#dutch lost his shit with me for no reason in camp

[arthursfuckinghat]

"I'm lucky to have you, girl."

[2demondogs]

Am I Bad? | Javier/Arthur

Tags: minor injuries, drunken camp shenanigans, Javier has anger issues and Arthur is drunk as FUCK. believe it or not this is all fluff Word Count: 4.4k A/N: I don't speak Spanish so I Googled shit. Let me know if it's contextually wrong. Or just plain wrong...

Boredom has become a luxury. Arthur is glad that — too sore and tired to ride any further, too far from civilization to do much of anything meaningful — they have found themselves at a loss for busywork.

It is a heaven of its own after working his body into unraveling at the seams, it feels, for weeks on end.

Javier had taken the job of setting up camp, delivered well on his promise to make it quick. A single tent lay before the firepit he'd slapped together, piled with timber Arthur fetched meanwhile. They agreed some evenings ago, shitfaced and brazen, that one tent was more economical for many reasons, a few of which spurred Javier's hand on his thigh. Sober, neither have been ballsy enough to discuss it again.

Well, Arthur hasn't got the balls for it.

By the time noon has nestled into the clouds, he's brushed most of the grass and dirt from their New Hanover trail off of his horse. A sweet girl, who reminds him more of a cat than a horse the way she clings to him and eyes Boaz with distrust. A girl that he hasn't yet named since borrowing; certainly, she'll be lured away by another man, in the way karma reclaims all stolen goods, which renders it borrowing.

Naming her is one task he must — he is too soft to say he merely should — do, but neglecting things is a different experience when he isn't in danger of popping any of Dutch's blood vessels.

Javier is circling the firepit when he turns and stretches, lumbering over on sore legs. Watching him plunk his boney ass onto the dirt beside it, Arthur snickers at him hiking his pant legs up at the knees, the way a woman hikes her skirt when she sits.

He doesn't tease him for it anymore. The first and last time, he got asked, in the middle of camp: why, cariño, want me to be your woman? If he really meant the bite that laid behind his words or if it was a cover-up, one for whatever odd flower was growing in the dirt of their friendship — he really doesn't know.

Unable to help himself, he snickers.

"Watch yourself," Javier warns, appraising it as Arthur seats himself without grace. He scoffs. "At least I don't sit down like a withered old man."

The words are light. They've lost some of their usual rasp, as if he is speaking from a different part of his throat where the skin is not so scarred. Arthur likes this tone, has noticed him using it more often when they're alone.

Nevermind that it is the same way he speaks to Boaz, Dutch, and the occassional stray dog in town. Saved for God, wife, and animal companion, like a good man's softness should be.

The thought makes him bite down a laugh, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Afternoon comes sooner than Arthur would like.

The shit has been shot sufficiently, he supposes, if Javier's eyes unfocusing and his broken humming are anything to go by. Another effect of his scarred throat, he doesn't often hum a true hum: dah-dah, duhn, dah-dah-dah, the general beats of a song only he knows, mumbled low and quiet.

Maybe in another life, Javier is a musician. They'd both be artists, then. By chance, Arthur could do the artwork for his record slips, if the lack of guns made more time for pencils to fit in his hand.

Now there's a funny thought. Him, an artist, full-time. All professional-like. There he goes, making shit up.

In the pleasant pseudo-silence, Arthur pulls his pocket knife out to pick the grime from beneath his nails. Swiping the tip of the shortest blade beneath the discolored white of his nail, wiping the dirt off with two fingers, and then repeating. It is so second-nature, he hardly pays mind to whether they are cleaned or not and must do another pass to get them presentable.

He may or may not be wondering, as anyone would, what kind of songs Javier would do.

His fingernails need trimmed, anyways. Everything about Javier looks so purposeful, Arthur is too ashamed to chew his nails in front of him.

The man's nails bend and break, too, sure they do. First, though, they are straight-clipped; he has never felt the teeth-roughened edges of a nail-biter's hands scratching over his skin. In the company of Arthur, he only appears to chew on the hardened ridges of skin around the nailbeds.

Somehow, if his actions chafe with the pristineness Arthur sees in him, the rough things Javier does simply become pristine, too. At least as far as his body extends, the skin-deep qualities like voice and hair and cleanliness and godliness — except, of course, Javier could never fit so nicely in one little box, wiry but wily.

Arthur knows he is just making shit up once more. He hardly understands it himself, at this point, finds it difficult to admit that even when he doesn't respect what Javier does, he still— well, he supposes, likes the man. Digging himself into a tunnel system of respect, admiration, and morality is much easier than taking a crack at digging straight down into affection.

He scrapes wrong against the underneath of his nail and cringes, bringing himself from his head and into the present once more. Javier is singing softly, drumming on his thighs and watching Arthur, who had zoned out thoroughly. He glances at Javier, runs away from his eyes as quick as he ran to them.

They're too kind.

Javier stops singing. It was more of a babble, anyways, slurred and words half-skipped over. "I miss my guitar," he says, nearing solemnity. "No music out here."

Arthur raises his brows. "I got hands and feet, don't I?" He says, offers a small grin. "Just sing somethin' I know."

He chuckles, eyes unmoving as he thinks, like he'll hear music if he looks long enough at Arthur's tired old face. Sometimes, he wishes Javier would just shoot him in the head instead of staring at his damn forehead wrinkles like this.

It isn't as easy as a sing-a-long usually is.

Javier is mostly familiar with Uncle's instructions for playing various English songs: it's like this, then some godawful him-hawing that is somehow turned into notes, then it sound' happier than that, Javier, c'mon'ow. The rest of his catalogue is Spanish.

"If you listen close, I could teach you Corrido de Joaquín Murrieta," he says, and Arthur must look lost. Javier rubs his mouth, studying him. He speaks slower now, gesturing with his hand as if to lay out the letters: "Maybe La Llorona would be better. It's just a few lines."

He nods, but he can feel his eyes widen. "Sure thing. I can try."

"La Llorona," Javier repeats. It is slow, and his voice is absent of the teasing he'd surely turn on anyone else.

"La," — twisting the switchblade in his fingers in thought — "Um, juh—"

"What?" Javier cuts him off, and the taunting tone is risen. "Where did you get a juh from, vaquero?"

Arthur's face grows hot. They decide to leave the Spanish lessons for another day; he feels a little disappointed.

He likes hearing him sing in his mother tongue.

The songs of his own childhood were embedded in him later into it: bleary memories of Hosea, hair still blond and drunk as a fish, drumming to the beat on Dutch's back to irritate him as they all sang through prison song after prison song. It was most of what his father taught him, he had said once, because he spent all but three months of Hosea's youth in jail. The rest of them, Hosea learned firsthand.

By some stroke of luck, Javier knows one.

Well, the sheriff told his deputy; won't you go out and bring me Lazarus? A call to and back. Javier looks far happier than he should for such a song, stomping in time with Arthur.

Well, the sheriff tol—

"Shit!"

Blood drips from the juncture between his thumb and pointer finger, and Arthur tosses his pocket knife into the dirt as if it has teeth. Judging by the modest sized hole in his hand's webbing, it may as well.

"The Hell did you—? Dios, be more fuckin' careful," Javier hisses, raising to come to his side.

An odd type of pain blossoms from the puncture, and he cringes as he moves his thumb to allow Javier a decent look at it.

"I weren't payin' attention, blade was still out," Arthur explains. He peers at it, then shakes his head and turns away with a sneer. "There's a damn hole in me and it ain't hardly bleedin'. That ain't right."

Javier begins to say something, and then shuts his mouth around the first syllable. His fingers are careful where they splay Arthur's fingers open, touch the back of his hand. In another situation, it might even feel nice to have his skin stroked this way.

"I'll admit, it's... weird to look at."

The pad of a finger nears the opening and Arthur grimaces, partly from irritation and partly from an intrusive vision of Javier poking his finger right into the wound. It lights his nerves up, as if his body is as disgruntled by the thought as his brain is.

Oh, Jesus, that's a bad feeling.

"Why's it dark in there? Looks empty," he continues, and Javier laughs easily. "Where's the— I dunno, the muscles and shit?"

Javier retracts his touch, pats him on the head. "Shut up, chiquillo. I'll wrap it for you."

"That better not mean stupid," he gripes.

He huffs a laugh. "Nothing about your intelligence," he reassures. "Means you are a big baby." Arthur scoffs; still, he won't look at his hand. Javier approaches a snorting Boaz to rifle through his saddlebag, takes out a rag and tears a strip off. "I think it has a better ring to it."

On the larger portion of cloth, he tips water from the flask laying beside their tent. Javier works quick, but light; his hand is wrapped around the palm to let him flex it without opening the wound up for dirt and infection. It is a hard area to protect, they agree, but Arthur will survive.

He really doesn't know why it bothers him so much. His stomach ain't weak, not after the gore he's seen and caused — why's a tiny hole in his hand so freaky?

Javier settles by his side, after, and smooths a hand down the patch of forearm his rolled up sleeves exposes. It takes some of his mind off the dilemma of just what is inside his body, rubbing up on all of his bones — a horrible train of thought — to have his rough palm stroking his arm so tenderly.

"I can sing to you, instead," he offers, face relaxed again.

"I ain't on my deathbed," Arthur says.

The warmth in his face must speak for itself. Javier sings for a while, until his throat sparks up phantom pains.

It isn't the first time anyone has seen Strauss and Hosea dancing, but the pair bring Arthur to tears each time, tears of amusement. The alcohol in his system doesn't hurt, though a large dinner is absorbing his first beer, and fast.

They'd hit a gold mine — so to speak, if only — on the way home, a massive buck that Arthur's big girl could barely handle after a nasty field dressing. With its size and the money a best-cut hide could fetch, not to mention the antlers, it was worth the strain on his horse to bring it back home to Pearson and Hosea for skinning. Arthur made sure to find her a sugar cube for her hard work.

It happened to be found in Kieran's tent, but he will be too hungover in the morning to notice and Arthur, too hungover to remember his theft.

Their return didn't come without an nth retelling of Arthur's grand fish haul of yore, as Hosea called it, which made his face burn in something like shame, as it always does. Especially for Javier to hear it after teasing over his fishing skills so often; he had turned and asked if he still pays for his better catches at the market, considering...

Nor did the haul come without a party. None of the gang had seen so much meat in close to a year, let alone been able to eat any of it. Pearson said it ought to have weighed a hundred and ten pounds or more.

Javier clapped Arthur on his sore back with a toothy grin. We did good, and yes, they had, as far as Arthur was concerned. He shouldn't need to go hunting for a month.

Hallelujah.

And now Strauss is twirling Hosea around their campfire, struggling to reach over the taller man's head; Javier mindlessly strums new chords to an old song that Strauss half-remembered from Austria and taught the lot of them years ago, some leigst mir am Herzen, leigst mir im Sinn; Dutch is running his mouth to an unenthused Lenny, who seems to be trying in earnest to mumble the German words that Uncle is singing with his chest.

Arthur and Mary-Beth are vaguely following the other dancing couple, the woman quick to dodge his two boot-clad left feet to save her bare toes from crunching. What a sight those old coots make, stumbling around in a shoddy ländler and hollering every time Hosea is held like a lady would be.

A wasted Sean trades into Mary-Beth's spot followed by a shriek of laughter from the fire, and the lady joins Karen instead. Arthur is just tipsy enough to allow it.

Sean's skinny hand is clammy and dwarfed in his injured one, and both join in vaguely singing so, so, wie ich dich liebe! He can tell the Irishman is sloshed, not only by his breath and how often he accidentay kicks Arthur in the ankles, but because of how he presents his freckled cheek and batters his lashes at the end of the verse.

"You's the ugliest girl at the hoedown," Arthur grins, and can't name each man that finds the whole thing hilarious. He can name each one who finds him kissing his scruffy cheek funny, when Sean rolls his eyes and taps it: all of them laugh, a ruckus loud enough that they will be lucky to not have been ambushed by morning.

The joy hurts his face, though maybe the smile is more of a grimace after having his arms around the redhead, sniffing on that constant hay and liquor smell he carries.

He forgets it by trading for Karen's hand. She is much prettier; he gives her a kiss, too. She makes conversation on what happened to his hand, and offers a playful tut about his carelessness.

When, at last, the song changes twice over, he drops his ass to sit on a log beside a tuckering out Hosea. Rubbing the slight sheen of summer heat off of his face and accepting a beer from the old man, he swipes his gaze around the fire only to notice Javier is glaring daggers at him, fingers picking hard at the strings.

He raises his brows in a silent who, me? Dark eyes return to the neck of the acoustic, and he flubs a note as he begins the next song.

The look throws Arthur off, but he watches Javier playing, anyways. It's no safe bet: his heartrate drums a little faster whenever the man's eyes move from the frets or the body, anticipating a call-out and a what're you starin' at, queer? to save face.

Javier isn't hard to read nor please, as so many of the gang claim. If a man learns how to see his aggression and how to shut his trap appropriately, Javier tends to like him. He's knocking on the guitar body, now, introducing some percussion to the song between quick plucks of the strings.

It must be why the two of them have always gotten along so well. Hosea once told him his habit of wanting to placate others to an abnormal degree was because he was beat as a kid, but he was fifteen and...

He focuses his vision, blinks as it comes into relative sharpness again. "Hey, Hosea?"

Next to him, Hosea turns from speaking lowly to Dutch, who is crouching beside him with a cigar on his lip. He leans over to look at Arthur, too, as if he asked for both of them.

"Yes, son?"

"You remember when," — furrowing his brows, finding such a long sentence hard to string together as the last of his third beer settles into his bones — "I's a kid and you, uh... said I'm a people pleaser all 'cuz my daddy beat me?"

His brows shoot up. "Jesus," he whispers, mouth spreading in a smile that's all nerves and surprise before returning to its usual firm line. "I do. Why?"

"I want'a say 'm sorry for— uh, sayin' your daddy woulda beat you, too," Arthur apologizes, as sincerely as he can. Both of his fathers blanche. "Y'know, if he weren't locked up, he woulda..." He twirls his hand as if to demonstrate a longer explanation laying in the air before them, then scratches the back of his neck with it. "Sorry I said that t'ya. Them years ago."

Dutch grabs Hosea's arm as if to steady himself, mouth split in an amused grin. The blond sucks his lips in, and nods.

"Why, that had't've been a whole score ago," Hosea says. "Don' worry, son."

"I dunno," he says. "'S only time you ever slapped me."

Hosea's ears turn red, and he pats Arthur's bicep affectionately. "Well, I wasn't tryna be another type like your father."

"You's always like my real dad. Sorta."

He pauses, mouth opening and then closing as if he isn't sure how to respond to that drunken confession.

Dutch has sunk to his knees on the grass beside the log, leans over with an elbow on Hosea's thigh. "Say, son," he begins, tossing a thumb to Javier and speaking low. "Why don't you go back to gawkin' at your man in silence?"

It's his turn to blush. "I weren't... the fuck'chu mean," — raising his voice to match Dutch's strained tenor, cracking the words in half to piss him off — "My man, you sack of—?"

"Well," Hosea interjects, then, straightening his pants legs at the knees. He raises with a click of his joints. "Sounds like time for me to get outta here."

Hours pass, maybe two. Arthur's pissed twice counting this toilet run, downed two more beers, threw back two shots of something strong-tasting, and danced twice more. He is coming to like the number two.

Whoever gave Uncle a harmonica, however, Arthur does not like.

Sure, the man has clearly played one before, but every wandering cowboy has handled a harmonica. Someone must be able to make it sound better than this, so shrieking it's driven Arthur doubly as far away as he'd normally go to take a leak. The man who wrote this song, the one that the few remaining around the fire begin to stomp and clap to — Arthur's hand throbs, fingers fumbling at his fly — the feller who wrote my girl, my girl, in the pounds, in the pounds, so on and so forth... he must be rolling in his grave.

Javier could make the shrill cry of the harmonica sound good, he thinks idly. Teetering on wasted, fishing himself from his drawers in the darkness outside of camp's edge, he notices that the guitar stopped.

What kind of music would he play, if he were a musician? 

It's a lovely thought, now. Arthur is warm with alcohol and loose enough at the shoulders to entertain the fancy without self-flagellating. He'll have to chew on what Dutch teased him for when he's sober, if he remembers it at all, but for now he thinks of Javier as his man and feels a smile gnawing at him.

Does he want him like that?

Arthur isn't sure, but he thinks it is one of those rare scenarios where neutrality speaks more volumes than both disgust and adoration. A man who was merely lonely, in the sexual sense, wouldn't be so fond of another feller's voice, or the way he struts with his gun belt clanking and yelling out how big and bad he thinks he is, or—

"There you are, Arthur."

Javier's voice makes him jump, hands flinching. How does this guy always find him?

"Just about zipped my damn pecker off," he hisses, turning over his shoulder to glare at him.

Well, he hopes it's a glare. He has a hard time expressing the right things when he's shitfaced.

And Javier is getting close, placing a hand on the back of his neck and stroking the sweat-soaked skin there, clipped nails scratching the shortest hairs at his nape. He swallows a groan.

"Enjoying the party?" He asks, as if Arthur ain't pissing right there and as if he isn't tenderly caressing him all the while.

He shakes himself, stuffs his dick back in his pants and does them up. "I'm enjoyin' the drinks," he says. "Missin' the music."

Javier chuckles. He turns Arthur easily, slots his body to his with his arms around his waist; Arthur smells vodka on his breath, remembers him taking shots alongside the handful of them who had before the bottle ran out.

That's probably why I'm hammered.

"What'chu up to, mister?" He asks lightly. Javier's face, already unclear in the night, has turned to his chest. If Arthur isn't entirely lost, he thinks the man's stomach contracts short and quick where it presses to his own. "Javier. Are you sniffin' me?"

Alright, so he's hammered, too.

He leans back. The whites of his eyes near glow, the collar of his white shirt as stark; his dark hair fades into the background, but his dark eyes don't.

They're hot. At least, their fixation makes Arthur's face feel hotter, and he doesn't care if anyone sees them embracing like this.

"You smell good, vaquero," he says simply. He runs a hand up his right side, over the underside of the arm to splay it outwards before he wraps his fingers around those of his uninjured hand in an awkward, but tight hold. "I wanna dance with you. You didn't let me, earlier."

"Never asked, did you?" Arthur asks, confused.

"No. You had that Irish hog on your hip."

He balks. "For a minute, maybe." Despite himself, he puts his arm around Javier's shoulders, big enough to encircle them. "Is that why you kept lookin' at me like I called your momma a tart?"

Javier blinks, as if he is scanning his memory for what the word means. Then, he frowns. "Sean's an asshole," he repeats, and the softer syllables slur together. "He said my dick's small."

Where a sobered Arthur would laugh at the childish hint of hurt in his voice, he merely raises his brows.

"Were he lookin' at it?" He asks, unsure where the twinge of— whatever emotion that's chafing on him comes from.

Jealousy? Something like anger?

The cackle from the other man tells him the question came out wrong. "Aye, you know how to comfort a man, vaquero," he teases, and Arthur realizes where his words went wrong.

"I didn't mean it like that," he says, and then pauses. "Not that, uh, your prick's small." Javier goes quiet, lets him flounder with a smile pulling at his lips. "I mean, it's... it's real..." — flushing, wanting to stop talking immediately, but knowing Javier will press him until he finishes his sentence — "Nice. I just didn't mean to say it, at first."

"Oh, it's only nice?" Javier rubs a hand at the small of Arthur's back, where sweat pools beneath his button-down. "I'd figure—"

"I don't wanna know what you figure," he sputters, trying to save his own dignity. "God, c'mon, didn't you wanna dance?" Arthur squeezes his hand. "Let's dance, vacay-row."

Javier snorts. "If you stop butchering my language, we'll dance all night."

"How'd you say it, then?" Arthur asks, brows knitting in genuine dismay.

Inhibitions so forgotten, he feels wholeheartedly a need to impress Javier, as if a redneck speaking Spanish with a thick accent but moderate fluency would be able to. He ought to just shut his gob after one or two beers, seal right over it with tape maybe; Arthur never seems to think of that option until he's already knee-deep in an avoidable, embarrassing situation.

To his surprise, Javier replies gently: "Vaquero."

He tries his best, with his eyes peering into his soul like this. "Va... Va-kee-row."

"Close," Javier says. He glances around, then leans up and presses his lips to the lobe of Arthur's ear. His breath reeks of vodka, and he wanders how many shots he took to lose his apprehension about camp. Normally, he wouldn't spare Arthur a handshake two miles from this place. "Vaquero."

He swallows, throat clicking. "Vaquero."

A kiss is tucked behind the corner of his jaw. "There you go," he says. "Beun chico."

"Is that an insult?" Arthur asks, but lets himself relax anyways. "Sounds like what you said yesterday.

"Sí. It is a different insult, though."

He sighs. Javier grins, wide, looks so handsome. The urge to kiss him is difficult to resist. They haven't moved at all, a realization met in tandem.

Javier moves easier than he does, already poor at these close-quarters dances and stomach flipped by how his partner is much nearer than he needs to be. It does not sync to the music from camp, whatever that might be; his ears are ringing a little, Javier's nose pressed firmly into his neck and his breath steady and slow at it. Sleep might have taken him, if he weren't moving his feet alongside Arthur's, and he wanders if he's smelling him again. He can't smell like much besides perspiration and whatever men usually stink of when they've been rotting out in the woods.

His gentleness is nice.

If Arthur shuts his mind off, he only knows of Javier's heat against him and their legs stumbling together and how his fingers clumsily work over his hand and wrist until they finally lace with his. If he comes back into his mind to tune out the sounds of camp— he can focus on the bugs and birds chirping in the evening outside, a hot summer wind rustling the leaves, the sound of their clothes rustling together. Their palms are growing clammy where they meet.

It's nice, until Javier yanks himself away. If he were a dog, his ears would be pricked; instead, he snaps his face back toward camp. He storms off with a seething: "Some rat is playing my fucking guitar."

[bat-gwuck]

lmao so these two games have like nothing in common other than they’re both in my top 5 re-occurring hyperfixations but idc I’m having fun 😼👍

ong rdr2 and dragon age (esp origins) are my two all time FAVOURITE games so I thought ykw fuck it im gonna make a crossover AU - never done an AU before so NGL there’s a lot of kinks to iron out but I’m kinda digging it

started off with a lil’ character sheet for Arthur - I flip flopped between what I would make him (Templar, warden, keep him as a street thief/outlaw etc.) before finally settling on a mix of both warden and street thief/outlaw!! idk Arthur just gives me really strong Grey Warden vibes - a tragic hero (sometimes on a path of redemption depending on the origin/how they played it) who also has smth in them that will eventually kill them, despite having some weird benefits (in Arthur’s case, mentally)?? they’re twinning fr

I also just fucking LOVE the grey wardens so…

so it starts off relatively similar to normal: Arthur joins up with the gang at a young age, becomes a thief yada yada, and after a disastrous robbery, they end up camping in Ferelden, just before the Blight starts (unlucky)

for the purposes of this fic, the gang is only comprised of the camp girls (minus Sadie, for now), Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John, Jack, Swanson, Pearson, Micah, Bill, Sean, Lenny and Javier - Sadie and Charles appear a bit later!!

shit goes down as normal but for story purposes, a heck of a lot faster, and the gang starts to fracture

seeing this, and wanting better for everyone, especially in the midst of the now upcoming Blight, which Dutch, for whatever reasons, does not acknowledge the danger of, Hosea (WHO LIVES IN THIS SCREW YOU ROCKSTAR) gathers as many people as will listen to him (everyone minus Dutch, Micah, Bill, Javier) with him and splits from the gang and heads towards Denerim in hopes of finding safety/starting anew

during their travels however, the group ends up getting caught up in a battle between a group of grey wardens and dark spawn - in which, because he has the worst luck, Arthur is nicked by a darkspawn which only means one thing: death.

(Literally just realising this is basically carver in the deep roads)

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how you view it, the grey wardens offer to take Arthur back to Ostagar with them, they were impressed by his fighting skills, and arguing that the only way for him to live was to become a grey warden

after a lot of hesitation, and a bit of arguing, as he doesn’t want to leave his family behind, Arthur agrees to go with them and parts ways with the remains of the gang, promising that, once this was all over, they’d find each other again

SO I feel like this is enough for now! I definitely have more to write on this and NGL I might even write a full blown fanfic of this BC ITS SO MUCH FUN??

if anyone is wondering, Arthur will meet Sadie n Charles at Ostagar

I’m not entirely sure if I want Arthur to be the HoF in this AU?? I am very much planning on him being a prominent figure in the fight against the Blight and the Archdemon but idk?? ALSO there will be characters from both games in this AU bc I love some of them too much to leave out (I’m looking at you Morrigan and Shale…)

I did kind of want him to be a Blackwall type figure but like if Blackwall acc became a Grey Warden 💀

I hope you liked this and if anyone has any ideas for this AU PLEASE let me know I’m so lost 😭

I’ll be doing some more of these character sheets so keep an eye out for them!!

also Arthur absolutely nicked the fur collar off a rich noble

[queen-diamond-serenity]

Most people in the Red Dead Community like to think they know who Dutch really is and have that man all figured out.

But in all honesty I just feel like most really don't which is why I try my best to avoid having conversations and even dealing with people who are against Dutch or just come up with these ridiculous claims about him. And when it comes to us Dutch apologist no one is making excuses for his wrongdoing we know he's done wrong but y'all like to nitpick and over analyze and over exaggerate every little thing about this character to the point where it makes you look ridiculous.

A lot of you think that everything about him is fake and he was manipulating all of this from the beginning for the past 20 years y'all think this is who he really was when it doesn't logically add up or make any kind of sense. I feel like this character is judged way too harshly. You all act like he's the only one with faults when the truth is he isn't. The same people that want to harshly judge Dutch are the same people who try to give Micah the benefit of the doubt even said that Dutch is worse than him if that is even possible I don't think I take people serious who say shit like that. How could you?

Do y'all even pay attention to the details of Micah or do you have your head so far up the faults of Dutch ass to the point where you can't even see that Micah's own brother wants nothing to do with him and he actually said if he ever crossed paths with him again that he would kill him he told his brother that he has no reason to contact him or write him again or be in his presence for any reason. The fact that his own brother wants nothing to do with him should let you know something. On top of that he wrote some type of note at Camp if you read it how he takes joy and backstabbing unsuspecting people that trusts him. Micah has absolutely not one ounce of redeeming qualities and he shows to be a true sociopath. He's also a racist and a child killer. Even one of his buddies I think it was Joe or cleat that left aside because he killed a kid. Dutch show that he went crazy and just lost his Humanity because of all his faults. Dutch could have Redemption but the thing about Dutch is after everything he did to the people that he actually loved and cared about that you think was so fake and he was playing games with him from the beginning he actually feels like he doesn't deserve Redemption for what he did. So who we see in RDR1 is a man who's punishing himself and punishing everything around him that he blames for how things went wrong. You also like to accuse him of being motivated by greed. And if that was the case he would have shot both Micah and John up at that snowy mountain and took the Blackwater money and went about his business if he had no real heart in him. Even in RDR1 he had plenty of opportunities to kill John and truly never did nothing was stopping him from shooting John when he was mad at the top of the mountain in the first game. He threw his gun into his own life so his son wouldn't have to live with with being the one to end his life.

For the most part I ignore y'all until I decide to engage for a bit and then pull back and just leave you alone for months at a time. You know since this game came out this is the first time I've been vocal. The fact that it took me 5 years to start speaking my mind speaks of volumes when it comes to addressing the things that I see in this community especially as far as Dutch is concerned.

If y'all really sat back and examine some of the shit you write concerning his character you'd actually see why it's worth criticizing. And y'all have nerve to speak out against Dutch apologist as if you have real argument to stand on when you and all honesty really don't. Not from what I'm analyzing.

Like I don't care if people who don't like Dutch apologists wants to block all of us and all honesty I do my best to stay out of your space anyway.

I wrote this from being tickled coming across some comment on YouTube the homefront of toxic opinions concerning Dutch lol. One fan stating that Dutch is way worse than Micah. Do you think I as a black woman with deam Dutch worse than Micah?

Who's a blatant racist?

For anyone to sit up here and say that Dutch was a fraud from the beginning you have to prove to me that he was pretending to not be a racist. Which is utterly insane given the time period he was living in. This was during the time when whites only and coloreds only signs was put on water fountains and bathrooms. You mean to tell me during a time period like this a Caucasian man decided to pretend to not be racist just in case he bumped into a couple of people of color that he would later on letting to his gang? If you're going to drive the point home that Dutch was a fraud from the beginning then you have to show and prove to me that he was a fraud with everything else that means including pretending to not be racist as a means of manipulation what evidence do you have that that's even there? You see when you take it from a woman of colors perspective concern is Dutch character that opens up a can of worms that most of you can't even touch. You see I can look at this situation from angles that most people don't even think of looking at it from. So y'all thought I cracked the surface with this shit but to be honest I haven't gone as deep as I really wanted to go. This is something that has been sitting with me for a long time. Dutch was an outlaw I expect him to be what an outlaw is. Dutch is the Wild Wild West. And modern day societies like Saint Denis took the Wild Wild West from him and that's like taking a fish out of water for dutch. He didn't want things to change. But you can't fight a war against progress and it drove him insane. Dutch has his faults but let's stop trying to act like other things that came into play wasn't a contributing factor. Y'all sit there and unfairly judge him with the situation even with Angelo Bronte Leviticus Cornwall that brings me back to being a woman of color. Y'all give him shit about killing people like Angela Bronte Leviticus Cornwall and Catherine braithwaite. And using that as a means to drive home your point that he was always a fraud and manipulative and all these things. Do you think I as a black woman would give a rat's ass about Dutch killing people like them? People who did not like black people? The only issue I had is how he may have executed it and then I had a problem with how he killed the innocent mother that was out of pocket. But you can't use these people he killed as a means to drive a point home when I'm looking at it from the perspective that I can't help but look at it from. You cannot judge Dutch on the standards of today's standards because he is a character that is being portrayed from a time period from over a hundred years ago so I have no choice but to look at it from the angle I'm looking at it from. When you start to examine the situation like this you begin to realize how ridiculous most of you sound which is why I try not to engage in conversations which are regarding him. Now I do plan on coming and explaining other characters but until then I'm going to continue to put my focus on dutch. Being that that's where everybody's focus is on with being the biggest ones y'all like to criticize.

Y'all don't criticize Arthur Who obviously has faults and you don't criticize John who also obviously have faults. Y'all put John and Arthur especially Arthur on a pedestal because given the situation not realizing that any given chance that if you were in front of their faces they robbed and kill you if it satisfied their need at that given time. Probably even Dutch. But I digress.

And unlike Dutch haters who like to push Dutch apologist away the irony is I don't push Micah apologist away because I have a good argument against them LOL I don't tell them that they aren't allowed in my space because I'm not that sensitive and I'm not that much of a bitch who's in her feelings in that regard. I welcome all people from whatever fan base they're coming from among Red Dead Redemption family. Because I know how to carry a good debate.

Like I keep saying a third game needs to be installed and it needs to be centered around Dutch being the protagonist. And I know a lot of you don't want that because it will debunk a lot of the dumbass arguments you've had against him all these years. That's why y'all hoping it's anybody but him we get to play on that controller.

Rather you agree with this post or not rather you share it or not whether you hurt or not I'm okay with that. Because in all honesty I do this for my own pleasure. But to those who have supported me some subjects on my page more than others I greatly appreciate it.

I get it I know I come off a bit strong at times and a little aggressive with my Approach but when you're dealing with ignorance like this sometimes you got to add a little fire to the mix. I'm just passionate about the subjects I take on and speak about. A lot of people like to take that for being angry and nasty and mean no I'm just passionate about the subjects I take interest in. So people will take it the wrong way and look at it as mean and angry and aggressive. But what do you expect from people who are poor Judgment of character. So I don't take that personal.

I may come off as like I'm trying to cause drama but in truth I'm really not. I can't help it if my approaches have fire to it. That's just my personality my personality is very strongly expressive. It's been like this since I was a little girl I've always been like this very loud in my personality very creative with my words very outspoken.

It's been awhile since I went on a rant and I just needed to get this out of my chest. Y'all don't realize I've been holding a lot of this shit in your for several years now. So let me have my space to vent.

[12timetraveler]

I'll Go Tonight, Boys

Summary:

Hosea loved Bessie more than life itself. He spends the first year after her death drunk to numb the pain. On the anniversary of her passing, he tries something drastic.

Inspiration song: Jamie by Zach Bryan Ft Charles Wesley Goodwin

Notes:

CW: Grief, Loss, suicidal thoughts and attempts, alcoholism, vomit.

This is a deep one y'all. Please check in with yourself and make sure you're okay before reading.

Also please note I am not a professional in psychology or dealing with these kinds of issues. The way problems are solved in this story may not be the best way and I'm not making recommendations on how you should respond if you're dealing with any of this. These are characters dealing with these situations using the tools they have at their disposal for their time/lifestyle (which isn't a lot). If you are struggling with any of the issues mentioned in this story, please take care of yourself and seek professional help.

I love all of you. Be safe.

Below is a preview. Read the entire story on AO3

'Cause this life ain't worth livin'

If the love that you've been given

is taken before you are

I'll go tonight boys,

I don't mean no harm

I just miss my lovin' lady

and layin' in her arms

~~~~~~~~~

"Arthur," Dutch called out, grabbing the young man's arm as he passed. Arthur paused, seeing the worried crease to Dutch's brow. "Arthur, will you ride into town with me?"

"Sure," Arthur drawled. "Why?"

"Hosea," Dutch sighed. Arthur groaned.

"I thought you were watching him, keeping him in camp?"

"I was," Dutch huffed. "But I stepped away for five minutes to relieve myself. When I came back he and Silver Dollar were gone,"

"I'm sure he's fine," Arthur sighed. "Just at the saloon. He'll stumble back in a few hours, drunk off his feet but fine." In truth Arthur was getting a little tired of worrying about Hosea. The man had practically raised him through his later teenage years. It was... Uncomfortable trying to take care of him now. He was a difficult drunk. And while Hosea would never raise a fist to Arthur, even out of his mind with drink, it still brought up some awful memories of Lyle Morgan.

They'd been doing their best to keep Hosea in camp, keep an eye on him, and try to limit him to a bottle or two a day. Arthur had handed John all the booze left in camp and told the teen to hide it somewhere Hosea would never think of.

But if Hosea slipped away for a day and went into town, well they'd just have to work harder tomorrow to get him sober.

Even if they had to bail him out of the jailhouse, they'd do that just fine. The local sheriff was a reasonable man. He knew Hosea well enough. They'd stayed in the area this past year, not wanting to drag Hosea too far away from his beloved's final resting place. Many mornings Arthur found himself on Sheriff Jorgenson's porch, hat in hand, promising he'd do better to keep his friend in check.

The others in the gang had already given up. Susan just flat-out avoided Hosea. Her screeching at him and scolding him had only resulted in some harsh words. Only Dutch, Arthur and John still held out hope that they could save Hosea from his self-destructive path.

"Arthur," Dutch said darkly, "Don't you know what day it is?"

Arthur paused, doing a quick calculation in his head. If last Sunday was... And that was how many days ago...? Then today was...

"Shit," Arthur grumbled. "Is that today?"

"It is," Dutch said grimly. "One year since he lost her,"

"We gotta find him before his temper gets him killed," Arthur said, turning and striding toward his horse. Dutch fell in alongside Arthur.

"Or his melancholy,"

[clareguilty]

Arthur Morgan/reader, desperate sex

Here is my second fic for kinktober! The next should be up on Wdnesday <3

Arthur Morgan/fem!reader | desperate sex, dominant Arthur Mentions of death and injury, mild angst. I made the cowboy cry. Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2000

“Who goes there?” a gruff voice demanded as you rode up the trail to camp.

“It’s just me, Bill,” you called back, tipping your tattered hat.

“What the hell?!” He blinked and rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe you were right in front of him. “You’re alive?”

You grinned, opening your arms wide. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

He watched dumbfounded as you rode the rest of the way up to Horseshoe Overlook. You had been gone more than a few days, and your worst fear was that the gang would have packed up and left. The job had gone terribly -- so terribly you had been stranded and lost with no way back -- which was a good reason for the gang to move on to somewhere where the law didn’t know their faces.

But everything was exactly the same. People milled about, scrubbing or packing or chopping. Dutch’s gramophone played on, louder than a dynamite blast and seemingly never ending.

“What in god’s name?” Hosea took one look at you, bruised and battered and covered in every inch of wilderness you had hiked through trying to get back to camp.

“Glad to see y’all are still here.” You groaned in pain as you slid out of the saddle, smacking your ‘borrowed’ horse on the rump and pointing her back to the road. “Go on, girl. Find your way back home.”

The horse slowly headed back the way it came. Hosea was staring at you.

“I know,” you frowned. “I look terrible.”

“No,” Hosea waved his hand, shaking his head. “It’s not that -- though you do look like shit. We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

It was your turn to look taken aback. “Dead? You gave up on me that quick?”

“Sweetheart.” He gripped your arm as if he was still trying to convince himself you were real. “You fell off a bridge. Those rapids… the rocks…” he trailed off.

You grimaced. “It certainly wasn’t my best performance.”

“There wasn’t any time to go back and look for you, but we weren’t even sure we would have found a body.” He looked ashamed. “We failed you.”

“No,” you took his hands in yours, squeezing. “You did what you had to do. I couldn’t bear it if you had lost someone trying to come back for me.”

Sean was walking by, bottle in hand. He did a double take when he saw you standing there, glanced at his bottle, and then back at you. “You mean Dutch gave that long fancy speech for nothing? You had better not die again.”

You laughed and shot him a wink. “I don’t plan on it.”

Sean seemed satisfied with that response. “Your man’s been a right mess since we lost you. Hopefully he quits moping around all the time now.”

“Arthur?” you glanced around. “Is he alright? Where is he?”

Sean shrugged. “Probably the same place he’s been for a week now.”

You turned to Hosea, desperate. “Where?”

“He’s been at his wagon mostly. I didn’t want him going out in the state he’s been in.”

His words only made you more worried. You had finally made it back to camp. All you had been able to think about -- the only thing on your mind as you clawed your way out that ravine and stumbled through the woods -- was that you had to get back to him. You couldn’t leave him. “Is he hurt? Did something happen?”

Hosea didn’t get the chance to answer. Whispers of your arrival back at camp must have spread fast, because Mary-Beth was dragging Arthur by the arm to where you and Hosea were standing.

“Arthur.” You were running -- as fast as you could move with all your injuries and exhaustion. He finally saw you, freezing in place and staring in disbelief.

You slammed into his chest, flinging your arms around him.

He hesitated before returning your embrace, leaning in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. The two of you stood there for a long while as you sniffled into his chest. Arthur held you tightly, as if you would disappear if he let go.

“Isn’t this sweet,” a familiar booming voice rang out. “Glad to see you alive and well, dear.” You didn’t even turn to look at Dutch. Not when Arthur was clinging to you.

The ground disappeared beneath your feet and you found yourself hoisted over Arthur’s shoulder. The crowd that had gathered around the two of you dispersed as he stalked across camp. The world flipped right side up again as Arthur sat you on his horse, swinging into the saddle behind you and taking off at a full gallop.

You made it to Valentine in record time. The ride was harsh and agitated your injuries, but you didn’t mind with Arthur at your back. He helped you down to the ground and practically carried you inside the hotel, slamming the door open. “A room for me and my wife, please,” he demanded.

The hotel clerk handed over the key. You clung to Arthur the whole way up the stairs, nuzzling against him and just glad to be near him again.

The lock clicked behind you and Arthur… changed. His embrace became more insistent. His eyes darkened. The edge of the bed hit the backs of your knees and Arthur laid you down. It was gentle, but he pressed you into the bed, climbing over you. “Where are you hurt?” he asked.

“It’s not too bad-” you tried to play it off.

He cut you off. “Where. Are. You. Hurt.”

It was terrifying, but thrilling. You shivered under his intense gaze. “My hip,” you grabbed one of his hands and gently lay his palm over your hip. “Makes walking and riding hard.”

He nodded. Clearly waiting for you to continue. “My back is pretty messed up, and my shoulder.”

He noticed the rips and tears in your shirt. All the places you had scraped or torn. His hands went to the buttons, lifting you carefully so he could get you out of the sleeves.

Your trousers were next, slowly pulled down over your hips. When you winced in pain, Arthur stopped to kiss you, cradling your face in his hands.

He stripped you down. His expression was pained as he took in the full extent of your injuries. You had fallen off of the rail bridge and gotten swept into the freezing rapids. The current slammed you into the rocks and swept you down the ravine before you washed up on the bank of the river. From there, it had been a grueling process of making your way out of the ravine and through the woods.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you reassured him. Glancing down, you got a good look at just what he saw. “It does look pretty bad, though,” you frowned.

Arthur’s expression was hard to read. You wondered if he was disgusted by you. It would take a long time to heal, and you knew he might not want to look at you while you were so beat up and battered.

He nearly collapsed on top of you. Luckily, he knew to brace his weight. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breaths ragged.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he gasped. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “I’m still here,” you promised. “Busted and bruised to hell, but I’m not gone yet, honey.”

He kissed his way along his jaw until he found your lips. It was perfect. You had missed him so much, so worried you would never make it back to him. But now you were here in his arms and kissing him. 

“I love you,” you said as soon as you caught your breath.

“I love you so much, darling.” He hovered his hands just above your skin, too scared to touch you.

You placed your hands over his and guided it to where you weren’t scraped or bruised. “Touch  me,” you begged.

He sighed as soon as he felt your skin against his palms, as if he just needed to know you were really there.

“I need you,” you tried to pull him against you, attempting to slot your hips together. “Please, Arthur.”

He hesitated. You could see the desire in his eyes, how badly he needed you, needed to feel you. But he didn’t want to hurt me. You would have to convince him.

“Arthur,” you grabbed the waistband of his pants. “I fell off a bridge and climbed out of a ravine and walked across half the damn state. I want you to fuck me, and I don’t care if it hurts.”

He seemed dazed, but lust clearly won out as you tried to slide your hand under his shirt. He was undressed in seconds, kissing his way over your neck and unable to keep his hands off you.

The pain was bearable, and you were too distracted with the warmth of Arthur’s skin under your hands. You couldn’t get enough of him, so glad to be near to him after all of those cold nights in the wild. 

He was impatient, desperate. He wanted all of you at once, and he didn’t know where to start. Now that you had given permission, he wasn’t afraid to take what he needed. And take he did. He sucked a mark into your collarbone before kissing down to your chest. You gasped as his lips found your breasts, teeth scraping along the skin.

“Please,” you rocked your hips.

He got the message, gently pressing your thighs apart so he could stroke your clit. It felt so good. The stretch when he slipped two fingers inside made you cry out. You sighed and pulled him closer, winding your fingers in his hair as he pulled moans and gasps from your lips.

“That’s it,” he said. “Good girl. I wanna hear you.” He doubled his efforts, determined to make you come around his fingers.

You pulled him up for a searing kiss, biting his lip as you came. “Fuck me,” you breathed.

He was just as needy, cock hard and aching against your hips. He grabbed your less injured leg and hooked it around his hip, dragging his cock against your slit. The teasing was going to drive you mad, but luckily he was just as impatient. He sank into you with one slow motion.

He hissed a curse against your skin, lost in the feeling of you around his cock. “God, darling. Need you so bad.”

He didn’t even try to start slow, setting a quick, frantic pace as soon as he began to move. His fingers dug into the bruises on your skin, but you didn’t mind the pain. It only reminded you that Arthur was there, that you had made it home to him.

You were so close, clinging to each other so desperately. You couldn’t imagine what Arthur had been through the past several days. He had truly believed you were gone, he had been in mourning. While you were focused on not getting eaten by wildlife, he was grieving your death.

It made sense why he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, why he sighed so deeply every time his hips met yours. The way he drank the taste of your lips as if he could never get his fill. You gave him everything you could.

The two of you went three rounds that night, fighting through your exhaustion in a desire to be close to one another. You fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, curled together on the rickety hotel bed.

“I can’t stop seeing it,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off you. “The sight of you falling off that bridge, the way you just disappeared. It’s kept me awake every night.”

You can see it. The dark circles under his eyes, how haggard and underfed he looks. You can only imagine how broken up he must have been.

“Not tonight,” you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You have me here, safe and sound.”

[fanfiction-inc]

Oh I loved your hc about the reader being like a sister to Arthur and John! Can I request a similar sisterly hc with Arthur and John about the reader being kidnapped?

Ahh! I finally finished it! I hope you enjoy!

Things have been tense back at camp, the gang trying to figure out the next step to evade the Pinkertons.

The boys you cared about so much have been trying to help Dutch and Hosea with the Pinkertons, and now the O'Driscoll boys were starting to revolt.

Usually you would try to help where you can, but they have been getting distant the more they get involved with this petty Grays vs. Braithwaite’s debacle.

Less conversations.

Less teasing.

You were missing the boys that usually treated you like their sister.

But things changed quickly.

You had been on duty at the perimeter of the camp when the shots rang out.

Your gun drawn, firing into the night at the dim lanterns that were being held by riders on their storming horses.

The full gallop sent your heart racing, trying to move here and there to avoid being trampled while also getting the attackers dead.

Some fell, but soon you fell too.

You heard the shot before you felt it, the wound in your side spreading pain like wildfire through your body.

The faint yells from your brothers echoed among the trees, the two having joined the fight late after returning from Rhodes.

Your gaze watched them fight, watched the panic in Arthur Morgan's gaze and the frenzy to reload John Marston's gun and fire.

But it was all in vain, as black clouded your vision and you were whisked away as a prisoner of the battle.

John huffed when he couldn't keep up on foot, out of ammo and out of breath.

Arthur caught up to John, sweat slickening his brow and legs screaming at him to slow down.

"I...I lost her, Arthur." He pants out, trying to swallow a breath and continue on to try and find which way you went.

Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, making John look back at him with a frenzied gaze.

"What are ya doing? We gotta keep goin'!"

"John stop and listen! We gon'have to regroup and figure out just where they may have taken 'er."

He tried playing the voice of reason, knowing no matter how badly he wanted to run and try to find you right away, that they needed a plan.

Running in guns blazing would get them killed.

But most of all, it would get you killed.

John jerked his arm away from Arthur's grasp, fuming at the idea of letting you go for now but knowing deep down it had to be done.

The boys regroup in camp, telling Dutch and Hosea what they saw, the conclusion of the O'Driscoll boys being the culprits after getting a good look at the bodies.

They needed information.

Your life was on the line.

They couldn't lose you.

It took nearly a day before they had any idea of a location that you may be held in, off in the woods, hidden away.

They had gone alone, stealthy in the night while the O'Driscoll’s attempted to use you to make the gang weakened.

Leave them vulnerable without the unruly daughter of the Van Der Linde gang.

A fist collided with your gut, blood being spit out onto the dirt floor of the cellar you were tied up in.

They just liked to see you bloodied, liked to see the girl who has been helping kill their men get hers.

"Had enough yet, ya Van Der Linde scum?"

"Bit me." A harsh grip was given to your side where the bullet wound went unattended the moment after you spat at your kidnapper, the bloody saliva hitting their chest.

It was getting harder and harder not to let the pain singing in your body take over, a cry leaving your lips when a thumb is jabbed into the wound and blood once again begins to seep freely from it.

"I don't like ya tone with me, little lady." The man hissed, thumb pushing deeper as tears blossomed in your gaze.

He was gonna make you black out from the pain alone.

Then gunfire sounded among the room, the man falling before you with a struggled noise and hand falling away from your wound.

Though the black spotted vision that appeared with each throb of pain, you finally felt hope for getting away from this.

Arthur ran to your side, hand coming to cup your cheek and make sure your gaze stayed focused on him. He couldn't have you blacking out, it would make it harder to leave.

"Jesus- They did a number on ya." He pats your cheek when your eye lids flutter, forcing your gaze before working to get you untied. "Can y'walk?"

"I..." You rasped, coughing on the crimson mixture that drips down from your lips. "I don't know."

"Alright John, y'gonna have to take lead here." Arthur spoke, form helping lift you up and carry you in his arms.

He couldn't let you die in this place, not like this.

John takes the lead out of the cellar, checking the coast as the O'Driscoll boys run around, trying to find the source of the shots.

He gestured for Arthur to follow, the man keeping close to his heels with your form, struggling to stay low while also keeping a good grip on you.

"Hey! There they are!"

"Shit!" Arthur falls with you behind one of the exterior walls of the shack that was connected to the cellar, form used to protect your own and spraying bullets without looking in hopes to hit someone and get out of there.

John takes aim, shooting the man that spotted them before grabbing a hold of Arthur's shirt and giving a hard tug. "Come on!"

The boys run like sheep from a pack of wolves, the bullets flying by them as they try to get you to safety, back to the camp.

Arthur hissed with pain when a bullet grazes his arm, sparks of pain shooting up his arm from the flesh wound but body surging forward.

He somehow manages to get you up on his horse, one hand wrapped around you tightly and the other clutching the reigns with a loud "ya!"

Shots ring out in retaliation to the O'Driscoll’s trying to keep up, John having luck on his side with each shot behind them and bodies left along the less beaten paths back to the main road.

You three were home free, now you just had to get patched up.

"Have I ever told ya how much I hate them damn O'Driscoll’s?" John tried to joke with you, earning a faint, raspy chuckle and cough in turn.

Even if you couldn't see his face from the way you were sat on the horse, he held worry in his gaze.

Every fiber in his being was scared you may die out on them.

The unruly brothers being without their sister.

The camp crowds the boys, John helping get you off Arthur's horse and into a tent so your wounds can be tended to.

"Marston, I need you outside." Mrs. Grimshaw demanded in a hurried fashion, untying the ties on the canvas tent to let the flaps fall closed before beginning her work on you.

It took hours until they could see you, being forced back when your pained cries came from the cauterization of the wound.

Being told they couldn't help at the moment, that the ladies had it as they held you down and the hot iron heated by the camp fire dug into your side and stopped the bleed.

Hours and hours until it was night time and Mrs. Grimshaw finally left the tent, wiping her bloody hands clean.

"She's restin'. Y'can sit with her if ya want but I don't think she's gon'wake up any time soon." The woman informed, sending the men who looked dead to the world from the need for sleep nod and stand, entering the tent.

Arthur's heart damn near shattered at the view of your bandaged up form, his seat taken in a chair at your side while John steals one near the entrance of the tent.

Sleep be damned, he was going to watch over you.

And he did. He watched until it was daybreak and he could barely keep his eyes open, flinching from his half-asleep state when Arthur brought in some of the camp fire coffee for them.

"B-Bring me some?" Their eyes darted to your form, hearing a wheezing cough fall from your chest before seeing the faintest lines of a smile on your features.

Yes, it was pained but it made the boys drop what they were doing and come over.

"Hey," John starts, taking your hand and giving it a firm squeeze, "y'had us worried there." "I was...worried m’self." Your words come out in a slow, careful drawl as you try to move past the tenderness of your throat and body. "But hey, your gon' be okay. Mrs. Grimshaw thinks you'll make a full recovery." Arthur smiled, seating himself on the edge of the cot you lay on and watched how your body visibly relaxed. "No i-infection?" "Not that she could see. Seems you're luck didn't run out jus’ yet."

John smiled when your barely there smile grows, an attempt at a laugh causing another wheeze but the attempt was admired.

"Rest for now, yeah?" The boys smiled at your nod of a response, returning to their seats in the tent when you fell back into a light slumber.

They weren't gonna leave you any time soon, their unruly sister.

RDR2 TAG LIST:

@lise-soontobemarried  | @imtootiredforreddit | @morgans-cowbaby | @btsloversaregreat | @sokkasdarling | @the-internet-ruined-me

[queenxxxsupreme]

Aftermath (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: Here is my masterlist and here is the link to go to if you’d like to be on any of my taglists! My latest rdr2 fic was a Charles fluffy piece called The Chase if you want to check it out :)

Warnings: mentions of falling off a train, hurt reader, descriptions  of wounds and blood, but mostly fluffiness

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: After a heist ends badly, Arthur cleans you up and chastises you for not being more careful. 

***

Your horse came to a stop in front of the hitch post just outside of camp. You paused for a moment to breathe now that you were safe. 

Your heart was still racing from the events of earlier and your hands gripped your horse’s reins so tightly that your knuckles hurt. But that pain was nothing compared to the rest of your body. 

“Need a hand, Y/N?” Lenny asked, tying his horse up and moving towards you. 

“Get me down before Arthur-,” You stopped, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth making your stomach clench up. You knew it was him. 

Lenny helped you down from your horse, catching you as you slipped down from the saddle. You tried to put weight on your left leg, but the pain in your ankle was too much. You nearly collapsed. 

“Easy there, Y/N.” Lenny kept his arm around you. 

Your eyes caught sight of Arthur and John coming into camp. 

“Go, Lenny.” You urged, letting him go and giving him a push away from you. 

“Are you sure, Y/N? You can’t even stand on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Lenny.” You assured him, leaning against the hitch post for support. “He’s angry and I don’t want him yellin’ at you.”

“Tie ‘er up.” You heard Arthur tell John, no doubt talking about his horse. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in the direction of his voice. 

You took a deep breath and started to make your way across camp to yours and Arthur’s tent. You gritted your teeth together. Your nails dug into your palms from how tightly your fingers were curled up. But you pushed through the pain and kept going. You just needed to make it to the tent before Arthur could make a scene in front of everyone. 

“Y/N!” Susan gasped. “What in the hell happened to you, girl?”

You wanted to shake it off, to tell her you were fine, but you knew if you opened your mouth you’d make some sort of pained sound, something that would alert a certain outlaw that you were more injured than you let on. 

“Don’t let her walk away from you, Mrs. Grimshaw.” Arthur spoke, his voice deep and devoid of the usual teasing tone he had when he spoke towards you. 

“What happened, Arthur?” Hosea moved towards you both, wanting to make sure you were okay. 

You shook your head, still hastily walking in the direction of the tent.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t acknowledge Arthur. 

“Don’t you walk away from me, woman!”

You were so close to the tent, maybe another six steps and then you’d be able to—

A large hand grabbed hold of your arm and he pulled you around to face him. You lost your balance, stepping on to your left leg. You cried out in pain and your knee buckled. 

Arthur caught you, one of his arms wrapping around your torso while the other grabbed your hip. 

“Let me go, Arthur!” You pushed against him, your hands flat against his chest as you tried to put as much space between yourself and him as possible. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Y/N. Ya got a busted ankle. Shouldn’t be walkin’ on it.”

“I can handle it my-damn-self!” You protested, still pushing against him. You tried to pry his hands away from you, to break his firm grip on you by grabbing his fingers and pulling away but he wasn’t letting go. 

“Quit being so goddamned stubborn, woman.” Arthur growled through clenched teeth. “Ya just fell off a fuckin’ movin’ train! Stop tryin’ to act so tough!”

“Get your hands off of me, Arthur Morgan!”

“Enough!” Dutch boomed, sending a wave of silence across the whole camp. It was only then that you realized everyone was watching you look like a fool. 

Arthur released you. The second he did, your weight was naturally distributed to both of your legs. You winced and lost your balance, using a crate by John and Abigail’s tent for support. 

Arthur flinched as if he’d catch you, but you caught yourself before he could come to the rescue. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Dutch asked, a furrow in his brow. 

“M’fine.” You forced through gritted teeth. “Wish people would stop askin’ me that.”

“Looks like you got into a bad fight at the saloon and lost.” Micah commented. 

“I’ll fucking show you a bad fight, you fucking inbreed-,”

“You better watch your mouth-,”

“I might be torn to hell but I will beat your ass into the ground-,”

“Cool it, both of you!” John intervened, stepping in front of Micah. 

“You can barely stand on your own, and you’re covered in blood.” Dutch said.  

“S’not my own.” You muttered, but he didn’t bother to listen to you. “Least I don’t think it is.”

“We don’t need you dyin’ off from an infected wound, Y/N. If you won’t let Arthur help you patch yourself up, have one of the girls do it.”

You nodded, locking your jaw tightly. 

Hosea shooed everyone away, knowing very well you’d pick Arthur. You were thankful that he’d give you guys some privacy. It was hard when the only walls you had in camp were made of canvas. 

“Are ya gonna stop bein’ a stubborn ass so I can help you?” Arthur asked. 

You nodded, keeping your eyes down. 

He moved towards you, carefully scooping you up bridal style. You winced, eyes squeezing shut. The way you were moved created a sharp pain in your ribs. 

Arthur took you to your shared tent and sat you down on the cot. 

“Start taking off your clothes.” He moved away from you and began to unravel the sides of the tent to give you privacy. 

Your hands were too heavy. Your muscles ached. Even the thought of moving brought on pain. You knew very well you wouldn’t be able to undress by yourself. 

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to look at you and saw that you were just staring at the picture of his mother he had framed on the chest next to the cot. 

“Pumpkin?”

“Hm?” You didn’t tear your eyes away from the picture. He could see it in your eyes. You weren’t really there with him. You were in your head. Arthur let out a gentle sigh, rubbing the side of his head, and moved to kneel down in front of you. The movement caught your attention, drawing your eyes to him. 

You took in a little breath, straightening your posture as your eyes focused on him. 

“M’gonna go get some things to clean you up with. Get some of your clothes off so I can see what we gotta deal with okay?” His voice, though deep and rumbly, was sweet and gentle. “Maybe put on your little gown, okay? That way we can see everything without you bein’ so uncovered.”

You said nothing, but you kept your eyes on him, on his lips more specifically. He wasn’t sure if you were actually getting everything he was saying, or if you were still zoned out. 

“Can you do that for me, pumpkin?”

You nodded your head a little. 

He rubbed the outside of your thigh before standing up and leaving the tent. 

You watched him go and for some reason seeing him leave made your heart beat harder and faster. Tears stung your eyes and you quickly brought your hand up to wipe them away. 

The events of earlier that day flashed through your head.

It was supposed to be an easy train robbery. Dutch and Hosea had planned it out with Arthur taking the lead. You joined him with Lenny, John, Javier, and Sean. 

Everything went smoothly until another group of eight men on horses showed up with plans to rob the train themselves. And as luck would have it, you used to run with one of the men. He was anything but a nice guy and definitely not someone you wanted to run into during a heist. 

When Arthur returned to the tent, he found you sitting on the cot hunched forward with your head in your hands. You weren’t changed out of your clothes and it appeared that you were crying. 

He placed the bowl of warm water down on the chest by the cot and put the other supplies in his arms down as well. 

He knelt down in front of you, large hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were red. 

“Are you cryin’ cause I was yellin’ at ya?”

You shook your head. 

“Are you hurtin’?”

You nodded. 

“Where at, pumpkin?”

“Everywhere, Arthur.” You cried quietly. “I-I’m so-sorry.”

“Don’t start that now.” He shook his head. “Won’t do you any good to start apologizin’ while you’re upset like this. It’ll just make ya even more upset. Don’t want ya makin’ yourself sick. Now let’s get you outta these clothes.”

“I-I can’t-Arthur, I’m just-,” You couldn’t seem to form sentences even though you knew what you wanted to say. The adrenaline had worn off and you were exhausted. You just wanted to sleep, but you knew Arthur wouldn’t let you do that just yet. 

“S’alright, pumpkin. I’ll help ya.” He reached up and began to unbutton your shirt. 

You fell silent, sniffling every now and then. 

Once your shirt was unbuttoned, he carefully pulled it off of your shoulders. 

“Shit, Y/N.” Arthur cursed under his breath. With your shirt gone, the bruising on your arms and chest could now be seen. 

There were hand-shaped bruises along your upper arms and a few cuts on the back of your right forearm. Your chest had a long bruise across it too. It was an odd pattern and Arthur couldn’t figure out quite what it was. 

“I-I didn’t….” Arthur reached out to tentatively trace his fingers over the bruising on your bicep. “Did I….?”

“No.” Your voice was raspy. “That’s not from you. There was a man on the train. He caught me off guard. He’s the one who gave me a busted face.”

Arthur pressed his lips together in a firm line. You could see the anger festering behind his eyes. His large hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across the corner of your cracked lips. You winced a little. He apologized softly. 

“What about the one on your chest?”

“There was another feller, he used a metal bar to clothes line me.”

He pulled his hand from your face, eyes lingering on the nasty bruise on your chest. 

“The second I got my footing, I put a knife between his ribs.” 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, making your heart race. 

Arthur reached around you to find the strings to your corset. With one effortless tug, the corset loosened and you took a breath. 

“I know you’re happy to be outta that.” Arthur tossed the corset to the foot of the cot. “Ya think you could stand so we can get your jeans offa ya?”

“I can stand on my right, but not my left.”

“I’ll be on your left. You lean against me. How about that?”

You nodded. Arthur stood up and helped you to your feet. You slipped an arm around his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of his jacket to brace yourself. He put an arm around you too. 

“How am I supposed to get my jeans off when I got one arm around you and you got one arm around me?” You asked him. 

He paused for a moment and you watched as he thought about it. 

“Well, I gotta hand and you gotta hand. Why don’t we use ‘em both?” He suggested. 

You giggled. 

It took some effort, but the two of you worked together to unbutton your jeans and get them down. 

Arthur nearly had a heart attack when he saw the cut on your thigh. How did he not see it before? 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“M’fine, Arthur.”

He got you into your nightgown and then sat you back down on the bed. 

He started with the thigh wound, cleaning the dried blood and then wrapping a bandage around your leg. From there, he looked down at your ankle. A bruise had already formed and around the joint was swollen. 

He sighed out, then turned his attention to the bowl of warm water. He dipped the clean rag into the water and rung it out. His eyes flickered up to your face. He paused for a moment. 

Your nose had been bleeding but now the blood was smeared across your cheek, dried. Bruising trailed from underneath your eye down to your cheekbone where a cut was from a fist. Your lips were busted and split open. The corners of your eyes were black and blue. Your nose didn’t look broken, so that was good. 

He let out another sigh. You knew he was trying to keep his emotions at bay. 

“I…. Arthur, m’sorry.” You whispered, your voice breaking from how quiet you were. 

He shook his head. His jaw ticked as the muscle tightened. He was gritting his teeth together. 

“How could you be so stupid, Y/N? Told you to wait for Javier or John. I knew there were men coming but you didn’t listen.”

“You would’ve done the same.”

“But I wouldn’t’a been thrown from the goddamned train.”

“You don’t know that.” You mumbled under your breath. 

Arthur took hold of your chin, turning your head so you had no choice but to look at him. 

“Don’t get that way with me, pumpkin.” He started to wipe blood from under your nose. “You could’ve died today. I…. I could’ve lost ya.”

You fell silent. 

He cleaned the blood from your face, using soft, gentle brushes with the rough rag. 

“Arthur? Y/N?” Mary Beth spoke from outside of the tent.

“It’s alright, Mary Beth.” Arthur dipped the rag into the water. “You can step in.”

You looked to him then down at his chest. 

“Just wanted to bring Y/N some supper. Thought maybe she’d be hungry.” Her eyes found you and she gasped softly. “Oh, Y/N. You….” She trailed off. 

“I’m okay.” You assured her, offering her a little smile.

“Thank you, Mary Beth.” Arthur took the bowl of soup from her and placed it down on the chest by the cot. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” She asked softly.

“Get me some fresh water in this bowl please, would ya?” Arthur asked her. 

“Of course.”

As she slipped out of the tent, Arthur returned his attention to you. 

“The man who threw me over….” You started, but trailed off, unable to finish. 

“I’m gonna find him and kill ‘em.”

“No, Arthur.” Your eyes widened as you looked up at Arthur. “Please. You-You have to promise me never-to never go after him. I’m-I’m fine. Just a little beat up is all.”

Arthur furrowed his brows together. 

“Do you…. You know that feller, don’t you?”

“Used to run with him.” You answered quietly. “He’s not someone you play with, Arthur. He’s worse than Micah.” 

Arthur sighed through his nose. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me back there that you knew him?”

“It wasn’t really high on my list when we had fellers shootin’ at us, Arthur.”

He rubbed his brow.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

“M’not mad at ya, pumpkin. Just…. I was scared that I was gonna lose you.” 

You turned your head away from him but he wouldn’t let you look away for very long. With two fingers beneath your chin, he turned your head back to him. 

“When I saw you go over the side of that train, I-I fuckin’ lost it. Nearly beat the piss outta poor Lenny ‘cause he was in my way. Couldn’t get to you fast enough.” Arthur shook his head. He brushed a tear from your cheek. “When we finally stopped the train and I found you….” He trailed off. 

“It don’t matter now, Arthur. I’m here.” You reminded him, turning your head to kiss his palm. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the point, Y/N.”

“We got dangerous lives, Arthur. You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can damn sure try.” He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You mean the world to me, pumpkin. Ain’t gonna let shit happen to you. Even if that means I gotta stop you from doin’ stupid shit.”

You smiled a little, leaning forward to tuck your head underneath his chin.

Taglist:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm  

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[marvelous-space-nerd]

My dearest Bee

Hi dear tumblr people! I wrote a thing and I quite like it,,

Summary: Time travel, is, well something. Who would've thought that you would get stuck in the 1800's?? Well here you are, part of the Van der Linde gang, ready to face the past.

First chapter can be read as a stand alone chapter. It takes place a few years after Isaac died. The relationship between the reader and Arthur is platonic. Enjoy!!

ao3

My dearest Bee,

So I hope these letters- I can’t call them letters if they’re in a book right?- Anyways, I hope these will find you, I hope you’re home, safe. I hope you saw your dog again, I miss her. I have a horse now though! Maybe I’ll name her after you, or just wasp. If I remember correctly you weren’t the biggest fan of wasps. But really, I’m not sure if we timetraveld or were transported to another universe where everything just started like 100 years later, the latter case making it a whole lot harder for you to find this. I just really hope you’ll find this against all odds, because I said I’d write to you if I made it. And I did! I guess. After the whole thing blew up some cowboys found me, I think they call themselves the Van der Linde gang? But yeah, they feed me and gave me a bed for the small price of doing some chores. I’d like to do more though, did you know that the 1800’s are really boring even though you can die at any second? It’s spicy but in the wrong way. I’d like you to know though that it’s not all bad here. People are lovely when they’re not trying to shoot you. You should see a campfire evening- hell any evening- here.

Yours always,

(Y/N)

“(Y/N) get off your lazy ass and do the chores we asked you to do!”

“Mister Morgan! No need to yell, I got it perfectly under control. I was just, taking a break, that's all. Everyone who works all day has the right to take a break.”

“Boy as much as we want it workers are exploited ‘till they fall to the ground face first. You however are not so-” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes before speaking agian. Softer this time than the louder tone he was using first. “get to work, please.”

“Fine fine, but-”

“There better leave something good out of that big mouth of yours.”

“Hey that's just rude! But I want one of you lot to teach me anything. I can’t even ride a horse for Christ's sake.”

“I still don’t get how you can’t kiddo.”

“I told you I lost my memory at the explosion, maybe I lost my skills too.” You said avoiding his piercing gaze. Nothing is better at covering up lies than staring at rocks being sad over the skills you’ve lost.

“And we all know about that blatant lie.” Fuck, maybe rocks aren’t good at covering up.

“It isn’t-”

“Boy I don’t give a damn, you could work on your handwriting though, you’re almost worse than John. But fine, when you’re done with your chores I'll teach you to ride.” He said, finally giving in.

“Yay!” You said while doing little hand clapping motion. “I won’t disappoint, I promise. I’m a fast learner!” You said with smiling eyes

“And how’d you find out you were a fast learner boy?” He spoke out as he raised his eyebrows, just enough for you to feel them piercing right through you, poking at all the holes in your lie. You thought you’d last at least a few months, well here you are, exactly one month deep in this shithole being caught red handed.

“Fuck” Is all you managed to cram out while your eyes lost all their focus. You being back in your own mind instead of the wild world.

It made the silence hard. The only sound that of the other gang members and the birds and the bees to give you something to focus on. It’s so hard out here, no amount of scouts will ever prepare one for the real wild.vIt’s much scarier out here. The real wild is the place where you die if you trip over the wrong rock. The scouts will make sure the rock isn’t even there. Every bird will just put down another rock and god I want the silence broken, just as broken as my lie is.

“I know there’s probably a reason you’re not telling us anything.” Athur said, as he moved closer, his eyes smaller. Like they could see right in his head “You can’t hide forever, not who you are.”

“...”

“Use your words boy”

“I’m sorry, Mister Morgan, I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You’ll figure it out, but first geT your ass back to woRK.” His voice became louder this time, I mean this was the third time he asked. He put his hand on your shoulder, shoving you away from your shared tent towards the hay bales you were supposed to move. A bit harder than anyone in the twenty-first century would’ve done, but for Arthur it was just a friendly push.

“I will, I will mister Morgan!” You said trying to act cheerful. Arthur made a “tsk” sound and waved you off, absolutely done, it seemed. You moved to the hay bales that were still in the wagon, ready to be fed to the horses.

The hay bales were heavy, yet they seemed lighter than they were a month ago. Your hands weren’t soft no more and being covered in dirt and dust wasn’t rare anymore. The luxuries that the modern world gave you disappeared the moment you decided that Bee was the one who should go home. One to run to the portal the moment it opens, one to pull the lever and jump through afterwards. Both of you knew that people don’t want you touching their stuff, let alone interdimensional portals or time machines. You knew someone would be quick to show up the moment you turned it on. It was surprising to see the portal become unstable, blinking in and out, in and out of existence. It left you with 2 choices. Option a: jump in it praying it would still transport you back home, back to all you knew not leaving you in the empty pocket of a closed portal. Or option b: run away for the inevitable explosion.

Gods you hated thinking about it. It played and twisted your mind. You couldn’t even talk about it, no accessible therapists in the wild west. And you’d prefer not to tell anyone you’re a helpless time traveler. Stuck in 1895 traveling with a gang of outlaws. A surely unique situation only you could get yourself in. You don’t even remember what you chose. You just remembered waking up surrounded by a bunch of cowboys.

“And how is our newest member doing?” The man's smooth and easy voice was easily recognizable. Dutch Van der Linde. Isn’t it ironic that he has a dutch surname and that his parents called him, well, Dutch. It’s a question that always on your mind, why his parents did that and if it’s iconic or just stupid. Dutch was one of the first people who introduced himself, right after Arthur- who was very inclined on being called Mister Morgan- and Hosea. The trio who showed you the wild west wasn’t all bad.

“Dutch! It is absolutely lovely to see you.” You said while putting the last hay bale down. A little bit of healthy sweat decorating your face. “I am doing absolutely great. Arthur- Mister Morgan is actually going to teach me how to ride a horse when I’m done.” You said while eyeing Arthur. Clearly not being amused with the situation. “Eh, he said yes, it’s his problem now.”

“I’m surprised you got through that thick skull of his!” He said with a smile, each word a little louder than the last. He clapped his hand on your shoulder as he let out a little chuckle.

“I think he likes me even though he won’t admit it actually.” You lied, confidence was half of the battle, as they say.

“I think I don’t you annoying little bastard.” Arthur said, joining the conversation. Dutch clearly talks loud enough to make sure any gossip subject will show up to the gossip. Definitely not the fact that you made eye contact with him “Now get to your horse before I change my mind.”

“Arthur! Oh shit- Mister Morgan! I’ll be there before they can even give me a speeding ticket” You said, maybe it was a bit too modern this time, but isn’t the wild west about living on the edge?

“You speak a strange version of english boy.” Arthur said. “You know how to saddle up a horse right?”

“Hosea taught me so I could help around with chores. And Wasp already had a saddle when we found her so I’m all good to go Mister Morgan!”

“Great, now go get her saddled up so we can go.” He said, motioning towards the horses.

“See you in a flash.” You said while snapping your fingers, forming finger guns to point back to Arthur. You dismissed the look of confusion on their faces, clearly not used to the finger gun motion. You walked off to Wasp and gave her a little pet and a snack. As you were putting her saddle on you overheard the rest of the conversation between Arthur and Dutch.

“We can both see you have a soft spot for the boy, Arthur.” Dutch said with a chuckle.

“And we both know youngins have great hearing and that he’s spying on our little conversation.” Arthur said in response, eyeing you. You kept saddling Wasp up as if you heard nothing. Let the deaf chicken inside of you arise and all. Hoping they’d say more.

“I know Arthur, I know.” Dutch said with a chuckle. About to walk away. “Oh before you go, he’s a kid Arthur, don’t be too hard on him and be carefull.” You didn’t think you were a kid, maybe not a full grown adult, but at least you were half an adult, no kid. But you weren’t going to say anything, you were eavesdropping after all. “He’s all yours, (Y/N)!” He yelled at you, before leaving for real. You turned around and gave him a smile and a quick wave. Arthur walked

“Take her by the reins, we're walking to an open spot first.”

“Shoar '' You said, absolutely trying to mimic the western accent you hear all around here. Apparently it was just bad enough to make Arthur chuckle.

“We’ll make a cowboy outta ya yet.”

Traveling in the wild was absolutely amazing for the most part. Abandoned camps are in fact disgusting. They leave their trash! And it’s not like they cleaned their cans so it smells. But besides that the mostly untouched nature was beautiful and the air was so clean. It all felt much more, how to put it, real. No factories everywhere, no house on every corner of the street, just, the world how mother nature intended it. It was peaceful. There was an open field about ten minutes walking from camp, and that’s where you arrived. Reins in hand.

“You ready to go (Y/N)?” Arthur asked. You put your hand on your hips looking at your horse with abosute pride and stupidity because how to fuck were you going to do this?

“Absolutely.” You said. “Remind me how do I get on again?”

The words were taken by the wind as they made room for silence. Arthur’s expression could be described as a mix between surprise, disbelief and the OhMyGodAreYouStupid emotion. Yet it all quickly made room for a smile, or a laugh. He could definitely be laughing at you.

“I didn’t expect to need to teach an 18 year old how to get on a damn horse.”

There was no fire behind the words, but as they say, fight (fake) fire with (fake) fire.

“And I didn’t expect to end up here for the life of so I did not think horse riding would be a viable skill to know. So get your pretty ass in the saddle so I can.. mimic you or something.” You said making a hand gesture at Arthur’s horse.

He gave you one more smile as he turned to his horse, getting on slower than usual. He got on on the right side of his horse so he put his right foot in the styrup. He lifted his body up effortlessly and as elegant as a western outlaw could get. And there he was, in the saddle, in full western glory.

“Looks easy enough.” You said, an absolute lie as it turned out. The stirrups were way higher than expected, and the getting on could be called anything but elegant or the cool western movies you saw. Turns out your own body is heavy and there’s quite a lot on a horse to get stuck behind. But you ended up in the saddle, full western glory.

The rest of the riding lesson went about the same. Arthur did something really cool looking and whenever you did it it felt like you were some old slime blob.

“Squeeze your lower legs to get her to move, (Y/N)!”

“I am this horse is just broken- OHMYGOD SHe’s moving!”

“Never blame the horse for the rider's lack of skill, boy. Now steering.”

He explained it all to you. How to properly hold the reins and how to use them, how to do it with one hand and how to do it with two. Western and English style he called it. He taught you how to move your horse around and what not to do. The one and most important thing being to have no doubts and no fear. The horse will sense it.

It felt odd at first, to have control over another living being. It wasn’t easy no, Arthur had to tell you how to correct your posture every 5 minutes. But after a while of correcting everything you started to get confident. It started getting easier to steer. Every muscle of yours was getting tired but it was so worth it. Maybe one day you’ll look like an actual movie star.

Once you got the basics down you could go a bit harder. From a walk to a trot, a canter and even a little gallop. And as the wind brushed over your face blowing your hair away, it felt like something the 21st century didn’t have a lot of. Galloping through the grass hearing every step as more and more grass was thrown into the air. Arthur still giving you instructions on what to watch out for, riding by your side in case of emergency. And the horse, Wasp, god she deserved a cooler name. Her big strong muscles moving beneath you, her breath as she was running, the heat radiating from her skin, gods it felt so great. No modern bike or car could ever top this feeling of freedom.

Cars and bikes could however top the feeling of falling off. You lost control quite a few times, losing balance, a rearing horse throwing you right where you belong. But nothing modern could beat that feeling of getting on again. Of it working when you tried it for a second time. Hell, maybe the third time. Arthur was there to make sure you were okay, and you could have another go. And another. And just one more for good measure. Lying on the ground trying to see if this time you did break something wasn’t a strange thing after today. Hell it happened at least every hour. But determining it as fine and getting on again, it felt like a lot.

You didn’t even realize it was getting late until the sky started turning orange. The normally so bright sun started becoming more yellow and stopped burning at your eyes. Instead it just seemed pretty. The clouds became yellow just like the sun, and the sky turned a bit darker with every passing minute. Yellow and orange were happy colours, maybe this was an good omen, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t think you’d die somewhere in a ditch. Bee would be proud to see you haven’t given up. You knew that for once.

“Time isn’t a real thing Mister Morgan, I swear.” You said looking at the sunset.

“Call me Arthur.” Said Arthur Morgan, though guy in the west in dire need of respect. Arthur “You call me mister Morgan boy” Morgan.

“Wait, did someone hide weed somewhere because this must be a hallucination! Can I really call you Arthur?”

“Wouldn't have said it otherwise boy.” He hissed, the mister Morgan just wouldn't leave Arthur.

“Well, Arthur, thank you. I’m happy I only have to say half the syllables now.”

“Shoar thing. Now let’s go back to camp before they send out a search party to see if you haven’t broken anything today.” He said jokingly

“I would never! I am obviously the best horse rider in the entire United states!” You said sarcastically, if you fake confidence long enough, it might become real.

Arthur laughed at that. “Well see about that boy. Now let’s go, we should be there soon considering you can ride now.”

“Of course, good plan. I can show off my skills now!”

“Shoar, go ahead boy. Don’t make your entrance too dramatic.”

“I will, I absolutely will. Oh and Arthur?”

“Hm?” He said, quite relaxed actually.

“Thank you, for everything today. I’m happy you let me bother you today.” You said with a proud smile.

“You’re welcome boy. Bother me all you want, we ain’t getting rid of you just yet.” He said as he ruffled your hair a bit. “Now let’s go home, I’m realll hungry.”

You absolutely couldn’t hide the smile on your face. “Hell yeah, I’m starving.” You said as you kicked the stirrups making Wasp move, you rode to camp in the beautiful orange sky. Maybe he did actually care about you, just a little.

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

[purplecatdad]

Rarepair Week “First Kiss”

Part of the RDR Events Rarepair Week!

Prompt: First Kiss

Arthur/Kieran | Teens and Up | Canon-Divergence | CW Shot wounds

Arthur isn’t part of the VDL Gang in this one, he is just some outcast who some day runs into a skittish young man with a bad wound and decides to help him! 

AO3 Link will follow. 

Kieran knew that she shouldn’t have trusted them. He knew that, after all, the van der Linde gang wasn’t all much different from the O’Driscolls. And that they absolutely would kill them the moment they had no need for him anymore. 

He still cursed himself as he was riding Branwen, hard and fast through the shrubs, making his way through Cumberland Forest to the general direction of the Grizzlies, up north where he hoped for safety. He was terrified of the animals there but he hoped that he’d be able to lose the gang there.

“Come on, girl. I know you can do it”, he whispered to Branwen, pressing his legs into her sides to push her forwards even though he knew that she was running for her life as well.

A shot went off that grazed her shoulder, both Kieran and Branwen crying out. He couldn’t lose this horse, not after everything they went through. Another shot and this time Kieran felt blinding pain through his leg. He cried out, felt the blood seeping down through the fabric of his shirt but he grabbed the reins tighter. No matter how much blood he’d lose, he had to get away from Dutch’s boys before they could catch up to them. 

He just passed Fort Wallace when he heard the train whistling, announcing it’s arrival at the nearby station. Luckily, Kieran knew the area since he had camped up here with his former gang before so he pushed Branwen forward towards Baccus station, up the mountains. This was his chance, if he could only get the train between himself and his pursuers he might live to see another day. 

They were galloping up towards the station, the train rushing towards them. Kieran pushed Branwen to keep running forward. He heard how they passed the train tracks, the train dangerously close. He heard Bill curse loudly behind him as the train rushed over the tracks right after Kieran had passed them. He still made Branwen run, still as fast just to get some more distance between them. The train came to a halt, stopping for the few passengers that would leave at the station and Kieran prayed to whoever would hear it that the gang wouldn’t try to get around the train. 

As he passed the Donner Falls, the rushing of the water drowning out any other sound he dared to slow down Branwen, sitting down heavily in the saddle and leaning back. He looked behind himself, scanning the area for any possible threat … but there was none. He sighed gently, slumping down in the saddle and gently scratching Branwen’s neck. “We did it, girl …” he said and gently nudged her forward. Even though he had lost them, he knew that he couldn’t just stay here. He needed a proper camp, some place to rest up, to take care of his wounds.

Branwen was breathing hard, her walk now painstakingly slow but he didn’t have the energy to make her move faster. His vision got blurry, his mind started spinning. He looked over at his leg again, the blood dripping out of the wound. He knew that he should cover it up, but … His vision went black and all he heard was a “You alright there, mister?!” before he lost consciousness. 

--

Kieran woke up to the smell of something cooking on a campfire. It made his stomach growl loudly before he could even open his eyes properly and he heard a low rumble of a man chuckling close to him. 

“Least yer still hungry.” He heard a stranger’s voice as he slowly sat up, blinking as he took in his surroundings. He was surrounded by trees, the early morning sun just rising above the horizon in the distance. A small campfire was lit next to the lean-to tent he was now sitting in, a man crouching next to it as he stirred around in the pot. 

The stranger was impressively large, broad shoulders, some scruff on his face, an old leather hat on top of his head. He looked rough, like a man that was used to living outside but when he looked over at Kieran there was a smile on his face and his eyes seemed kind and friendly. “Name’s Arthur. Found yer bleeding out on your horse, fixed yer up, didn’t want you dying on me. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Kieran stared at him for a moment, not used to kindness like this. “Where’s my horse?” he blurted out, not interested in making conversation now. “Is she alright?” 

The other man chuckled softly at that and motioned towards a closeby tree, where three horses were standing. An impressively tall, black dappled thoroughbred standing next to an arabian with a brindled coat, unlike anything Kieran had ever seen. And right next to them was his horse. “Branwen!” He called out, got up and ran towards her. Halfway there his vision got dark again and he almost stumbled into her. 

“Woha there”, suddenly the stranger was standing close to him as well, steading him with a hand on his arm, his grip firm but gentle. “You lost a lotta blood, make sure to rest some b’fore you start runnin’ like that.”

Kieran closed his eyes until the world stopped spinning, blushing slightly as he realized how close the handsome stranger actually was to him. He excused himself as he got out of his grip and focused back on Branwen. “She got shot, I-” as he stroked down her neck towards her shoulder he realized that her wound had been tended to. Surprised, he looked up at Arthur who just shrugged gently. 

“I know a thing or two ‘bout horses. Took care of her wound .. but she’ll be alright.”

Kieran stared at him for a moment, then looked at Branwen before he looked back to the pot of stew on the fire. “Why… why would you do all this … for a stranger? What’s in it for you?” He had never met anybody who would just do something out of goodwill for a person they didn’t actually know. 

Arthur shook his head, an amused smile on his lips. “Ain’t nothin’ in for me, ‘s far ‘s I know. But helpin’ folk.. ‘s the righ thing to do ‘s all. Now, let’s get some good into ya.”

So they sat down around the campire together. Arthur served them both some stew, made with rabbit and some wild carrots. Kieran had to hold himself back not to gobble it all down within seconds after being starved out by the van der Linde gang. Arthur seemed to notice how hungry he was because he immediately refilled Kieran’s bowl after he had finished the first one.  

“So, why’d you get shot?” Arthur asked eventually as Kieran was halfway done with his second server. “Pissed off the wrong fellar?” Kieran thought about it for a moment. He knew that mentioning a gang could seem a bit too threatening. He didn’t want to risk Arthur sending him away again if he learned that he had been hunted down by some outlaws … that he used to be a part of. But he also felt bad keeping it from him. What if they actually found him here, O’Driscolls or Dutch’s boys? 

“... It’s a long story. But something like that, yeah. I was … they had tied me up for a while, got away though. Don’t think they followed me, though. I ain’t important enough for that.”

“Shit. Ya wanna talk to the law?”

Kieran looked up at him, shaking his head. “No … no, better not. I ain’t … well …”, he wasn’t even sure if the local law would know his name, he never played a big role in any gang that he was running with. But it was still not a good idea to get the law involved. What would Arthur think of that, though? 

“‘s alright. I ain’t exactly friendly with the law either”, Arthur assured him and set his bowl aside. “Feel free to stick around, I don’t mind a little company.”

Kieran watched him for a moment, wondering if Arthur actually meant what he said or if he was just saying it to be polite. To him, Arthur didn’t seem like the kind of man who just said something to be polite, though. And so he smiled and gave him a little nod. “I’d love to.”

--

And so they spent the next weeks together. Arthur told him about the Arabian he had caught. “Stripey”, as he called the young stallion just for the time being. Apparently there were two brothers down by Rhodes who’d give a good price for a horse like that, even without papers. So Arthur usually caught wild horses, the pretty ones that looked fast and strong. He was good with horses as he had worked on a ranch for a good part of his life and therefore had an easy time taming them. 

Arthur had said that he didn’t like the word “breaking” because it wasn’t what he did. He explained to Kieran that horses wanted to trust and follow anyway, that it was in their nature. That people didn’t have to break their will in order for them to do what they wanted. And Kieran couldn’t agree more. He told Arthur about Branwen and that he never trusted anybody more than his horse. He told him about how he had found her as a young mare, kind and sweet but about to be put down for a simple injury on her leg as she wasn’t able to “make money” like this. Back then Kieran had pleaded with the owner to please let her go, that he would take her for free even if she couldn’t walk properly so the farmer didn’t have to waste a bullet on her. But the man had just laughed at him and sent him away. So Kieran had done what every reasonable horse lover would do - he had stolen Branwen away the next night and vanished with her. 

When Kieran was done with his story Arthur had smiled at him in sympathy. It was something they could bond over - their passion and love for horses. And even if they looked fairly different, they had a lot of things in common. Both of them were never able to settle down anywhere. Chased away, running from the law, not belonging to anybody. But it made them belong together and so Kieran decided to run with him and help him train the horses. 

Arthur was one of the kindest men Kieran had ever met - sure, he didn’t talk much and got a little loud when he drank (which he always did after they sold a horse) but he never insulted him, never made fun of him for being a little jumpy at times. He even took his time to teach Kieran how to read and write after Kieran had admired him for his pretty handwriting one day and admitted that he couldn’t read any of it. 

Kieran caught himself staring at Arthur now and then as well. When he was concentrating on a task, cleaning his hunting rifle or speaking softly to one of the horses. Arthur was a beautiful man with the most amazing voice that Kieran has ever heard and blue eyes with the prettiest speckles of green when the sun hit them just right. Kieran had known that he fancied men but the longer he spent his time with Arthur the more he realized that falling in love with one was even a possibility. He didn’t just admire him for his body, didn’t just desire him … he just enjoyed his company and being with him in the simplest way. He didn’t dare confess anything to him, though. He knew what people did with men like him. And while Arthur was kind and caring, Kieran didn’t know what he thought about “queers”. So Kieran kept quiet and just stuck to his way of admiring him from a distance.  

--

After they had sold Stripey they had made their way up north again because Arthur had heard that there was another Arabian up by Lake Isabella. A white one this time and it really sparked both of their interests. Kieran knew that it meant coming back to Valentine because it was the logical stop before the hike up north but Arthur promised him that he was a good shot and that he’d keep him safe (which made Kieran blush) so they did it. 

Luckily they didn’t meet any of the van der Linde gang on their way through town or up the mountain. It was quite the hike and Kieran wondered if it was really worth the trip but when Arthur told him to join him up in his tent at night to keep each other warm with their body heat he stopped wondering about it and just agreed that yes, it was a fantastic idea to get up into the snow together. 

When they finally found said horse Kieran was in awe. She was a beauty, her fur so white that they both almost hadn’t noticed her in the snow. Arthur called her Snowdrop. She was a piece of work though, wild at heart and not very trusty. Arthur even wondered if she had ever been mistreated by a person before because she was so skittish in the beginning but she didn’t bare any scars that indicated it. 

They chose a different path down the mountain this time as Arthur had some “business” to attend in Strawberry. At first, Kieran was happy about it. He had been around the area before and had always found it rather pretty. But when they had made camp at the foot of Mount Shann everything changed. 

“Oh, ain’t that good ol’ Kieran Duffy!” he heard coming from a line of trees. The sun already vanished so it was hard to see, especially after tending to the fire but Kieran recognized the voice immediately. It was the voice of Carter Jenkins, one of those who had always loved to bully him during his time at the O’Driscolls.  

“Carter!”, Kieran yelled as he jumped up. “J-just leave us be! No need to shoot!”, he said as he saw the weapons in his and his companion’s hands. He wasn’t alone, in fact he was with 3 other people, all of whom Kieran recognized from his time with his former gang. Oh, this wasn’t good. 

“Hmm, you know if you give us all your money and the horses … I might consider it. Though I’m sure Colm would love to see you himself. You know that he prefers to kill the traitors himself.”

Kieran’s eyes widened but before anybody could say anything else, Arthur had pulled out his gun and shot Carter right into his face. All eyes where on him for a second before the other two raised their guns at Arthur and shot. Kieran yelled out his name and tried to get between him and the others but he was too slow to get between them in time.

Arthur went down but so did the other three men. Kieran stared at them in surprise for a split second. Arthur had always told him that he was a good shot and Kieran had believed him. But three people, right through the heart in the matter of only a few seconds? 

The thud of Arthur’s body hitting the ground pulled Kieran out of his thoughts and he crouched down next to Arthur to inspect his wounds. two of them were just minor graze wounds but one had shot right through his shoulder, blood seeping out of the wound and Arthur groaning loudly. 

“Oh shit, oh shit .. Arthur! Stay with me!” Kieran said to him with his voice full of panic and distress. He didn’t know what to do so he just took off his shirt and pressed it down on the wound to stop the bleeding. 

“Ain’t .. goin’ nowhere …”, Arthur moaned softly. “Just … gotta shut the wound …”, he said, slowly opening his eyes and looking up at Kieran. “Can you do that? Just .. some gunpowder and fire .. should do it …” Arthur’s eyes squeezed shut again, most likely from the pain.

“Gunpowder .. yes I ..”, frantically he looked around until he saw Arthur’s revolver in the dirt. He let go of his blood soaked shirt, got to the gun and pulled out one of the bullets. He had seen this way of shutting a wound once before. It wasn’t pretty and he knew that it hurt - but it was quicker than shutting it with a needle and threat. And the things he needed were far more available right now. 

After he had ripped open the shirt around the wound he pried open the bullet with his teeth, poured the gunpowder into the wound and lit it on fire with a small, burning stick from the campfire. He jumped when the gunpowder caught fire, his nose full of the smell of Arthur’s burning flesh he had to gag as Arthur yelled out in pain before going still. 

“Arthur?!” He waited for a response but there was nothing. For a few seconds he feared the worst but then he focused and realized that Arthur’s chest was still rising and falling. He was breathing. Alive. Shock had probably knocked him out, he had seen it before in people he had fought with side by side. He just had to keep him warm and protected during the night and then hopefully he would be awake the next morning. 

So he set to work. He carefully dragged Arthur into the tent and put all the blankets that they had on top of him before he dug out a grave for the dead O’Driscolls. He knew that he didn’t have to but it felt wrong to just leave them lying outside. It was the right thing to do. And while Kieran knew that he wasn’t the greatest of men, he wanted to be honorable.

When he was done with the quick burial he went back into the tent. It had been a rather cool day during this early summer and the floor wasn’t the driest so he worried about Arthur. For a moment he hesitated but then he shut the tent as securely as he could and slipped under the blanket with Arthur. He hoped that Arthur would understand it the next morning - that he only did this to keep his body temperature up, to make sure that he would recover from the shot. 

Kieran clung to Arthur that night, hugging him to make sure that he’d notice any shift or change in the other man. He prayed to whichever god would listen that Arthur would make it. He couldn’t lose him. Couldn’t lose the only human companion he ever trusted or cared about. Arthur had shown him kindness when nobody else would and had protected him from the monsters of his past, in more than just one sense. It wasn’t fair that he was the one lying in a tent with a shot wound. It should’ve been Kieran. But it seemed like yet another cruel joke of fate that it wasn’t him who had gotten hit. Just another good thing that might be taken from him. “You gotta make it…”, Kieran whispered as he got even closer to Arthur, listening to his weak breath and closing his eyes. “You will survive. You have to.”

Eventually he drifted off into a light sleep. Worry and adrenaline had worn him out so much that he was just too exhausted to stay awake, even if he knew that he should’ve. He still slept restless, dreams of the past and a dark future creeping up on him and keeping him worried all night, even in his sleep. He finally found rst in the early morning hours, awake but happy that Arthur was still breathing, still warm next to him. 

Another hour passed and Arthur slowly stirred awake. Kieran sat up right away, looking down at the handsome man. He was beautiful like this. And when Arthur looked up at him, a smile on his face, Kierasn couldn’t help himself. “You’re alive”, he whispered before he bent down and kissed Arthur’s lips. Gentle and careful, but also full of joy to see the other alive. Shocked, he realized what he had done and pulled away, now staring down at Arthur who looked at him in confusion. “I- I���m sorry … I didn’t .. I … uh …”

Arthur’s features softened and he chuckled gently. “Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. Was wonderin’ when you’d finally do it”, he said and pulled Kieran down for another kiss. 

[hillbillyhipster84]

Okay, so here’s a snippet of my fanfic that goes with these pictures.

(As private a conversation these two can get during the day. Beaver’s Hollow, near the end of Ch. 6)

Arthur: Jo, things are not safe here no more. I think especially for you and the women. Micah’s new goons, they don’t seem too respect boundaries. I hear the things they say, ‘bout you. I’m worried.

Trelawny: Atha… I am already having to pretend I dislike you in front of the men, what else can I do? I hate treating you with such indifference.. when-when all I want to do is make you rest and take care of you, dear boy.

Arthur: I… I know. And all I want is for you to be safe (coughing fit, spits blood over edge of the rocks) damn…

Trelawny: I want to get you out of here! Please, let me get you away from this dreadful place. We can go somewhere safe and you can get… as well as you can be. I’m not ready to. To lose you yet. We lost a lot of time over all the years of disliking each other. But since I saw you again, all beautiful in the mud in Valentine…

Arthur: I know, Jo. hehe. Despite the hell we’ve all been through, You and I somehow rediscovered each other… But I can’t leave them all behind. I can’t give up on Dutch, not yet. Josiah, I want you to get out of here for a bit.

Trelawny: no, we are not having this discussion again. I stayed away too long in Saint Denis.

Arthur: you had good reason though! Your Aunties needed help with their business.

Trelawny: true. That damn old building is fooling no one anymore. After you showed up and tested our code entry…

Arthur: “To the Trelawnys!”, yeah it’s cute, but, shit, it sounds so fake, haha. Tell your Aunties to calm down the eager kid voice. Saint Denis kids are right bastards.

Trelawny: Arthur I was gone and you almost died… I thought, no, I hoped you weren’t dead. I can’t leave you again.

Arthur: I want you to tell Dutch you found a great lead in New York, concerning a lot of money and a possible ship we can get on. I don’t know, you think of the clever details, alright? You leave and wait in Saint Denis with your aunts. And… I… or someone will send a letter to you when it’s safe.

Trelawny: someone? Are you already planning to die then? How noble it is being the martyr.

Arthur: shit, don’t do this Josiah. Please, I can’t, I can’t do what I need to do, if you aren’t safe.

Trelawny: 3 days. That is all I’m giving you. 3 days. I’m not waiting for a letter. 3 days and I am coming back here and dragging you out of this place. I don’t care if those, those pigs try anything. This place is insane, Dutch (quieter) Dutch is insane. 3 days, Atha.

Arthur: (long sigh, coughs) sure, Jo. Ok. You have to leave tomorrow, then. I will say goodbye, civilly I’m front of the gang, in case things go badly after you are gone.

Trelawny: stop that!.. (anxious) We will have an appropriate fairwell, this evening? If… if you feel well enough. You really need sleep.

Arthur: (that smile warm and cocky despite his sick face) ha, sure.

Trelawny: (face turned towards his book, but his large eyes are on Arthur, oh and that devil’s grin) My deeaarr dear boy.

Arthur: k, I hear someone calling me. (Sigh, groans, and stands, sways a little and walks slowly back towards the path to camp) I’ll see yah later, Josiah. (Very tired. Stops and kicks a rock) dammit, I love you, yah dang fool.

Trelawny: (very sad, blinking back tears that drop onto the pages he stares at but doesn’t read) I love you as well, you stubborn bastard.

[neon-junkie]

unpopular opinion: Micah is terrible but he shows instances of having real, human emotions and completely erasing those moments to paint him as a 100% monster is a disservice for the fandom.

arrrrkajslkfjdsglk okay I'm gonna break Micah down and explain why I like him, just bc of everything going on and cause you've summed that up perfectly. Let's make one thing clear - I don't stan his actions, I never have, I never will. A lot of ppl seem to keep ignoring that lmfao. AND we all know that Micah is a fucking piece of shit. He's the devil. We know. Like the list goes on and on and on when it comes down to why Micah's garbage, but I guarantee you, there is NOBODY out there who actually *stans* him. He's a villain and damn good one. Now. Relating to what you've said, this man has just as much emotion as everybody else. I think the people who view him as an emotionless monster have either never seen ANY camp interactions with him, or they just choose to ignore them. For whatever reason. Idk. It is VERY obvious that Micah has 100% been abused by his father, probably physically as well as mentally and emotionally. He openly talks about the monster that his father is, and he KNOWS that he is just like his father. Now, Amos (his bro), on the other hand, has managed to break away from that lifestyle, straighten his ways, and settled down. Micah is so obviously jealous and even takes the time to write to his brother, probably to try and rekindle their sibling friendship or whatever you wanna call it. Amos basically goes 'NO' and slaps that idea right out of Micah's head, so I do feel bad that Micah was rejected. Amos makes it clear that he will only rekindle that if Micah changes, but he doubts Micah is able to change. So now his only 'role models' are gone - his father and Amos - Micah has nothing left to lose. He has no family, friends that encourage his chaos rather than help fix him, and no partner. He's a loose cannon, and without guidance, Micah will only continue to fire. That's why he sucks up to Dutch so much, because he STILL needs acceptance, praise, and guidance, and Dutch gives him all of that. Yeah, it's creepy to see, but that man must be dying inside if he'll literally lick Dutch's shoes just for a bit of acceptance. Micah clearly does try, like his approach to making friends is so cringe, but he's clearly never ever done this before, and he's only following the ways his father taught him. I mean, we see him still try to befriend Arthur at the start of the game, but Arthur barely looks at him and just continues to shoot him down. I know Arthur is probably following his gut, but people can't say that Micah didn't try. And we see him try it on with the women of the camp, he's clearly desperate to at least find a partner, and probably secretly jealous that his brother has that and a family. And if his brother can do it, then maybe he can too? and we do see him try. But Micah's no rapist, and it makes me cringe when ppl say that. There's a good post about it (here) that I won't go into detail, u can just read that for urself. So - Micah has nothing to lose. The camp doesn't want him there, so it's no sweat off his nose if he rats them out. Obviously, I don't agree with it and I think Micah should have just left, but then that'd be a very boring game lmfao.  There's nobody stopping him from causing chaos, and he's just going to continue to do what he was taught to do - be a fucking piece of shit. But to say he has no emotions? You sure about that? It's SO obvious that Micah still craves acceptance in any form, whether it's from a friend, a partner, his mentor, etc. He NEEDS acceptance and he seems very lost without it. And it's so clear that Micahs past trauma still controls his actions, and he clearly has no idea how to even begin accepting and moving past his trauma. That man just needs a therapist asap. Peter Blomquist said it himself, that Micah is essentially just misunderstood. (here) And well, if his own actors said that then why the hell do people continue to ignore it? Because they just want to hate Micah. They view him as an evil and racist piece of shit and just want to hate that, which everybody does cause yanno, it's bad. But they continue to ignore that Micah, like Bill, suffers from a lot of mental trauma and issues, and his past has resulted in the person that he is today. I’ll say this AGAIN, I’m not condoning his actions, far from it, I’ve said many times before that Micah is fucking garbage, we just find him interesting. Honestly, I think if the gang was accepting, or if Micah had someone to shove him in the right direction, then he would have redeemed himself and fixed his ways. Things like racism are taught, and if you can teach it, then you can unteach it, just like Bill begins to learn. Micah is a villain and that's why I like him. Again, I don't support or stan his actions, but it's just so refreshing to see someone so chaotic and loose. People saying that you shouldn't like Micah because he's racist, also choose to ignore the fact that Abigails abusive, so why do y'all still stan her when we see the way she speaks to John? or the way she physically abuses him? So abuse is fine but racism isn't? hmm.  But if we shouldn't like Micah because he's bad then why the hell do we like characters like Darth Vader or all the fucking Disney villains? Have you seen how much merch those criminals have? But a bunch of strangers on the internet having a wank over the ratman is bad? We're allowed to enjoy those but not Micah? big sigh. Peter also said that there's nothing wrong with liking Micah. You're allowed to enjoy villains, it's not a fucking crime, and it doesn't mean you support their actions, it never has done.

PLUS, this is a game full of mass murderers?!?! Arthur does a LOT that is considered questionable, such as beating a terminally ill man into his grave, but people choose to draw the line at Micah. You’re free to enjoy whatever fiction you want, but there’s no line you can draw. Well, you can draw a line for yourself, but you can’t rule what others can and cannot enjoy.

It's just SO tiring (personally) to constantly see happy endings and pure, wholesome, golden characters. I'm a sucker for bad guys and seeing them win, so when I played RDR I was like 'oh yeah, this is what I need' and that's probably why Micah's my fave lmao. It's so refreshing to see, and there's nothing wrong with enjoying it. Some people just enjoy villains, big whoop. We need to stop expecting characters to be pure cause that's just so unrealistic. Everybody has flaws of all different kinds, and that's what makes these characters human. Like, are we just choosing to ignore the fact that Arthur is the most wanted out of the gang, who has probably murdered the most people? Do we just wanna sweep his kill count under the rug and choose to hate Micah based on the one fact of him being racist? The whole fucking gang are outlaws, they're all essentially villains, even the babies like Kieran!! Micah is just as complex as every other character in this stinky game, and people who refuse to acknowledge his layers and just portray him as a monster are whack as shit. And remember, those who tell you what you can and can't enjoy are just as bad as Micah Bell himself. Especially the ones who abuse you over FICTION.

[tahitianmangoes]

Beg Me -Morbell

Pairing: Micah x Arthur  Summary:  Arthur knew there was only one way he was getting out of this cellar... Tags/triggers:Smut Word Count: 2122

Also on Ao3

Micah had only seen Dutch lose his cool twice before. The first time was in Blackwater and even then Micah wasn’t quite sure what had happened but the McCourt girl had ended up dead. The second time was tonight when Arthur hadn’t returned to camp when he should have.

Dutch had snapped at almost everyone in camp, demanding they found Arthur and found him quick if they wanted to keep their balls. 

They split up - Charles and John, Lenny and Sean, Bill and Javier and Micah alone. He didn’t mind going alone, he worked better that way. 

It didn’t take him long to pick up a trail and track Arthur down to what looked like a run down farm. Micah wasted no time dealing with the residents then called out for Arthur.

“Morgan? You here?” “I’m down here!”

Arthur’s voice floated up to him from a cellar that ran beneath the house that was entered by exterior doors. Micah descended the stairs into the small room which was dimly lit by a few scattered candles to see Arthur Morgan tied to a supporting column in the centre of the room. 

Arthur wore only his undergarments, form fitting long johns but his broad chest was bare. He looked like he had been beaten pretty badly, face bruised and lip bloodied. 

Dutch sent them on some search party like he was a lost little lamb and oh didn’t he look so innocent tied up like this?

“Mmm,” Micah purred, “well look at you, ain't you as pretty as a picture?” “Micah? Get me outta here!” Arthur called to him. “Hello old friend,” Micah said with a sneer, “had a good time did you?” Arthur’s head jerked up, recognising the words he had spoken to Micah when he had been incarcerated in the Strawberry jail. “Micah, this ain’t funny.” Arthur said warningly. “Oh I ain’t jokin’, cowpoke… Maybe not funny, no. Maybe a little ironic, I’m sure you would agree?”

Micah leaned back against the damp wall of the cellar and struck a match off of his boot, lighting a cigarette. He drank in the image of Arthur before him, had never had the chance to appreciate how fine his body was; statuesque in beauty, tender skin pulled taut over palpable muscles.

“Untie me now, Micah or I swear you’ll regret it!” Arthur growled, pulling at his restraints with futility.  “I might.” Micah replied as he exhaled smoke, a hint of a dark smirk teasing his lips, “But I want you to beg, Morgan.”  Arthur spluttered, “I ain’t beggin’ you for shit!” “That’s a shame. Marston and Smith went lookin’ elsewhere for ya, pretty sure Williamson and Escuella will be back at camp by now and Summer and Maguire, well, they couldn’t find a whore in a whorehouse… It’s jus’ me here. I’ll tell ‘em I turned the place over but there weren’t no sign of ya.” “You bastard!” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, straining again. Micah chuckled. “I know.”

Micah smoked nonchalantly, exhaling deliberately as to cast a fog between the pair of them but he could still see the anguish on Arthur’s face while he weighed up the pros and cons of Micah’s proposition. 

“Fine.” He said eventually, “what do you want me to do?” Micah’s ice blue eyes flashed “Beg me.”

Arthur’s expression was mean, his sparkling blue-green eyes were narrowed and full of rage. “Please, untie me.” Arthur said bluntly. Micah’s chuckle bordered on maniacal, “that ain’t beggin’ Morgan. Beg doggy, beg!” “Screw you!” Arthur spat. Micah sighed and stubbed his cigarette out on the wall. “As you wish. I’ll tell ‘em I couldn’t find ya. I’m sure some hungry coyotes will get to you before anyone thinks to come lookin’ for you here.”

Micah turned to leave, ascending the steps of the cellar until he heard Arthur call out behind him. “Ok! Ok!” Micah didn’t turn around right away, he grinned to himself. He knew Arthur would do it. “Micah! Don’t leave me here! I’ll do whatever you want!” He turned slowly, savouring the expression of desperation etched on the younger outlaw’s pretty face. “You gonna play nice, Morgan?” “Yes.” “Good.”

Micah walked back to him smugly and stopped directly in front of him, eyes peering out beneath the brim of his cream hat, eating him up greedily as he licked his lips. 

“Untie me.” “You’re forgetting the magic word, Morgan.” “Untie me, please Micah.” “Now now, Arthur. That don't sound at all sincere to me." Micah said with a hint of mirth in his tone that didn’t go unmissed by Arthur.  Arthur rumbled. "Get me out of these goddamned ropes Micah or I swear I'll rip your throat out!" "Ah, ah, ah. That ain't nice now, is it? Thought you said you was gonna be a good boy for me, Arthur." 

Arthur swallowed hard, swallowing his pride. His cheeks burned scarlet as he said, "please Micah. I'm begging you. Untie me and get me outta here!"

Micah put his head to one side, as if contemplating for a moment. But he wasn't. He'd thought about this before…  Many times before. Arthur at his mercy. When would an opportunity like this come about again?

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." "But I did what you wanted..!" Micah hummed thoughtfully. "You know, you ain't always been nice to me, Morgan. And I tried, I did, always tried my hardest to be nice to you." "What are you getting at?" Arthur asked suspiciously, shifting his weight as he stood uncomfortably. "Maybe it's time for you to be nice to me, Morgan." Arthur's bright eyes widened, as if he suddenly now understood what Micah wanted from him. Micah reached out and touched Arthur's cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle but the look on his face was devilish.

"On your knees, sweetheart."

Arthur made a strangled sound, somewhere between a curse and a laugh of disbelief as if hoping that this was one of Micah’s sick, twisted jokes. And maybe to a degree it was. But when Micah’s face didn’t change, Arthur knew there was only one way he was getting out of this cellar.

He had no choice but to sink down to the cold stone floor before Micah. 

Micah was hard already, had felt the bulge growing in his pants when he knew he had Arthur with his back against a wall. It was confusing, for sure. When he had first joined the gang he had thought that he and Arthur were similar - both sharp shooters, both men who provided and knew how to get a job done. Yet Arthur had a chip on his shoulder, a real big chip that Micah wanted to knock off. 

Arthur was a pompous ass in a way. Self righteous. Pig-headed. Maybe even dumber than he looked. They say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Micah didn’t know about that but he knew that for some reason, he kept being pulled back to Arthur - drawn to him so magnetically. He didn’t know what it meant but he knew it made him hard.

He wasted little time kneading his cock through his pants before unbuttoning and pulling it out. It was average, no bigger or smaller, thinner or girthier than anyone else’s but it got the job done. Right now, the skin was reddened and precum glistened at the slit.

Arthur wrinkled his nose instinctively, drawing away. 

“Come on now, Morgan. You said you’d do whatever I wanted and this is what I want from you.”

Arthur wet his lips before slowly taking Micah’s length into his mouth. Micah watched, a lazy smirk on his lips, at how Arthur had to adjust before he could comfortably begin to suck. There was nothing sensual or sexy about it from Arthur, he sucked as if it was a job that needed doing. 

Micah closed his eyes regardless, he was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He savoured the warmth of Arthur’s mouth, the flat of his tongue on the underside of his dick and the gentle scrape of his teeth on Micah’s oh-so-sensitive skin. The sound of Arthur slurping and gagging sent shivers shooting down Micah’s spine and right the length of his cock.  

“There’s a good boy,” Micah purred. He laced his fingers in Arthur’s golden hair and pushed, forcing Arthur to take him deeper and deeper until he could feel the back of Arthur’s throat. Arthur let out a muffled cry and he bucked against the ropes that bound him but Micah kept his head steady until felt Arthur’s jaw relax as he figured how to breathe from his nose instead of his mouth. 

Micah thrust experimentally, keeping a firm hold of Arthur’s hair in his fist to prevent him from pulling away. He heard Arthur choke but didn’t let him come up for air. For the first time since Micah met him, he was able to silence him. 

He fucked Arthur’s face, the noises were obscene: squelching, gagging and gasping. Micah groaned at how easily Arthur seemed to take him despite the fight he put up, as if he had done this before... Arthur moaned too though Micah wasn’t sure if it was through pleasure.

When Micah looked down, he cursed. Drool pooled at the sides of Arthur’s mouth, dripping down the sides of his face. His sucking had turned sloppier and wet. Arthur had tears streaming from the corners of his glassy eyes and his face was flushed.

He looked up at Micah pleadingly.

Micah pulled out and Arthur gasped and panted. His restraints stopped him from falling forward but Micah could see he was tired. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. 

Micah took his hunting knife from his belt and finally cut Arthur loose. Arthur moaned softly as his arms were freed; Micah could see where the ropes had cut into him. 

Artur gazed up at Micah, seeming dazed. The smirk returned to Micah’s lips, now noticing Arthur’s straining erection leaking through the material of his undergarments.

Micah stroked his cock lazily, looking down at Arthur, “what’s wrong? You want more, doggy?”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed but he didn’t say no. Was he enjoying this too?

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?” Micah breathed, thumb tracing Arthur’s lips that glistened with saliva and Micah’s juices. 

“...Please Micah…” Arthur whimpered. 

He didn’t need Arthur to beg this time. Before he could consider what he was doing, he was on his knees behind Arthur, wrenching Arthur’s long johns down to reveal his ample behind. Micah let out a low growl, pulling Arthur’s ass cheeks apart and spitting directly onto his hole. Arthur shivered at the sensation of the saliva rolling down to his thighs. 

Micah traced Arthur’s entrance with the tip of his cock lightly, feeling how it resisted him  before pressing in properly. 

Both of them moaned this time, Micah sighed Arthur’s name at the feel of Arthur’s passage eating him up hungrily. His heat was intoxicating, he squeezed around Micah’s cock almost encouragingly. 

Micah began to move. The friction sent sparks of pleasure up and down Micah’s shaft, made the heat in the pit of his stomach start to rise and he fucked faster, pounding into Arthur, the skin of his pale ass starting to redden. 

Micah knew he wouldn’t last much longer but having Arthur on his hands and knees before him, gasping at each snap of his hips, biting back his moans and burying his head in his arms, ass up as if willing Micah to do what he wanted with him was the most erotic thing Micah had ever experienced. 

Micah saw Arthur stroking himself, felt him trembling with impending release, he contracted around Micah so tightly it made Micah’s hips stutter.

“Fuck Morgan, fuck!” Micah spat as he released, fingers digging into Arthur’s hips as to keep him in place so he could spill himself inside. 

He rested his forehead on the small of Arthur’s back, feeling him release too, the trembling coming to a crescendo and his legs shaking before he went limp beneath him. They stayed like that for a few moments. The sound of blood pumping in Micah’s ears was replaced with the evening outside.

Micah pulled out once he softened completely and got to his feet, buttoning his pants back up. Arthur stood too, albeit shakily, his skin still flushed and slicked with sweat and his own spend on his stomach. He found his clothes and satchel across the room and redressed sheepishly.

“Don’t you dare breathe a word of this to no one.” Arthur muttered before he made his way out of the cellar.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

[vegetalass]

If you come back to this, would you consider doing hcs for the rdr2 boys coping with bad breakups? 👀🙈💖👉👈😳

I love your stuff btw! Hope the hiatus is going well and you're having fun being absorbed into new fandom stuff <3

JSKajhdhajfskhjdkajsh AHHHHHHHHHHH YOU ARE TOO SWEET WTF🥺🥺So I just went ahead and wrote this request for you LOOOOOL😎💘😳🤠

even tho I would still say I’m on hiatus.... I was just thinking about Mister Arthur Morgan today and how much i want to sit on his lap and hug him and kiss his cheeks and hold his face against my chest.... So I figure this is as good a time as any to write some stuff for rdr2...

Plus... I really am happy about the fact that people like my work enough to still send me asks!!! I miss the rdr2 fandom a lot tbh because as I’m sure you all have been know... The bnha fandom is a little..... wack tbh..... But regardless, I am having as much fun as i possibly can under the circumstances!!! Theres a lot of good content there... 

and just in case u like bnha... you can actually find me at @ihatebnha if you want to read any of my current BNHA stuff (tho im sorta taking a break there too temporarily). Either way, even if you don’t, i appreciate u all for sticking with me and I MISS U GUYS so i hope this does u all some justice!

anyway... i hope this is what you were looking for because I LOVE UUUUUU!! ENJOY💚🧡❤️

-

Arthur

First of all………. If you break up with Arthur I personally will come beat you up

Secondly….

Honestly, he probably just goes completely numb

He doesn’t have the emotional stability or strength to handle unpacking how or why it’s happening

You ask to break up with him and his soul leaves his body and he’s just “Ok.🙂Whatever you think is best, baby.”

And that’s the end of it. Won’t even let you explain.

This means don’t prank him by pretending to break up with him either because you’ll accidentally kill him

Like he genuinely probably thinks that he deserves whatever it is that made you want to break up with him and that there’s really nothing he can do to feel better about it

Even if was just something like, long distance problems or needing a break

This also hurts so badly because I feel like… getting to the point where Arthur even wants to date you takes FOREVER… He really really needs to trust and love the person who he’s with…

And so to see them leave would just break his heart up into pieces and he wouldn’t be able to handle that all over again

He just… becomes a ghost

Anyone from the gang even mentions it or asks how he is and he just tells them he’s fine and doesn’t need to talk about it

Even if he really is aching deep down… He just can’t bring himself to talk about it because it still doesn’t make any sense to him

And honestly, he just doesn’t want things to hurt any more than they already do by acknowledging them or facing them head on

So he just submits to it all being his fault, it was the right thing to do, that you’re happier without him, etc. and permanently shuts himself off

If you left him, that would be the absolute final straw and he would just throw himself into his work and never look back

And honestly wouldn’t even notice if someone else was making moves on you, that’s how out of it he is.

You wouldn’t even notice something was wrong unless you TRULY knew Arthur

He’s a tough cookie

John

John is the guy who acts like he’s fine if anyone sees him but cries 24/7 when he’s alone

If anyone asks him about it he’s like “I don’t care, it’s fine and I respect their decision… I’m a man, not a baby.”

But the truth is…. Sir… You ARE baby

Honestly…. He’s just saying all that so people don’t really know how much he’s hurting or think he’s weak and try to help

And in a modern setting, Abigail, Arthur, Hosea, anyone really, can’t go to his apartment because he’s lost all motivation to take care of himself

Dishes piled up, laundry everywhere, he’s been wearing the same pajamas for a week, his trash is full of microwave meal packages… It’s just so fucking bad

Single Man Shit

Probably goes through bouts of rage too

Was he not good enough? Did you think you weren’t good enough? Was it the fact that he has Abigail and Jack? Is he too ugly for someone pretty like you?  

It’s in these moments that he starts throwing stuff around and kicking chairs and whatnot

I imagine it’s all pretty nonviolent but he still just wants to make a mess to release all that pent up frustration

But he always just ends up on the floor or in bed crying again because he really doesn’t understand what went wrong since he was trying so hard to be a good partner

He wanted to be good for you :(

At least to make up for what he did to Abigail

Probably a couple months after the breakup he starts feeling better…

Picks his laundry up and does the dishes and starts to open up to the gang again

He’s definitely still sad when he thinks about it all… But he knows he’ll get over it as long as you seem happy from afar

If any of the other boys from camp try to make a move on you, he does his best to ignore it… Knowing it’s not his place to speak for you anymore, even if seeing you with someone else does make him sad

And he probably takes some extra time to spend with Abigail and Jack, too

There’s really no one like your family (even if they’re chosen) to make you feel better in situations like this

(Especially since they went through the same thing as him BY him)

Karma’s a bitch, lol

Charles

Charles... My love….. My baby…….

He takes a while to fall apart because honestly, he’s just so confused

He definitely does not recover quickly, but of course, appears to function kind of normally

If anything, he just gets more quiet and distant than before, simply because he needs a lot of time and space to think about everything

And because looking at you hurts so badly

When you mention breaking up, he probably just stands up and walks away

And if you chase after him trying to explain, he’ll tell you that you don’t need to justify yourself, and that he just needs to be alone

However, deep down, he’s gutted and really just needs the space to process what you said and then calm down

He doesn’t want to face the gang, and possibly you, again, crying, hence why he doesn’t come back for a while, but he knows that he can’t just run away from everything

He never thought that you’d be capable of hurting him in the way that you did

And he wonders what the final straw that pushed you over the edge was

He definitely saw you staying together for a long time, and had a lot of ideas for your future, so the breakup was especially surprising and devastating for that reason alone

And he would probably never want to speak to you again

Not really because he hated you, but because it would be too emotional for him to be around you knowing you didn’t feel the same as him

And even though he’s okay with emotions, the gang just isn’t exactly the right space for him to deal with them

Though he probably eventually talks about it with Arthur after a couple months, once he finds another normal, and bonds with him over the shared experience

He would never be able to ask you this, but he wonders if the reason you left him was for the same reasons he’s shunned in society

I think that would hurt him the most… if you didn’t want to be seen with him in public

Even though he knows that it’s unlikely, since he didn’t want to hear your reasons for leaving, it’s something that he thinks about

Even if it would hurt him to see you with someone else, he wouldn’t do anything about it

And as always, he’d just stay quiet, watching

Micah

Micah blames you

Everything is your fault. Everything.

Oh, you want to break up with him? When he’s been so nice to you? So good? He’d literally do anything for you, and you’re not happy with that? You’re such an ungrateful bitch! Fuck you! He never even wanted to date you in the first place, so it’s your fault for making him love you. Sorry he tried soooo hard.  

Any semblance of sadness he feels about losing you turns to rage so quickly since he just really cannot fathom why you’d leave him

Genuinely thinks he’s the best boyfriend you’ve ever had and ever will

SIR…????

Despite his anger, he probably is sad deep down… He just doesn’t really recognize it as sadness in the first place

His chest aches when he thinks about you? His eyes sting and burn when he looks at you? His stomach hurts at any and every thought of you?

You’re just an ugly witch who wants him dead.

He has never felt any of these things before, and frankly, he hates feeling like this.

And absolutely refuses to admit to himself that maybe… MAYBE… he just misses you and wants you back…

Honestly though, you will never get word nor wind of this, and before long, he really just does start to hate you.

If you weren’t in the gang, and were ever in a situation where you saw him again, he’d try to make your life a hell.

He’d tease you in front of whoever you were with, talking about how he’s probably the best fuck you’d ever have and that “if you still wanted to fuck him,” he “wouldn’t blame you…” and might even think about it going at it on more time

In a modern setting, he’s definitely a hate fucking type of ex

And if he ever saw you with a new boy, he would probably try to lay some hands on them for even thinking about touching you

AND STILL doesn’t realize that this means he still loves you… But whatever

If you break up with him, guaranteed you’re probably never getting back together

Dutch

Dutch is a tough one… I feel like it really depends on how long you’ve been together, the reason why you want to breakup, and how much value he has for the you and relationship itself

I think he’d be more upset about a long term relationship ending than anything and he’d definitely try to argue with you about any of the problems you bring up

He definitely hits you with the, “you should’ve known what you were getting into,” which, honestly, is a pretty fair point

He doesn’t actually want you to leave him, though… He just doesn’t really want to change

Which is why the whole thing ends up being so T O X I C

But if he realizes that you are actually serious about breaking up, he isn’t above saying that he’ll put the work into fixing everything

Though that’s kind of a lie, since he’s mostly just saying it to get you to stay

If the argument gets too intense, he’ll let you walk away

But only because he’s going to brainstorm about how to get you back

I’m sure this is a given, but none of the other boys at camp are allowed to even think about getting close to you

It wasn’t so bad when you and Dutch were still together, but if he wants you back, everyone is a threat

Arthur and John are given direct orders to not even comfort you… And Dutch even tries to get Miss Grimshaw to be mean to you

At least so he can swoop in and save you… Thinking that you’ll run right back into his arms if no one except him is nice to you

Because that’s where you belong

If he doesn’t manage to succeed in winning you back, the moment he realizes that everything is over, he will 100% start ignoring you

And don’t put it past him to try show off the fact that he’s found someone new to fuck

Honestly, since he’s the leader, at this point, he’d probably just be looking for a good way to get rid of you

Nothing violent, just find a little brothel he can pop you in when the gang’s about to leave some random town

Seems like a good idea to him… Since if he’s not special, no one is.

Same reason why, if you cheat on him, you will never see the whites of his eyes again

Much less anyone from the gang

Kieran

To give Kieran some credit... He’s probably the most in touch with his emotions

He doesn’t respond very well to the breakup, just says okay and lets you walk away, but he’s not above accepting the truth and just crying about it for a while

First and foremost, you need to be happy, even if it means without him

Part of him wants to beg for you to stay so badly… Hold onto the bottom of your shirt and cry… But I know that he probably thinks he doesn’t deserve to and would be able to stop himself

Obviously, you know better than him about everything so why would you be wrong about breaking up?

His work definitely lags and he ends up spending more time with the animals than anyone else, but he’s okay at holding himself together

No one would even know he’s still suffering unless they talked to him about it

Which they don’t, really, and honestly he’s sort of glad, because it gives him a lot of time to think about everything

Which is why, even months after the breakup, if he hasn’t found someone new, he still thinks about what it would be like if you stayed

Daydreams about cuddling with you, about dancing with you, about brushing the horses with you, starting a family, everything…

He wishes it were his so badly

And so seeing you with another boy, especially if it were someone else at camp, would absolutely kill him

And yet, he’d still manage to keep it all to himself. Nothing but his greedy eyes left

Self esteem gone forever… He’d take you back in a heartbeat

Doesn’t help that the poor baby definitely gets clowned by Dutch and Micah about not being able to keep “a good fuck” around

It really hurts… But in the end, he knows they’re right  

Javier

Javier probably gets over everything the quickest out of all of the boys.

I just see him as having the most romantic experience out of all of them, so he understands how relationships (and breakups) work

His logic is, why would he want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with him?

Which makes getting over you faster than normal

Especially since, regardless of why you wanted to leave, he’s going to respect your wishes

Definitely a little peeved at first though because he thought things were fine between the two of you

He’s just not going to bother trying to get you to stay

Especially since he knows that he can be kind of flirty with people even when he’s with you

That being said, if he sees any of the other boys at camp trying to get with you, he’s going to be BIG MAD

First of all, he was there first, so they should know better than to touch someone else’s things

And second of all, it would just feels like they’re showing off the fact that you left him, rather than the other way around

But honestly, he probably wouldn’t care if you found a stranger to mess with. It’s not like they know your relationship history, and honestly, he knows it wouldn’t be fair if he were ever to find someone else he likes.

So he’s fine watching you run around

It’s only ever late at night, if it’s been a while since you’ve spoken to him, or he’s feeling lonely, that he thinks about what things would be like if you were still with him

He wonders what really made you leave, and if you were honest with him during the relationship

Overall, he’d be okay, but would definitely still be down to fuck if you ever wanted! You may not want to be with each other anymore, but it doesn’t change the fact you guys had some bomb ass sex

Sean

Sean is another boy who’s going to be a bit more angry than sad

That being said, he’s no where near as bad as Micah and knows that the anger comes from the sadness

He’s just extremely frustrated that things didn’t work out, and resents the fact that you didn’t even want to try and fix things with him

It’s not like he really blames you for that… But he wishes that he could

Especially since throughout it all, even now, he doesn’t actually hate you, and still wishes that you would come back

He’s knows his personality can be a little overwhelming, but he would’ve been willing to change if it made you happy!

But honestly, since he doesn’t need to anymore, everything about him just gets a bit… Worse

Constantly making a show of showing off for the other girls at camp, always trying to flirt with the girls at the saloon, talking the boys’ heads off about anything and everything…

Just to distract himself and prove that he’s doing fine… That you didn’t hurt him at all, and he doesn’t need you

But even he’s not all that convinced

If any of the other boys at camp start messing around with you, he’ll definitely start a fight with them, feeling like were just doing it to piss him off

He’d lose, though, and would end up just going to bed and crying.

If he saw you flirting with a stranger, he’d be equally as mad, but he probably wouldn’t do anything other than get super drunk in front of you to ruin the mood

Eventually he starts feeling more like himself, and it definitely helps if you don’t treat him weirdly, but he finds that he does still think of you when he sees cute married girls or children, wondering what he would’ve had if things didn’t go wrong.

Especially since he also gets teased by the gang for not being able to hold it down… Despite his constant talk

[allthingsmustfall]

Charthur Love HCs

It’s blisteringly hot and humid, and I’m feeling kind of melancholy, and was thinking about Arthur and Charles and the way they love each other.  I saw a post a while back (this has been living in a gdoc for a while), that accurately pointed out that in so many fics, Arthur puts Charles on a pedestal as some perfect unflawed human, and that that isn’t the best way to treat a character - it makes them one-dimensional if all they are is the Good which you use to measure another character’s Bad.  I fell into that a bit in ‘like thieves in the night’ and so it’s been sticking in my side….Anyway, it got me thinking about WHY they love each other, because if I could define that, then it might make it easier to write their relationship more realistically - so have some completely unrequested head canons from ‘like thieves in the night':

Arthur loves Charles

Arthur doesn’t think much of himself, not with all the things he’s done - if he’s remarkable in any way, it could only be because he’s put so much bad out into the world.  So with that lingering self-loathing, he’s always gonna consider his actions to be worse than similar things done by similar people.  So while he knows that Charles lived most of his life by thieving and killing folk, he doesn’t think of it as ‘bad’ in the same way Arthur regrets some of his own behavior.  Charles is Kind, and the things he’s done that weren’t kind - well, that’s only because there weren’t any other options afforded him; it doesn’t change the fact that Charles is, at the heart of him, good. Arthur is so much more willing to give others the benefit of a doubt.  While he can’t forgive himself for some of the things he’s done, he’s far more likely to forgive others.  Charles in particular.

Outlaws aren’t all chivalrous men who are competent and effective, Arthur knows that all too well.  So when they bring on new blood into the gang, Arthur never expects much.  Far more people fall into outlawing because they’re stupid and lazy than because they’re fighting a war on civilization in general and Washington, DC in particular.  And yet, immediately, Charles is Capable.  He comes into the gang and does more than his fair share of the hunting, the guarding, the chores.  Arthur has made the gang his family; taking care of them is how he shows his love.  Seeing Charles take that on without question or complaint is unusual enough to be startling.  It’s probably what first made Arthur look at Charles with real consideration.  For a long time, he waited for the other shoe to drop, for Charles to reveal himself as untrustworthy, to have some fatal flaw like most men they take on.  But it never comes. 

So many of the folks in the gang are bloviators who can’t shut up about how amazing they are.  But Charles doesn’t slam his ego around like a fucking weapon like the rest of them; it’s not that he’s uncertain about himself or his place in the gang.  He knows without question that he’s good at what he does and lets his actions/results speak for themselves. Many times Arthur has watched Charles smile privately after a job well done, either chopping wood or getting through a robbery without having to kill anybody. He's proud of his work, and rightly so.  It’s...admirable (cue confused soft emotions)

Arthur gets shit from some of the gang about how much time/energy he spends helping out the lost lambs of the world, but Charles does the same sort of thing.  In my fic, I gave Charles the Charlotte mission, but I like to think he picked up some of the other things that would have fallen to Arthur in-game.  So, back to Arthur’s low self-esteem, when Arthur offers that selflessness, makes himself vulnerable for no reason other than it was the right thing to do - whatever, nbd.  But when done with Charles’ hands, Arthur recognizes it as the sort of kindness that changes the world in small and loving ways.

Charles has a sense of humor that Arthur just gets.  It’s not loud or performative like Sean.  It’s quiet and sarcastic and deadpan.  It took him a while to really notice it, but Charles just cocking an eyebrow at the perfect time is enough to make Arthur crack. Charles has amazing eye roll game.  He can’t imagine that anyone thinks of Charles as silent and menacing, not when Arthur has personally heard Charles repeat filthy limericks until Arthur gave up trying to sleep, swung his leg over Charles’ hips, and kissed him quiet. 

I think that Arthur would have spent his whole life holding Charles in High Regard, not examining too closely the tremor in his chest when he makes Charles smile, or how...nice it is to just watch Charles chop wood. I think the love he feels for him is physical, not in a sexual way, but in a tactile, grounded way that's totally different than anything he's felt for a woman. With Mary, that love was ethereal, hard to grasp, but with Charles, Arthur could point to the point on his chest where that love lives. It's as real and alive as his heartbeat.

Charles loves Arthur

I think something bad happened prior to Charles joining the gang; not necessarily terrible or uniquely awful, but something that made him weary of being on his own.  Maybe he had to deal with some local racist troublemakers, got away clean, and was making camp for himself out in the rough only to be happened upon by more racists/bandits/troublemakers, and was forced into yet another fight for his life.  So he’s exhausted, and he wants a place to rest and he hears about Dutch’s gang. Dutch seems honorable, doesn’t mention his race, and almost...shows off the other POC in the gang (look at all the POC I have so generously taken in! Praise me for my open mindedness).  It’s condescending, but it’s better than the overt hatred he gets out on his own.  So he joins up.  He’s not expecting much out of a gang of outlaws, and some of them live up (down?) to expectations, but there’s a good chunk of people who are far more like a family than he was expecting.  They’ve even got a kid with them, who’s protected as fiercely as any child deserves.  And Arthur, for all that he’s introduced as Dutch’s menacing lieutenant, spends most of his energy protecting and caring for that core little family.  Yes, Arthur spends a lot of his time with his hands dirty, but at the end of the day, he wipes them clean and sits quietly at the fire, clear affection in his eyes as everyone talks over one another and laughs and dances.  It’s far more human than he was expecting from a man whose face is plastered from here to New Hanover and back again, drawn hastily above a litany of sins.

Arthur has been on the wrong side of the law his entire life, has probably killed more men than he’s had hot dinners, which makes it all the more amazing that he has any moral compass at all, let alone one which so unerringly brings out that fierce stubbornness when marginalized people are threatened.  Being kind matters all the more when the option to be cruel is so much easier, when it has been nurtured more than kindness ever has.  It’s...amazing, so much so that Charles is appalled that so few others seem to notice.

Charlie's is startled by Arthur’s tenderness; he had worried that Arthur would mistake him for a woman, at first, that this thing of theirs would make Arthur think of him as something delicate in need of protection. But Arthur still relies on Charles in a fight, he doesn’t try to wade in and fight Charles’ battles for him - well, for the most part.  Arthur is protective of the things he loves - so when he picks fights on Charles’ behalf it’s less because he doesn’t think that Charles can fend for himself, and more because he is impatient to kick in the teeth of every bigot in the world (it’s a thin line to walk, and Arthur doesn’t always nail it - it’s been the subject of more than one fight).  But still, Arthur is...soft in a way that surprises Charles.  Even before they admitted to themselves and each other that this was more than an occasional hand beneath a blanket, that love was creeping up around them like a slow tide, Arthur’s hands were gentle on him, reverential.  There was more than one time Charles had feigned sleep just to enjoy the soft way Arthur carded his fingers through his hair, the way the pads of his fingers traced, unasking, over his collection of scars.  The types of trysts Charles had had in his past didn’t involve anything like that - that quiet, naked intimacy that only comes after the sex is done and heart rates are drifting back to normal.  It makes Charles’ throat tight, even as the rest of him goes soft and liquid under Arthur’s hands.

Because Arthur is white, is a man, and now has enough money that he and the rest of the gang are set for life, there are things that he will never experience, and in never experiencing them, will never really understand.  Occasionally, Arthur forgets there are places that won’t serve Charles dinner and he’s enraged when he runs across them, wants to burn down every racist, bigoted piece of shit he runs across.  But he doesn’t expect Charles to comfort or educate him about these inequities. Arthur doesn’t see himself as some sort of uniquely qualified savior who can liberate the oppressed just because he’s white and he cares.  He’s learned that the best person to solve those problems isn’t a white man riding in with a gun and a temper; that the desire to help is most effective when directed by someone who has lived under that oppression.  And so he listens when Charles speaks, and he learns.  

Arthur has been with women, has been in love before Charles.  That doesn’t bother Charles - not exactly.  But Arthur has a road map to love that Charles has never seen; Arthur already contains the spaces within himself in which love can be built and tended to - the sort of thing that only comes from experience.  Charles never had the chance for that, had never expected the opportunity, not when the world was already ready to hang him for so many other things.  He’d never anticipated love, not like this, not the sort of thing which was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.  And so Arthur more easily vocalizes  his adoration.  He has told Charles he loves him plainly, many times, unthinkingly calls him ‘darlin’ when he’s distracted or preoccupied.  He doesn’t even seem bothered that Charles’ own admissions are quieter, hidden within other words and deeds.  There’s no doubt in Charles, now, about how they are together, how deeply this connection runs, but that gentle, unthinking intimacy still steals his breath away, even twenty years down the road when Arthur is walking around the cabin hollering “Darlin’ you seen my new leather hat?  I swear I had it just - ah, never mind, there it is-”

They just - are in awe of each other, each the other’s wonder which holds the stars apart.  

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll Pt 2

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

You guys asked for more. Again, it is not perfect, BUT I accidentally wrote so much with so many perfect cut off points... Instead of smashing it in one post, I’m going to hit you up with Part 3 Saturday 9am GMT just coz

Word count: 1540

Warnings: Violence, abuse

Part One & Masterlist

Part Three

He stiffens at that, his eyes darkening introspectively. "Heidi?"

Hysteria bubbles in your chest. "You don't know her name? You don’t even-!” A laugh erupts from your throat. “How do you act so high and mighty when you don’t even know her name?"

"Y/N-"

"She wouldn’t have been there if it weren't for me! And then I went ahead and slept with her killer!"

"I weren't on that ferry-"

"But you stayed knowing what he had done!" You choke as the sobs finally overcome you. "You stayed with him and I stayed with Colm and… I thought you made it better, but this is so so much worse."

Arthur swears, reaching for you before retracting his hand hesitantly. "I'm sorry- if I'd have known…"

"You'd what? Leave them?" You try to scoff but the corners of your mouth are dragging too far towards your chin. “You have that luxury?”

He sighs, defeated. “You ain’t been in the game as long as I have. Sometimes things get messy.”

“Messy is a pile of lawmen. Messy is a couple of horses being lost.”

“I wasn’t there - things go wrong-”

“A job gone wrong is loss without a payday - it was a fucking massacre, Arthur! It was indiscriminate slaughter!”

“I’m sorry, ok? We’re all sorry about what happened!” He flicks the reins as if determined to leave the gang behind. “Nobody knows why, but everything blew up and bodies started hitting the deck. You ain’t the only one that lost family on that damn ferry - we lost more people than we have done in years. We tried to tell him it didn’t feel right- but no one ever imagined that...”

He trails off, his chin low, eyes only seeing the road ahead.  You shake your head, wanting nothing more than to curl up and cry, but the bonds are unforgiving so you stay as you are, looking anywhere but at the driver besides you.

Hours pass in silence. You catch him worrying in your peripherals occasionally, but it does nothing to help the ache in your chest nor the overwhelming exhaustion that has burrowed its way into your bone marrow.

Balancing a cigarette between his lips, he strikes a match on the bottom of his boot. When it’s lit, he offers it to you but you turn your head further away. 

“I’ve been smoking a lot lately,” he mutters, smoke curling from his lips. “I’m starting to doubt whether I’m breathing you in or smoking you out.” He throws you another glance, his eyes sad under the rim of his hat as he takes another deep drag. You close your eyes, trying to ignore the pain that ripples in his words.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here!”

Your stomach flutters as the familiar face grunts its way into view. He stretches his legs out, leaning back on his arms that have crossed over your own. Officially seated, he gives you a dazzling smile that makes you melt.

“Can a lady not enjoy some peace and quiet in this town?”

He chuckles, setting the worn gambler’s hat aside as he lights a smoke. “Surprised you’d want to.”

You nudge him playfully, accepting the proffered tobacco with fixed eye contact. You inhale the same air he’s blowing into the misty morning, trying not to let the blush creep up your neck. “What brings you back to Valentine? Outta supplies already?”

He rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You cock a flirtatious eyebrow, but he shakes his head, suddenly serious. “Where were you last week? I made the trip especially.”

“I was… visiting friends,” you lie.

“D’your friends know about me?”

“Do yours?”

His fingers caress your hand as he takes back the cigarette. “Touché.”

“What would you have done if it had been the other way round?” he asks eventually. “If you and Colm’s boys came into our camp… What would you have done?”

“I kill men - not women.” You open your eyes to meet his brooding gaze. “I… can’t imagine I’d have done well when I learned about the boy neither.”

“If they weren’t there?”

You swallow the lump in your throat as he looks away. “I wouldn’t have had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he says lowly. “Is that what you tell yourself?” Your laugh is damp.

“This life…”

“Is shit.” You scoff as his lips thin. “We don’t go into it because we want to. The only reason we stick with it is because we’ve made too many enemies to go clean.”

“C’mon, it ain’t all bad-”

“Everything about us is fucked because we got caught in the crosshairs.” His mouth twists, your own disappointment reflected in his slouched shoulders. “You made me feel like… like all this mess was happening for a reason, but now…” Your voice breaks. “Even if I got away from Colm, you won’t leave Dutch. You wouldn’t have taken me back there if you could’ve. Everything is just… fucked.”

"How's your side?” he enquires gently.

"Least of my worries,” you mutter. You haven’t been able to sleep properly for weeks now, and when you do, your dreams are borderline hallucinogenic. The exhaustion has long since soaked into your bones, and now with your limbs bound for yet another unending hour, it wasn’t like the wound (or your broken tooth) were worthy of your concern.

Your giggles peeter out as you realise what he’s seeing. His eyes are soft and sad as his fingertips drink in the irregularities of your skin as gently as they can.

“Every one of them is a story,” you murmur, pulling his chin up and away from your body. “A story for another time.”

The corner of his lips tucks into his cheek. “Well, if we ain’t sharing secrets-” He leans back and pulls his shirt over his head in one swift tug. Your hands are small, pale and delicate against the muscles of his stomach. You comb them through the golden hair, trying not to linger on the silver scars that litter his body.

You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him in, wordlessly thanking him. He responds firmly, his tongue tracing your lips as your bodies mould to one another. Despite your efforts, you realise with a sinking stomach that you have gone and fallen in love with him.

Graceful in defeat, you gorge yourself in this new emotion, allowing yourself to bask in the temporary bliss that is his company.

Dirt builds up behind your nails as you hiss back into the present moment.

“Done,” breathes Arthur, his fingers grazing the soft flesh of your hip as he cuts the thread. “I guess I should have guessed where all your stories came from. I didn’t mean to become one of them.”

You try to inspect the stitches yourself but they’re just out of your line of sight. Pulling down your shirt, you look around for the bedroll. Every string of every muscle is screaming for rest, no matter how temporary. As though reading your mind, Arthur tuts.

“You need to eat somethin’.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should be. When was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care either."

He lights another cigarette as you crawl across the grass of your small camp and collapse just inside the tent. You barely close your eyes before the smell of tobacco wakes you again.

“Eat.”

You groan loudly. “What about you?”

“Forget about me.” A cigarette is pinched between his incisors as he begins to pack away the camp. “If you don’t start eatin’, I’m gonna have to do something we’ll both regret.”

The weight of your arms with the small spoon of soup is laughable. You force your mouth to meet it, your entire focus taken up by the menial task. You manage half a bowl before surrendering. Arthur is watching you over the back of his horse, the lines between his brows digging six feet into his head. He looks away quickly, his mouth still a thin line despite his efforts.

“We got another while to go yet.”

“Where are we going?” You watch him unpin the tent and fold it up.

“East.”

“East?” you repeat, laughing at how your ears have warped the sound. Your stomach sinks as you watch him purposely avoid you. “You handing me over?”

“What? No! O’course not, Y/N, I ain’t stupid.”

“Then… why east?” You watch him closely and notice his knee jittering despite his weight. “Where are you taking me?”

“You can’t stay here.”

“And you can’t let me go. If Colm catches me-”

“I won’t let him.”

“Then… what?” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I know you ain’t going to let me stay with you after what I said about Dutch.” Your weak laugh comes out breathless. “Arthur?”

“I’ll make sure you get out of here alright. I owe you that at least.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you state as calmly as you can. “I’ll be fine.”

The shadows under his eyes are darker today. You can’t help but wonder how much longer he stayed awake after you passed out. “I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happens to you, Y/N. Let me have this.”