#john would be nothing without abigail

[pinkysberg]

"i don't like abigail x john bc they're toxic and she yells at him" u fool. uve missed the entire point! that they're imperfect and john DESERVES TO BE YELLED AT

[miller-n-morgan-2]

Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: GUYS I GRADUATED MY FROM MY COURSE! i give you this chapter as a token of my celebration... now I just have to make sure I don't have any models fall off the runway in my line up lmao

Summary: The newest arrival makes his way into camp, and inadvertently becomes the reason that chaos begins to spread. Luckily, his new uncle Arthur is there to carry the woes on his broad shoulders.

Warnings: mild swearing, canon typical violence, birth?? mentions of past death and Arthur remembering his deadbeat dad days. drinking, mild alcohol abuse?? also Hosea is a real one we love Hosea

WC: 4.5k

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?”  “She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.” “But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he was the one who asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

A week after the heist, Arthur’s shoulder was feeling better… but his head was hurting like hell. 

In fact, on this specific night, nearly everyone’s head was throbbing on account of the wails and cries of terrible pain coming from the edge of camp. 

Abigail had gone into labor around five hours ago, and the little baby had still not come into the world yet. As of right now, the men were huddled close to the fire, passing around a fresh bottle of whiskey in attempts to pass out so they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, the women were rushing to and fro about the camp, working their asses off to bring a new life to the gang. 

You figured it would help you bond with the boys more if you sat with them, moaning and groaning about the noise… but you’d much rather be helping, making sure nothing went wrong in the tumultuous process of birth. 

It wasn’t until close to one in the morning that a tiny baby boy was born, strong as ever, with lungs so powerful they could blow a lark out of a tree. His cries replaced Abigails, but after all that time, everyone was pleased to know the delivery was over, and both parties were healthy and sound. 

The men did eventually pass out, all except two. 

Arthur and John were up till the crack of dawn arguing, and it didn’t look good from an outside perspective. 

You were about to take back towards your tent when you came across them, hurriedly getting out of their line of sight so you could listen without suspicion. You knew you had no right to eavesdrop, but with everything you’ve heard from Abigail concerning John, you were bursting with curiosity in a way that turned your stomach. 

“I don’t see why I need to be convinced otherwise,” John ripped into his dearest friend, and even from behind a wall of tented fabric, you could imagine the look on his face. 

“You’re makin’ a mistake right now, and you ain’t gonna see it until it’s too late.”

“How would you know? S’not like you did any better,” the tone of his voice was bitter, almost. John caught himself, taking a step back and breathing more evenly after his fit of anger. “I didn’t mean that, Arthur… but you oughta know where my head’s at.”

Arthur was silent, and you wished more than anything you could see the look on his face to determine how Marston had gotten to him. Was he saddened or angry? Maybe even confused? You didn’t know, but you didn’t have long to dwell on it. 

“You listen here, boy,” Arthur’s voice sounded threatening, intimidating. It was perhaps the scariest you’ve heard him speak. “You ain’t got no idea what’s comin’ to you if you leave. There will be no place in hell you’ll be able to hide from the decision you’re about to make. It’ll follow you the rest of your days, and haunt you when you’re dead, you understand me?”

John didn’t speak, didn’t answer or even mumble an excuse, he just walked away. He walked towards Abigail’s tent, ducking his head under and closing the front panel. You stood there stunned, afraid to move… but then Arthur came up around the backside of the area and scared the shit out of you. 

“You hear all that?” He asked, a slanted look in his eyes and a distaste for you in his tone. It might be the remnants from his past conversation, but you hate the way it sounds. 

“Arthur,” you caught your breath from the fright he gave you just in time to mumble out an apology. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be listenin’, but Abigail’s been telling me things and I just…”

He managed to huff out one silent breath of a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Don’t be fretin’ on my account, I ain’t mad at you.” 

You sighed in relief, stepping closer to him now that you didn’t feel so burdened. 

“I don’t know him very well, but what I’ve seen… he doesn’t know his head from his ass. Is he really gonna leave?”

“I don’t know,” he started, crossing his arms and letting out a small yawn. He’s just as tired as you are. “I think I just bought a few days, maybe more, but who knows.”

“You think he can change his mind?” You relaxed your demeanor in front of him, but kept your head on a swivel just in case

He was so tired, you felt bad for keeping him awake, but you figured these thoughts were weighing heavy on him, and it might be good to get it off his chest. “He’s far too stubborn to do it on his own. We’d all have to raise hell for him to think badly of his own choices.”

You frowned, turning towards the tent of the new, young family… There were already so many problems in their unit. 

“Poor Abigail.” 

She’d be alone, and with a child to take care of. And meanwhile John would be scott free and having the time of his life.

“She’ll be alright, her and the boy. I’ll make sure of it,” he nodded towards where you were staring. “Around the time he started acting up, I told her I’d marry her, be the kid’s father if she wanted me to.”

Your head snapped around to him, and you processed his words. Abigail told you about part of his offer, because you’d given her the same one, sans one detail…

“You’re gonna marry her?” 

“Only if she wants me to, if John leaves.”

Good to know… but not really. It looks to you like John is pretty set in his ways, even if he ends up staying through the week, or even more. 

You nodded to him, but you hated the notion that he could already be promised to another person, even if you had absolutely no plans on pursuing him yourself. It was a small little envious monster that crawled in the pit of your stomach, and for a split second, you felt yourself resenting Abigail, who thus far, had become your closest friend after Arthur. 

“I actually offered the same,” you laughed, shaking your head and kicking your boot into the ground. “Not that it would last, but I just wanted her to know I was willing to help.”

“The whole gang chips in here and there, bein’ a family and whatnot… She’ll never go without help,” he assured, his posture becoming heavier with each minute passing. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and stretched your arms out, faking a massive yawn that looked real enough to pass you off. “It’s probably time we all turn in, huh?” 

For some reason he seemed vaguely sad for the interaction to be over. 

“Just about… I’ll catch you later, then,” he waved you off, heading back to his wagon and you to your tent. Even though they were relatively close, the entry points were on opposite sides.

You fell back into your cot with a heavy exhale. It’s been a long night, and with a crying baby in the camp, it’s looking to be a long next few months. 

-

The next few days were wonderful, despite the ill attitudes of a few grumbly men, Arthur not included. 

Dutch has been going on and on since the birth of the baby that the newest member should be given a worthy name. You assume he suggested his own namesake a few times, but since he’s been nothing but playful about the whole thing, you know he isn’t too bitter when they do finally settle on a name. 

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why. 

John Marston Jr, or as the two have taken to calling him already, Jack. 

You were surprised to see that waking up in the late afternoon the day of the birth, John was being… really different. He was putting in effort to help Abigail, he was making sure the others knew of all the information as it came, and most importantly, he was being positive about the whole situation. You suppose Arthur did knock some sense into him, and it was evident in how he was carrying himself. 

You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you felt relieved. Not only for Abigail, but selfishly, for yourself. If John sticks around and pulls his weight, Arthur doesn’t need to be tied down to a family. Not that he would ever see it that way, but still. 

You didn’t know where you stood with Arthur. He was a dear friend, you knew you could say that by now. You think that maybe the playful banter between you holds more than just friendship, but you can’t be sure, and you’re too damn chicken to test the waters. And obviously, a plain and simple conversation is entirely out of the question, because of ridiculous reasons you don’t care to list off. 

Maybe you’ll never know, and you’ll always be playing the game of ‘will we, won’t we’, unable to come to a sound conclusion. You think you’d be well enough with that, even if you never settle down with anyone. 

It’s a terrible absolute, and you should have never decided on it, but you think that being open ended and in this endless cycle of banter with Arthur is better than being in a committed relationship with anyone else. It makes the one on one interactions with him that much sweeter, though. Like today, when it was both your turns to watch baby Jack. The others were working on something in the town, and Abigail and some of the women were napping, having taken care of him through the night.

“He might be hungry,” you suggested, laughing at Arthur’s attempt to sooth the wailing infant. 

“I get hungry too, y’never see me cryin’ about it,” he was joking, clearly. He shook his head and reached for the glass bottle Miss Grimshaw had prepared this morning. 

Jack fed on the bottle and stopped crying, and in the aftermath, you paused to watch the scene before you. A big, gruff outlaw, with his hair tousled and shirt out of place from tiny hands fisting at it, and relaxed in his arms, a tiny baby being bottle fed. It was such a contradictory picture, but one you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. 

“Cute,” you mumbled, nearly under your breath, but he heard you. 

“He’s somethin’,” he chuckled, a small smile on his face when mentioning the boy he held so close. Arthur was many things, but amongst them was gentle. He was a kind creature by nature, that had only been hardened by experience, and these soft moments let his internal goodness show. 

“I meant you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond for a second. 

“I’m quite the opposite, but I’ll thank you for the thought.”

As tough as he was, and as rightfully boastful over his skill with a weapon or with his bare hands, he seemed to negate himself often. His intelligence, his artistic talent, his looks, even his presence during group gatherings. It saddened you, and you didn’t even know the root of his struggle.

“Why you always doin’ that?” 

“Doin’ what?” he asked, his head tilted to the side and a narrow look on his face. 

“Bein’ mean to yourself…” you answered, sitting down on the other end of the log he was relaxing against. 

What a treat it would be for Arthur to see himself through your eyes. He’d never think poorly of himself again. 

“M’not, just the truth.” 

And that was even sadder. Who on earth ever convinced this man that he wasn’t good enough? Whoever it was, you’d like them to be on the other side of your pistol’s barrel. 

You huffed out a sigh, leaning forward so he didn’t have to strain his neck to look back at you. 

“Y’know it’s too damn bad, I happen to think you’re a pretty decent person. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise,” you spoke firmly, laying it on thick so that maybe he can come to terms with believing you. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm, very much so…”

He looked back down at Jack, trying to distract himself from your complimentary onslaught. He didn’t much care for compliments, so he wasn’t even sure how to receive them, if he accepted them at all. He has a very strong belief system, and it’s constantly just a mantra of things like ‘I am a bad man, I do bad things, I am dangerous, I am getting old, I am ugly,’ and so on. He didn’t understand how much he had hurt himself by forming those beliefs in the first place. 

You sat with him in silence for a few minutes, just watching Jack finish the bottle and settle into Arthur’s arm for a nap. He slept a lot for someone that cries through the night. Hearing the soft cries in the night isn’t peaceful, but it’s better than the anxiety and feeling of dread his cries brought you the first day, when John was set on leaving. 

You keep replaying a moment from that morning in your head, when the sun was just over the ridge, and you were heading to your tent… 

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?” 

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely. 

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own. 

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy. 

“Where does he live?” 

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son. 

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness. 

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.” 

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before. 

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.” 

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…” 

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future. 

“Even if John doesn’t leave… I swear I’m gonna do right by this boy,” he let out, his voice trembling but his words were of certainty. 

You felt a tear roll down your own cheek, and did nothing to stop it. This moment, whatever it was, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to keep it buried within the depths of your soul. 

You’ve been on the run for four years now, and in those four years, you’ve been on your own, making some sort of fantasy world for yourself where death was just the thing at the end of a duel, and you never had to pay the toll of those losses. 

You’d not been living in reality, and coming to this gang, meeting Arthur… it must have been preordained. It must have been fate. He himself, day by day, was restoring your humanity, and your ability to feel something that wasn’t just a farce.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, but being so close, he heard you clearly. 

He let out a huff that you suppose was meant to be a soft laugh. “You don’t just hear me, Red… you listen to me. I guess I’ll keep on tellin’ you things.”

And soon both your attentions were pulled back to Jack as he stirred slightly. 

You took a turn holding him while Arthur went to grab some food, and you found you rather liked this particular baby. He was a sweet little thing, not so bratty like the tiny cousins you grew up around. You can only hope he’ll stay this sweet as he grows older. 

-

A month had passed, and John was getting more angsty. 

Arthur was honestly surprised he had lasted this long. It seemed impossible that he stuck around, especially when he had to be the one to take a turn with the baby during the night. 

Fights had broken out with various members of the camp, mostly over John and his unwillingness to help anymore. Dutch had chewed him up and spit him out, and after that, John had made up his mind, for certain this time. 

“You ain’t leavin’, just sit down,” Arthur pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to stop him from packing up and saddling his horse.

“What makes you think I would stay with a bunch of folk who hate me?”

“We don’t hate you, you’re bein’ ridiculous. Sit down, we’ll talk about it.” Arthur tried to reach out for him again, but John pulled himself back and out of the way, two steps from the hitching post. “Boy, you’re not goin’ anywhere-”

“I’m leaving!” John burst out, taking Arthur by surprise. This wasn’t just another hissy fit or tantrum where he would eventually let it stew over. He was really gonna do it. “The kid ain’t mine, I counted back. She’s just try’na tie me down, Arthur... I feel for her, but I ain’t stayin.”

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?” 

“She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.”

“But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

“You don’t need me, Arthur. You’re the better one, always were…” 

“C’mon now, you know that ain’t true. S’just another excuse,” he waved his arms around, trying to emphasize just how stupid it sounded. Yes, it’s all Arthur’s fault that John is leaving. 

John doesn’t even answer Arthur, he just turns heel and readies his horse, all while the older of the two stands by and ridicules him for what he’s about to do. All John can do is tune him out, and pretend he doesn’t hear the distant crying at the other edge of camp, where Susan is trying to console a tired and emotionally devastated Abigail. Their son sleeps in Tilly’s arms, oblivious to anything happening around him, but what’s to come will put a damper on his previously bright future. 

By the time John is on his horse, loaded up and ready to head out, Arthur grabs hold of his leg, yanking it back from the stirrup. He looks to his eyes one more time, to see if there’s any guilt, any resolve, anything that might show he knows what he’s doing is wrong… but he only sees annoyance and pride. Two things John Marston usually wore on his face. 

“If you leave this camp, you best never come back again, ya hear?” 

And for the first time that night, Arthur saw just a shred of fear in the younger man’s eyes. 

“I hear,” he nodded, the fear turning into sadness in this last moment. “It just ain’t worth it no more.”

And with that, he turned his horse, and left the camp. 

Arthur went storming through the camp after the interaction, needing to find himself a drink. 

-

You were angry and rightfully so, stomping back into camp like a bear hunting its prey. Walking up to the campfire, there were only a few left awake. Pearson and Hosea sat, hunched over and with half full whiskey bottles in their hands. Probably from the stolen stash, the brand was decent.

“Anyone seen Arthur?” You asked them both, knowing that at least Hosea could tell you. 

“He passed out ages ago,” He nodded towards his covered wagon near the trees and rocks separating your space. “John left camp tonight.”

“I know, I caught him outside the saloon,” you sat down by them, reaching out for either bottle they were willing to hand over. “Gimme some of that, will ya?”

And of course, drinking was the solution at the end of the day. 

After a while, Pearson dragged himself to bed, leaving you and Hosea to sit and stew by the fire, milling about your tumultuous thoughts. You should have known he’d ask for details of your run in with John. 

“I was out scouting today… realized I needed to go to town for a pair of socks, mine got holes too big for sewin’,” you began, gaze trapped on the fire, the alcohol making it harder to focus on anything else at once. “Came outside and found him hitchin’ his horse.”

“You were the one who approached him, then?” 

“I thought about just wavin’, I thought I’d be seein’ him back here… but then I looked at his saddle. He was packed up for the trek of a million miles,” you sighed, taking another big swig of the pricey whiskey in your hand. You would finish the bottle in no time if you kept up like this, trying to quench your raging thirst for something strong and potent.

“What did you say to him?” 

“Nothing really, not at first. Just asked how the day had been, how Abigail was. I haven’t been here since this morning. I guess they started fighting real bad after I left. Dutch tore into him, too,” you spoke heavily, suddenly the swigs you were slamming back were making you a bit less understandable. Hosea though, was easily able to listen, because after years of Arthur’s drunk slurring, and having to make out sentences between, he was practically an expert. “All I said was that he shouldn’t leave, because he’ll regret it.”

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

“Nah, he just told me where to shove it. I think he’s scared… not of the kid, and not of Abigail. I think he doesn’t wanna end up like his father. Arthur’s told me something about it, but in my opinion, he’s trying to get out before the resentment turns to abuse n’ all that.”

“I reckon you're right. We all told him time and again he’d be a good father, but he’s stubborn as they come, and when his mind’s made up… there’s no stopping that boy.” Hosea shook his head once more, his sadness reflecting in the light of the fire. 

“I guess Arthur’s gonna marry Abigail, now…” you knew you were just trailing into your thoughts, and that while getting more drunk, you shouldn’t be saying them out loud… but you couldn’t help it. Selfishly, on your ride back to camp, this is all you thought about. 

“He offered, it’s up to Abigail to accept,” he said gently, raising his brows in thought as well. He doesn’t see it as a good match, but he thinks it’s honorable that Arthur would do such a thing. 

“I hope she doesn’t,” you murmured quietly, but it seems he still heard you. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

He chuckled under his breath, his side eye remaining on your features just a while longer before he stood up, patting you on the shoulder. 

“Don’t drink too much more. You’ll pass out before making the trip to your tent.”

And then he left you alone. With your thoughts and a bottle of whiskey in hand, who knows what more you could do in a situation like this. It was better to cut your losses and just turn in… so you did. 

Laying down on your cot, you expected sleep to take you. It should have, given how tired you were, but the single notion kept echoing in your head over and over…

Arthur Morgan isn’t mine, and he never was.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

[lowfunctioningoptimist]

Being a former Schoolteacher in the Van Der Linde Gang

Prompt: {Reader as a Former Teacher in the Van Der Linde Gang}

Fem!Reader x Various

Summary: It’s no secret that the Van Der Linde Gang brought together all sorts of misfits of all sorts of backgrounds. Hosea had been a stage actor, Bill had been a soldier, and Javier was once a revolutionary. However, with all these strange yet vibrant histories, yours always made you stand out. Far to off in the eastern side of the country, you had lived a modest but respectable life as a schoolteacher. 

Note: Reader is written as being in her late twenties to early thirties. I only have Arthur, John, Dutch, Abigail, Mary-Beth, Javier, Molly, and Sean in this post. I do intend to write the others, I just didn't want this to be too long. I can also write specific imagines or romantic hcs if requested!

ARTHUR

He’s likely to be the first to develop a crush on you. Honestly.

Arthur finds you comforting. You carry yourself with a warmth and a certain air of confidence that makes him feel safe in your presence. He didn’t have much schooling, so he sometimes gets shy about talking about academic subjects. Still, you do manage to coax him into deeper conversations than just “mornin’” and “lovely day, ain’t it?”

Arthur is softer than he seems and sees more than he’s always willing to say. After cracking through the awkward small-talk phase of your friendship, you and Arthur begin to talk more on philosophy. He’s never considered himself all that smart, but you tell him that he’s insightful. Insightful? Him? It's enough to make him blush sometimes.

As he gets to know you better, Arthur starts to do small favors for you. Nothing too big. Just things like bringing back books from town or little trinkets he thought you might like. If you need help with your chores, he might just join you if Miss Grimshaw ain't around. Certain people in the gang have taken to calling him, "teacher's pet."

JOHN

He hardly paid you any mind, at first.

After you spent a few weeks with the gang, he started seeing you with Jack. Thought nothing of it, at first. Then it became a regular occurrence and despite himself, he got just a touch paranoid. You were brand new to the gang. A stranger. Why would Abigail let you near his her son? He confronted her only to find out that Abigail had asked you to teach Jack as his own private tutor. Needless to say, he felt a bit silly.

From what he can tell, you're not half-bad of a teacher. Jack's learning his numbers, writing his name, and is starting to ask for more books. While a part of him wants to be happy... it only vexes him further. Why would such an innocent civilian such as yourself be all the way out here?

John takes a while to warm up to you, but you proved to be less stuffy than you looked. You have a firm yet gentle way about you. And somehow, you can correct someone without ever making them feel stupid or simple for it.

DUTCH

He enjoys your keen mind and education, but he also resents it.

Dutch won't share with the others how he found you or how you became an outlaw. He likes to say that it's your story to tell. Really, he just like to know something no one else does. His reason for recruiting you was just as simple, he hadn't met someone like you before.

It's not everyday he meets an ex-teacher-turned-outlaw. Dutch found your situation interesting, unique. He does so like to collect outcasts. Especially one as educated and clean as you. Dutch starts to linger by you as you do your chores to initiate a playful debate. Unlike most in the gang, you disagree with some of his philosophies and have counterarguments that make him pause. That's not to say you've ever convinced him to change his mind, oh no. His pauses are more for him to steady himself so he doesn't show how bothered your resistance makes him.

As much as Dutch loves to spar with you mentally, he secretly finds offense in your obstinance. What you see as playful debate may just turn into a case against you as a traitor.

JAVIER

Now, this one may seem odd, but Javier is second most likely to develop a strong attraction for you. 

When he first saw you, it wasn’t precisely love at first sight. You were new, having joined just after Charles. Javier agreed with Bill that you wouldn’t last long. Everything about you just screamed, “civilian.” You dressed modestly, wore spectacles, spoke proper English, and seemed clueless as how to survive in the west. The only reason he didn’t outright resent you was because Dutch had been the one to bring you into the gang. 

The crush started around the same time you got more comfortable at camp. Sometimes you let your hair down, literally and figuratively, both of which he found very attractive. You have a mouth on you, and you aren’t scared of much. Seeing you stare down Bill for swearing in front of Jack was enough to prove that. He likes how tough but fair you are. How you’re educated but you’re not stuck up about it, unlike some he’s met. 

MARY-BETH

Is shy about it, but eventually goes to you for help with her writing.

Mary-Beth finds out that you both like “silly romance,” books and she starts to talk about how she writes her own. With it being so hard to find new things to read, you jump at the chance to read her work. Mary-Beth is quite shy about it, but she lets you read a few pages. Much to her surprise, you praise the work and ask for more. She starts to use you as an editor for some of her short stories. You enjoy her writing quite a lot and encourage her to keep going. 

You and Mary-Beth get on very well. You’re both bookworms and not too keen on violence for violence’s sake. Privately, you talk about what you hope your life will be like some day.

SEAN

Finds the fact that you’re an outlaw to be completely hilarious. 

As he gets more used to your presence, Sean starts to come to you with questions about the world. He does this because, as a teacher, he assumes you must know the answer to at least some of these. Questions like, “Why do we call ducks and geese different things when they look alike?” or “How’d we even decide what to name things? Did we see an orange’n on a trre an’ tink, ‘Oh now that’s an orange!’ or did we already have the color all sorted out? How’d they name colors to begin with?”

Sean will sometimes follow you around camp to ask you these questions, and the gang finds it quite funny. You’ll just be doing your chores with Sean slinking behind you as his mouth runs a mile a minute. What surprises most is that you usually at least try to give him an answer. Some folks didn’t believe you were really a teacher when you first joined… They believed you after they saw how patient you can be with Sean. 

ABIGAIL

First, she was suspicious of you. Then, she trusted you more than most.

Once Abigail was certain you weren’t going to sprint back into town to turn everyone in, she had a favor to ask. Jack was getting older and although Hosea and Dutch offered to teach him to read and write, they hadn’t the time to start. She asked you to teach him whatever you could when time allowed. You were excited to help, eager. Jack being as young as he was, took to your lessons fast. In little time, you were helping him sound out sentences and write his name. This started a new problem for Abigail, however. She never learned to read or write herself. Jack would try to show her his work, or ask her to read him a story, and she couldn’t.

Instead of shaming her, you offered to teach her how to read as well. Abigail refused at first, but relented when you said she could teach you how to sew in return. Through her, you start to feel more a part of the gang.

MOLLY

She only started to have a problem with you once she realized you weren’t some old hag.

When you first joined the gang, you were still dressing like a teacher. Your clothes were bulky and formless, hair all pulled back in a bun, and you were quiet. As you got more into the outlaw life, you started to dress a bit more like the other women. Started showing more of your personality. And more importantly, Dutch started to pull you aside more often. 

Molly can’t help but feel paranoid about you and Dutch. When she spies in on you two, all she sees is you both reading or debating. It’s not as if he’s holding your hand or whispering in your ear… but it feels wrong. Dutch talks to you about things he won’t talk to her about. Books, philosophy, world events, the strange and esoteric. It feels like you satisfy him in a way she can’t, and Molly comes unglued thinking about it. 

[yanderes-galore]

Low honor John with prompt 5, 10 by ddarker dreams

like father like son hehe

9/13

-🧨

My jaw is on the FLOOR at these prompts because of what they imply, so let me do my best to make this not all that triggering. Do expect creep behavior and possibly beyond that.... I haven't seen much of RDR's Low Honor John, but I have heard how he speaks to women... so.... Here's John being an icky man. Please be VERY wary of trigger warnings. This is MEANT to be revolting. It's low honor John, after all.

Prompts Here

Yandere! Low Honor! John Marston Prompts 5 + 10

"I’ve denied myself long enough."

"Your body won’t lie to me."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Creep behavior from John, Infidelity, Intimacy, Biting, Kissing, Forced "affection" implied (possible assault), Manipulation, Sexual themes but nothing happens graphically, Theft, Breaking and entering, John watches you sleep, Forced "relationship."

You are such a guilty pleasure.

Wedding vows mean nothing to a man without morals. Sure, John is a married man, one with a wife and son.... However, he's still almost drooling when it came to you.

Poor you had no idea you had attracted a man such as him.

You had "met" him when he was visiting your town. You were working with the general store, looking all cute in that outfit you always wore. He couldn't help but stare... giving you some "compliments" to see how you shy away from him.

It doesn't matter if you hate him... He wants a taste so bad.

You told him off each time he tried to be close. You called him sleazy, a creep. He doesn't deny such things... He's an outlaw, already scum.

Regardless of what you say, he's determined.

"You say that now, baby... but you'll be begging for me soon enough."

He was kicked out of the store, yet he's a persistent man.

John began to stick around after that last encounter. Often riding his horse into town just to hunt you down. Even at night he tracked you to your home, watching through your window as sick fantasies filled his mind.

God, He could feel warmth pooling in places it shouldn't.

John is Infatuated with you. Obsessed with the thought of you being his. You really know how to make a man question his wedding vows....

John couldn't help but get a little impatient. He'd spend hours away from home just to catch a glimpse of you. He always wrote to Abigail that he was hunting down members of the gang. In reality, he was watching you like a hawk from your window.

Sometimes John would try to court and woo you when you were out and about. He'd approach you, a crooked grin on his face as he speaks to you. His words are crude, his touches are inappropriate...

You even smell amazing to him.

You're adorable... He wants you so bad.

Due to his time with the Van Der Linde gang... John's a master at breaking and entering. He occasionally slips into your home to steal clothes or trinkets. Sometimes... He even just likes to watch you sleep.

John wants to make you his. He'd do anything to make you his. Including more unhinged acts... You just spark something primal within him.

He feels like a damn animal.

John can only watch you from a distance for so long. He's aware you simultaneously hate and fear him. Why wouldn't you? He's used to the wandering outlaw life.

But that won't stop him from making you his...

John loves a good challenge.

Poor you barely saw him coming. John was sure to memorize your routine, to know when you got home and when you went to sleep. John knew all sorts of things about you.

He's done all sorts of things to have you....

It was easy for him to slip into your home like usual. He either looked for a window or tried the door. Regardless... John quickly slips in, excitement coursing through him as he stalked through your home.

Poor you... just wanting to get ready for bed. Your back was turned, fidgeting with your sleepwear, only for John to lean against your doorframe. Even in your sleepwear... he's drooling.

"Hey there, sweetheart..." John purrs like a predator surveying prey. Even when you're startled you're adorable. "You look so cute tonight...."

"It's you...!" You gasp, heart frantically beating like a rabbit trapped by a wolf. John can't help but grin. He likes being the wolf...

He likes innocent little rabbits at his mercy....

"It is me..." John growls playfully. "Did you wear that thin little thing all for me? I knew you were interested in me, sweetie...."

"Get out of my house! You're deranged!" You plead, but such pleas fall on deaf ears as John stalks closer. Why would that stop him?

He's killed men he didn't like....

"I’ve denied myself long enough." John grumbles, yet his tone is excited. "You know how long I've been watching you? Having to use clothes to get by? I can barely stay loyal to my own wife... Not with you being all cute and coy...."

John sees you trying to duck behind him, but the outlaw is much more experienced. He wraps his arms around your torso, shoving you backwards roughly. You're pinned to the wall of your home quickly, his grip tight as his lips ghost against your neck. He can't help but press flush against you... carefully tasting your skin like he's a starving man.

"You say you hate me, call me disgusting... I've been called worse...." John mutters, eyes glancing up at you with desire. "I know you don't really hate me... Nah... You know we're meant to be, right?"

John kisses your neck, nipping at the skin with a groan. You feel revolted at his behavior, pushing against him. In response, John merely pins your hands to the wall as he nips your collarbone.

You freeze when he places a leg over you, caging you against his muscled frame.

"Sure, tell me you hate me. Tell me I'm horrible. Tell me you're not mine...." John murmurs against your flesh, using another hand to gently touch your skin. "But I know one thing for sure..."

John grins, a sadistic gleam in his eyes as he pulls you tighter against him, just to hear your whimper.

"Your body won’t lie to me." John chuckles, sighing softly. "You'll know you're mine... especially by the end of tonight, Darling... but don't worry... I'll be gentle."

John then cups your face, breath hot on your face as you tremble.

"Now... let me show you where you belong, Darling...." John coos, touch becoming a little less rough as he scoops you into his arms.

Tonight, John will finally get what he wants, you'll be all his tonight...

You'll be all his EVERY night... Forever.

[nthspecialll]

The survivors

Sometimes I think about the survivors of the Van Der Linde gang scattered across the map and beyond, each of them carrying the same wound that was left with the break of their family and how they try to remember them.

Both Trelawny and Tilly lives in Saint-Denis, I wonder if they ever bumped into one another a few years later, looking at each other across the street, just trying to process the face before them and the time and people that it pulls them back to. The happiest yet the most tragic time for both of them.

They probably crossed the road, meeting half way, their respective parntners holding eye contact for a moment and knowing immediately "oh, they know each other from... that" allowing the two the moment.

I wonder if Tilly cried to Trelawny , telling him how it felt to be there in the end after he left, finally having someone who understands her, and I wonder if Trelawny offered to hunt the others down like he used to. One last chase, one last time searching for the Van Der Lindes, whatever remained of them.

Mary-Beth was probably shocked when she saw Trelawny standing there in Valentine, waving at her with his usual charm, yet a bit of sorrow hidden in his voice. He probably strolled up to her, told her about Tilly and asked her to come visit as they walked together down to Horseshoe Overlook, Mary-Beth telling him about the adventures they had there.

Trelawny probably didn't struggle to find Pearson in Rhodes either, the hollow man with the picture of the old gang on the wall, who could barely look down the street without thinking of the hole in poor Sean's head and who would daily walk down to Clemens Point just to remind himself.

Pearson agrees to meet with Tilly and it becomes a monthly thing, often joined by Mary-Beth. They were held together by their common trauma, their unusual common past.

Trelawny was probably the one who found out about Karen and the fact she had drunken herself to death and had to hang his head low and let Tilly know.

Strauss was beaten to death, he had read that in the newspapers, Uncle was a bit harder to find, staying out of trouble yet also ending up in debt with some ugly men Trelawny could call in favour with. They talk and he brings him to TIlly, but they don't keep in touch.

For the remaining it took years, Trelawny searched up and downand at some point, early 1907 he found Charles fighting in Saint Denis. He told Charles about Tilly and was visibly able to see a weight being lifted off the man's shoulders, but he was too scared of brining back any bad luck to the happy Tilly and stayed away.

John had covered his, Jack's and Abigail's tracks from the law and him. Sadie he found out too late had been in the country but made her way to South Africa to work.

Trelawny stands left, he found them, just like he had done for years, except there is none left now, only John, John who has disappeared into thin air, a bad dream with a bittersweet aftertaste. He doesn't know what to do so he does the one thing he is good at, searching. His wife tells him to stop and although he shortly tries he can't, he too misses the past and wants it back no matter how much the words Arthur spoke to him telling him to leave and not look back had burned themselves into his skull. Searching is what he does, he can do nothing else.

At some point he finds John, after years he finally finds John's name in the newspaper, except it is too late and the only thing that remains of the man is two headstones with his and his wife's name, Abigail's last name replacing Roberts with Marston.

Jack is there too, he doesn't remember Trelawny, but Trelawny remembers him. He sees John's features in the young man who used to have twenty people there to care for him but because of one man now stood alone, the young man who would hopefully outlive the rest of the gang, except he probably wouldn't as he carried a gun and John's hat.

Trelawny knew then that the boy would suffer the same fate his uncle hat and he knew that a few years from then his search would lead to yet another early grave or a name scratched in the book of a jailor.

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

@st-just, in reference to this post.

Here's my more in-depth review of The Faithless, if you're curious.

The Locked Tomb is something of a special case of queer norm fiction. It took me a while to figure out why I loved tlt so much when I was so cold on all other queer norm fiction, but I do have an answer.

The thing about tlt is that it's queer norm in the sense that queer characters and relationships are utterly unremarkable... but it's also not queer norm because there is no norm. The worldbuilding in tlt is deliberately sparse, such that we have no idea what a normal family or relationship within the Nine Houses even looks like! We know Harrow's parents were married and had her. We know that Magnus and Abigail are married but don't have children. We know that Corona and Ianthe have parents. We know that children can be grown artificially in vats. We know that marriage for political alliance is a concept that Harrow is aware of. And as far as I can remember, that's it! The worldbuilding is a black box, and nothing that we can glimpse in it is strained by unremarkable queerness, which is a very rare thing.

The Locked Tomb also injects other elements that resonate with me as authentically queer. Probably the biggest one is that the characters, in addition to being queer, are horny and weird about it. Like, I know that sounds trite to say, but of all the wlw books I've read, I would say a plurality are pretty chaste, and most of the ones that aren't are fairly tame or understated in the level and type of horniness on display. There's a lot to be said about the overlap between the queer community and the kink community that is way beyond the scope of this post, but without even touching Harrianthe bone sex and Nona's vore thing, one of the first things we learn about Gideon is that she owns porn magazines. It is vanishingly rare for fiction to acknowledge that people have or use pornography, let alone queer characters, let alone in a value neutral way, but a lot of queer people owe some part of their self-discovery to porn, in whatever form. The books are just full of unsanitized, "impure", queer desire, and that's both resonant and uncommon.

The last thing, I think, that makes tlt stand apart from queer norm fiction, is that the queer normalization is localized. In Nona the Ninth, we see life outside the Nine Houses, and it is messy. Pyrrha gets misgendered and stereotyped. Her gender identity is misunderstood and disrespected. The polite fiction of perfect understanding and tolerance of a lot of queer norm settings falls away completely. If you want to take a particularly meta read, you could argue that since the Nine Houses are not an emergent culture but a society designed and created by John, a queer man from our time, that he acted as an author and deliberately enforced queer norm standards on them because if he was going to be God, then god dammit he was gonna have his queer utopia about it.

The locked tomb deals with queerness in its setting in a really novel way that works very well for it specifically, and I really enjoy it. You could argue whether it counts as queer norm or not, because it very much blurs the lines. Something queer about that too, yeah?

[immajustvibehere]

Spark (8/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 8 summary: Found and taken in by the Natives, Arthur is walking a fine line of living and dying. In the grip of illness and fever, he often imagines seeing you by his side.

This is a long chapter, so I gave it sub-headings. Easier to manage if you can't read it in one go :)

link to my masterlist

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven

7500 words, +30 minutes reading time

I. The Downfall of the Gang

A prevailing notion circulated in the gang that you and Molly shared culpability for the Pinkertons’ decent upon Lagras. They nearly razed the settlement to the ground, and the frustration about the new location of camp being found out so soon certainly didn’t help to improve the general mood. With you gone, there was no way you could justify yourself and nobody was keen on defending you either, though some people were convinced of your innocence either way. Notably, Abigail, though somewhat resenting you for having left, given Jack’s affinity for you and John’s confinement, was sure you wouldn't send the agency to shoot at them. Artur knew that you wouldn't do such a thing, as you had absolutely no reason to. Many people in the gang knew that it was way likelier that the Pinkertons picked up the trail from some of the boys coming back from Guarma, considering the gang was worth almost nothing without its leader anyway.

Dutch readily agreed that it must have been you, his main intention probably being to silence Micah, whose ceaseless prattle on the matter had grown unbearable. Micah spit phrases like: "She probably thought that she could get rid of us so we wouldn't go after her for the betrayal."

This went too far, even for Dutch’s taste, who was aware that they had other battles to fight. It was useless to hunt either you or Molly down and just a waste of resources and guns that were scare to begin with.

Arthur was distraught that you were gone. When he rode out with Charles, to search for a new camping spot up North, Charles handed Arthur the gun that he had borrowed you. The gesture resonated with a finality surpassing all preceding farewells…though there hadn’t even been proper good-byes.

"She uhm...she said anything? 'bout where she's headed?", Arthur asked as he let the gun slip into his saddle bag.

"I'm sorry", Charles shook his head, "She was a great help when we moved camp, but she disappeared soon after. She gave me the gun and told me to hand it back to you if I get the chance. You know, we weren't even sure if you had survived."

And the topic was left at that. The gang moved to Beaver's Hollow and Arthur felt a sickness nagging on his body. He started boiling with rage, every time your name was mentioned in a negative sense. Mostly by Dutch and Micah. Soon after, Bill started to complain about you too. Arthur would be lying if he told someone that he wasn't looking for you. It wasn't an active search, but whenever he was in town, he'd ask a few men at the bar if they had seen a woman of your description. Though the answers were barely trustworthy most of the time.

At the saloon in Annesburg, he spoke to a drunk man, who, as answer to your description mumbled a "fierce little creature" before he fell asleep on the table. This was the best lead Arthur had, and it wasn't nearly enough. He was roaming the country, avoiding collecting the debts, suffering under how sluggish his body was willing to comply to what he wanted it to do.

The first time Arthur was happy you had left, is when the doctor had told him, that he had tuberculosis. Until then, Arthur had mixed feelings. He appreciated that you left the gang to save yourself, because it took no genius to understand that whatever had bound the gang together was a thin thread that threatened to snap any moment. When he saw how Molly ended, however miserable he felt for her, he had been glad it wasn't you that had come back to die in the dirt. And still he had harboured feelings of resentment for you. Leaving without a word, without showing yourself ever again, when on that ride back from Guarma to Shady Bell he had hoped for you to be there, for some hug or any sort of gentle sign that would have soothed his aching soul and body. He realized soon that he was foolish to hope for that. And that Micah was right to accuse him of having become soft, if your gentle hands was all he could think of, despite your hands being mostly anything but gentle.

But as he sat outside camp, wheezing and wiping the blood off his lips that he had coughed up, he was glad you weren't here. Whatever urges he had to be comforted, to see something else but a bitter and angry face, the feelings of having failed and paying for his sins was the stronger force. He deserved it, after all. And he shouldn’t wish for comfort.  

-

He, as many others, tried to avoid camp as often as possible. In those two weeks, when the hostility between him and Dutch was especially high, because he and Sadie had rescued John from prison, he spent most of the days roaming the country and helping strangers. It wasn't that those trips took his mind off you, quite the contrary.

It was when he was out fishing with Hamish, a veteran with an impulsive horse, that he mentioned you for the first time to anyone that wasn't Charles or Mary-Beth (not counting Jack, who regularly asked where you where and why you had gone).

"Ya know. There's this girl...we went fishing a while ago and she couldn't deal with the waiting."

Hamish felt that it was dangerous territory, so he considered Arthur's pondering face for a while before he finally said: "You should take her here sometime. While we wait for the fish to bite, I can tell her stories so interesting, she' gonna hope that nothing bites."

Arthur chuckled sadly and shook his head: "She left, 'm afraid. She was right to do so. Ain't especially lucky to be around me."

As if the universe heard those words, Hamish was pulled into the water only moments after by the gigantic Pike they were after. It gave him and Arthur something to laugh in the aftermath.

-

"I'll draw them away from you! Go!", Arthur yelled, desperate pulling the reigns of his horse as John dismounted his.

"Come with me", John implored, "We can make it out of here!"

But Arthur understood he couldn't. The train heist only hours before and Abigail’s rescue had drained his strength. His body was tired, no, it was surrendering. He knew he couldn’t keep up the pace. His horse was his only support now, if he abandoned it, his legs would betray him. It wasn't just the tiredness of his limbs, he felt nauseous, sick, the sweat was on his forehead, causing his hat to cling uncomfortably.

"No. I pushed all I can”, Arthur’s voice was strained, “I'll buy ya some time, keep them off your back a while longer, you run and join Abigail and Jack."

"You're my brother!"

"I know", and with those words said, the brothers turned their backs to each other, John fleeing up the mountain, Arthur desperate circling the small area with his horse, firing round after round until he had shot himself a path of escape. The horse’s pained bucking under the impact of a bullet seared through Arthur’s heart, yet he urged it on. The loyal animal complied, carrying its master through thicket and woods as bullets whizzed past. Finally, it collapsed, half of its heavy body falling on Arthur who had ungraciously been thrown off.

The head of the horse was weirdly twisted, but Arthur still heard its heavy breaths. That aside, it was silent in the forest. Killing it would be the noble thing to do. But his vision was already blurred when his hands crept to his gun that was long out of bullets. And before he realized that it was silent in the forest and he had managed to shake the Pinkerton’s, Arthur closed his eyes, not being able to fight the exhaustion any longer.  

He was dead. Or dying, at least, because every time he gained consciousness, his whole body felt like it was on fire. With immense effort, he pried his eyes open, only to be greeted by a hazy image, his pounding headache blurring his surroundings. Arthur struggled against his own lethargy, he wanted to gain control of his body again. Neither of his limbs moved, no matter the effort he was putting into it. His eyes wouldn’t focus, his chest no rise enough for a proper breath. Every time however, without failure, weariness washed over him and unconsciousness reclaimed him before he could even form a thought about the state he was in. It was a cruel cycle.

When Arthur woke up for the third, maybe fourth time – there was no way of keeping count of those seconds of consciousness – he thought only one thing: Namely, that if that was dying, he hoped it would go a little quicker.

At some point, Arthur stirred awake. He felt stronger than before and finally had enough wits to take in some of his surroundings. It was nighttime, he perceived the nocturnal chorus of crickets. His attempt to open his eyes was met with a revelation, his vision, though fatigued, offered him a somewhat clear image. It was exhausting to look; he barely blinked a few times. He was in a tent, or something of that sort, he noticed. And it rocked around, like a boat or a waggon…or maybe he was just feeling dizzy. And when he managed to move his head just a little, to glared to the side, there were you. For a second, Arthur thought nothing. Then he concluded that he must be dreaming or was indeed dead and this was some funny way to pay for his sins. He closed his eyes. His arms felt too heavy, he wouldn't be able to rub his eyes or pinch his nose in concentration. But he simply opened them again. And the image of you was gone. So was Arthur's consciousness, a few moments later.

II. The Recovery

Over the next couple of days, Arthur would wake up from time to time. Sometimes seeing you, sometimes faces of women he didn't recognize. Dark skin and dark hair, Indians, he thought. Then he'd have nightmares that sometimes took his breath away and he'd wake up, feeling like a heavy weight was crushing his chest. And there would be someone - you, another woman, some strange man - pressing wet rags to his face and he wasn't strong enough to complain about it. To tell them to stop because it kept waking him up from dying, from sleeping, from unconsciousness. Whatever that black void was he'd fall in, but he much preferred it because then his body didn't hurt so much.

"You're going to be alright, mister."

Arthur opened his eye to look into the face of a dark-skinned woman. Braids falling from her head that was dangling right onto his face. There was the wet rag again, but it didn't feel so crushing this time.

Finally, his vision was…almost clear.

It was she who explained that he had collapsed and now was with Rains Fall’s people, as they were heading North to escape. The women that took care of him, Arthur caught glimpses of three different faces and though his headache was mostly gone, a persistent cloudiness lingered over his senses. Maybe it was because he sometimes seemed so confused or because he still lacked some control over when he fell asleep out of exhaustion, but when they talked to him, it was always very vague.

"Your friend will return soon. He's securing the perimeter, but he'll be back in a day or two", one of the women explained to him. They must mean Charles, he was certain. But when he wanted to ask, he found that it was hard forming words. His throat was parched and the attempt to speak yielded only a hoarse croak. A sympathetic smile from the woman conveyed understanding, at least.

….

You had sat at his side for four hours. It was late at night, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave his side. You had been running errands the last couple of days and had missed him waking up. Well, waking up without fever and therefore capable of forming thoughts. Tonight, he was restless, dreaming maybe.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and grabbed your wrist. His hand was clammy, still remnants of his sickness and probably his latest nightmare, but this time – for the first time ever – he was fully awake.

"It's okay, I'm right here", you reassured him.

Arthur simply stared at you like you were a ghost. Then his eyes narrowed to one of his signature contemptuous stares. It was a terrifying expression that you had seen a couple of times before. His nose would scrunch in disdain and his facial muscles were coiled with tension – a sign of irritation. In a firefight, it marked the precipice of drawing his gun; in a brawl, it forewarned of the impending launch of his first punch.

"Yer real" Arthur stated, his assertion hung in the air. His voice was low and quiet. It sounded like he needed something to drink, something to oil up his throat that has dried up from weeks of not using it.

"Unfortunately so, yeah", you said. Your heart sped up. He was awake. Finally. After all those days of not knowing if he'd make it, he was okay. Far from fit or fully recovered, but he wasn't dying no more. The thought made your eyes wet and forget about Arthur's sceptical glance.

Arthur blinked slowly. Those weren't dreams. They never had been. You had been there all this time.

Arthur closed his eyes again without saying something. His hand slipped from your wrist and onto his chest. He didn't want to talk, no, he didn't even want to see you right now. A swell of emotions came over him and he wasn't sure how to feel about your presence. For his inner turmoil, he kept silent on the outside, giving you the impression that he had dozed off again.

Eventually, he really fell asleep. Though when he awoke and pled for water before even opening his eyes, it was you who led a bowl to his lips. Whenever he woke up, you would be there, ready to jump at his commands. You didn't speak about why you were here or where you had been. Nothing of that matter. Nothing about Dutch or Micah or little Jack. It was always just handing him water or soup or helping him change his clothes.

Two days later, Charles showed up with a warm: "Welcome back, brother." It was he who explained what had happened. That two Indians had found him unconscious, buried under his horse. That his leg had been bruised from the impact, and he was weak, feverish and on the brink of death. It was an intricate matter, caring for him while heading North with the tribe and he admitted that only after one day with him under their care, Charles had seriously considered staying behind and caring for him. It had slowed down the group that much. Then they ran into you, simply sitting on your horse and watching the caravan of people go, before catching Charles' eye.

Arthur remained conflicted when Charles broached the topic of you. This inner struggle was not lost on Charles, keen observer that he has always been.

"She took good care of you. Without her, your recovery might have been in doubt."

And as this didn't seem to do the trick, he added…

"She sat with you every night. Washed you, made sure you had everything you needed. Even though Rains Fall disagreed, she stole a waggon so you had a comfortable place to get better.”

“She had left, Charles…”, Arthur croaked. You leaving the gang behind had left him with mixed feelings. He had worked through them before and had arrived at the conclusion that it was better for you, and still…seeing you here, healthy and restless, he regretted not having you there at the end. You could have been of great assistance. Could have prevented Abigail from being taken or made John’s prison break easier. Hell, he might have had more fun killing the last of the O’Driscoll’s if you had been by his side. The prospect of your sudden absence when he might have required your presence left a bitter aftertaste in his mind.  

“Don’t blame her for that. She had no obligation to stay, she was only with us for little more than a month at this time and she could tell that it was coming to an end”, Charles said.

Arthur thought what might have happened if you had been there at the stand-off. The notion of having another ally by his side, countering the overpowering presence of Bill, Javier, Micah and his two traitorous cronies, weighed heavily on his mind Yet, this reverie crumbled upon realization – there was the cruel possibility that instead of Miss Grimshaw, you would have found your demise. Or considering your proclivity for action over passivity, you might have opened fire earlier and would have caused an even worse outcome. Yes, maybe your absence had been the better.

“She rode hours through rain to fetch you a doctor”, Charles went on as he saw Arthur’s thoughts wander, “She found a nice man with a waggon. The doctor said he knew you and that you helped him one time in Rhodes.”

That put a little smile on Arthur’s lips, because he remembered the Doctor well. He was talking all funny and had had his waggon stolen. “Yeah”, Arthur answered as a sign of recognition.

Even Charles didn’t know what more to say, so he put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, before he left him alone.

The group had settled down near a creek. You had been on the move for a while now, and food supplies were running low, so they had decided to camp here for a couple of days, until hunting and gathering had provided enough resources to continue the travel. It was then that Arthur left his little nest that had been made for him. A simple waggon really, with some linen span across it to shield him from the weather. Sitting up was exhausting, but he managed to more or less crawl to the opening, sitting there and letting his legs dangle from the waggon. Everyone was working. The horses were grazing, a couple of kids were running around. It wasn’t difficult to spot you, chopping some wood and carrying it to the fire. That’s when you caught Arthur’s eye and approached him.

Seeing him out of “bed�� put a big smile on your face.

“Why even bother?”, Arthur asked when you had reached him, jumping up the waggon to sit next to him. “Should’ve shot me when they found me. Tuberculosis can’t be healed, as far as I’ve heard.”

“Tuberculosis? What are you talking about?”, you looked at Arthur curiously. He stared back in silence, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's what I've got", Arthur explained, a little sceptical as if your gaze alone had made him unsure of the diagnosis.

"You don't have tuberculosis. At least, the doctor we consulted said so", a smile played on your lips. A knowledgeable smile, as if you knew more than him. It was a cheeky smile.  

Arthur didn't believe you.

"Y/n, I was on the brink of death when you found me. I cough up more blood than I ever lost through bullets…taking a deep breath was almost impossible.”

"How's it now though? The breathing...", you asked.

Arthur halted and for the first time since he had regained consciousness, he drew in a deep breath. Then another, and another. It was slightly uncomfortable, as though something was constricting his lungs and made it harder for him to let air in, but it didn't hurt. It was only after the fourth big breath that a slight cough stirred from within. But it didn't ripple his airpipe, bringing red fluid onto his lips. It almost tickled. It reminded him of the sensation of pressing upon a spot where a bruise had once been, recently faded. It wouldn’t hurt, but it would tickle, and the skin would be terribly sensitive.

"It's...okay I guess", Arthur concluded.

You smiled, satisfied: "You don't have TB. I mean...maybe you do, but Doctor said if you had, it wouldn't have shown so soon and with such vigour. But he did say you had the worst case of pneumonia he had ever seen. We weren't sure you'd make it. But now that you have pulled through the worse", you shrugged, "I'm afraid you'll have to see my ugly face still."

Arthur didn't know what to say. Was he relieved? Happy, even? He didn't know. He was just speechless.

"Doctor said that in case you recover, you'll have to rest a lot. He knew you, by the way. Black fella with a nice-looking waggon. Weird grinder thing on top. Had to help him fix a wheel when I brought him up here. He said you had helped him some time ago, fighting the people who had stolen his waggon. And then he said you wouldn't be fighting anyone for a while, even when you are back on your feet. You need to rest for months, fresh air,...and especially, seeing that you have lost about half your weight, lots of good food. No smoking, of course."

Arthur’s chuckle rippled through the air as he started to grasp the situation. “That’s quite the relief”, he murmured, chuckled lightly as he finally started to grasp the whole situation: “That’s good news.”

“What? That you look like skin and bones?”, you teased, bumping your shoulder into his.

“No. That I’ll get to see your ugly face for some time longer”, he bumped back, stronger than you had and almost knocking you into the edge of the waggon. You hadn’t been so relieved for a long time. You felt something thick in your throat and tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.

“Missed ya, ya know”, you said quickly before a sob could work its way up.

“I missed ya too”, Arthur looked at you. He noticed the wet eyes and scrunched his nose immediately: “You gone soft while I was out? You crying ‘cause of me?”

The teasing tone alone was so friendly and welcome, it cheered you up even more.

“You ain’t worth crying over, Mr. Morgan”, you lied.

“Damn right I’m not”, he said. He let his eyes roam around the camp again. It felt familiar. The image or Horseshoe Overlook came to him, but this was different, of course. Or was it?

“You hungry?”, you asked.

“Starving. If ya can offer something else but soup”, Arthur quickly added. He only had eaten soup the last days. It was the only meal which didn’t require chewing and wouldn’t immediately choke him in his half-conscious state. This time, you brought him a small portion of stew. Not comparable to the stew Mr. Pearson had cooked. The small pieces of meat that you had granted him in his portion were as soft as they possibly could be, almost melting in his mouth.

“Slow down, god damn it”, you warned him.

“Yes, ma’am”, Arthur quietly mumbled. It was hard to slow down, but he knew he had to, since this was the first time he ate properly in – he later was being told – 13 days.

In the evening, you approached him again. Arthur was lying in his bed, half-recumbent with his journal on his lap. It was closed, Arthur was merely thinking. He had flipped through some entries before, but now he enjoyed being idle and watching everyone getting ready for the night.

“Arthur”, you knocked at the wood before appearing in his field of vision, “got something for you. I almost forgot, I had it stored away.”

You climbed on the waggon and put down a gunnysack. You carefully spilled its contents onto the floor. Arthur recognizes the round glass with the flower first. Then the picture of his mother. The picture of him and Mary. The shot of his father, though big chunks of the little picture were charcoaled and burnt, he only recognized it because he had looked at it so often. Two shirts, one pair of pants and an old belt that he hadn’t used in a while.

“That’s all that was really left, I’m afraid”, you said. He didn’t need to ask, he understood. You had gone back to where they had last camped and had rummaged through what was left after the fire to store it for him.

“Why did you…?”, Arthur started, picking up the picture of his mother.

“I…don’t know. I never had many belongings to my name, but those I had, meant much to me. Figured you feel the same”, you shrugged. Then a cheeky smile appeared on your lips: “Thought it would be nice to bury you with them if you didn’t make it.”

Arthur clicked his tongue. “It was stupid to go there. Might have been dangerous.”

“Felt worth it for me, I guess”, you said.

After a pause, Arthur thanked you. You wished him a good night at let him be. As soon as your frame vanished from the little field of view that the open canvas space granted him, he opened his journal again. He pulled out Mary’s last letter to him. Not reading the neatly written words again, he simply turned the envelope upside down, until the ring fell into his hand.

…

It took two more days before Arthur was strong enough to walk around and be on his feet for more than ten minutes at a time. But he felt fine enough to take a bath in the creek and shave. It was shocking to see his cheeks that have sunken quite a bit due to the weight loss, but Arthur’s appetite was as good as ever, so you didn’t worry about it too much.

Most of the day he spent by sitting in the shade and observing the people. Mostly you, if he was being honest. You played with the kids, helped wherever another hand was needed.

He was trying to get up from his little patch under a tree when Rains Fall approached him. Arthur hadn’t encountered him yet, he had been busy with arranging and managing the move. The last time Arthur had seen him, he had delivered him his dying son.

“How are you, Mr. Morgan?”, Rains Fall’s voice was as gentle as ever.

“Feeling much better now. I can’t thank you enough for taking me in”, Arthur said.

“After all you have done for us, it is I who must thank you”, Rain Falls smiled slightly. Silence ensued between the two men before Rains Fall spoke again, “I recall our conversation when you were my company on the ride up the mountain. You said that some people in your gang still had a chance for a good live and that you wanted to give them that.”

“Yeah”, Arthur said, his eyes fixed on you. You were brushing some horse in the distance.

“What’s with her?”, Rains Fall asked, following Arthur’s gaze, “I heard she took excellent care of you. Charles told me she’s a fierce spirit when cornered, but she seems tame and gentle. I can see that you care for her deeply too.”

“Suppose I do”, Arthur answered, “I’m not sure if that’s what she wants.”

“There are always some uncertainties in life, don’t waste too much thought on those that can be resolved with one simple question”, the chief answered. Arthur nodded, as if he understood, though he wasn’t so sure how much of the situation he had actually grasped. The ring that Arthur had picked out of the letter was in his pocket, and he felt it, when Rains Fall spoke those words. When nothing more was said on that matter, Rains Falls sighed: “Tomorrow, we’ll be on the move again. We haven’t covered much ground yet, but I’m certain we’ll make it.”

It was a statement that needed no comment and Arthur watched as the old man walked away.

-

The group barely covered ten miles a day. It was a good pace, nevertheless, for Arthur was on his feet again and tried to make himself useful. He tended to the horses, seeing they are well cared for and rested for the journey. All this time, you were pretty much at his side non-stop.

“You used to say ya don’t need me to do babysitting…but now yer the one watching me like I’m gonna do something stupid the second you lay your eyes off me”, Arthur teased.

“I don’t trust you to do no heavy lifting”, you said with a smile. It was a good opportunity to be close to him and help.

All of a sudden, you had started sleeping in the same waggon as he. Because the one you had used was “needed otherwise”. You sat next to him at night, watching him draw in his journal and often fell asleep way before him. Arthur was unsure if this was a sign that everything was like before, that you still liked him, but he was glad about the closeness again. The second night, he held you. The third night, you fell asleep with your head resting on his chest.

-

“I’m going to leave”, you said. You sat next to Arthur and watched his pencil strokes. They had been shading the horse he had just sketched. The pencil halted and Arthur looked at you.

“What?”

“Day after tomorrow, I’m leaving. I want to head south again. Then west, maybe”, you looked Arthur in the eye. His blue eyes which were warmly illuminated by the oil lamp in the waggon darted around your face. You weren’t teasing or joking, he could tell as much.

“You know I’m not someone who sticks with a group. If this thing goes bad, I’ll feel like I’m responsible”, you offered further explanation.

“Yer gonna head out there alone?”, Arthur asked, his voice strained.

“Was hoping you’d join me, actually”, you swallowed. You had dragged the question out for a while now. You knew that Arthur needed to be somewhat recovered if he was to travel with you, so you had had a good excuse for not asking for a long while. But the last couple of days the anxiety had been eating you from the inside.

Arthur didn’t answer. He watched you; you watched your own hands. As he remained silent, you unwillingly lifted your head to look at him. This was all that Arthur needed. His hand found your chin and lifted it even more, turning it towards him. In the blink of an eye, your lips met. Arthur tasted the tobacco on your lips and figured he missed smoking. Or at least, he missed sharing a cigarette with you.

“I thought you might not like me no more”, Arthur said as the kiss had ended. Both of your faces remained so close, your foreheads touched, and Arthur only needed to whisper the words to make you understand.

“Well, there’s always been lot of nonsense in your brain”, you grinned. You were relieved, because frankly, you had feared the same.

You kissed him again before asking: “Can I take that as a yes?”

“You better”, Arthur breathed, now snaking his hands around you and pulling you into yet another kiss.

III. The Life After

The parting with the Rains Fall and his people unfolded smoothly. Farewells were exchanged without any pressure of time and in good spirits. Charles and Arthur, in particular, enjoyed a more extended exchange of goodbyes compared to their previous parting. Both could go smiling, knowing that the other one would be fine.

Arthur got a spare horse, a young, not entirely tamed one, though Arthur was more than capable of handling it. Your travels back South progressed fast. It took a toll on Arthur, traveling on horseback after he had only been on his feet for a week, but you took care of that with long breaks and early nights. Sometimes, you’d rest for an entire day, also giving the horses some time to recover. You’d take care of food in a nearby town or go hunting, while Arthur watched the little possessions you travelled with. By the time you reached Ambarino, the leaves on the trees had assumed hues of red and brown and the nights were getting colder.

“Shouldn’t we head West?”, Arthur halted his horse. You had just crossed the Grizzlies and had travelled along the Dakota River for a while, before you stirred your horse East. The air was fresh, and Arthur was wrapped in a coat you had bought in a town before crossing the Grizzlies. The sun was still strong enough that the buttons could remain open, but sometimes a strong gush of wind would send a shiver through your spine and remind you that winter would be here soon.

“We can’t continue traveling”, you said. Arthur was exhausted, and so were you.

“So, what do you suggest?”, Arthur rode next to you, stirring his horse into a slow trod next to yours.

“I know a place where we can lay low for the winter”, you said, not explaining further, even though you felt Arthur’s curious gaze. Only when you arrived at O’Creagh’s Run later that day and headed so decidedly for Hamish Sinclair’s cabin, Arthur understood.

“That’s where you wanna live?”, he asked amusedly.

“Nice man lives there. I’m sure he’ll let us stay with him for a while”, you explained. Arthur smiled, but didn’t want to spoil that he knew the old veteran. Hamish was already outside doing repairs on his little boat when he saw you approach.

“Ain’t that a nice surprise!”, Hamish raised his arms, “A visit by two friends at once!”

Now it was your turn to be surprised: “You know each other?!”

“Of course. Arthur Morgan!”, Hamish shook the hand of Arthur as soon as he had dismounted, “You’ve lost some weight my friend, but you look as fine as ever.”

Over hot coffee, Hamish was filled in on the happenings of the last month. When you asked to stay at his place for a while, Hamish was delighted. Almost immediately, you started to build another bed, because it was agreed upon that Arthur would need something more comfortable to sleep on. You would be fine with the floor in front of the fireplace for now and Hamish would continue to sleep in his bed.

It worked remarkably well. The three of you were rather quiet and when something needed to be done, it was done sooner rather than later. Arthur fished most of the time, you were out hunting with Hamish. Hamish would teach you to cook some meals, because, as he put it “A man that has lived alone for such a long time, knows his cooking spoon”, and you’d run errands in town, if something needed to be fetched. The fall of the Van der Linde Gang was still comparably recent, so the posters were still all about and to risk Arthur being seen, wasn’t a risk anyone was willing to take.

As idyllic as most of the days passed, one would think that there weren’t any struggles or that you spent your days hunting and selling pelts. But you would have never been able to sell enough pelts to support three adults, so sometimes, you’d go out and rob a stage or some rich looking traveller. You told Arthur but kept quiet in front of Hamish.

The days became shorter and the chill of winter settled in, Arthur’s recovery progressed steadily. He started to put on some more weight and longer walks or chopping wood didn’t leave him struggling for air any longer. Hamish would sometimes go out for a whole day, granting the two of you precious moments of solitude and intimacy.

In December, Hamish announced he’d be gone for a few days, visiting a cousin in Valentine. He’d be back for Christmas Day, he promised. Arthur and you considered the possibility that Hamish’ cousin was a fabrication, a ruse to give the two of you some more time alone. Nevertheless, you appreciated the gesture wholeheartedly.

Snow had fallen and the fireplace had been ceaselessly crackling in the past few days. So, the hut remained comfortably warm. In Hamish’ absence, you shared Arthur’s bed. Nestled against his chest, you traced circles through the dark patch of hair just below his navel. The only sounds to be heard were the steady crackling of the fire and the hoot of an owl nestled in a nearby tree.

“Ya mean a lot to me, y/n”, Arthur’s words slipped out so unexpectedly that you sat up and looked at him with surprise and suspicion. You were well aware of his feelings. After all, he had demonstrated as much just half an hour ago, in that very bed.

“Yer talking strange”, you remarked and raised an eyebrow.

“I love you”, Arthur said, his tone carrying an unusual weight.

“And…I love you too”, you replied slowly. This wasn’t the first time you had said that to each other, but the manner in which Arthur said it felt different. Arthur gave you a look that was so full of uncertainty and self-depreciation for himself, you lightly slapped him on his bare shoulder.

“What is going on? Did I do something wrong?”, you asked. You even raised the blanket to check if this was a new sort of foreplay that he was trying because he was ready for the second round. It was also an attempt to lift the mood, because the tension of the situation started to prickle your skin.

“Ain’t nothing wrong. I just gotta ask ya something and it ain’t easy”, Arthur complained. sitting up straight.

“Yes. I’m sorry Arthur, but the Gingerbread you baked yesterday is inedible”, you joked. You and Arthur had tried to make some gingerbread yesterday and because you hadn’t felt like baking, he had taken control of the matter. The result was…lacking, to say the least. You had lied that it looked and tasted alright, but you had been sure that by the disgusted face you had made it was clear that it had to disappear before Hamish came back and threw them out for dishonouring his kitchen.

“That’s not it and…”, Arthur looked at you funny, “It wasn’t that bad.” You smiled at him sympathetically.

“I just…god damn it, woman”, Arthur rearranged his sitting position. The he got up and slipped into his pants and shirt. He was somewhat angry, irritated maybe. Or nervous? You watched him confused.

Arthur was still fastening his pants when his voice, low and hesitant, reached your ears: “I just wanted you to know that I love ya…”

You nodded as if it was silly to suggest otherwise. With Arthur’s warmth now absent from your side, your body was cooling down and you pulled the blanked further up. And then Arthur caught you completely off guard because he knelt down besides the bed. His fingers swiftly plunged into his pockets and retrieved a ring.

“I was wondering if ya might wanna marry me”, Arthur voice was firm. He didn’t want to give the impression that he was in any doubt that he wants to spend the rest of the time with you. He was fully aware that he wasn’t the youngest anymore and that the sickness had marked him significantly. Since recovering, he had gained back most of the weight, yet ther were times when his muscles reminded him of their limitations, failing him when he attempted tasks that were once effortless.

You stared at him in disbelief, a thousand thoughts running through your head. When Arthur opened his mouth again, you were afraid that you had taken too long to answer.

“I thought it was too late for me to marry someone. I’m old. And unlovable, mostly”, Arthur chuckled warmly, “If two people ain’t too big of a group for you…” Arthur added mumbling ‘maybe three or four at some point’ before continuing, “I’d want ya to know that I plan to stick with you. Yer still young, so I understand if yer don’t want to-“

“Yes.”

Arthur shut up at looked at you. Was that a yes to “not wanting to marry”? Arthur looked like a kicked puppy for a moment, before you cleared his confusion: “Yes, I want to marry you, you dumbass.”

The ring slipped on seamlessly. The Arthur picked you up, naked as you were and hugged you lovingly. You squealed because of the cold air.  

“Are we telling Hamish?”

Arthur mumbled the response into the crook of your neck which he was peppering with kisses: “If ya want. That enough of a Christmas present for him?”

You hit Arthur’s back: “Hell no! The man lets us live in his home. I was thinking about getting him a new rifle.”

Arthur set you down and you gathered your clothes, putting them on slowly, as Arthur was taking his time admiring you.

“Put some money back”, you grinned mischievously, “It was also meant for buying you a present. But I suppose that being my husband is good enough.”

“Oh you!”, Arthur growled and scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder. For all the strength he had lost, he was still strong enough to do that. Barefooted, Arthur stamped out of the cabin. “Give me one reason to not throw you into the lake!”, he teased and approached the jetty. It wasn’t frozen yet entirely, but the water was icy cold and black.

“I’m your wife!”

“Not yet you ain’t!”, Arthur made a motion that made you shriek, but he only feinted to throw you in, “besides, that is no valid reason.”

“I’ll kill you, if you do!”, now you tried to break free, but Arthur’s grip was firm.

“Ohh. That’s more like it. Though I think you love me too much for that.”

“Many wives kill their husbands!”, you screamed.

“I could drown ya first, ya know”, Arthur teased and swirled around, so you faced the black water.

“You’ll never find out where I stashed the money and won’t afford a present for Hamish!”, you finally said.

“That’s true”, with that, Arthur let you down. As soon as your bare feet touched the snow, you darted inside, shivering violently in front of the fireplace.

Arthur soon followed, having more of a quieter complexion. He closed the door behind him, and the warm and loving atmosphere of the cabin was restored. In many ways, Arthur saw you as an equal. You were just as good as a shot as he was, just as fast when it came to running or riding. There was no need to escape his old live, because you were an outlaw just like him. You didn’t mind if life meant running away from the law. He didn’t need to tread lightly with you. You could take criticism; a discussion or whatever life threw at you. And yet, he found your movements graceful, gentle. Most of the time, at least. Arthur smiled at the thought. When your opponent was a bigger man and it would come to close ranged fighting, you became sloppy and angry, but with a gun you were the definition of accuracy and grace.

“Hello?”, you looked at Arthur wit tilted head, drawing his attention back from his reverie, “Where have you wandered off to?” His daydreams had lasted so long, he had barely noticed that you had dressed yourself.

“Jus’ dreamin’ about my future wife, ‘s all”, Arthur grinned sheepishly. He extended his arms invitingly, and you moved closer, nestling into his embrace.  

“Don’t start expecting things I’m not capable”, you said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know?! Maybe I want my husband to be capable of baking proper gingerbread for Christmas and then you come along and-“, Arthur interrupted you by poking you into the side and making you squeal.

“You do it better then!”, he challenged.

“I suppose I will!”, you grinned back, heading for the little stove, “I bet mine are at least two times more…edible than your sorry experiment.”

“What are we betting? A kiss, Mrs. Morgan?”, Arthur said slimily, his arms crossed and watching you. The name made you feel warm and happy. For all the times you’d been mistaken as a Bell, you like that name way more. But for old time’s sake, you turned around and looked at the man you love.

“Your life, Morgan!”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

taglist: @xclovers @photo1030 @cowboydisaster @stilinskiwitch @globetrotter28 @unbotheredbeeeee @eyelovie @ashjbu @lovrgirlsstuff @how-the-heck-would-i-know @j4llyf7sh @urfavjanalein @thatonestrangebird @nirvanaaaonly

[thousandfireworks]

Authors whose books you have to avoid because they are problematic.

Abigail Hing Wen.

Alex Aster.

Alice Hoffman.

Alice Oseman.

Alison Win Scotch. ‘Terrorism is never acceptable. Not in Israel.’

Allie Sarah.

Amber Kelly.

Amy Harmon.

Annabelle Monaghan.

Anna Akana.

Aurora Parker.

Benjamin Alire Sáenz.

Brandon Sanderson. Islamophobic.

Carissa Broadbent. Said that hamas is doing violence against innocence.

Chloe Walsh. Siding with Israel in the name of humanity.

Christina Lauren. Believe that Israel is the victim. A racist, also Islamophobic.

Colleen Hoover.

Cora Reilly. Travel to Israel despite criticism.

Danielle Bernstein. Islamophobic.

Danielle Lori.

Deke Moulton. Said hamas is terrorist.

Dian Purnomo.

Eliza Chan.

Elle Kennedy.

Elyssa Friedland.

Emily Henry.

Emily Mclntire.

Emily St. J. Mandel. Admiring Israel.

Gabrielle Zevin. Wrote a book about anti-Palestine. Mentioned Israel multiple times without context on his book.

Gregory Carlos. Israeli author. A zionist.

Hannah Whitten.

Hazel Hayes. Reposted a post about October 7th.

Heidi Shertok.

Jamie McGuire.

Jay Shetty. ‘Violence is happening in Israel.’

Jean Meltzer.

Jeffery Archer. Wrote a book with a mc Israel operative (mossad) in a positive and anti terrorist light.

Jennifer Hartman. Liked a post about pro-Israel.

Jen Calonita.

Jessa Hastings.

Jill Santopolo. Said that Israel has right to exist and fight back.

John Green.

Jojo Moyes.

J. Elle.

J. K. Rowling. Support genocide. Racist. Islamophobic.

Kate Canterbery.

Kate Stewart.

Katherine Howe.

Katherine Locke.

Kristin Hannah. Support Israel. Shared a donation link.

Laini Taylor.

Laura Thalassa. Islamophobic.

Lauren Wise. Cussed that Palestinian supporters would be raped in front of children.

Lea Geller. Thanked people who supports Israel.

Leigh Dragoon. Islamaphobic and anti Asian racist rants on Twitter and threads

Leigh Stein.

Lilian Harris. A racist. Blocking people who educates about colonialism in Palestine and call them disgusting.

Lisa Barr. A daughter of Holocaust survivor. Support Israel.

Lisa Kennedy Montgomery.

Lisa Steinke.

Liz Fenton.

Lynn Painter. Afraid of getting cancelled as a pro-Palestine and posted a template afterwards.

L. J. Shen. Her husband joins idf (Israel army).

Mariana Zapata.

Marie Lu.

Marissa Meyer.

Melissa de la Cruz.

Michelle Cohen Corasanti.

Michelle Hodkin. Spread false rumors about arab-hamas. Islamophobic.

Mitch Albom. ‘We shouldn't blame Israel for surviving attacks or defending against them.’

Monica Murphy. Siding with Israel.

Naomi Klein.

Navah Wolfe.

Neil Gaiman. Suggested Palestinians unite with Israel and become citizens.

Nicholas Sparks.

Nic Stone. Talked nonsense that children in Palestinian refugee camp are training to be martyrs for Allah because they felt it was their call in life.

Nyla K.

Olivia Wildenstein. Blocking people who disagree with Israel wrongdoing.

Pamela Becker.

Penelope Douglas.

Pierce Brown.

Rachel Lynn Solomon.

Rebecca G. Martinez.

Rebecca Yarros. ‘I despise violence’ her opinion about what's happening in Gaza. Blocking people who calls her a zionist.

Rena Rossner.

Renee Ahdieh.

Rick Riordan.

Rina Kent.

Rivka (noctem.novelle).

Rochelle Weinstein.

Romina Garber. ‘These terrorist attacks do nothing to improve the lives of Palestinians people.’

Roshani Chokshi. Encourage people to donate to Israel.

Samantha Greene Woodruff.

Sarah J. Mass. Her book contained ideology of zionism.

Stephanie Garber. Promoting books by zionist author (Sarah J. Mass)

Skye Warren.

Sonali Dev.

Talia Carner.

Tarryn Fisher. Said ‘there was terrorist attack in Israel.’

Taylor Jenkins Reid. Posted a video about genocide.

Tere Liye. Rumoured to have ghoswriters to write his books and never give credit to them.

Tillie Cole.

Tracy Deon.

Trinity Traveler (Ade Perucha Hutagaol). Rumour to wrote book about handsome Israelis.

T. J. Klune.

Uri Kurlianchik.

Veronica Roth.

Victoria Aveyard. ‘Israel has the right to exist.’ quote from her about the issue.

V. E. Schwab. Shared a donation link and video about Israel.

Yuval Noah. ‘Israel has the right to do anything to defend themselves.’

Zibby Owens.

[notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder]

SO MY TAKE ON RDR2 ROYAL AU

Dutch van der Linde, the current king of the land, very much Zeus coded, too loud, too proud, too egoistic, often refuses to sign contracts with surrounding countries if it doesn't benefit him more than them, but because of his speeches people love him, big rumour he killed his dad, the previous king? who knows, but he did make big changes when he finally arrived at the throne

Hosea Matthews, ah yes, the Matthews lineage, the counselors of kings and queen, every single monarch has their Matthew, very rich, but how did they get the money in the first place? who knows, talks and drinks with the people, is actually the one keeping the country working

Susan Grimshaw, the woman Dutch married and the fomal queen, but well know in their personal life, they are divorced, but no! they could not possibly say that publicly! it would be scandal, and the cheating of the king and the ignorance of the queen became the norm, no surprise they each have their palace wing, and no suprise she spends hours in the garden, but why does she stay? who knows, maybe it's some obligation to the country, to her people

Arthur Morgan, the son of Lord Morgan, a knight lineage, the first ones to put their neck out for the king, the silent but smart, the rumor has it he once had a son? who knows, always with the king and his counselor, always the first one to protect the ones from the palace, but also the first one to keep the prince out of trouble

John Marston, the prince whose side of family died, now raised by his cousin/uncle Dutch, but who cares for the complicated family tree, all we know he was gone for a while, where and why did he go? who knows, but he lately spends a lot of time in the maid chambers, a troublemaker, too young, how can he be the future king

Abigail Roberts, a maid who, like many others, got smitten by the posibility of being in love with a prince, and what a long year without him it has been, and now she has a son, but the public still asks, who is the father? and why is that child around so much? who knows

Molly O'Shea, what a blessing that a princess from so far has visited our country! and she must like it here very much, for she has no plans of leaving yet, one wonders why the queen avoids her and why the king is the exact opposite, she seems sad these days, I wonder why? who knows, she beautiful and graceful and gets letters everyday, from her father, asking her to come home

Mary Linton, another princess who came few times, her country is small but a prosperous one, and when she locked eyes with the knight, nothing stayed the same

[bashfullove]

❦I Died With You❦

❦Summary: the gang is over, Arthur has died, after finally arriving at John's and Abigail's doorstep, you realize how much you will now struggle without Arthur

❦Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F.Reader

❦Warnings: established relationship, no comfort what so ever, days after Arthur's death, mentions coughing of blood, character death

❦Notes: hehe >:) (we're acting like I didn't literally start crying while writing this, alright?) This is also fairly short I apologise

The crickets chirped their melody, the creakiness of the front door opening being barely heard over the never ending chirping. As quiet as a field mouse, you walk out of John's and Abigail's house on the farm. Uncle's snoring is heard even from outside but it's become white noise compared to the words in your head right now. The balled up piece of paper is tossed to the ground, a letter that you wished you could address but you never would.

You had once enjoyed the quiet and peacefulness of the night but now it was just a cold reminder of loneliness. The dry ground below you with the dead grass crunches, moths flying in the air, lured in by the lantern by the door. Looking up at the full moon, you used to love staring at it, knowing that he could see the same moon. It was special, a reminder that no matter how far, you could still be close with such a simply, maybe foolish, gesture.

Maybe living so close to someone who reminded you so much of him wasn't helping your grieving process, you could barely even utter his name without feeling yourself fall apart. The hat now on John's head the cruelest of reminders. The hat that once would be upon your head as a joke, the sound of his laughs when it would tip over your eyes.

Blaming yourself had been your worst trait lately, maybe if you did something better, or just done more. Spent more time with him or took the Thomas Downes job for him. He deserved to still be here, you wanted to take his place, you wanted to be the one who felt their lungs slowly start to fail, all if it meant that he would get one more day. One more ride, one more duel, one more sunrise...

"I'd rather die in the next hour than go a million lives never knowing you."

The words haunted you since the day you parted, the day you watched him get on the horse for his last ride. You never thought yourself important to anyone until he came into your life, he was the air that you breathed but now there is no air.

But you’d hold tightly onto those last grains of dust, desperate to keep any shred of his memory close to you. Even if most of the memories now were of his suffering, the days you spent just holding him as he suffered. Combing his hair from his sweat ridden forehead, rubbing his back when he would be coughing and wiping his mouth later of the blood, attempting to catch him before he could fall on the ground hunched over.

“What have you done to me, Arthur Morgan,” you said. The words were demanding but were hollow when paired with the sob that tore through your throat. You walked across the front yard of the house, eyes glued to the moon and the sky. You hadn't said his name since you parted from him on that mountain. Saying his name just meant more pain and more memories of the man that you once loved, and still did love.

“Have I truly lost it all? Is there any kind of up from all of this?” you whispered, a sad smile tugging on your lips and a whisper of a laugh leaving your mouth. You sniffled and cleared your voice, "I suppose not."

Unfinished conversations with Arthur still spoke words, letters that you wrote him daily now only a balled up corner in your room that he would never see. You couldn't even say your heart was breaking anymore, it didn't exist. His last breath took your heart with him to wherever he could even be now. You wished to believe that he had someone became better, that he would show up on the doorstep, that him dying was nothing but a cruel dream. But reality was cruel, he wouldn't ever come and surprise you, not anymore.

A part of you died with him that day, anyone who had known you before his death could see it.

❦Thank You For Reading❦

❦Taglist:

❦Bashfullove❦

[dutchvanwinkle]

Mr Van der Linde Pt. 10 - Dutch x Reader

This is it, angels! The last chapter of the Mr Van der Linde mini-fic. This has been an absolute joy to write, thank you for allowing me to indulge in my fantasy and for being the most wonderful group of enablers a writer could ever ask for. The response to this story has been much more than I expected, and I’ve had the best time sharing it with you. Thank you endlessly for your support and hype <3

It's on ao3, if you'd rather read there!

Summary: You deal with the consequences of your actions.

Word count: 9,037

Content warnings: smoking, drug use

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9 | PART 10

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You’d blocked Dutch’s number. It was the only thing left to do.  

It was the first action you took upon getting on that train. You knew that if you heard his voice or read a single word from him, you’d cave.

The level of agony you felt was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Your heart was broken, so much so that you were surprised the thing was still able to beat. All of a sudden, two of the most important people in your life were strangers. The man you loved, and your best friend.  

God, you missed them.  

You missed John’s laugh down the phone, or the way his eyes grew heavy after he’d had one too many drinks. You missed the way he’d snuggle into you while hungover or come and see you just so you could sit in a comfortable silence together. He was about to become a father, and there you went piling more stress onto his already heavy load.  

It didn’t bear thinking about how much you missed Dutch. It was too painful to even list the things you loved the most about him, that you knew you’d never get to experience again.  

It was a miracle that your other friends were still speaking to you. The boys had been quiet, siding more so with John but not quite willing to cut you out completely. The girls still got in touch with you regularly, and you weren’t sure what you’d do with yourself if they didn’t.  

Abigail updated you on her pregnancy over the next few weeks, and it was like a knife to the chest at the realisation that you wouldn’t even be able to meet her baby, at least not for a long time.  

She and Karen had been distraught when you announced the news that you weren’t going to attend graduation, but you’d thought it through for long enough. Everyone would be there, family members included. You daren’t even think about how awkward the whole affair would be. Not going was the most sensible thing you could do, and being sensible was at the top of your current list of priorities.  

You’d received a call a week after the party from the job you interviewed for and were offered a place. Without the ability to share the news with those you wanted to hear it most, it’d only made you more depressed.  

It’d taken you a few days to type out the message to John. You started off by saying you were only going to try getting in touch with him this once since you couldn’t bring yourself to ask for his forgiveness; you knew it wasn’t something you deserved. Then, you’d explained how it happened. Sparing him the details, of course, you ran through the timeline of your and Dutch's relationship and gave him the full truth. It felt false and cliché when you started talking about how you hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it was true. To a point. You’d finished off by saying that you would always be there for him, should he ever decide he wanted to interact with you again. Then you clarified that you’d never expect him to and offered him one final apology.  

He’d read it not long after, and you were already prepared for him not to reply, so it wasn’t too much of a bluster when it went unanswered. There was a small, naïve part of you that clung to the possibility that he could, though.  

Graduation was one week away. You wanted it over with, even though you weren’t going, and had planned to take a social media break while everyone posted their smiling photos with relatives and friends.   

Curled up in bed, hiding from the world under your duvet was your most recent pastime as of late, you huffed and shut the book you weren’t able to read. Ever since that day at the Van der Linde’s, you had an awful tension headache that wouldn’t shift no matter what you did. So instead, you shut your eyes, hoping you’d fall into a nap to pass the time.  

After a few minutes, your phone began vibrating and with a tired grunt, you leaned over, becoming instantly more alert at the name that was on your screen.  

John.  

You held the phone in your hands like it would explode if you moved it too harshly, staring at the screen until the call rang out and the vibrating stopped.  

It had to have been an accident. You didn’t want to deal with the awkward scenario of picking up, to be faced with a spluttering John explaining it was a mistake. Then your phone buzzed again, this time with a message.  

Call me when you’re free.  

It was the longest you’d gone without breathing, your body forgetting its most basic survival instinct and going into complete shock. He was finally ready to yell at you, to call you all the names under the sun and explain how badly he wished he’d never met you. You wanted to throw the whole phone away, but he deserved the chance to have a go at you if it’s what he wanted, and you took a deep breath before pressing the call button by his name.  

Time had never moved as slowly as it had during the three rings that elapsed before they stopped, and then John spoke through the phone.  

“Hey.”  

Hearing his voice was enough to make you tear up, but you cleared your throat and willing yourself to remain steady. “Hi.”  

John sighed, and you could only imagine how nauseating it was for him to have to interact with you. “Abigail said you’re not coming to graduation.”  

“No, I’m not.”  

He sighed again, finding his words. “That don’t seem fair.”  

Your eyebrows pulled together, unable to make sense of where this conversation was going. “I don’t reckon I deserve fair,” you said, immediately hearing how self-pitying you sounded. “It’s fine, I don’t want to go anyway.”  

“We both know that’s not true.”  

“It doesn’t matter.” After a beat of silence, your emotions got the better of you. “John, I’m so sorry -”  

“Don’t.” He was stern but softened his voice for his next sentence. “I know we need to talk, but not like this.”  

Unsure what to say, you decided to allow John some room to speak further.  

“Come to graduation. We’re all staying at the house the night before,” you knew that already, just because you didn’t respond in the group chat didn’t mean you weren’t reading the messages, “before we have to pack up and leave.”  

The mere thought of being there with everyone, seeing them all with their families and then seeing Dutch too was enough to send your brain into overdrive. “I can’t.”  

“It won’t be the same without you.”  

You pressed your lips together, hoping to keep your composure just a little while longer. “John, I’m confused. Aren’t you mad at me? Don’t you hate me?”  

“Yes. Mad at you, I mean. I don’t hate you though. Trust me, I tried to,” he sounded reluctant to admit to it. “I’ve had time to think. And I know I’ll regret it if I know I didn’t at least try to get you to come.”  

“You know, I think I’d prefer it if you yelled at me.”  

John laughed mirthlessly. “Part of me wants to, but... it won’t do no good.”  

The silence hung between you, and despite all the things you wanted to say to him, you couldn’t find a single word.  

“Look,” he began. “You still mean a lot to me. You worked hard on this degree and truthfully... I wouldn’t have got mine if it weren’t for you. I want you there with me.”  

You choked, because you didn’t deserve him being so kind and he repeated your name for you to just nod, even though he obviously couldn’t see you. “Sorry,” you whispered, and while it was an apology for your lack of response, you used it as a chance to let out some of the apology hoard you had stored up.  

“Just come, alright? You can leave early if you want. Besides, the others want to see you too.”  

After a shaky breath, you decided it was worth a shot. Even if you went to the house the night before and didn’t attend the ceremony, it was worth a try. You said you’d try to rectify it if you could, and this could be the chance to take the first few steps towards that goal. “Alright. I’ll come.”  

Some of the tension dissipated through the phone, and you waited for John’s response. “Okay. See you next week.”  

Then he hung up.  

After the call ended, your phone navigated to the most recently used app, and you were met with your recent search history, mainly along the lines of can a person run out of tears and is anyone close to inventing time travel yet.  

Had that just happened? You checked the call logs to confirm that yes, it had. John had called you. He hadn’t yelled at you. He hadn’t so much as berated you. He said you meant a lot to him. He said he wanted to talk to you and see you at graduation.  

Holy shit. Your apprehension about not going was immeasurable compared with your apprehension about actually going.  

-

The entire train journey back to university had been spent with you fidgeting, your mind going a million miles an hour at the prospect of what you were about to face.   Karen and Abigail were overjoyed you’d agreed to come, and you had a sneaky suspicion Abigail had played a part in convincing John to get in touch with you, even if she wouldn’t admit it.  

Instead of taking a bus to your rented house like you usually would, you decided to take the walk to stretch your legs, get some fresh air, and prepare yourself for whatever greeted you when you got there.  

But when you did, it still wasn’t enough time. Panic seeped into your veins and your breaths grew short, so you took a seat on the half-wall that acted as a border around your poor excuse for a front garden.   No matter what, you couldn’t still your hands, and reluctantly pulled a cigarette out of the pack that resided in your pocket. You lit it, and once you were halfway done, you heard the front door open behind you.  

You daren’t look around, not wanting to face whoever had caught you wallowing in your guilt.  

But the door clicked shut, and footsteps down the front path preluded John taking a seat beside you.   

“I thought you only smoked casually.”  

“It helps,” you flicked the ash away, not meeting John’s face. “A little.”  

“I see.”  

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor with not a single clue on how to have this conversation.   

“How long you plan on sitting out here?” John asked.  

“Not sure,” you mumbled.  

“You know you can’t stay here forever.”  

After a short nod, you plucked up the courage to shift your gaze from the floor and to John. Your dismal state must’ve shown on your face, as he looked at you pitifully. “It's so fucked up,” you began, the tension needling under your skin. “I know it is, I’m so sorry. Sorrier than I know how to express.”   

“I believe you.”  

Why must he be so calm? Where was the John you knew, the one who’d pick a fight at the first opportunity – the one who’d slammed the door open when he’d caught you in the act? “Just yell at me or something, please. I can’t take it.”  

“Don’t rightly think I can, you looking all forlorn as you are,” he hummed, drumming his fingertips on the wall.  

Your face was already a permanent frown, but you felt it deepen. All you wanted to do was cry, even if that was the only thing you’d done over the past few weeks. It seemed a person couldn’t run out of tears, after all.  

John edged closer, and you immediately shook your head. “No, don’t comfort me, I don’t deserve it.”  

“You always do beat yourself up over stuff,” he scoffed gently.  

“No, John. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”  

“You don’t gotta keep saying that.”  

“I don’t know what else I can say.”  

He let out a short breath, stretching his neck out. “I do have one question for you.”  

Your nod in response was almost eager, willing to answer anything he asked.  

“Would you take it back if you could?  

“I –” you stopped to take a breath. “Yeah, of course.”  

“Funny.”  

“Why funny?”  

“Dad said he wouldn’t. And he said that’s what he was the sorriest about, that he’d do it all again given the chance.”  

You weren’t sure what to say, your heart clutching to hear such a thing but not wanting to show it on your face. You’d wondered how he’d taken the whole thing, the urge to ask Abigail had been strong but you knew you wouldn’t have been able to bear the answer either way. It didn't bear thinking about how much you missed him.  

“I have another question.”  

“Shoot.”  

“More of a clarification.”  

“Okay.”  

“You really are in love with each other, aren’t you?”  

You swallowed, shaking your head to look at your lap but you weren’t saying no, and John knew that. “It’s... I...” you sighed, having no more lies left in you. You met John’s concerned gaze.  

“It's okay,” he reassured stiffly.  

“No, it’s not okay. Nothing about it is okay. You mean the world to me,” you pressed your lips together to stop them from quivering as tears gathered in your eyes once more. “None of it matters now,” you added dejectedly.  

John shifted beside you, finally taking his gaze away and instead planting it somewhere ahead of him. “I think it does.”  

“What do you mean?” you asked quietly.  

“He’s been... Well, he’s not been good. He’s sorry, to me, but mainly he’s... Heartbroken, I guess. He’s been so happy recently, we’ve all noticed it, and now he’s just... Not.”  

It pained you to hear how hurt he was. Knowing you were the cause of his pain, denying him even a single word turned your stomach even more. “Oh, I’m... Sorry.”  

John sighed. “I want him to be happy. And I want you to be happy. That’s what means the most to me.”  

“I’m sure we’ll both be fine, eventually. Like I said, it’s not important how either of us feel. We did an awful fucking thing, and I guess we both deserve to feel like shit.”  

“That’s just it,” John paused as you stubbed out your cig with your foot, “maybe being happy is what you deserve.”  

You glanced at him, trepidation and anxiety set into his features. He looked so much older, somehow.  

“I’m not saying I’ve forgiven you. Certainly ain’t forgiven him. I’m not saying I’m your biggest fan right now, either. But I just need a bit of time to get used to it. It ain’t worth losing you,” he said pointedly. “You know what my momma said to me, before she passed?”   John seldom spoke of his mother, and your ears perked up at the privilege of being his audience. “She said one day, he was gonna love someone again. Said she knew it was hard to hear, hard to imagine him moving on, but that he wouldn’t be complete if he didn’t have someone to love. He loves love. Just the way he is. She also said it’d take him a good long while, and it did – I ain’t never seen him in a relationship since her. In her eyes, that meant that when he finally did move on, it would be with someone I could trust. She told me when the time came, to trust him. And to trust that the person he chose would be someone who cared for me, someone I could rely on.”  

Your eyes were brimming by that point, but you didn’t want to do him the disservice of looking away while he was being so raw.   

“She was right,” John shrugged.  

“You really look at what I’ve done,” you said hoarsely, fighting away a sob, “as the action of someone who cares for you? John, if I cared about you I would never have even let the thought cross my mind.”  

“Alright,” he nodded, a challenge, “what about everything else you’ve done in the last few years?”  

You blinked at him.  

“What about when you set me up with Abigail? What about when you convinced me to carry on at uni, even though I wanted to drop out? What about all the times you’ve looked after me when I was too drunk to see? What about all those deep chats we had late at night? What about when Abigail said she was keeping the baby, and you stayed up with me half the night until I finally slept?”  

You didn’t have a response for him.  

“I can’t forget all of that,” he said evenly, “even if right now I am mad at you. I know you, I know that you didn’t intend to hurt me with any of this.”  

“When did you get so grown up?” your face scrunched, John’s words a soothing balm over your open wounds.  

“Can’t expect my kid to turn out alright if I’m still acting like one.”  

“Makes sense.”  

“I’m not saying it won’t be weird, but... I can learn to deal with it.”  

You looked at him with mild incredulity, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”  

“I am.”  

Again, your eyes filled up and you couldn’t stop the tears, holding your fingertips under your eyes to catch them.  

John shuffled closer once again and hesitated, but then put his arm around your shoulders, and you didn’t have it in you to resist nestling into his embrace. “Goddamnit woman,” he scoffed, his voice lighter and more familiar, “will you quit crying already?”  

“Can’t help it,” you sniffed.  

John rested his head on top of yours and you squeezed your eyes shut, wondering what you did to deserve such a wonderful friend.  

After a time, when your tears had dried and your breathing regulated, the two of you ventured inside and were greeted with the sight of your four other friends lazing around in the living room.  

You looked at them sheepishly, but they smiled in response, seemingly relieved to see you and John on the way to being on good terms.  

At first, it was uncomfortable. The situation was somewhat of an elephant in the room, but it didn’t seem like anyone was up for bringing up the topic. These were your final days altogether, the last remaining part of your lives that made you students. After this, while you’d remain friends, you’d never be living together all under the same roof again. You didn’t need another excuse to cry, so you didn’t spend any more time chasing that train of thought.  

Eventually, the conversation flowed easier, and it was almost like you were existing in a time months ago, where you hadn’t made any terrible choices and your friends hadn’t found out about them.  

“Still can’t believe we’re meeting your infamous da,” Abigail mocked Sean, who grinned back at her.  

“Oh, he’s excited to meet the lot of you, too. I assured him you weren’t all a pompous bunch.”  

“My dad’s coming too. Hey,” Javier pointed at you, “make sure you don’t fuck him.”  

You glared at Javier, but at the snorts of laughter around the room you couldn’t help but break into a reluctantly amused smirk. “I have no intention of doing such a thing.”  

“Did you have the intention to fuck Mr Van der Linde?”  

“Can we not.”  

Thankfully, even John was laughing, and while you thought the subject was still too tender to poke fun at, you agreed that this may be the easy way of getting it out in the open.  

“Hey,” John said, “part of the deal with you fucking my dad is that we’re allowed to tease you for it.”  

You shrunk into your seat. “I was not aware of that condition.”   

“No? Would you like my permission to be revoked?”  

You huffed, thoroughly left without a leg to stand on. “No. Fine.”  

Denying John the right to hold this over you, likely for the rest of your life, wasn’t something you could do. If he had to pick on you and tease you, then you’d allow it, so long as it meant the two of you could remain friends.  

The six of you settled into a familiar rhythm, laughing and joking until you were all too tired to continue.  

-

When morning came around and you and the girls began getting ready together, your heart tugged at just how much you valued your sisterhood with them. Despite it all, they’d remained your friends, checked up on you, and attempted to provide a sense of normalcy in your life.  

“Are you nervous?” Abigail spoke into the concentrated silence, all three of you working on your makeup.  

You glanced in your propped-up mirror to see her reflection behind you, awaiting a response. “I assume you’re not talking about walking across the stage.”  

She shook her head in the negative.   Given the past few weeks, you’d had enough practice banishing thoughts of Dutch from your mind that you’d grown rather good at it. That had included today, where you’d disallowed yourself to picture the ways your reunion could play out.   

“I suppose I am a little.”  

“Surely you’re excited, though?” Karen added on, sounding rather excited herself.  

“Why would I be?”  

“Well,” she drawled, “you clearly love the man. Ain’t there a part of you eager to be all lovey-dovey with him again?”  

You turned to frown at her face-on, instead of through the reflection in your mirror. “What? No - I’m not going to carry on seeing him.”  

They observed you, puzzled, and Abigail decided on a response.   “But I thought that was what you agreed on, with John?”  

“He said he’d find a way to deal with it. He shouldn’t have to do that,” you turned back to your mirror and continued preening. “I’m not going to start things up with Dutch again,” you lamented.  

They didn’t question it, but you could feel their confusion in the air. You couldn’t blame them. They decided not to probe the subject further.  

Sure, John had said he’d deal with it. He’d said he wanted you both to be happy. But before all that, you vowed to yourself that you’d do anything to have a friendship with him, and would you really be true to your word if you actively extended his discomfort?  

John’s blessing had been music to your ears at first. But being so forgiving was easier said than done – who's to say he wouldn’t grow to resent you, the damage to your friendship being irreparable? It wasn’t a risk you could take.  

-

Thankfully, the ceremony was the first thing on the agenda that day. There were no awkward encounters to be had, and you got to walk across the stage without falling over and receive your degree in relative peace. Again, you’d actively pushed the prospect of seeing Dutch again out of your mind until you were forced to deal with it in real-time.  

But once the ceremony was finished, it was time for everyone to socialise in the sunny courtyard while the graduates took photos with their family and friends, leaving nowhere left for you to hide. Unless...  

Thanks to your newfound habit, you excused yourself once the six of you had taken a group picture, proof that you had in fact been there, and had at least waited a few minutes before running away.  

There was a quiet alley round the side of the main building, the wall of which you leaned up against and brought your newly lit cigarette to your lips. It was nice to decompress, and with all that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours alone, it was nice to have some peace.  

You took your time, eventually lighting a second cigarette and deciding this would not be a healthy habit to keep up.  

“When did you start smoking?”  

That cigarette was nearly choked into your mouth at the baritone of Dutch’s voice, one you hadn’t heard in a longer while than you cared to admit.  

You had to face him at some point, you supposed. At least this wasn’t in front of a whole group of people.  

Slowly, you turned, the man himself coming into view. His hands were casually in his pockets, and as always, his suit was immaculate, and hair perfectly styled. There was one noticeable difference though; he looked tired.  

“Gives me an excuse to escape. Plus,” you shunted the cigarette up a bit, “I miss the taste.” You looked at his lips, the hundreds of drunken kisses the two of you had shared that always had an underlying hint of tobacco. Dutch brushed his fingertips over your hand, and you pulled away, refusing to meet his gaze.   

“Please, I can’t.”  

“Didn’t John speak to you?”  

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not okay with it, regardless of what he says.”  

Dutch’s shoulders dropped, and he leaned on the wall opposite you. His gaze was fixed on you, and you eventually met it.  

The two of you looked at each other for a short while, and it was like you could read his mind, and tell him what you were thinking and feeling without saying a single word.  

You missed him, you were sorry, he missed you, he was sorry.  

More than anything, you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go, kiss him until your lips ached, and make a home in the crook of his neck.  

“You blocked my number.” It wasn’t a question.  

“I had to,” you took a drag and rolled the cigarette between your fingers once you’d dropped your hand back by your side.  

“Did you really? You couldn’t have at least said goodbye – after all we’ve been through?”  

“Don’t make me feel bad,” your tone came out angered, and you swiftly reeled yourself in. “I couldn’t feel any worse about the whole thing if I tried. There was no other choice, not if I wanted a chance at earning back John’s friendship.”  

“The way I hear it, the two of you are already getting on.”  

“He’s being kind. Kinder than I deserve and we’re a long way off repairing our friendship.”  

Dutch nodded, and it hurt to see the pain that’d made camp on his face.  

“How are things with the two of you?”  

“Long way off,” he echoed. “He didn’t speak to me for a while, but he’s starting to be civil. I’m surprised by him, truth be told.”  

“Why?”  

“He’s been real grown up about it all,” his lips twitched with an unmitigated fondness, “we talked it all out, and he actually listened to my side of it. That’s two of my boys out-manning me, now.”  

“Is Arthur okay?” you asked at the mention of him.  

“Yeah,” he said noncommittally, “not happy with me either, but can’t say I blame him. Especially not after the Molly business.”  

“I did try telling him you weren’t to blame.”  

“I know.” The look he gave you was grateful, and you couldn’t only imagine the grief he’d received from the two men.  

It was surreal to see him standing there. You wondered if you’d even remember this conversation in a week's time, or whether it’d be some lucid recollection you wouldn’t be able to pick out words from.   

“Did you hear back about that interview?”  

You nodded. “They offered me a job.”  

Despite his saddened expression, a glint of pride broke its way through. “Congrats. You’ll do well there, should you decide to take it.”  

“Thanks.” It wasn’t quite the reaction you’d pictured in your mind before all this nasty business, instead, it’d be Dutch pulling you into a boisterous embrace and immediately coming up with a schedule to ensure the two of you saw each other regularly enough.  

His pained eyes glanced down your form and made their way back up to your face. The crease between his brows was permanently etched there now, it seemed.  

“I’m sorry they found out that way,” he said.  

“Me too. I don’t blame you for it.”  

“Please,” he took a hesitant step towards you. “Reconsider. Is it not worth us trying, at least? John’s okay with it -”  

“He is not. He’s only saying that because he feels obliged.”  

“That’s not true, he came to me to talk about it, said he wants us to be together -”  

“Do you not hear how insane that sounds? Why would he want his father and b- friend to be in a relationship?”  

“Sorry to interrupt,” John’s voice broke into your conversation as he strolled over to the pair of you, “but my ears were burning.”  

You both just looked at him, simmering back into your own spaces – it wasn’t a conscious decision to edge closer to Dutch.  

“You’re arguing,” he observed.  

“I -” you sighed, itching your brow, and abandoned your unformed sentence in favour of another drag from your cigarette.  

“This is meant to be a happy day,” Dutch said guiltily.  

“No, I know. I think I should go –”  

“No,” John put a hand on each of your shoulders, stopping you from walking away from the situation. “Look, I’ll be honest, I’m tired of him moping,” he gestured his head towards his father.  

Dutch slipped the cigarette from between your fingers and brought it to his mouth for a long drag. It was like static where his skin had brushed against yours, and your eyes lingered on his lips as he took a drag. He went to hand it back to you, but you shook your head.  

“Keep it.”  

“And I’m tired of you being so hard on yourself,” he narrowed his eyes at you, before looking between you both once more. “You shouldn’t have done what you did. You shouldn’t have gone behind my back for so long.”  

The pair of you glanced at each other, scolded but in agreement with him.  

“But I understand why you did. For the pair of you to do this, to take it this far – it must be something genuine.”  

More genuine than you cared to admit. Being without Dutch was like being without a limb.  

“You deserve the chance to test it out in the open. Ideally,” he huffed in mild amusement, “not too open. I don’t wanna watch you canoodling. But still. You do have my blessing,” he squeezed your shoulder, “and I’m not just saying that. I’ve thought about it, and I mean it.”  

There were no words, so you rested your hand over John’s that was still planted on his shoulder.   

“Thank you, son,” Dutch said, his voice cracking despite his hardened demeanour.  

“Now,” John lightened his tone and the mood, “from what I hear they’re about to open the bar. And I don’t know about either of you but I sure as hell need a drink.”  

“I sure do,” you agreed quietly, and Dutch beckoned for the two of you to proceed, and you all made your way over to the bar.  

-

After John’s talk, you began to settle into the idea of trying again with Dutch. You were still hesitant, but since Dutch had reminded you to unblock his number, he’d messaged you regularly and gently brought you around to the idea.  

So, you’d started talking more frequently, general chitchat and while it wasn’t quite the same, you found yourself valuing his conversation much more than you had previously. Still, you were hesitant to visit him, but Dutch agreed to ease back into the relationship, and going long periods without seeing him wasn’t an alien concept to you considering that’d been the norm for over two years.  

It was only a few more weeks until John messaged the group chat saying Abigail had gone into labour, and he’d sent you a private message saying it might be a good time for you to go to his house, considering nobody would be there and you could have some alone time together.  

Dutch too had messaged you, and you allowed your chest to grow warm at the thought of them colluding to convince you to come round. He’d confirmed the house was empty save for him, Tilly spending half of her summer staying at Arthur and Charles’ place.  

You decided to bite the bullet and agreed, getting the train that same day before you had a chance to chicken out. Unsurprisingly, Dutch stood firm in his decision to pick you up from the station.  

The car journey to his house had been quiet, the two of you not knowing where you stood or how to approach the situation. Arriving at his house and seeing the big stone driveway was enough to make your heartbeat quicken, the memory of your last visit resurfacing.   

Dutch had made you a hot drink, and the two of you were sat outside in the late evening summer sun, thankful for the chirping birds that filled the silence.   

“If you’re uncomfortable, please tell me. I’ll take you home, and I won’t be offended,” he said gently.  

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you settled him, “it’s just a little strange as all. Didn't think I'd ever be here again.”  

After a long sigh, Dutch shifted in his seat, angling himself towards you as though he had a secret he wanted only you to hear. “I have a plan.”  

You raised your eyebrows at him. “A plan for what?”  

“Making you a little more comfortable.”  

“Let’s hear it.”  

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blunt.  

You couldn’t resist laughing, looking at him in shock. “You want to get high?”  

“Why not?”  

“Because,” you began, though no reason came to mind why you shouldn’t. “Because - is that a good idea?”  

“Course. Might help us loosen up a little.” His charming smile made you feel all fuzzy – his under eyes were less dark than when you’d seen him last and he looked overall more like himself. He was dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, and you were appreciative of the delightful view of those hairy forearms of his.  

“I didn’t even know you got high.”  

“Where do you think John gets it?”  

“You sell drugs?” your face shifted from shocked to understanding, “no wonder you’re so rich.”  

“I do not sell drugs.”  

“No. Just to your son?”  

“No, I don’t want him buying overpriced shit from some sketchy dealer. If he’s going to do drugs, he’s going to at least do good drugs. Besides, I don’t support the criminalisation of it.”  

“Right,” you laughed, not wanting to spur him onto his well-worn soap box. “Well then,” you plucked it from his fingers to rest it between your teeth and reached into his pocket where you knew he kept his lighter, relishing in the tensing of his thighs, and flicked it on to light the end of the joint. “Let us not waste any time.”  

You blew out the smoke and handed it to him, his face looking close to boyish with his grin in response. “I like your attitude.” Dutch took an inhale of his own, and either you really did have a thing for guys when they smoked or this was some strong stuff, because you began to feel all tingly.  

Relaxing back on the bench, you took in the view of the garden and tipped your head back, allowing the sun to graze over your face. “I have missed being here.”  

“I’ve missed having you here,” Dutch said, and you cracked an eye open at him, to see him observing you fondly. “I’m glad, in a way.”  

“About what?”  

“It happening the way it did.”  

“Why?”  

“We don’t have to hide it any longer,” he rested his arm on the bench behind you, “the sneaking around was growing tiresome.”  

“I suppose,” you took the blunt from him and brought it to your lips. “Still, not sure I’ll ever recover from that look on John’s face.”  

“Let’s not go back there right now. I’ve spent too much time in that space recently.”  

You handed the joint back to him thoughtfully. “Has your mental health been okay?”  

Dutch chuckled knowingly. “It has not. Thankfully, I’ve learnt to recognise the unhealthy thought patterns, and I was on a higher dose of medication for a while.”  

“You’re not now?”  

“No,” he shook his head, blowing out the smoke. “After John’s talk, after I could speak to you again – it all calmed down.”  

“I see. I’m sorry you were suffering.”  

“That’s alright,” he shrugged, passing the joint over to you. Dutch was going to say something else when your phone buzzed, and you pulled it from your pocket, expression brightening at what greeted you on the screen.  

“Congratulations are in order,” you tilted the screen towards him, and he looked over your shoulder at the photo of a baby clutched in Abigail’s arms with John leaning over, a tired grin on his face.  

Dutch’s face softened into excitement, and he took his reading glasses from his pocket to place them on his face and get a better look. “Oh my, look at that.”  

Another photo came through, a close-up of the baby accompanied by a message from John sent to the group chat.  

Jack’s here. Abigail had a tough delivery, but she was great, and we now officially have a healthy son. Can’t wait for you all to meet him.  

Very to the point, and very on-brand for John. “Jack,” you crooned, “that’s lovely.”  

Dutch patted his pocket, scoffing. “My phone’s in the kitchen, let me go text him.”  

“You remember the weed, but not your phone while your grandson is being born?”  

“Oh hush,” he muttered as he walked into the house.  

He returned a few minutes later, while you’d messaged your congratulations along with the rest of your friends.  

“How’s it feel to be a grandfather?”  

“Good, oddly enough,” Dutch settled beside you, noticeably closer than he had been previously, but you didn’t mind. He took the joint from you and had a couple of drags.  

“He’s gorgeous,” you smiled, and the two of you settled into a rhythm of smoking and chatting while the sun bathed you in its rays.   

It was a lovely evening, and it wasn’t long before the joint was burnt out and you’d slowly slipped to be nestled into Dutch’s side, his head resting on yours and fingertips running over your palm.   The two of you remained like that, fully relaxed and happy just to be near each other, the odd shift in position the only thing to break the peaceful silence.  

The movement of Dutch’s fingers had transmuted to the brushing of his palm up your arm, and you tilted your head to look at him. His hands felt so good, so firm and warm, his rings leaving a cool trail in their wake.  

He glanced down at you, face content, and you couldn’t help but admire how gorgeous he was.  

“I’m hungry.”  

“I can order -”  

You cupped his jaw and attached your lips to his, not sure you could wait a single moment longer. The two of you still hadn’t shared a kiss since you’d arrived, and the weeks of longing to have his lips on yours had been agonising.   

“Oh,” he said once you’d pulled away.   

You laughed softly, edging closer despite already being pressed up against him. His eyes had already grown hungry too, and you realised you weren’t hungry at all. You were ravenous.  

The two of you demanded the next kiss at the same time, one not nearly enough to make up for all those you’d missed out on. He gripped your waist, and you twisted your hand into the collar of his shirt, the two of you not willing to part with the taste of each other's mouths.   

“Darlin’,” he breathed when you both finally surfaced for air, and you touched the tip of your nose to his. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed that.”  

“Believe me,” you pecked the corner of his mouth, “I do.”  

He ran a hand over your hair and tilted his head when your expression turned devious. “Do I even want to ask?”  

You shook your head and stood, leaving him still leaning forward where your body was now absent. “I’d rather show.”  

With that you walked into the house, Dutch’s rushed and uneven footsteps soon following behind.  

“What are we doing?” he said, excited, as you led him towards the study.  

Once there, you sat on his desk and parted your legs. “I believe we have some unfinished business.”  

“Oh,” he smirked and stopped in his tracks, running a hand through his hair and visibly less rigid thanks to the herbs in his system.   

His eyes were fixed on the spot between your thighs as he stalked towards you, reaching his hands out and gripping your thighs once he was close enough, pulling them even further apart and growling from his chest as he nestled his crotch between them. You bit down on your lip when you felt how hard he was, becoming acutely aware of how much wetter you were than usual, likely a mix of your heightened senses and the given circumstance.  

“I do admire your thoroughness, miss,” he murmured into your ear, trailing his lips over your lobe and down your neck.  

You sighed weakly into the air and let your eyes fall shut, thighs attempting to tighten around him, but his grip was like iron as he kept your thighs in place. Then his lips were gone, and you opened your eyes to see that he was too. You looked down to find him knelt between your legs. “Thirsty?” you teased, and he grinned up at you, black pupils taking up almost all of his iris’.   

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he pushed the material of the dress up your legs and nuzzled his nose into your mound. “I do love you in a summer dress,” he murmured, and you could feel the vibrations from his baritone.  

Dutch chuckled at your feeble attempt of pushing your hips closer to him, not relenting with his grip.   

“Don’t worry sweet girl, I don’t have it in me to tease you right now.”  

There was no time to answer before his mouth was on you, pressing over the wet material of your underwear. Dutch licked up your slit, tangling his tongue with the fabric and you whined, placing your hands behind you on the cool wood of his desk.   

“That’s it,” he said, taking your underwear between his teeth to move it to the side, “let me hear you.”  

You glanced down at him, the infatuation plain on his face as he stared at your dripping pussy. “What happened to not teasing me?”  

“This is not teasing. Do you want to see teasing?”  

“Dutch,” you warned, and he could hear the seriousness filter through your playful tone.  

“Not tonight,” he decided, and dived right into his favourite meal.  

Dutch kissed and sucked your skin, the responsiveness of your pussy providing him with more hydration than he could manage to take in, but he appeared up for the challenge. Gentle flicks of his tongue over your clit turned into a deep drag of it over your inner walls and you gasped his name repeatedly as he thoroughly lavished you with his tongue.  

Your ecstatic orgasm came around fast, and you were sure you didn’t breathe for a minute straight as he drank up all you could give him. His hands had you trapped in place so you were powerless to buck your hips and instead had to let it all go right there, and Dutch was panting when he removed his mouth from you.  

“Du -”  

He pulled you into a kiss by the back of your neck, using his other hand to undo his jeans and shuck them down far enough to pull out his cock and ease into your accommodating cunt.  

“Good lord,” he groaned, unable to focus on kissing you as your walls tensed, begging for his cock to never leave the home it found itself nestled in. “I never,” he gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger once he’d pulled himself together, “want to go so long without your pussy again.”  

“Deal,” you kissed him, spotting the small window of opportunity while he was distracted to pull your legs from his grip and wrap them around his hips, coaxing him even further in and he let out a pained whimper.   

His hands grabbed the swell of either side of your ass, experimentally offering a few slight thrusts, but the sensation was enough to drive you wild. His thick cock felt perfect, and you mused whether that was the extra limb you’d been missing all this time.    

The small thrusts turned to longer, languid ones that had you whining, Dutch obsessive with the way he clung to your body and began fucking you stupid.  

Nothing else mattered aside from the euphoric pleasure racing through your body, being drilled into and marked by Dutch in what you assumed was every way he could think of. Nips to your collarbones, fingertips digging into your flesh, pussy fucked so deeply the skin felt raw. You didn’t care. The two of you were together again, and as was always the case when you fell into each other’s arms, the world was right again.  

“Shit,” Dutch grunted, blinking his eyes tightly as he watched himself disappear into you at a reckless pace, now not the time for tender loving. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your nose against his neck and breathing in the sheen of sweat on his skin. He was being greedy, his brain chasing one thing, the only thing that mattered at that moment. “It’s like you were made for me,” he began to babble to himself, and you knew he was close, so you held your own approaching orgasm until he was ready, “you’re so perfect, s-so fucking -”  

Even words began to fail him as your body overtook every one of his thoughts, and that was a sentiment you shared as he fucked you deep and you cried out Dutch, because what other words were there?  

He came hard, leaking into you as he pressed his hips forward, the desk jolting with the motion and you allowed your release to finally come too. His hands searched for an anchor, landing on the small of your back as he held you to him until he was completely empty.  

The air around the two of you hummed, your bodies becoming soft and pliant at the familiar comfort of having your arms wrapped around each other. Eventually, each of you inched away to get a good look at the other.  

Dutch’s eyelids were heavy, lips still shining with the remnants of you, and his hair had fallen around his face. He took in the view of you too and relaxed into a content smile, leaning forward to press his lips to yours, a tender act considering how hard he’d just defiled you. Neither of you had anything to say that would surmount the feelings you were experiencing in that moment.  

So, you remained silent, breathing in one another until you were finally ready to face him pulling out.  

As he tidied himself up, you leaned back on his desk and glanced to the side of his desk, noticing a picture frame. You took it in your hands and laughed minimally at the subject of the photo. “I can’t believe you have a picture of me here but not John.”  

Despite the situation, Dutch'd made sure you get a photo with you at your graduation, you not realising he’d intended for it to take pride of place on his (now tainted) desk.  

“I look better in this photo,” he said matter-of-factly. His expression softened when you raised your brows in questioning. “Or, perhaps you just make me look good.”  

You shook your head, for him to shrug himself of judgement and join you in admiring the photo after he’d planted a kiss on your forehead.  

It was true; you did look good together.  

-

You’d intended to only stay at Dutch’s for a few days but found yourself not wanting to leave his side. In the end, you’d gone home for a single night to grab more stuff and made your way back to him first thing the next morning.  

The day finally came when Abigail and John returned, and you watched them from the window as they made their way up the driveway, a carrier in hand. Dutch’d been fretting about the nursery – which the blue spare room had been turned into, and you were glad you hadn’t needed to part with ‘your’ room even if you did stay in Dutch’s - and whether it had everything it needed, despite already buying far too much stuff. Little Jack was surely going to be spoilt.   

While you were overjoyed to get to spend so much time with the baby, Abigail and John were also happy to have you and Dutch on hand to take over when they needed a break, you ended up returning home for a time after being there for a couple of weeks, the start date at your new job just around the corner.  

Since you spent the majority of your time working from home, it didn’t matter whether you stayed at your house or Dutch’s. Not wanting to rush too much into your relationship, or crowd the new family under the roof, you and Dutch agreed to a few nights a week at his place, then you'd spend the rest of it at yours. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t attempt to convince you to stay one extra night every time you had to leave, though.  

Being around John while staying with his father had been awkward at first. But soon, as with all change, it became the new normal. It was nice, really, having him and Abigail so close by. It hadn’t taken long for Jack to become your favourite member of the family.  

It was a few months down the line, and the Van der Linde house was full. John had worked through his nerves, but having family on hand, he’d begun taking fatherhood in his stride. He’d been grateful for you too, and you couldn’t deny that you were secretly pleased about having the advantage of the chance to be Jack’s favourite Auntie, aside from Tilly of course.  

You were all in the garden after Dutch’d done a small barbeque, you stood by the table bobbing little Jack in your arms. “I do love being an auntie,” you expressed to the group, infatuated with the baby’s gorgeous cheeks.  

Abigail turned to you; her face pensive. “Wouldn’t you be his step-grandma?”  

Not that you’d expected anything less, but even Abigail had taken to the now-popular hobby of teasing you. Somehow, even Dutch had gotten in on the action. He snickered, John’s laugh echoing from the kitchen (his selective hearing was truly a wonder) before he walked outside and gave Abigail a proud kiss on the head.   

“Isn’t your momma just the funniest?” you said down to Jack, after taking an offended pause.  

She grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but return the smile.  

Eventually, you’d parted with your nephew (no, he was not your step-grandson no matter what anyone said) and began taking the plates into the kitchen, loading them up into the dishwasher.   

Dutch seized the opportunity to pat your ass as you were bent down, and you scoffed at him. “Perv.”  

He laughed easily, bringing in the cutlery and loading it in himself. After you’d turned on the washing machine, you both took to watching the small family through the window, sitting on a mat on the grass and marvelling at Jack who’d recently learnt how to roll over.  

“Now that kid will be a genius,” hummed Dutch, and you tutted at him.  

“Will you leave the poor boy alone before you start locking him up with the books?”  

Dutch ran his hands around your waist, holding you comfortably from behind, his warm and inviting torso a perfect cushion for your back. “I’ve half a mind to lock you up.”  

“Oh, I’m sorry – do I not allocate enough time to you?” you quipped, and he chuckled into your hair.  

“Not nearly enough to satiate me.”  

You tsked through your teeth, resting your hands on top of his.  

“I’m serious,” he added, and you glanced round to catch his eye.  

“Oh, come on, what now?”  

“I’ve been thinking...”  

“I’ve learnt to view that sentence as a warning.”  

Dutch’s eyes crinkled with his amusement, and he placed a kiss on your temple. “All I’m saying is I would love to have you here permanently. I say it not as a demand, not for something to do right now, but something to let brew in that wonderful mind of yours.”  

“And you say I’m the one always jumping to the next step,” you kissed him sweetly, and he tightened his hold around you as you looked back out the window.  

“It’s a mere suggestion, darlin’. Something for you to ponder when you find yourself bored.”  

All you could do was smirk, this irrevocably charming man always willing to prove his need to have, which you’d deduced was just another name for a more potent form of desire; a thing he seemed to have in bucket-loads for you. You rested your head back against him, revelling in the promise of comfort and belonging that kept you company whenever you found yourself in his arms.  

“Whatever you say, Mr Van der Linde.”  

a/n: hopefully none of you need the reminder but pls don't fuck your best friend's dad, author does not condone it. also I know Dutch would probably be an absolute nightmare on weed given his paranoia, but in this universe that’s not a thing because I don't want it to be :)

[miller-n-morgan-2]

I bring to you a snippet of the next chapter, rightfully labled John Fucking Marston:

-

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?” 

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely. 

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own. 

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy. 

“Where does he live?” 

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son. 

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness. 

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.” 

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before. 

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.” 

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…” 

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future.

-

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist 😊

[cwbylikeyou]

saw your latest post and I feel you! all though I am not in law school, I am studying criminal justice and sometimes it can be rough. despite of all of it, take time for yourself and do the things you love. i found that by doing this it prevents me from burnout and keep motivated. Good luck!

As for blurbs, I was wondering if it’s possible of doing of Arthur thinking about leaving the gang with his s/o and how he would do it in the end (no tb Arthur!!! he needs love!)

awwww. thank you so much. i’m here again today, but this class i actually enjoy… you’re very kind 🩵

but let’s go

so let’s say hosea is still alive when arthur decides it’s time to leave the gang, because i think hosea and john would help him a lot with that.

for me, i think arthur would start to think about that when he thought about isaac. maybe if he was around more, maybe we would be able to protect him.

he doesn’t want that to happen again. he wants to be around you and your future family all the time. and i also think he would love having a ranch, he would love to work around. so, he starts planning.

at first, he wouldn’t tell you. i think we would be so unfamiliar with this felling. he would want to process his thoughts first. then, when his thoughts were in the right place, he would talk to you about it. it would be subtle, a simple conversation when you both were drinking in camp, around the fire.

you would agree. of course. who wouldn’t want a quiet life with him? the possibility of marriage, children and a happy life? you could never deny that.

he would ask hosea for help finding a ranch, a nice little cabin. hosea would help him, of course, without letting dutch knows. he wouldn’t help the gang with his money that often, and eventually dutch would notice that. he grows suspicious, but does nothing about it.

when time comes, he would tell some people about it. sadie, john (he knew since the beginning), some of the girls. and he would invite abigail and jack to go with you. he loves them, he thinks they deserve a better life and if john wasn’t giving them that, he would. she wanted to accept, but something told her that maybe one day john could do the same for them. so, she stayed.

you would leave at night. quietly. after the gang had a a little party, probably. everyone would be drunk asleep.

😭😭😭😭 i want that life.

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

Arthur Morgan Modern Headcannons- Pregnancy

@cantchoosejust1​ This is for you! >:)

Just some modern Arthur and how anything related to pregnancy would work, so Female reader! 

Warnings!: NSFW 18+ themes, probs gonna have a little bit of smut considering ya know, pregnancy.

Lets GO

Okay straight from the get go, let’s get something straight.

Before you and Arthur are married you obviously had sex

and while you both did your best to be as safe as possible, getting tested, wearing condoms, birth control, the works

there were still some mishaps.

You forgot to take birth control

he got a little excited and so did you so you didn’t really stop to put on protection

So 

There were a couple of times where you two thought you were going to prematurely be parents.

and considering this is before you’re married the two of you get a little nervous.

Not like 

“Oh god we’re having a child out of wedlock” kind of nervous

but like

oh god

this wasn’t the plan

kind of nervous.

But

in all reality those few scares were nothing more than scares.

Though every time you’d have a scare Arthur was nothing but supportive. Worried he wouldn’t be a good dad, or that he’d mess something up, or hell afraid that you’d have the kid and leave.

He wasn’t completely ready to be a dad, not after everything that happened with his ex and Issac, who sadly passed

But he knew if it was gonna be with you he was gonna be okay.

Now

After you get married

and you don’t have a kid cause the scares were just scares...

The two of you will have to sit down and really talk about it.

How many kids do you want? When should you start trying? 

Do you want kids at all?

When the two of you decide you do want kids

its off from there

you just decide that no matter what the two of you will never be particularly ready for kids, no one is, so it’s best to just let nature take its course, not to try and force it

so the only change in the two of your lives is stopping your pills and you don’t have to spend cash on condoms anymore.

You and Arthur are both really surprised that you haven’t gotten pregnant before.

I mean

the man has

a breeding kink

i mean

god

One night, you and him go out drinking together, and you go to a small bar in town, hardly any people there, but you went with John and Abigail on their date night 

and my god

Arthur wasn’t dressed fancy by any means

but 

jesus

did he look good.

Still smeared with grease from working on cars all day, a tank top on showing off all the tattoos on his arms, and tight fitting jeans that framed those massive thighs of his just right

You literally apologized to John and Abigail and made him take you home.

He was confused at first but when the two of you get in the truck and he starts to worriedly ask you how you’re doing you simply tell him “drive” 

He does and when you hit the road you put your hair in a ponytail and get him worked up.

You were lucky you were on the back roads, that man was swerving all over the road, trying to use one hand to guide your head and the other to drive.

By the time you get home he’s got a stain on his pants and a second hard on

He takes the lead from there 

and let me tell you

after you literally pried him away from a bar to show to him just how turned on you got from him? 

He’s completely overcome

He nearly kicked the door in when you got him, and he carried you to the bedroom, his hands gripping your thighs without remorse. 

And when he has you on the bed 

jesus

he’s fantastic

He gets you worked up easy, I mean, you were already, but he makes sure you’re good and ready and then things get hot and heavy.

He’ll fuck you until you’re screaming, begging.

Your legs quivering and tears coming from your eyes

and the whole damn time he’s got that fucking smirk of his on his face, and that deep voice praising you, telling you what a good girl you are.

Not only that but when he’s close to finishing, and you’re close to finishing what has to be like your fifth climax, if you wrap your legs around him so he can’t pull out and tell him to fill you up he’ll bust right there.

The thought of you taking all of him, and he means all of him, turns him on to no end.

To know that a part of him is in you

goddamn

and hell

when he’s finished if he pulls out and his seed doesn’t exactly want to stay where it’s meant to be, he’ll gently push it back into you, muttering “Atta girl” as you whimper from the feeling.

After a night like that?

You had to be pregnant

I mean

come on

You even did that whole put your legs up to help it move down thing

which

you were exhausted so Arthur actually did it, holding your ankles with one hand and trying to slip boxers on with the other.

It was very entertaining for your lustfilled mind.

So

Within the next few weeks

About a month and a half later

you start to get really sick

that good old morning sickness

and the tests had been coming up negative so you’d thought that it hadn’t worked

but 

out of curiosity 

you took another one at work, one that you’d bought on your lunch break, and when you check it and it comes back positive you nearly scream at the top of your lungs with joy.

You’re bursting to tell Arthur when you get home and the whole drive back to the house after work you’re singing with the windows down.

You head straight to his shop, you don’t even think about going home, and you smile happily to see that both Charles and John are also in the shop

He’ll greet you with a smile and a kiss and ask you what has you so chipper.

“Arthur I’ve got news!” 

“What’s that Darlin’? You finally get that promotion?” 

“Better!” 

“Uh...A bonus?” 

“Nope!”

“Aw shit, I ain’t ever gonna get....Holy shit you’re pregnant ain’t you?” 

“You’re gonna be a dad Arthur.” 

“Holy Shit! I’m gonna be a dad!” 

He nearly bursts with joy himself and he grabs Charles and John by the shoulders, laughing with that hearty laugh of his, and then you.

He kisses you so deeply its as if he’s never kissed you before.

He’s never been so excited to call Hosea in his life, he’s practically pacing as he wipes his greasy hands on a towel and grabs his phone 

He’s got Hosea on speed dial and as soon as he picks up the phone he tells him to find Dutch too

Then

He simply

shouts

“Y/N’S Pregnant!” 

Then from the speaker phone 

Dutch

“That’s my boy!”

“DUTCH!” 

“I”VE BEEN WAITING FOR A GRANDSON FOR YEARS”

“WHAT ABOUT JACK?”

“JACK DOESN’T LIKE ME!”

“THEN DON’T BE A DICK”

The two of them argue for a while but in the end congratulate you.

From that moment on, throughout the entirety of your pregnancy Arthur is INCREDIBLY protective over you

I mean

even in the early stages

You aren’t allowed to lift heavy things

like

you’re two months in 

not allowed to lift anything over ten pounds

Arthur’s rules

If you wanna go out he wants to go to.

If you don’t let him, he’ll understand, but he’s gonna call you at least once every hour to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby

He drives you everywhere if he’s able.

That way if a crash happens he can blame himself for anything that happens to you or the baby rather than you blaming yourself for something happening to the baby

He reads up on anything thats baby related

prenatal

postnatal

hospital procedures

the best baby things to buy

the best cribs

bibs

highchairs

pack n’ plays

toys

binkies

bottles

anything he can get his oily mechanic hands on

he spends like 

95 percent of his time on his phone now doing research and keeping notes

when you’re overcome with morning sickness he’s right there holding your hair and offering you saltines

when your cravings come

no matter how late or how early

hes there

“Arthur”

“Hmh?”

“I want thin mints”

“Ain’t even girl scout season.”

“Arthurrrrrr I want cookiesss.”

*Deep sigh followed by the sound of a very large man leaving his very comfortable bed to get his very hot wife some very good cookies from the nearest open store.*

“Arthur! Can we stop at a Rally’s?”

“There ain’t a Rally’s within like fifteen miles of us, that’s like me takin’ you all the way to Texas Roadhouse Darlin’.”

“oh...okay.”

“An hour ain’t that long of a drive.” 

*Puts on your favorite country music because if you cry he will cry.*

He demands that the baby is gonna be a boy

you think it’s a girl

the joke is on the both of you when you go to your fifth or sixth month check up and

BAM fuckin

twins

apparently somewhere on Arthur’s biological side he’s got twins cause now you do

And it is offical

there’s a girl and a boy

HE PANICS

He was ready for one but now two?

GOD

you on the other hand

you just think 

“Im already huge im just gonna get bigger”

Arthur nearly slaps you but instead gives you an angry glare

he goes straight back to research, considering he now has an entirely different set of information to understand

all the twin things

now hes gotta buy double of things

His whole family is chipping in too

not just the two of you, everyone is absolutely PREPARED

for these babies

and obviously 

Karen and the other girls throw a shower for you

which you cry at

because

i mean

hormones

ya know

and you end up telling them all how much you love them

and appreciate them and

and

*Crying*

Literally have so much stuff theres no room in that tiny little ranch house, and it already needed upgraded anyway

so 

Arthur inlists the help of his brothers, and his fathers

Bill, Javier, John, Charles, Lenny, Sean, Hell Dutch even actually lifts a finger and you get to sit back and watch as they build a huge add on to your house

That was a day and a half

it was hot, so you were suffering with a massive stomach 

but 

Arthur was practically stripping for you so that was fantastic

however

not fantastic for him

because after everyone left you practically jumped his bones

I mean

you couldn’t do a lot

but he got the vibes

he was nervous

i mean

theres babies in there

but like

he’s never seen you so fuckin riled up and the fact that you were pregnant and STILL wanted him??

He couldn’t resist

I mean

You were too big to do the normal stuff but 

You found your ways to be sensual with each other

He found a way

The two of you on your side for slow evenings, behind you with gentle thrusts, very slow, and not exactly hot so much as intimate

but

HOT

He just fucks you from behind.

I mean

you can still bend, just don’t lay on your stomach lmao

Doggie style for the win

He’ll run his fingers over your pregnant belly and tell you just how beautiful you look to him with his kids in there

To him

never been a more beautiful thing in his life

Its on one of these very intimate nights, when you’re heavily pregnant, I mean

like

nine months

that your water breaks

you’d both passed out, but you woke up with just that

feeling

and you shook him awake

to which he responded with

“Darlin’ please, I gotta refill I can’t go again just yet-” With a very groggy sleepy wave your way

only for you to slap his hand gently

“It’s time you dork, I’m having these babies whether you like it or not.” 

HE 

IS

AWAKE

literally it takes all of five seconds and he’s slipped off the bed, onto the floor with a thud and then he’s up onto his knees looking at you with his hair all disheveled and eyes wide.

“It’s really time?”

“It’s time.”

He literally wanted to carry you to the car

but you wouldn’t let him throw his back out just because he wanted to do everything

so you waddle to the car and he’s rushing around, grabbing prepacked bags, making sure he doesn’t miss a single one

He grabs reading material

your favorite blanket

the keys to the new minivan you made him get.

and he throws everything in and rushes you to the nearest hospital

he’s cursing the whole time he drives, trying to figure out how to use the newer technology in the van

it has bluetooth for your phone

and he can’t for the life of him figure out how to use it to call 

So he finally says fuck it and asks you politely to call everyone

which 

you just call dutch

because he’s a gossip

and he answers angry at first but then is like

oh shit

its 

3 am

she’s doin the shit

and then he’s like “We’ll be there!” 

and from there he hangs up and he’ll go about getting literally the entire van der linde group rounded up

you get to the hospital easily

Arthur pretty much attempts to get you the best room available

and does everything in his power

hes a little mean to nurses but then immediately apologizes because hes just so nervous that he’s gonna fuck up but all the nurses are incredibly kind and explain that they understand

and that he’s not the worst they’ve seen and thank him for at least taking the time to apologize for his momentary rudness.

Eventally everyone is in the waiting room and Arthur has to run back and forth to give updates

he is running on pure spite, anxiety, fear, and all of the expresso he can get his hands on

Contractions

jesus

he feels so bad

he holds your hand 

and he doesn’t give a shit how hard you squeeze he wants you to be okay

he’d take away all your pain if he could

Every scream literally almost makes him cry

he tells you that you’re doing so good, and that you’re gonna be the absolute best mother anyone could ask for 

and that he’s gonna be by your side for every up and down

So when you get one baby out he’s relieved 

but then remembers that you have another to push out

and that theres still a placenta that you have to push out

and so

He literally doesn’t leave your side

kissing your forehead, squeezing your hand, doing whatever you need him to do

and then

you finally get everything done

you’re exhausted

you’re tired

but

you have two beautiful children

it took you thirteen hours

but they’re there and it was worth it

the boy

you name Issac, with Arthur’s permission

He literally cries in thank you for that.

The girl you name after your mother, which he was happy to agree to

you think the two look like him

but he swears that they look like you

You can see his nose in them, and his lips

but he thinks that they have your lips

they definitely have his eyes, both of them strikingly blue

they were both born with full heads of hair too, just the same color as Arthur’s 

When everyone else meets them 

it’s just a room full of crying adults

they all praise you for doing such a good job at giving birth and they cry at how beautiful your children are

and eventually Arthur shoos them out 

and the two of you sit and hold the twins, smiles on your face, you finally had the start of your already huge family.

You couldn’t be happier

and Arthur?

That man has never smiled any wider than he did when he was taking a picture of you, his beautiful wife, and his two wonderful twins laying on your chest

Later you see him change his phone screen to that picture, it’s his lockscreen and his homescreen, and your profile picture in his contacts followed my (My love)

He’s sappy like that

:) 

[verdemoun]

Truelly intrested in how Jack is doing in the timewrap, like his relationship with the gang, whats his favorite thing in this era. I know in this AU he past away just 3 years after abgail, but in some datas in the game and other theories said he lived enough to write a book; in my headcanons he should have had a friend who fought in WWI who also get very traumatised, and probably being part of one this early mafia gangs from the 1920s. When John argue with Jack about him becameing an outlaw he would just reply " at least i didn't had to go to the army and dying in a horrible way some random battlefield in a senseless war, or surviving and get traumatised for life" then Jack leave the room that got in silence, who heard that probably got curious about the war, hope they were intrested about knowing what heppended in this 100 years they were dead.

I know you said you got a lot of asks but I like to share this ❤

this ask has been haunting because i love jack so much. he is my boy like i just want him to be happy and get a chance to act his age and find fun and happiness. but boy his relationship with john in timewarp is so far away from good. accidentally wrote 1k words so below the cut

jack has almost no memories of the gang. he remembers being told they're not meant to discuss arthur because it upsets his father, and that if he sees 'uncle dutch' around he's meant to stay well away

it is a lot like meeting those long distance relatives who say 'wow i haven't seen you since you were 'this' tall!'

he gets along pretty well with most of them because a) he is a very polite young man and b) they're such a fun group to be around in modern era. damn straight at a cookout none of them care he is technically under modern era drinking age they see him as an adult and encourage him to be an adult in that rdr2 a quiet time style

he wishes arthur was his dad a little bit. he is constantly trying to inch his way into isaac and arthur's father son activities (which isaac encourages and arthur allows)

hosea getting to see how him teaching jack to read has become such a major part of his identity like jack is a nerdy little bookworm and how exciting they both find it when hosea ask about what jack's been reading and jack can talk to someone about books again

the silent assurance of getting to know lenny. lenny being an adult with a job and very settled into modern era with a life so far away from what he was in 1899 who died at the same age as jack. lenny is proof he can get used to modern era and settle and leave the mistakes and trauma of canon era behind in a healthy way

his favorite thing about modern era is without a doubt isaac morgan. having someone his own age who Gets It. even though they had wildly different experiences of timewarping and general lives, being the child of a VDL gang member is a very specific niche they both know too well

also just - time. not having a ranch or to hunt for food, with the gang still helping each other out so jack isn't expected to rush off and get a job all the hours that would have been spend doing ranch work jack can spend exploring his interests, reading, learning about modern era and getting into trouble with isaac but having the actual time of day required to be a kid (he is 19. he is a kid who never got to be a kid)

i think eventually they would have gotten into a screaming match. john getting sick of jack sulking in his room reading and glaring at him like it was his fault he became what he is vs jack seeing how john changed over 3 years to raise addie alone when he timewarped and how quickly abigail runs back into his arms as if john didn't leave them ruined and with nothing when he died. in timewarp au, abigail died at the end of summer 1914 and jack didn't make it to christmas of the same year.

starts with john asking what happened to jack's college fund. jack had already applied to college and gotten rejected very politely on financial grounds prior to 1911, but with the assurance he was extremely intelligent for a young man who lacked formal education.

jack began corresponding with the literature professor regularly (simply because he still craved that paternal bond and quickly came to love having someone he could actually discuss books with instead of just talking at). john began saving every cent he could to have the money tucked away to get jack into college because he always wanted his son to be happy and better than what they were.

jack laughed and said they had to use that money to survive. he wouldn't have gotten in anyway, and even if he did he couldn't leave abigail on her own.

john, maybe drunk or just too frustrated to hold back, snapped he was too smart to be that much of an idiot, he could have gone to college after abigail died and lived a normal life

jack finally losing it. what did john expect? he was going to survive the great war, and then world war ii a few decades later? forget the first 19 years of his life, survive two wars that ended or ruined millions and millions of lives, settle down with a nice wife and be old enough to watch the moon landing on a boxy black and white tv?

he only made it to 1914 and was still devastated by the war - because the literature professor, his one escape from what life was after john died, a canadian who volunteered to go fight because it was a noble cause, didn't even make it to the front line. the ship he was on sank. there wasn't a funeral or burial, just a letter that might as well have read 'any chance of salvation for you is gone'. jack learning that dying for a noble cause was just as stupid as dying for revenge, because once you're dead you're dead

jack admitting he was planning on dying anyway because what else was there the only thing killing edgar ross did was give jack the satisfaction of knowing at least one of them outlived the bastard

john not actually having the words to express he's been there and he knows what that's like, the survivor's guilt he felt over arthur's death and needing to kill micah and how sorry he is jack had to experience the exact same thing

jack still did have a book published and when he found out he was mortified. in writing to the professor over 3-4 years he'd started sending him drafts of a biographical novel heavily based on his childhood memories of the van der linde gangs and sneaking into john's room to read arthur's journal (which john held all those years). when the manuscript was found in the professor's desk, the university was impressed enough to have it published on a very small scale.

isaac morgan, who had a very bizarre morbid fascination with the idea of jack, the little cousin he never got to meet, who exists somewhere across time as simultaneously younger than him but has already reached 19 and killed edgar ross and been executed for it, stole a copy of it from the university's library when he was only 12 and has read it over a dozen times by the time jack timewarps.

jack is horrified because it was a draft and he started writing it at 15 imagine jumping 100 years into the future and finding out something you wrote unedited at 15 was not only published but considered a valuable and significant part of narrative history.

when jack is in a mood, isaac with read excerpts to him and jack will be so overtaken by cringe and trying to snatch the book off him he will forget whatever passing thought was making him depressed

[rdr2stories]

"Earning ones keep" a rdr2 fanfiction.

AU where Isaac survived and Jack want to be able to go on jobs like his older cousin.

Jack sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers drumming against his bicep as he watched Isaac saddle his mare next to Arthur and his bay gelding. Both of the horses glaring at one another and occasionally laying their ears back or stomping, they weren’t great friends but knew they needed to tolerate one another.

A deep frown was on Jack’s face when Abigail came up behind him and gave him a slap over the back of his head, causing him to let out a yelp followed by a cry of pain.

“What was that for?!” Jack exclaimed as he turned around to look at his mother with a hand over the sore spot.

“Stop frowning over the fact you aren’t allowed to put yourself in danger,” his mother huffed as she gave him a stern look. “You should be dreaming about putting people like that in jail, not being them!”

“What? People like dad?” Jack asked in annoyance as he lightly shook his head and turned around to look at Isaac, taking his mother completely off guard and causing her frown to deepen.

“You better watch yourself young man!” Abigail hissed as Dutch came up to them.

“Abigail, dearest, what are you telling the boy?” Dutch asked chuckling. “To not become a good man fighting an oppressing government like his father, uncles and grandpas? It is in his blood!” He gave Jack a small grin as he reached down and ruffled his hair, something he only allowed Dutch and Hosea, not even his father, though he had tried plenty. 

“I am telling him not to end up in a noose!” Abigail threw her arms in the air. “Or worse! Shot or blown to death in a ditch god knows where.”

“Why are you assuming I would get caught or die?” Jack argued back as he got to his feet. “Dutch has been doing this since he was fifteen! And he is still alive now at like-!” Jack glanced at Dutch for a second. “Uh, a hundred.”

Dutch let out a snort followed by a deep laughter. “Although Hosea might say differently, I am not quite that old yet.”

“I would never say such a cruel thing,” Hosea spoke gently as he came up for them. “However you would definitely call me that.”

“Of couse I would old girl,” Dutch said as he placed a hand on Hosea’s shoulder.

“Jack,” Hosea looked at Jack who immediately peaked up at the slightly cautious voice as he glanced at Abigail. “Me and Dutch have talked with your father about starting shooting lessons.”

Immedaitely Abigail exploded. “What?! You haven’t told me about this!”

“We did Abigail, we told you about it,” Hosea reminded, though it didn’t seem to comfort her much. “This is his life, he might not be seventeen yet as we agreed, however, he will have to learn one time or another and the more we push it the longer the more he is going to rush into things he isn’t actually ready for. Better teach him so he gets ready.”

“I will not allow it!” Abigail huffed firmly. “I will not allow him to get into an early grave!”

“Abigail!” Dutch spoke. “It is about time the boy learns to earn his keep!”

“Then teach him to sew or hunt or something!” Abigail replied desperately as tears pressed on her eyes.

Hosea smiled at her gently. “We will go easy, we won’t sent him robbing a bank from scratch. We will do nothing without asking you.”

Jack rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“I-” Abigail tried but came up empty, she had a habit of trusting Hosea and knowing he would never be as reckless as Dutch was. “Okay, BUT! He has to be careful.”

Jack grinned as he ran directly over to Isaac, grabbing his arm and pulling him away, causing him to let out a slight yelp as he was suddenly pulled out of balance and with the younger boy.

“Hey, what is the hurry?” Isaac asked with a small chuckle as he looked down at Jack.

“They are allowing me shooting lessons!” Jack spoke with pure joy.

“Well then!” Isaac said as a grin spread on his face. “Time to show them what we have been practicing in secret ain’t it?! Go impress them!”

Not that far away stood John and Arthur next to one another, watching their sons grin and laugh to one another.

“They know we know they have been ‘secretly’ practicing yeah?” John asked his brother.

“Don’t think so,” Arthur replied honestly.

“Maybe they have had their brains eaten by wolves too.”

Arthur let out a snort.