use to keep trying. Leaving to build your own life, living out your dream that you tried so hard to convince Dutch of so many times.

He would have loved it, just the two of you; he just couldn't see it. Getting up from your bed, dressing up for the day, and having to live off of the small land you fought to get months after. Making your way to the kitchen, readying breakfast before your day of work, but a knock interrupts you from the task.

Grabbing your old weapon, hoping it still worked, then walking slowly to the door, pointing the weapon from your hip. Upon opening the door, your mind and body went blank. Dutch was standing at your front door, looking like shit. "Dear," he says, voice cracking. Even after all this time, he charmed his way into your heart, igniting your love again.

-

Arthur Morgan

- You both have always talked about that kind of life and what it would be like, but it always ended as a joke and never as something to look forward to. Until you really thought about it, hearing Hosea's story of him and his wife fed into your dream.

- Bring it up to Arthur one night, making sure he took it seriously, not knowing what to say, only he couldn't leave the gang just like that. Over time, you pushed the matter, and he always listened but never said anything.

- Being with the gang for a long time, you watched it change as Dutch came into more trouble. Finally, it hit a breaking point when Arthur went missing from the meeting with Colm O'Driscoll. The camp had to calm you down, but it didn't stop the tears every night, fighting your mind to just leave, but it turned to worry that if he'd come back, you needed to be there for him.

- After days of the gang searching, you finally spotted Arthur's house with him on top, thinking you had just gone crazy. Hearing his groans of pain, you ran to him, crying aloud, causing the camp to spring into action, with some having to hold you back so the rest could work.

- After an hour of working on him finally letting you see him, never leaving his side as you waited for him to wake. Hosea brought you something to eat every day, knowing what you had been going through.

Snapping from your exhausted state as a groan came from Arthur, watching as he stirred from his rest. Tears once again spilled from your eyes while grabbing his hand and placing it to your cheek. Waking fully, he whispered your name, running a hand through his hair earning a hum from him as he rested his eyes once again.

"I thought you were dead," you whispered, kissing his hand earning another hum. "Okay," he whispered weakly, making you look at him meeting his blue-green eyes. Taking a minute for you to understand, you nodded, "Tonight." You responded, getting only a weak nod back. Quickly getting up to then plant a kiss on his lips before preparing your leave.

-

Javier Escuella

- Being so loyal to Dutch, as soon as you'd bring that idea of life up, he'd tell you of the time he tried to find that kind of life, with it ending with Dutch saving him, in turn needing to repay Dutch with his life. A life for a life.

- Still, of course, you stayed with him, but it didn't stop you from trying. From mentioning small things, such as telling him to look at the homesteads as you passed them or talking to couples who owned their land, hearing the stories of home life making sure Javier was near you to hear.

- Wishing aloud to love him behind closed doors, but he brought up the suggestion of a hotel quickly you shot it down with wishes of loving him in your own home. Unknown to you, it wasn't till the end that he would change his mind.

- Seeing as he buddied up with Micah breaking your heart, seeing what Micah did to Dutch, there would be no way he would sink his claws into your Javier. Realizing it even more after hearing Arthur's words confirming your Javiers changed, solidifying your thoughts. Having to do the only thing that was left.

- Grabbing a bag, you started to stuff your things into it. Hearing footsteps come closer, you didn't look up, knowing who it was. When asking what you were doing, you told him you were leaving him. Shocked, he begged, but you gave it to him in the end, giving him an ultimatum. You or Dutch.

Pain washed over his face. He looked to the floor, hoping it would have the answer, but you continued packing. "Amor," he begged, but you kept your back to him as much as it pained you. "I can't do this, Javi," you say, tears stinging the brim of your eyes. "Tell me," he says, putting a hand on yours.

"All of this, you hate Micah. What changed?" You asked, making him look away, but you brought his face back softly with your hand. Cupping his face, "I know you see it. He's not well. I'm not going to stick around anymore, Javi," you say, turning to zip up your bag.

"It's your choice," you say before grabbing a few more things. "I can't," he says weakly. "Okay," saying your final words before walking to the horses, putting your things onto yours before hopping onto your horse.

Taking a last look at the camp, not caring who chose to look. Hearing as the horse next to you stirred, looking to see Javier hop on his with his belongings behind him. Smiling at each other, you turned away from camp, taking off quickly to start your new life.

-

Charles Smith

- Having been in the gang for a small amount of time, he had never shut down the idea, though never did he start to make plans on it. Figuring it was from his friendships with Arthur and John or him just settling in having run with him before the gang, you were of course thankful for them taking you both in, but shaking off the idea was never going to happen.

- Taking long rides on the days he got off, hugging his waist while resting your head on his back, talking about many things: camp gossip, your past travels, the future. Sometimes passing by a homestead watching as the people worked away at their land, imagining out loud how that would be, it would be better than always running.

- He loved you dearly; it pained him whenever leaving you to do a job with the gang, but you hated it more when he came to you from a watch stumbling on his tired feet to then crashing into your arms falling asleep before he could even mumble, "I love you.".

- Making his choice after the bank job that had gone wrong, having to bury Hosea and Lenny's bodies, the both of you talked about the decision ending with a kiss and the start of packing your things. Though quickly interrupted by the law, causing you to run once again, making you both stick around the gang a little longer.

- Knowing it put the both of you in more danger, he tried to make it quick by using the gang to help the tribe, only meeting them once by going with him, you understood. Finally, the day came telling only Arthur and John and those closest to you, getting hugs and wishes of luck to your new life.

Waking to the cooing of birds wrapped in the warmth of Charles's arms, hearing him snore softly, kissing his scared cheek, waking him from his slumber earning a smile. Looking at you with tired brown eyes, taking a moment to admire your well-rested faces.

Wiggling out of his arms with an objection as he tightened them, making you both laugh before you headed off to the kitchen in your homestead, but not without getting dressed first from the night before. Having been years since that day, leading to a new life, though the past caught up a year later, causing Charles to go with John just to make Dutch and Micah pay for all those years ago.

Of course, coming back to you with a bullet in the shoulder and a promise to never leave you again, from John's home, you both made it up to Canada, living out your dream of a homestead. Ending your reminisce on the past as Charles wraps his arms around you once more, kissing your neck softly while you readied the morning drinks.

-

Bill Williamson

- It had never been an idea to the both of you from all the years you ran with the gang until going into town. Seeing how a couple talked about their lives after getting that first taste of that kind of life, you never looked back.

- Not telling Bill at first, wanting him away from Dutch a bit before springing it upon him after one of your hotel nights away, he entertained your thoughts, though laughing at some parts until he realized you were serious.

- His first feeling was anger at how he could never do that to Dutch, but you argued that Dutch doesn't control your lives. Finally, he calmed down, telling you he looked up to Dutch. Knowing how he wanted the limelight that Arthur and John had, you convinced him that even if it was painful to say and hear, he would never be them. His obsession can't control him.

- Even though he listened with understanding, even agreeing, he told you the time wasn't right. Giving your understanding back to his reasoning, you stayed with him. But things didn't stay still for forever.

- The bank job had gone wrong with the law running you out of Shady Bell, feeling as if it was years before you got Bill back in your arms after hearing tales of him on Guarma. Having enough, you started to pack your things, causing Bill to freak. Hearing none of it, you gave him a choice. Hoping he would pick the right one.

Standing in front of your horse, holding your bag tightly, "I've hit the end, Bill; I-I can't. I can't stay up every night hoping you're alive; it's not fair to me or you." You choked through your words, causing a scene for the whole camp to see, but you didn't care; you were done.

Seeing his hesitant look back at Dutch, who watched on calmly, you had your answer. His continuous seek for approval from Dutch would never stop, and you weren't going to be around to watch it kill him or you.

-

Hosea Matthews

- Having left before he would hear the idea once again, not shooting it down immediately though ending your talk with how his story ended, right back where he started.

- As time went on, his coughs had gotten worse, as well as his attitude towards it, helping with his cough fits earned a hand wave and a choked-out "I'm fine." But you kept pushing, knowing if it was the end for him, it should be anywhere but running with the gang.

- Bringing it up more, he entertained it a bit more, but other reasons would always pop up after, trying to understand you let it go after every talk. As the gang settled into Shady Bell slowly, you noticed that he became even worse; he barely came to bed, but when he did stumble in, smelling of booze, giving you a slurred "I love you" before snoring away.

- Not waiting for his final say any longer, you slowly packed your things over the days, making sure both of your horses were ready to go in the night. Thankfully, you met a couple who knew of a cabin not too far away at a cheap price. Saving up quickly, you bought the cabin, leaving it to wait for you. Taking note of when the watch shifts change and when the camp dies down for the night.

- Finally, you made your move. As Hosea stumbled into being his familiar drunk self, you went into action, calling his horse over by the back door quietly loading on what little you had left. Then, waking Hosea leading him to the horse with false words, finally, you were ready with Hosea in a drunken sleep on your back, fleeing into the dark swamp.

Riding through the night, keeping Hosea on the horse, with luck, you made it through the swamp and into the forest on your way to the cabin. Not knowing how long this would last not even sure if this was a new life. "Just enough for you to rest," you whispered into the cold night air.

Making it to the cabin, using all your strength to get him in the cabin, laying him on the bed, tucking him. Going back out, taking your things from his and your horses, then letting them rest in the small stable for the next few days.

Waking into the morning still hearing Hosea's snores with his warm arms around you. Slowly, you get up, readying his medicine, hoping he'll understand your actions. Being all for him in the end.

-

John Marston

- Having entertained the idea only came up two times. The first was for one of Hosea's cons, having you and John play as a married couple that lived on a farm just for another couple who actually lived on a farm to come along to buy into Hosea's con.

- As years went on, seeing how the gang dwindled, thankful for not taking your John, but not without a scare and a promise to stay with you. Getting out of the snow, helping John to Horseshoe Overlook, fighting to keep him down, and resting. John made a joke about you being his spouse and having a little farm. That was the second time.

- John wasn't the only one with that joke; being protective over him, Hosea started to joke about how the con act ended long ago, but you were still acting the part.

- Finally, John was ready for jobs again, so you loosened your protection, though you weren't afraid to give it to Dutch if he came back with so much as a small scratch. Furthering that joke in the camp led you two to talk. John agreed to the possibility, but it was different in his mind. You saw it coming sooner than him.

- Sadly, it wasn't until the very end you could live out that idea. The gang fell apart, pushing you both towards Strawberry, but not without making a rule for yourself. Never to live that life again. It was easier said than done. John helped the framer, and you fled, leaving your John behind.

Reading the letter over again as the carriage hit every bump on the road, making your impatience worse. Finally stopping, not wanting to look out the window, needing to see him up close, you hurried out.

Standing there face-to-face with your John, having been gone for so many months, your eyes stinging as you wrapped your arms tightly around him. "It's over," he whispered into your ear, making the threatening tears spill, tightening your hold, not wanting to let him go again.

-

Josiah Trelawny

- Living that dream already in Saint Denis, but unbeknownst to you, Josiah had dealings with a gang. Hearing the name of the gang from officers around town yet not thinking anything of them. Not even questioning his absence at home as his "office work" makes him travel a lot.

- Loving the stories of his travels made you susceptible to listening for things, but never did you think you'd hear about your husband from an officer's mouth on the street. Then the next day, another questioned you on your doorstep, being very hostile and pushing past you just to find nothing, but before leaving, accusing you of dealing with the "Van Der Linde Gang.".

- Hearing nothing from your Josiah in the few passing days got you worried—maybe you didn't know the man you married. Though finally, you saw him as he crawled up the stairs of your Saint Denis home, the sight brought you to tears.

- The damage to him was heartbreaking. He groaned and hissed through his teeth as you cleaned up his bloody wounds, then bandaged them up. Saying nothing, you let the silence fall with his story quickly following, but you didn't let him finish.

- Saying the name of the gang, seeing how his face turned pale. Telling him of what transpired days before, hit you hard speaking of what you knew out loud to him. Starting with a sigh, he told you everything with a voice filled with shame.

"Stop," you said, interrupting his explanation, doing as you said, looking to you. Not being able to handle the sight of him knowing every cut or possible broken bone was because of his deals with the gang. You started to question whether the life you built was even real; was the love you got from him even real?

"Love," he pleaded, placing a hand on yours looking into the eyes you fell in love with so many times. Still, you held your ground. "No more J," you say, making him look down watching as he nodded. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his upper back and shoulders, hugging him as he sat in your home, where he belonged.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

[cosmicdahlias]

She Looks Just Like You

an arthur morgan x reader fic

You’ve unintentionally fallen pregnant and Arthur’s the father.

warnings: pregnancy, birth

alright y’all! so this is my first sfw fic and i chose to spoil y’all with some pregnancy and dad arthur fluff. it kinda jumps around a bit, but hopefully it’s still a good read

You were fully aware with how lazy you and Arthur had gotten with contraception, both mutually agreeing that the linen condoms dulled the experience. You pretended like him finishing inside you was a nonissue, you liked it that way.

You started to become sick as a dog every day for weeks on end, pissing like a racehorse every 30 minutes, and your cycle never came. Abigail, having gone through this before, immediately knew what was going on.

”You need to see a doctor, y/n. You’re for sure pregnant.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“That’s what I thought too, but look how that turned out for me.”

You let the symptoms persist for another two weeks before you decided you couldn’t take it anymore, you got yourself in with a doctor. It took a short exam of your cervix for him to break the news.

“Well, miss, I can say with 100% certainty that you are indeed pregnant.”

“Ah, I was kinda hoping you’d tell me it was just really bad food poisoning.”

“No, I’m afraid you are, as you say, ‘up the spout’. Now, are you and the father on good terms? Do you know the father?”

“Oh yeah, I know him.”

-

It took a few days for you to muster up the courage to tell Arthur. You were riding back to camp when you decided you couldn’t hide it any longer.

“Arthur, we need to talk.”

“You know I hate when you say it like that.”

“I know, I know, but I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t important.”

He tugged on the reins and halted his horse to a stop, he hopped down and helped you off of yours.

He put his hands on your waist. “Okay, now what was so important?”

You shifted on your feet nervously and took a deep breath.

“Arthur, I’m pregnant.”

He froze for a moment. “You’re sure? For sure, for sure?”

“As sure as the doctor who told me.”

You had no idea what to expect from his reaction. For a second you thought he’d get mad, but instead he wrapped you in a crushingly tight hug, lifting you off your feet.

“Oh my god, I had my suspicions with you bein’ sick and all for so long, but I didn’t wanna pry. You’ve made me so happy, happiest man on earth.”

“Y- you ain’t mad?”

“Are you kiddin’? You’ve given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for.” He said, kissing you.

That night you lay with Arthur in the tent you shared. When you fell asleep he put a hand to your stomach, stroking it with his thumb.

-

Immediately after receiving the news Arthur objected to you doing any jobs that could be even slightly dangerous.

He would always answer your protests with “And what happens if the baby gets hurt?”

“You sure as shit didn’t care when it was just me.” You retorted.

“That’s because I know what you’re capable of, it’s different now.”

-

A month later you had just arrived back at camp when Micah decided to once again participate in his favorite sport, antagonizing the fuck out of Arthur. He watched as Arthur assisted you in helping you down from your horse.

“How do y’all even know if he’s the father?” Micah sneered.

“Watch it, Micah.” Arthur growled, teeth clenched.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’, everyone ‘round here’s had them, even Dutch.”

“For your information, I’ve been faithful since the day Arthur and I got together.” You retorted.

“Yeah you say that, but I think we all now deep down you’re still the same little whor-“

Arthur cut him off with a punch square in his face, breaking his nose. Micah stumbled back.

“You son of a BITCH!”

Micah returned with a blow of his own, connecting straight with Arthur’s mouth, busting his lip.

Dutch overheard the commotion and rushed over, putting himself between them.

“What the hell is with you two? Can’t y’all have a single conversation that don’t end with either of you drawin’ blood?”

“It’s what he gets for not keepin’ his mouth shut.” Arthur spat.

“Just speakin’ the truth, Arthur. You’re gonna find out one way or another.” Micah grinned as blood streamed down his face.

You dragged Arthur away to the tent, Micah called out to get the last word in.

“That whore ain’t gonna be yours forever, Arthur!”

You sat him down on the cot, taking a cloth and dabbing at the blood that seeped from his lip.

“Lord almighty Arthur, you can’t keep lettin’ him get to you. You’re a better man than that.”

He put his hand to yours. “And I can’t let him talk to you that way. I love you too much to ignore it.”

-

Around 5 months in you were dozing off next to Arthur when you felt a flutter in your stomach, you shook him awake and put his hand to you.

“Arthur! Arthur! The baby’s kicking!” You said, full of excitement.

“Huh? Wha- OH!”

He felt the tiny foot against his hand.

He chuckled. “Well how about that? We got a little fighter.”

-

Another 4 months passed you by. Your water broke early in the morning and you were in severe pain all day, contractions kicking your ass. Late in the afternoon you tried to distract yourself by hanging up the washing to dry when you fell to the ground in the most intense pain you had ever felt in your life.

“ARTHUR!”

He ran over. “What? What’s wrong?”

You were breathless, panicking. “The baby, it’s-“

Arthur leapt into action, scooping you up and rushing you back to your tent. He laid you down gently on the cot, taking off your skirt and bloomers. He stuck his fingers inside you, feeling your cervix.

“What in the sam hell do you think you’re doin’?” You barked.

“Seein’ how far along you are. Don’t start pushin’ just yet, it won’t do you any good.”

“Why’re you actin’ like you know what you’re doin’?”

“Cause I’ve done this before.”

Two hours passed as the contractions rolled through you, each one worse than the last.

“Remind me to fuckin’ kill you when this is all over.” You said through gritted teeth.

“I honestly deserve it.”

He returned his fingers inside you.

“Okay, you’re ready, you can push.”

The pain from the contractions was nothing compared to this. It felt like your insides were being ripped apart.

“God, it hurts so BAD.” You said, tears streaming down your face.

“I know sweetheart, you’re doing so good, keep goin’.”

You gripped Arthur’s hand almost hard enough to break it.

“You’re almost there, just breathe.” He cooed.

“I AM BREATHIN’ YOU BASTARD!”

You let out a deafening shriek, there was silence for a moment, then you both heard a cry.

There she was, all 8 pounds of her, face bright pink as she cried. Arthur held her in his arms.

“It’s- it’s a girl, we have a little girl.” Arthur said, tears forming.

He cut the umbilical cord with a knife and holding her for just a moment longer before handing her off to you.

“She’s so beautiful, y/n, she-“

“She looks just like you, Arthur.” You smiled, exhausted.

-

John and Abigail showed up a few hours later with little Jack in tow.

John spoke. “We came to see how y’all are doing. How’s the baby? Is it a-“

“A girl, Dahlia.” Arthur replied.

“Heh, guess I have a niece now.” John smiled.

“It’s a beautiful name, y/n.” Abigail said.

“Aunt y/n, Uncle Arthur, can I hold her?” Jack asked.

“Of course Jack, sit down first.” You responded.

Jack sat on the edge of the cot.

“Now you gotta support her head. Okay, Jack?” Arthur said.

“Okay.”

You handed Dahlia to Jack, he carefully took her in his arms. He extended a finger, she took it in her chubby little fist.

-

That night the men of the camp sat by the fire as Arthur passed out cigars. The women crowded into your tent, sipping whiskey and fawning over your new baby girl. You had to admit, it was nice to have a drink after nine months of involuntary sobriety.

“Well one thing’s for certain, Arthur definitely ain’t gonna be able to leave you now.” Karen laughed, sufficiently intoxicated.

“Arthur’s been crazy about them long before this. You’ve seen the way he looks at them, watches them like a hawk. I think it’s sweet.” Abigail said.

-

Arthur held you as you slept when he heard a whimper, he gingerly got up so as to not wake you. He took Dahlia in his arms, cradling her and holding her against his chest.

“Shhh, you’re okay, your daddy’s got you. I know you probably want your mama, but we’re gonna let them sleep for now. You kinda tuckered them out.” He chucked.

He stepped out of the tent and returned to the fire, John was still there.

He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Welcome back to fatherhood, prepare to never know a full night’s sleep again.”

Arthur laughed. “It’s worth it, I already love her to death.”

“Despite lookin’ like your ugly mug she really is beautiful, Arthur.”

Arthur looked down and smiled at the baby that slept in his arms. “Yeah, she is.”

[moonmeg]

To Robyn from...

It was early evening by now. He closed the door to his room and dropped onto his bed. He stared at he ceiling, his arms above his head as he revisited memories with Micah, searching for clues. Something he's been doing since this morning. He caught himself drifting into those thoughts throughout the day but only now, in the silence of his room could he truly take his time to think.

Oh, it would be wonderful if this once he could rely on his memory. But his mind was all over the place. So many thoughts overlapping and interrupting memories at once. He closed his eyes. Concentrate. Regulated deep breaths. Concentrate. Notice your chest rising with every breath. Concentrate.

This little exercise was worth a try, even though it barely worked.

Unsuccessful in the attempt, he opened his eyes again and turned his head to his windowsill. There was the little glass vase and the Lunaris flower still blossoming. Without the full moon it had lost its glow by now.

Staring at the pink-purple petals he rolled on his side and he began thinking again.

Had there been signs before? He never noticed Micah acting weird around him. Or...?

The longer he thought about it, the more he realized Micah had made attempts at showing him there were feelings much beyond friendship. Subtle but in retrospect so obvious. Reaching for his hand more than usual, his confidence decreasing when they were close, a tint of red in his cheeks every now and then, the look in his eyes whenever their gazes met, the uncomfortable chuckles whenever they talked about romantic relationships...

"You mean so much more than that to me.".

As he recalled all those instances, summoning Micah's face, his voice and touch into his memory, he suddenly realized just how fast his heart started to beat.

Oh, Titan.

Has it always beaten that fast and he never truly noticed? Perhaps it's just the excitement. He brushed the loud drumming within his chest aside.

Remember what mom taught you. Close your eyes, answer the questions. Don't think right and wrong, just speak.

"Do you like Micah?"

Obviously. They've been best friends since they can remember.

"Can you see him in your future?"

Oh, Robyn wished for that. Losing Micah is an unthinkable scenario and he'd do anything to prevent that from happening.

"What is he to you that future?"

Definitely a friend. Next to the obvious there was this little thought that put Micah in the role of his boyfriend. But it didn't end there. It spun further. About ten years from now... exchanging a kiss...as husbands.

That kiss before his inner eye was only imagined, a fabrication of his mind, and yet it made his body jerk together a little upon the skip of beat his heart made. His stomach flipped before a pleasant warmth rushed through his body.

He opened his eyes. His look once again went to the flower in the glass vase. Finally, he gave into the thoughts he used to hide away. Thoughts of Micah and himself in scenes he's read about in stories. Two lovers by a lake, underneath a tree, watching the nightsky, dancing into the night surrounded by warm light or perhaps in the dim moonlight... always holding hands, always exchanging soft looks, always just feeling nothing but pure bliss as long as they are together.

A yearning formed inside him. A yearning the likes of which he's only ever felt it in regards to his late father. This was a different type of yearning though. With his father it was just the wish to get to know him and have him around. This right now was also a yearning for presence but it went far beyond just wanting Micah to be around.

He thought about the time some months ago where they talked about what was and wasn't between him and Vivian. He remembered how they started fooling around, throwing hay at each other before he pinned Micah to the wall and... stared. Admired him. A little part of him wanting to give in... lean in... do something he thought he'd regret.

Back then he brushed it aside (as always). He made no secret of the fact he considered Micah handsome but now he realized where that little part came from. He knew why it was there. And he had ignored it for whatever reason.

He didn't even need to ask himself the last question. He didn't want to kiss Micah.

No, he yearned for it.

Rolling onto his back he grabbed the pillow above his head he brought it to his face to yell into it.

He was mad at himself not only for being oblivious of Micah's feelings but also his own. Because now as he faced the possibility of a romance with Micah, he noticed how much he himself was into Micah and had been for a while.

That night he couldn't close an eye nor put his thoughts to rest. He kept seeing Micah before his eyes whenever he closed them.

His warm, radiant smile.

His beautifully sparkling eyes of amber.

His lovely red curls, always falling perfectly.

His adorable freckles.

His little peach fuzz on his chin when he hasn't shaved it off on time.

His little earring dangling down his right earlobe.

His physique... Robyn wasn't blind to the changes puberty had caused.

His hands and their touch.

His lips and the way his kisses feel.

Latter was again only a product of his imagination but he started wishing it wasn't.

Robyn turned around in his bed. He buried his face in the pillow.

"Idiot", he muttered mainly meaning himself. A part of it, though, was directed at Micah.

Micah who, like Robyn, never said the truth about his feelings for who knows how long. Micah who found the courage now but is unreachable for the rest of the week. A week that felt eternal to Robyn.

It would be the longest week of his life.

[ditterdoob]

cried just as much as i did last playthrough

i am never playing low honour again it kinda felt like micah won in a way which i did NOT like

[meo-eiru]

begging u to introduce some of those fine gentlemen fr

especially if they’re doms bc. im a whore

Ok so for the ones who have lore

This one is Ro. He's basically this all powerful dragon who travels from kingdom to kingdom and spends a few weeks at a castle there to his liking. He's technically not allowed to do that but the nobles can't say anything to him since he could just wipe their country off the map if he feels like it. He finds the mc on the street as a homeless orphan and thinks she has potential as a mage so he decides to spend a few more years in that country and raise her to his liking.

On a matter of scariness I'd say he's actually more scary than Micah. Not only is he more powerful, he's also easier to anger, and you don't know what he might do when he's angry. Also unlike Micah who was aware of his affection for you right from the get go, Ro thinks of you more as a rare gem he owns and by the time he realizes his true feelings it's too late.

This is one of the stories I'd like to turn into a full webcomic one day.

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Next we have these 3, well there's a 4th one but I couldn't find a drawing of him. Basically a reverse harem story about 4 ancient mages and a girl who seems to weirdly attract them. I'd say the blue haired one is definitely the poster boy but the drawing is quite old and I actually changed his design a bit, I think it was too busy.

I'm gonna be honest, this is a fanservice story. You know how there are always shows with female characters wearing impossibly revealing stuff to literal fights? I thought, hey how about I do the same but with men.

We have 4 mages, the mage of light, the mage of dark, the mage of mind and the mage of emotions.

Again a story I want to turn into a webcomic one day

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This guy is the literal personification of Love. He was made out of love, he lives through love and IS Love.

He is the beautiful type of love, he is the innocent type of love, he is the dark type of love. The love that will suffocate you, the love that will make you wish you never experienced it, the love that'll bring you to tears from it's kindness.

He knows you yearn for love, a love you can be sure could never die off, a love that will follow you even if you no longer want it.

Even if you can't love him anymore he will continue suffocating you until you become completely his.

This is a story I want to turn into a visual novel in the future.

The other characters have lore too but I don't want this post to get too long, I think it should be enough to talk about these for now