#john marston gang especially

[arthursfuckinghat]

If you were on the fence about playing rdr1, then this is your sign to do it ✨💖🧚‍♂️

[gremlin-boah]

someone is calling sean on his tablet!!!

The absolute perfect timing of these asks got me laughing for 30 minutes.

Also...

John look what you've done.

@omgwhatchloe his minecraft gameplay has been disturbed.

[scarfacemarston]

I’m just having to start blocking some of the meme blogs. People have been making other memes with some pretty nasty hot takes and saying “Well, it’s just a meme”. Cool, still nasty. It’s like people are wanting to be edgy as possible.

I’m not referring to just John, to be clear. Again, no one makes all these creepy and tasteless memes against Charles or Arthur or Lenny or Hosea, but the rest of the gang is fine, apparently. People just don’t know or don’t care about going too far. Then people like me look like a bad person for pointing it out.

But people aren’t here to read anything if it’s over a few lines. It’s just rapid reblogging. That’s fine, but people are quickly consuming content so quickly, I feel like people don’t notice or care if something is messed up as quickly.

[heavenlymorals]

I feel like a lot of people forget that the Van Dir Linde gang was actually famous in their universe- Dutch Van Dir Linde was as famous as the real life Butch Cassidy. The gang had as much infamy as the Wild Bunch or the Dalton gang. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Bill Williamson, Javier Esculla, Lenny Summers, Charles Smith, Sean McGuire and more were probably as famous as the real life Doc Holliday, Jesse James, Black Bart, Rufus Buck, Ike Clanton, the Sundance Kid, Wild Bill Hickock, and more.

Sadie Adler would've been just as famous. She was a gunslinger like the real life Calamity Jane and Anne Oakley and she was an outlaw at one point like Laura Bullion, Pearl Hart, Belle Star, The Cassidy Sisters, and more.

The other women of the camp would've probably been less popular but still very intriguing figures to people in the future.

In the newspapers, we see that there are songs about Dutch's boys and books too. Trelawny mentions them being on dime novels. In the future, the pieced together story of the Van Dir Linde gang might've gotten adapted into a movie, similar to "Butch Cassidy and the Sun Dance Kid" or "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". They could've gotten biopics, documentaries, and more.

Historians and fans of the wild West era would dig up records, find pictures, and maybe even track down people who were apart of the gang, accomplices to the gang, or victims of the gang. They would try to piece together stories to figure out the mystery of what actually happened to the gang.

People would argue over things that happened in the gang and have their evidence to back it up. Letters written by gang members would become so valuable. If they ever someone come across Arthur's journal, it would probably be considered one of the most valuable pieces of documentation to ever exist for that time period.

The guns of the gang would probably be kept in museums if found. Albert Mason's portrait of Arthur Morgan would be found in history books, same as other pictures.

Dutch would probably be a very controversial figure in history- some would hail him as a failed hero and others would condemn his violence no matter the reason- they wouldn't know what the people in the gang knew- especially in the end. Same with the rest of the gang members.

They'd probably all get romanticized. Hosea and Dutch's friendship, the raising of the boys, Dutch and Annabelle and his fued with Colm, Mary and Arthur, John and his family, Javier being a revolutionary- no one would know the full story.

And then there is Jack- he may live to see the 1960s and 70s and 80s. He may have grandchildren who'd pull him into a theater to watch a retelling of the gang that he was a part of at one point. He'd be amused. He'd think that the actor playing his father was too clean looking, too pretty. He'd think that the movie Arthur was too skinny. He'd think that the man playing Dutch had a funny voice as he tried to mimic the accent. He'd laugh and make notes in his head of the historical accuracy. He'd feel sorrowful at the deaths of the characters- he knew them at some point. And no one at the theater would know that the old man with the rowdy bright eyed boys who brought him there was Jack Marston, the last of the Van Dir Linde gang.

Jack might talk about it to the public. He might do interviews. He might even write a book about his father, the infamous John Marston. Those would be priceless. Even Beecher's Hope might be kept around and visited as a historical site for history goers.

And honestly? It is such a bittersweet thing.

[not-neverland06]

𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: While the two of you might think whatever could have been is irreparable, one very meddling old man has other plans. Hosea sends Arthur and you on a hunting trip that ends with blood on your hands once more. Despite the mangled mess of it all, you still find yourself drawn to the hope of something more between you and Arthur.

Arthur stayed up most of the night, waiting for you and Charles to come stumbling back into camp. He expected drunken revelry, he thought he might have to corral you into bed. The same tedious tasks he went through with anyone who stayed out as late as you both did. He didn’t expect both of you to be stone-cold sober and in different clothes. He hadn’t paid too much attention to what Charles had been wearing, but he was certain that you had changed before you came back to camp. 

He can’t imagine what would have called for that or why you were both out so long. He’s not sure he likes the few explanations he can come up with. He’s got a nasty look on his face as he watches Charles lead you over to the ladies' tent. His hand hovers over your waist, nearly touching but not quite. His mouth is pressed to your ear, whispering a secret between the both of you. 

Arthur wasn’t jealous. That wouldn’t make any sense. The two of you barely knew each other. And he was still recovering from what was the entire mess with Mary. He didn’t think there was a part of him that was still capable of feeling like that. But he’s not comfortable with secrets in the camp, especially with newcomers. It just seems like bad luck. If you can’t trust the gang, who can you trust?

Charles nods his head in a farewell and heads back to his own tent. Arthur watches as you rub your tired eyes. Your shoulders go up to your ears, back hunching over itself, and you have the countenance of a woman worn down. He frowns, eyes narrowed in suspicion as you collapse onto the bedroll beside Mary-Beth. John clears his throat as he walks past Arthur, giving him an odd look when he sees how intensely he’s glaring at your sleeping form. Arthur frowns at Marston, shooing him off and closing the flaps of his tent. He hadn’t realized just how focused on you he had been. 

The others don’t share his suspicions. They only saw him making you cry earlier. In their minds, he’s probably no better than Micah. He hates that thought but he’s sure it’s not too far from the truth. Neither of them are good men, but Arthur would never hurt you. He would never willingly hurt any of the women. He’s only worried about you. 

He takes his hat off, tossing it beside the picture of Mary on his table. It knocks into the edge of the frame, sending it tumbling into the dirt. “Dammit,” Arthur mutters. He bends, scooping it off the grass and checking for any cracks in the glass. He lets out a heavy sigh and brushes the dirt off the grooves of the frame. 

Arthur pulls the picture back and stares down at it. Mary wasn’t smiling in this one. He’s sure he has another one of the two of them around somewhere. He knows they’re smiling in that one. But after a while, he stopped liking to see himself in pictures and she stopped looking so happy. Arthur slumps down onto his cot and rubs a weary hand over his face. Mary’s stern eyes glare at him from the worn photo. 

He can’t do this again. He can’t watch another bright woman lose their flame because they chose to love him. Loving him is always a mistake. First, it was his son and his mother, then it was Mary. He can’t ruin you too. He won’t be able to live with himself if it’s your life in his hands. 

Arthur places the picture back on the table. He flips the frame face-down so he doesn’t have to sleep feeling eyes on his back. He rolls over and stares up at the canvas roof of his home. He wishes he could see the stars through the fabric. His fingers itch to draw the night sky, just from memory. But he forces himself still, makes himself sleep. 

Arthur’s up before most of the camp, as he normally is. Dutch sits by his tent, reading, and just barely lifts his head in greeting before going back to his book. Pearson never seems to stop making that damn stew and Arthur doesn’t think it’s ever improved in taste. Mrs. Grimshaw isn’t even awake as he goes around camp. He can’t imagine why he’s surprised that you’re still sound asleep. 

He resents the little ache that festers in his stomach. It feels too much like disappointment. He can’t imagine what he would say to you were you awake. There’s no apologizing for yesterday. You’d made it clear how you feel about him and he should honor that. 

Besides, he knows he needs to keep away from you. He’d done both of you a favor by making it clear how much of a bastard he was so early on. He lets out a rough sigh and forces himself away from your tent. He’s sure he’s got something he can find to occupy his time with. 

Arthur’s cleaning his rifle when he hears her start huffing and puffing. Mrs. Grimshaw lingers by the edge of his tent, arms crossed and foot tapping faster than he can keep up with. “Thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us,” she grumbles under her breath. “Just because she married into money-”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Arthur demands, trying to suppress the amused smile on his face. He’s sure he doesn’t need her to see it, she’s already in a mood, might as well not have it turn on him. 

Mrs. Grimshaw throws her hands up in the air, whipping around and glaring at him like she’s been waiting for him to ask the entire time. “That,” she sucks in a sharp breath, clearly struggling to bite her tongue, “woman,” she finally spits out. “Mrs. Rowe,” Arthur straightens up at the mention of your name, eyeing her suspiciously. 

Mrs. Grimshaw ignores him and turns back towards you. He gets up as she starts walking towards the barrel of water by Charles's tent. “She thinks just because she’s a lady, she can laze around and let the rest of us work for her?” She grabs a bucket and drops it in the barrel. Arthur’s sure the only reason she manages to heft it back out is because the woman runs off pure spite. 

“We’ll see about that,” she snaps, marching towards you, arms poised to give you a cold awakening. Arthur chuckles a little, he follows behind her, prepared to stop her. But Charles steps out of his tent and catches on quickly to her plan. Before Arthur can intervene Charles is taking hold of Mrs. Grimshaw’s wrist and tugging her back. 

“Leave her alone,” he commands. 

“Excuse me? This is my camp-”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he tells her, taking the bucket out of her hand. “Let her rest.” Mrs. Grimshaw wants to say more, they can both see it written plainly on her face. But she also won’t argue with one of the men in camp. She just throws her arms in the air in defeat and storms off, still grumbling under her breath as she goes. 

Charles looks back at you and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. Something is tickling in the back of his mind, a thought that’s taking too long to form. The answer for this odd kinship between the two of you is somewhere inside his head but he’s too stupid to work it out. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Charles turns back towards Arthur with a questioning look and he nods towards you. “You got a thing for her or somethin’?” Arthur laughs but he knows Charles sees right through it. That insufferable look of his gives it away. 

“Do you?” Charles asks, crossing his arms and smirking at Arthur. Arthur glares at him and rolls his eyes. 

“‘Course not.” Charles doesn’t say anything. Something lurks between the two men, a tension only shared by Arthur. After a moment of silence, neither of them willing to give in, Charles surrenders. 

“You’re an idiot, Morgan,” he walks past him, patting his shoulder and laughing under his breath. Arthur wasn’t even sure the man was capable of smiling. But here he is, managing a laugh at Arthur’s expense. 

It feels like the day is passing by incredibly slow. He feels like he’s been in camp for hours and it’s not even noon yet. Everyone seems to be avoiding him, either for how he acted last night or because of the way he’s pacing like he’s a caged lion. 

He’s not sure what he’s been waiting for all day until he hears it, “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to sleep so long.” Arthur damn nearly takes out Pearson and that god-awful stew with how fast he whips around. 

You’re sitting up, rubbing at your face and trying to shield your eyes from the sun as Sadie stands over you. “Just don’t go botherin’ Mrs. Grimshaw, she’s after you.” Your face screws up and you let out a heavy sigh. 

“Dammit, why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a huff and Arthur takes a step closer. “You’ve got a goddamn guard dog.” Arthur tenses up, thinking she’s talking about him for a moment. He’s gotten used to that comparison, especially when it comes to you. You had been pretty reliant on him for a while. Instead, she points to Charles. 

He’s trying not to hate the man but it’s getting hard. 

Charles sits on a nearby boulder, fastening together some arrows and watching everyone out of the sides of his eyes. Arthur looks back at you and sees you smiling at your guard dog. “Sorry, Sadie. I’ll do laundry tomorrow, how’s that?”

“Damn right,” she sniffs, nose pointed to the air and walks away. Shaking your head and closing the tent flaps, you come out a minute later in one of the outfits you must have bought last night. Arthur tries not to stare but it is odd to see one of the women in camp wearing pants. 

Arthur runs through everything he’s wanted to say to you as you move closer to him. He goes through every shitty apology and winces when he realizes what a fool he's going to sound like. It’s a stupid idea, to even try, but he just feels awful that you’d had to be on your own all day yesterday. You at the very least deserve a real explanation. 

He half expects you to pivot at the last minute, to head towards Charles and ignore him the rest of the time you’re with the gang. But you keep coming towards him, something clutched in your hand that he can’t quite see. 

You stop a few feet away from him, arms tucked behind your back and lips pressed into a thin line.  Arthur has an odd urge to close the distance. “Arthur,” you say his name tersely and he tries not to let his disappointment show. 

He might not want to be involved with you, but he likes you. You’re smart, smarter than him, and you’re funny. He wouldn’t hate being friendly with you. But he can tell, just from how you’re standing, that you’re not interested. “Yes, Mrs. Rowe?”

“Here,” you hold something out to him but he’s more focused on the fact that you didn’t even correct him on your name. He’s got no chance with you now, that’s for sure. You shake your hand impatiently and he finally bothers to look at what it is. 

It’s a bunch of crumpled bills, the same ones he gave you yesterday. Though, after your day of interrupted purchases it’s quite a bit lighter than it had been. “Dont-”

“Please,” you stop him before he tries to convince you to keep the money. You take a step forward and he matches you. You don’t look too concerned by the proximity so he risks another step. You lean forward, take his hand and gently coax his fingers open. Your hands are warmer, softer than his own. A life of having servants and maids has kept you away from the harshness of work like his. 

He doesn’t know if he appreciates the softness you provide or resents you for it. “I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have spent it so freely. Buying the horse was a foolish, impulsive purchase.” Your hand lingers on his a moment longer before you slowly pull away. 

Arthur shakes his head but he puts the money back in his satchel. He knows, from the way you’re looking at him, he’s got no chance of getting you to keep this. “Wasn’t impulsive,” he argues. “Those damn O’Driscolls,” the mention of their name causes you to wince and he sighs. “Those men,” he corrects, “took everything from you. And you needed the horse.”

“I suppose I did,” you concede but you don’t sound sure of yourself. Still, Arthur will consider it a win. You look like you’re ready for the conversation to end but Arthur isn’t sure he is. 

“You give her a name yet?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What do you mean?”

He laughs a little and nods towards the mare standing beside Diablo. She’s pretty big, not nearly as tall as his horse, but larger than some of the others in camp. “She’s gotta have a name. Can’t just go round callin’ her horse.”

You roll your eyes in indignation and Arthur shakes his head. He truly does not know why you hate horses so much. But considering it’s the only form of travel for a couple of hundred miles, he thinks it’s pretty ridiculous. “Can’t I?” You sound so much like a petulant child, he has to bite his tongue not to laugh. 

“Really don’t like ‘em huh?”

The hardened look on your face softens slightly and you smile. “That obvious?”

“Little bit,” you chuckle and Arthur grins. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” he concedes. 

“Oh,” you toss your hands in the air, glancing around like someone might be holding up a sign with a name. “Fine,” you sigh, “how about Lady?”

“Lady?”

“Lady,” you growl the name out, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna come up with anything better than that.”

Arthur looks over at your mare and huffs out a laugh. She did look a little uppity. Nose in the air, looking away from the other horses hitched by her. She didn’t even seem to want to eat the same grass as the others. “Yeah, Lady works,” he chuckles, looking back over at you and trying to spot the similarities. 

It’s no secret you were used to a life of luxury. Sadie wasn’t a friend, she was a former employee. You’re used to wearing fine jewelry and finer clothes. This life, sleeping on the ground, shooting off bullets at anyone that pisses you off, isn’t made for you. You don’t seem like you should fit into this mold. 

But he’s never seen you complain about your chores around camp. And you might not be happy about it, but you’ve never tried to get anyone in the gang to turn away from their violent tendencies. You don’t stick out like a Lady forced into rags, you could well have been born into this life if it weren’t for that smooth skin of yours. He wonders why you seem to fit so well when so many others in your place have failed. 

“Right,” the easy banter fades into a tense silence. You cross your arms behind your back, taking a step away from him and refusing to meet his eye. “I’ve, um,” you trail off and Arthur takes a step towards you as you stumble away. “Thank you, again.” You turn, refusing to let him speak as you rush towards Mrs. Grimshaw. 

Arthur grimaces as she begins to lay into you, her voice carrying throughout the camp about not letting your former status get so far into your head. You’d rather take a whooping from her than have to talk to him any longer. 

Arthur takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair and glaring down at the mud under his boots. He’s never going to be able to bridge this distance. And he shouldn’t be trying to. You both know that nothing good can ever happen between you. There’s no point in torturing himself with something impossible. 

He shoves his hat back on and storms towards the horses. A few people glance his way, but for the most part, they know to ignore him when he gets like this. He takes Diablo’s reins and leads him toward the forest. He doesn’t have a destination in mind but he needs to see the stars tonight. He can’t be stuck in the canvas tent anymore, he’s been cooped up for too long. 

It’s been a week since you’ve killed your husband. A week since you fed his body to the hogs. And a week since you’ve talked to Arthur. You can’t meet his eye, too ashamed of what you’ve done. 

You’re sure the man has killed more men than you can count on both your hands. Yet, you’re still worried he’ll think less of you for what happened. Maybe it’s because you know how the others see you. Everyone else in camp thinks you’re soft. At least Sadie was a working woman before all this happened, she helped her husband keep up some rich employer's estate. And you were the rich employer. 

They think that you’re soft, and better off than they are. They also seem to think that you’re constantly looking down your nose at them. Every time Dutch says, “I know you’re not used to having to live like this, Mrs. Rowe,” you feel like the entire camp turns and glares. Or anytime Mrs. Grimshaw yells at you not to let your former status get to your head, she has to remind you you’re just as bad as the rest of them now. 

You don’t judge them for how they live. You know they do it out of necessity, some for pleasure. You don’t care. Outlaws have always been a part of this country and you’re not looking to fix that, but they don’t seem to understand you. All they see when they look at you is the same type of person who’s kept them down all their life.

You know that the second the rest of them find out what you’ve done, you’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be held over your head for the rest of your time with the gang. And Arthur, you know he’ll stop looking at you like you’re something to be protected. 

You don’t know if you’d love it or hate it. You’d no longer be soft to him, wouldn’t be this pretty new thing to play with. You’d be like every other woman he’s surrounded by. And what does it matter? He’s already got a proper lady. 

You don’t know how you missed it before. You’ve seen the pictures he keeps at his bedside. But part of you had always hoped it was a sister, or as wicked as it sounds, a dead lover. You feel like a proper fool. There was never any way this infatuation of yours was going to go that would be healthy for either of you. 

You place your book to the side, something Mary-Beth had lent you that only makes your heart ache something fierce. You wished she had something other than romance. You hate reading about how happy they are at the end. It feels like a slap in the face to what your marriage had been and the thought of what you and Arthur might have been. 

You need something to keep your mind busy. You’re not confident enough to go on horseback alone. And no one in camp, except, of course, Arthur, is willing to take a woman out for a ride. They seem to think you’re all better off being cooped up here in camp. You don’t have any chores left. Much to Mrs. Grimshaw’s chagrin, she has nothing to hound you about today. 

Your eyes dart back to the book but the thought of suffering through another sappy scene makes you leap to your feet. You pace around camp for a few minutes, trying to find anyone who looks like they could entertain you. 

Tilly and Lenny are both playing Dominoes, but you’ve never been a fan of the game. It wouldn’t do anything but drive your mind further towards the outlaw you’re avoiding. You skirt around Dutch’s tent, not even wanting to attempt to speak with him. He’s been growing bored of Molly, and you’ve felt a little of his gaze drift towards you. You’d rather not tempt him further. 

You’re considering just attempting a ride on your own when you spot Charles moving away from Pearson’s table. He has new arrows in his hand and his bow is on his back. He’s moving towards his horse like a man on a mission and you finally see your opening. 

“Charles!” You shout, trying to catch him before he leaves. You draw a few eyes towards you but manage to ignore them for the most part. One pair feels particularly intense but you do your best not to meet it. 

He’s got one hand on Taima, slightly turned towards you as he waits for you to catch up. You slide to a stop in front of him, the sun glaring into your eyes over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Going hunting,” he answers bluntly, shifting slightly so you’re less blinded by the bright light of the early morning. Well, that had been obvious. But you’d been hoping for something more inviting. 

“Mind if I come?” You ask, rocking on the heels of your feet impatiently. 

Charles doesn’t usually mind you hanging around him. You’re not sure if he likes it, but he certainly doesn’t object. He seems less sure now, though. His face pinches and he tilts his head, already preparing to say no. You feel whatever hope you’d had sink to your feet. It’s going to be another day of staring at a tree and hoping something interesting happens. 

“Charles!” Hosea calls his name before he can tell you no. You both turn towards the old man, furrowed brows on your faces. “Need your help with something today.” Charles sighs and shoots you a bothered look. You wince, mouthing an apology as he brushes past you. You’re sure if he hadn’t been held up by you he would already have been on his way. 

“I was going hunting. Pearson needs more meat for camp.” Charles argues as he comes up to the fire. Hosea shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee. Something curls at the edge of his lips that feels remarkably familiar to you. 

“Don’t bother. Arthur will go.” Arthur looks up from his journal, flipping it closed and frowning as Hosea volunteers him. “And he’ll take the lady with him.”

“No-”

“Why-”

You and Arthur both shoot each other sheepish looks, cutting each other’s objections off. You know why you’re saying no, but it doesn’t make his rejection sting any less. He wasn’t exactly slow to protest against time alone with you. 

Hosea holds his hands up, shooting both of you sharp glares. “I need Charles's help with some herbs,” Charles lets out a little huff but Hosea continues on. “Arthur’s our next best hunter and I do believe Mrs. Rowe needs to learn how to hunt. Are you saying that you don’t think she should know how to take care of herself, Arthur?”

Arthur’s jaw hinges and closes like a fish as he sets Hosea with a narrowed-eyed look. “Now, you know I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m just thinkin’ someone else can take her.”

You try not to let that hurt but it does. He has every reason to avoid you, you haven't exactly been welcoming. But it hurts to see how much you’ve messed this all up. “I don’t see any volunteers, Arthur.” Hosea pretends to search around camp but he just shakes his head and shrugs. “Going to have to be you. I think you both can handle some time alone. You’re adults aren’t you?”

You and Arthur share a look over Hosea’s head. One of shared suspicion that the old man has more than just simple hunting up his sleeve. You both grit out a reluctant, “Fine.”

Hosea smiles and takes Arthur’s map. “Wonderful, here, I’ve marked a spot on here for where you should go hunting.”

Arthur snatches it back and lets out a loud sigh. “Hosea, this is gonna take us two damn days.”

“Well then, I guess you best get riding.”

You know Arthur wants to laugh at you. You don’t blame him, you’re sure you look like a clown on top of Lady. She’s not working with you and you’re slipping and sliding along the saddle. You can’t get comfortable, constantly fidgeting and lifting yourself up and down. It’s making her twitchy.

You can see her flicking her tail in irritation every time you fidget. “Comfortable?” Arthur calls out. 

You look over at him and glare. He’s so wonderfully content on top of his perfect Diablo. “Just fine,” you grit out, trying not to be jealous of how much more his horse likes him than yours likes you. 

Lady seems to have been appropriately named. She’s got all the stuck-up makings of one. You shift again and she flicks her head, whinnying and nearly scaring you off her damn back. “You need to calm down,” Arthur instructs, riding a little closer. 

“I’m trying to get her to,” you argue, tone broaching the line between sharp and petulant. 

“Not the horse,” he chuckles and reaches over, covering your hands with one of his own. He forces you to look up at him and you’re caught wholly off guard by how close he is. You’re practically sharing breaths as he keeps up stride with you. 

“You need to calm down,” his voice is low in your ear, you can feel the rumble of it down your spine. “She can tell you don’t trust her,” he slowly releases your hands in favor of placing them on your back. “Just take a deep breath,” you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into the warmth of his voice. “There you go, good girl,” your eyes shoot open but he’s talking to the horse now. 

You’re ashamed to say you’re jealous of the damn horse. 

He pulls Diablo back and nods towards Lady, “She won’t trust you if you don’t trust her.”

“How am I meant to?” You grouse, but she’s already calmed down a bit just from Arthur pacifying you. 

“Sometimes you just gotta open yourself up to something, even if it might hurt.”

You want to point out the irony of him telling you that but it doesn’t feel appropriate. “Thank you,” you mutter. You risk leaning forward slightly, running your hand through Lady’s soft mane. You think she makes something of an appreciative noise but you can’t be sure. 

He nods his head, humming an affirmative and keeping his eyes strictly on the scenery around you. You try to think of something else to say to him, but every train of thought leads to confessing your guilt about your husband. Forced to keep your mouth shut, you train your eyes forward and keep your attention on calming Lady. 

Above you, the sun peeks through the canopy of leaves, its golden light reflecting off the early morning dew. When you suck in a deep breath, you can still smell the rain in the air, remnants of the night before. Through columns and rows of light, the warmth of the sun manages to reach you. 

Ignoring the tension between you and Arthur, this is possibly one of the most peaceful mornings you’ve had since your home was turned over to the O’Driscolls. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty and the freedom of the world around you.

You're on your own horse, wearing pants, without a chaperone as you ride beside a man. You don’t have to sit here and fret over whether or not he’ll still want you if you speak out of turn. There’s no society to be shunned from here. It’s just you and nature. If you listen close enough you can hear mourning doves and the rustle of creatures in the underbrush beyond you. 

Lady keeps her steady trot, letting you leisurely take in all you can. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay with the gang. You don’t know how long before Dutch will decide you’re dead weight. But you know that life will never get any simpler than this. Anything you manage to find outside the gang will just be the same suffocating, dull monotony of your past life. 

You have to appreciate the beauty of moments like these while you still have them. 

“How are you likin’ it?” Arthur’s rough voice breaks the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes from where you’d been absorbing the warmth of the sun and turn towards him. Your brows furrow in question and he smiles slightly, though it seems strained. “The life of an outlaw,” he clarifies, arms out as he gestures to the world around you. 

You laugh a little and shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a little more boring than I had expected,” except of course for you murdering your husband. 

He barks out a laugh and it makes a smile spread over your cheeks. He’s got a contagious laugh, you’ve discovered. It fills your stomach with a warmth that makes your legs tingle. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part, all you’re doing is sitting around camp. You just wait for something to happen.” You stretch your truth, teasing him a little to try and get another loud laugh out of him. 

Sadly, he only shakes his head with a little amused huff of breath. “Suppose it’s easy to think like that when we’re like this.”

“Hunting?”

He shakes his head and gazes off at something you can’t see in the distance. “On the run, laying low. We’re not exactly goin’ to run around robbin’ branks when we’re tryin’ to keep the law off our back.” His voice grows quieter, more sentimental, “Not when we’ve already lost too much.”

You feel something like shame clogging your throat and wish you’d never said anything at all. It was easy to forget just how much loss they’d all experienced. They didn’t wear it on their sleeves like others might. Just carried it with them in their heavy hearts. 

You’d noticed that Arthur, especially Arthur, tended to turn it all inwards. He blamed himself for any loss or death that occurred within the gang. He never actually blames the person who truly deserves it. You wish you could help him, but you can’t keep trying to fix broken things; you only end up cutting yourself in the process. 

“We’re gettin’ close,” he speaks before the silence can reach any further. His voice is a little rougher now, slightly closed off from you. He turns towards a thicker grove of trees and you try and nudge Lady to follow him. 

She keeps going straight and you tug a little harder on the reins. “Come on,” you mutter, trying to tilt her towards Arthur. You look over your shoulder and see he’s already hitched Diablo and is retrieving his bow from the saddle. “Oh, this is just embarrassing, you wicked beast.”

She knickers in discontent and you roll your eyes. Of course, out of all the horses you picked, it had to be the most stubborn one. You nudge your heel into her ribs and she comes to a complete stop. Her tail flicks with irritation and you throw your hands up in defeat. “I absolutely despise you-”

A sharp whistle rings through the air and cuts you off. Both you and Lady whip towards the noise. Arthur is leaning against a tree, fingers still hovering over his mouth. He pauses, making eye contact with Lady, and whistles again. 

You startle as she takes off in a trot. You grapple for the reins and glare down at her in confusion. “How in the world did you do that?” You call out as Lady approaches Arthur. He chuckles and reaches for the reins in your hand. You give them over willingly, not wanting to try and reason with the stubborn bastard any longer. 

“Got years of wranglin’ these things under my belt. You’ll get there one day.” He comes back around to your side of the saddle and holds his hands out for you. 

“I’m not sure I want to,” you grouse as you slip your hands in his. He eases you off of Lady’s saddle and helps you gently onto the soft grass below. 

Arthur pulls out his map and turns towards the clearing a little way before you. You hear the rushing of water in the distance and figure this is where the deer come for a reprieve from the day. You don’t have to imagine how exhausting it is to always be running from predators. You know what it’s like living your life by taking soft steps and trying to make sure you’re never seen. You’d never go back to that if you had the choice. 

“The place Hosea wanted me to look at isn’t too far out. Couple minutes walk, probably.”

Arthur starts off without looking back and you frown at him. “Hey,” you call out, “shouldn’t I have a bow, too?”

Arthur’s brow quirks up and he’s silent for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. You roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He’s got a big grin on his face that’s making it hard to actually be mad, but you’re trying. 

“You ever shot a bow before?”

You tuck your tongue in your cheek and frown. You’ve used rifles and pistols plenty of times. Of course, then you had really just been shooting at bottles. But you can’t say you’ve ever experienced a bow. You’re slow to answer, “No.”

“How ‘bout we see how you do today? I’d rather not have you shoot my damn eye out.”

He starts walking back towards you and you practically stomp your foot. “Oh, Arthur, that’s ridiculous-”

He cups your elbow in his hand and forces you forward. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen it happen. It ain’t pretty.” You can’t find it in yourself to argue anymore. You’re too caught off guard by how tender he’d sounded when he’d called you that. 

Sweetheart. You wonder if he ever calls Mary that.

The thought leaves a sour taste on your tongue. You jerk your arm out of his hold and do your best to ignore the surprised look he sends you. He should be more careful how he acts around you, especially if he’s got a woman of his own. 

You and Arthur drift into another tense silence, one of your own creation, yet again. You follow along whatever path Hosea’s created on his map and let your mind drift away. You try not to linger on any passing thoughts. Instead, you want to focus on the world around you. 

You take in the sounds of bird song and try to memorize the melody. You never want to lose this feeling of being so wholly encapsulated by the world around you. Walking along quietly behind Arthur feels like you’ve become just another slinking animal in the forest. 

A sound breaks through your thoughts of nothing. Something like the wet squelch of blood. It reminds you of how your husband’s brain had sounded under your boot. You come to a stop that goes unnoticed by Arthur. He continues ahead but you’re stuck in a memory. 

There’s a low growl like the click of your gun’s hammer as you’d pulled it back. A fierce bark rings through the treetops like a gunshot. You whip around to face the sound and find nothing but the bright green of the forest. 

As though pulled forward by a rope, you find yourself walking without thought. You step carefully over roots and push through brambles. You follow a red trail dotting along the leaves on the ground until you manage to push your way into a small clearing.

The trees are thinner here. They carry less leaves and occupy less space. They give you just enough room to see what has drawn you forward like a siren’s call. 

A wolf dangles from another wolf’s bloody maw. She’s panting, eyes practically red with bloodlust as she crunches down on the neck of the wolf beneath her. There’s a pathetic whimper, quickly followed by the low gurgle of death. The second wolf hangs limply from her jaws and you’re reminded even more of your marriage. 

But you’re not the bleeding, weak, shadow of a creature on the ground. You’ve turned into the hunter, the defiler. You won’t ever let yourself be cowed by someone weaker than you are. You’ve forced yourself into the role of an animal, blood on your maw and righteous fury in your eye. 

The wolf hasn’t noticed you yet, but you feel as though you’ve seen this animal before. A shadow pacing before your home’s door. The howl outside the camp in the dead of night. She’s haunted you for so long and has only allowed you this one glimpse now. Why?

Something clamps down on your shoulder, heavy, hard, and calloused. It takes everything in you to tamp the scream in your throat down. “What the hell were you thinkin’? Could you stop runnin’ off all the damn time?”

Arthur glares down at you. He hasn’t seen the wolf yet, he’s only just found you. Your eyes widen and you turn slightly towards her. His brows furrow in confusion but he follows your gaze and you watch as his face pales. His hand immediately drifts to the revolver on your hip but you lunge forward, stopping him before he can fully grab it. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Stop,” you plead, voice heavy with emotions he’ll never truly understand. “Don’t.”

His eyes dart between you and the wolf. You can see the battle waging within him. He doesn’t want to upset you but he can’t risk turning his back and having the wolf on him. You squeeze his hand, eyes big and pleading as you stare up at him. Finally, he relents with a sigh, grip going lax on the handle of the revolver. 

You let out a breath of relief and he takes your hand in his, tugging you back a little. The wolf doesn’t feast on her kind, she just stands over him, lips curled back and ears pinned. You keep your eyes firmly on her as Arthur guides you both out of the clearing.

Once you’re safely out of earshot, Arthur starts grumbling under his breath. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he says vaguely. You frown and catch up with him, shrugging your shoulders in confusion. “There’s plenty of prey in the area,” he clarifies. “It shouldn’t be killin’ its own.”

You look over your shoulder, as though you might see the wolf again, but she doesn’t come back. “Maybe she had to,” you muse. “Maybe he had it coming.”

You don’t miss the odd look Arthur gives you and you don’t blame him. You don’t quite understand yourself sometimes. But you do know you were meant to see that. Whether as a reminder of your sin or a confirmation you did the right thing, you don’t know.

You’re crouched behind a fallen tree as Arthur shows you how to properly nock an arrow. A herd of deer graze along the grass only a few feet ahead. Arthur’s got his sights set on the biggest one and you can already feel your stomach squirming at the thought of watching the beast hit the ground. 

You’d just seen a wolf ripping another wolf to shreds, but the thought of a buck dying makes you nauseous. You need to get your priorities straight. 

Arthur lifts the bow and pulls the string back. He’s facing away from the herd for now, still trying to get you to understand the basics. “Alright, you want your arm level, one finger above the arrow,” he wiggled one of his fingers on the string and you smiled slightly, “two below.” He brought the bow back down and shrugged. “Ain’t too hard, you’ll have to get used to the effort of keeping the string back. Beyond that, point and shoot.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Well,” he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Nah, it’ ain’t that easy. You gotta consider the wind, how far the arrow needs to travel, and you gotta be steady.” He pauses and runs his tongue over his lips, struggling for words. You tilt your head in question, letting him find them. “You haven’t been steady in a while, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again. You’d be pleased if it weren’t for what he just said. “Steady?”

“Calm,” he clarifies. “You can’t even ride your horse.”

“I don’t like horses,” you try and defend yourself but it sounds weak, even to you. 

“You and I both know it’s not just that.” He moves a little closer. He leans over you, blue eyes imploring you to just tell the truth. You want to, every part of you is screaming just to give in, but you can’t. 

“Arthur, not now, please,” you’re practically begging. You can’t meet his eye any longer, looking at the ground instead and praying he just drops it. 

He lingers behind you for a moment longer before letting out a low breath. “Alright, fine. We’ll just hunt. I mean it, though, eventually you’ll just have to let go of whatever it is that’s buggin’ you.”

That won’t be happening anytime soon, but there’s no point in telling him that. Instead, you turn back to the herd of deer. It’s thinned slightly, a few of them having run towards the fields beyond. But the big one remains, antlers decorated with moss as he cranes his lithe neck for a drink in the river. 

Arthur passes you the bow and you shoot him a concerned look. “Just give it a try, like I showed you.” When you don’t move, he wraps his palms around yours and forces the bow and arrow into your hands. He lifts them, leveling your arm with your chin and pulling it back until the string is just by your ear. “Come on, you’ve got it,” the whispered instructions should have you melting into him but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to loose the arrow. 

Your arms drop to your sides and you shake your head. “I can’t,” you utter, sounding completely defeated. “I can’t shoot.”

Arthur mistakes your reluctance for insecurity and smiles slightly. He slips behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and lifts your hands again. “‘Course you can,” he encourages. “I’ll help you.”

Once more, he guides you into the right position. Except, this time, he doesn’t let go. He keeps his palms firmly wrapped around your fists and guides you until your aim is just right. He waits for the breeze to stop blowing, forcing you to keep your tight grip even as your bicep begins to tremble with strain. 

“Hold on,” he mutters, eyes narrowed as he focuses on the buck. Your heart kicks up a beat the longer you watch it move. As much as you’d like to relax into Arthur’s warmth, you can’t. You’re watching this animal move and live its life. And you’re about to kill it like it’s nothing. What right do you have to claim it’s blood?

“There,” Arthur lets you go before you can stop him. Your hands naturally follow his guidance and the arrow whistles through the air. The deer notices it too late. You can hear the thud as it embeds into his neck. It lets out a loud, dying, bleat that alerts the rest of the herd of danger. They jump around for a moment before racing off. 

Your arms sink to your sides and Arthur squeezes your shoulders. “There ya go! Told you, you could do it!” He grins down at you, waiting for you to celebrate along with him. You can’t, all you hear is that awful noise the animal had let out as you killed it. 

Arthur pauses, finally seeing the downtrodden expression on your face. “Hey,” he cuts himself off as the first tear falls. You can’t help it. It’s like a dam has burst with that deer’s death. You crumple into yourself, hands rubbing your eyes raw as you try and stem the tears. “Dammit,” he hisses, “how do I keep doin’ this?”

You laugh wetly at that, sniffling as you wipe your nose against your sleeve. “It’s not you,” you promise him. 

“Then what’s wrong?” His voice has lost any tenderness it once held. It’s rough, and commanding, as he tries to force some answers out of you. You don’t blame him for being upset. He’s right, you really aren’t steady right now. 

“I can’t-”

He cuts you off with a rough shake of his head. His hands find their way on your shoulders and he forces you to turn towards him. You try and slip out of his grip but he grabs your chin and ticks your face up. “Look, I know you and Charles are hidin’ somethin’. I may be a fool but I’m not blind. I’ve also never seen someone cry so hard over a damn deer. You gotta give me somethin’ here.”

You can’t tell him the truth, you know that much. Besides, you’d be implicating Charles in your crime as well. You don’t need to drag him down along with you. But Arthur seems so desperate. You know, deep down, that all he wants is to help, to finally get you to stop crying. And you suppose you owe him something after breaking down on him so many times. 

“I did something,” you whisper, staring down at your hands and for a moment seeing blood on them. “Something awful, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be forgiven for it.”

Arthur’s brows furrow and he rubs the back of his neck. “Forgiven by who?”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t ask what you did. You know he’s used to all sorts of awful things in his life. You suppose he probably thinks your definition of awful is simply killing a deer- not the man you’d promised the rest of your life to. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug and attempt to collect yourself. “God. Myself. I feel like I’m tainted,” you clench your hands shut and take in a shuddering breath. “Like I’ll never be able to cleanse myself of this.”

Arthur’s silent for a while and you worry that you’ve lost him. There’s a shuffle of feet and you force yourself to finally look up. 

Arthur's eyes soften with concern, but his face is still tainted with a slight suspicion. “Look, I don’t know what happened and I won’t pry. But you’re a good person. I haven’t known you very long,” he amends, a little sheepishly. “But I know you well enough to see just how kind you are. There’s a lot of good inside of you. A lot more than what’s left in me or any of the rest of the gang.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear, and offer him a shaky smile. “You sell yourself too short, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man, one of the finer ones I’ve met, that’s for sure.”

You swear you almost see a blush on his cheeks as he looks away. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. Can’t seem to stop makin’ you cry, anyway.” You laugh a little at that and he finally looks at you again. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out, “Come on, it’ll be dark soon, we gotta get a move on.”

You nod, slipping your hand in his and letting him help you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of you right away, instead, he lets you lean on him as he leads you forward. You appreciate his strength and, as selfish as it is, you relish in the feeling of his body against yours as you walk together. 

You try not to think of his lady or your husband or even the dead buck ahead of you. Instead, you hold onto Arthur’s words. If he believes there’s good left, then maybe there is. 

Arthur told you the ride back would be too long and that you probably wouldn’t do well with Lady at night. You’re sure he’s right but part of you thinks he’s just not ready to be back at camp yet. You can’t blame him, you’re not either. 

It’s nice to get away from the noises of others. Surrounded by the tranquility of nature is the sort of calming environment you need right now. You hadn’t realized just how frayed your nerves had been until you broke down on Arthur for the second time. 

Arthur finally gets the tent set up and comes to sit beside you on the ground. You throw another branch onto the fire and watch as the sparks float up towards the stars. You don’t know why the thought of his woman flits into your mind again. It could be because of how close you both are or simply because she’s lingered in your thoughts since you discovered her. 

You find yourself prying into a man you’re sure would be happier left alone. “How do you think your lady would feel about you sitting so close to me?” You try to give him a teasing smile but you know it only seems strained. 

Arthur’s face drops before it pinches quickly in confusion. He lets out a very ungraceful, “Huh?” And you can’t help but snort slightly in laughter. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout woman?” He demands, turning towards the fire and tossing some more sticks on it. 

“The woman in Valentine,” you clarify, still laughing a little. “Oh, I’m sure you remember abandoning me in town for her,” you remind him airily. He lets out a heavy sigh but you keep on. “Doubt she’d appreciate us being so close.”

“No,” he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a sardonic smile. “She wouldn’t, but it don’t matter much now. We haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh,” you keep your face schooled but there’s a little bit of giddiness bubbling in your gut. But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you leave me in town alone to go be with her all day  if you’re not together?”

“I-” he starts and stops himself a few times before giving you a defeated shrug. “Suppose I owe her. I dragged her down into this life, tainted her with my love, I guess I owe her a few favors.”

“Tainted her?” You scoff and wave him off. “I doubt a day goes by where she doesn’t count herself lucky to have been loved by you.”

His face takes on that familiar flush you saw earlier. It could easily be dismissed as heat from the fire but you know better. He’s not used to such blatant honesty, especially not when it compliments him. “Really?” He scoffs and shakes his head. You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s going to say. 

“I doubt it,” he drawls, rubbing the back of his neck with a stubborn refusal to meet your gaze. You know it’s only because he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth staring back at him. “What about you then, what about your husband?” He easily deflects, throwing you for a curve as you rip your eyes off him. 

You focus on the flames of the fire until it makes your eyes burn. You know he doesn’t know anything about the truth, but you still have to be careful about what you accidentally let slip. “Oh,” you let out a short dismissive chuckle. “Neither of us were lucky. Certainly not me.”

“Why not?” Arthur sounds genuinely curious, not the sort of patronizing inquisitiveness you’ve heard from others in camp. You realize that you’ve not talked about your marriage much. You’ve done your damn best to keep it off the minds of everyone in camp. Starting a new life means not constantly dredging up the old one. But you suppose you owe Arthur just a little bit of honesty. 

“He never loved me the way a man is supposed to love his wife. I count myself lucky to have gotten away from him.”

“He wasn’t kind to you?” Arthur asks, but you both know the answer. 

You finally let your gaze drift off the fire and shake your head. “Not in any aspect of the word. The only part of our marriage that was real was the papers. And now he’s lost and so are they.” You suck in a deep breath and force a smile, turning to face him once more. “I’m finally a free woman.”

Arthur meets your eyes with a startling intensity. There’s something pinched on his face, a thought that’s just taking too long to form. You see the internal battle with himself as he debates whether or not to open his mouth. Your fingers dig into the softened material of your pants, fidgeting as you wait restlessly for his question. 

“Would you ever want that again?” He asks slowly. “Not marriage, but to be with someone like that.”

You look off to the edge of the clearing you’re camping in. The trees provide you both with a thick cover, the tips of them nearly reaching the stars. You’re used to a clear view like this from your home in the mountains. But you never realized just how much you were missing being locked up in that house. There are so many things you thought you’d never have the chance for, so many new opportunities to make. 

“I used to think to myself that if I ever got away from him, I would never be involved with a man ever again.” You wonder if you make up the way his shoulders stiffen slightly. “I had thought they were all just as cruel, just as useless as he was.” His gaze rips away from you and he stares pointedly towards the wildflowers in front of you. You let out a breathy laugh and lean back on your hands, shrugging. “I’m starting to think I might have been wrong.”

Arthur turns towards you and you wonder if you’re imagining the hope in his gaze. Is it just a projection of your own wishes, or is it the truth? “What about you?” You deflect, not willing to hold the weight of the conversation anymore. 

“With the right person. With someone who understood that this is just who I am.” Someone who won’t try to change him, you finish his unspoken thought and nod your head. He hesitates for a moment on his next question. “You think you’ll ever find the right man?” You feel your cheeks pull up unwittingly. Your fingers drift across the grass, just barely brushing against his. He doesn’t pull away from you or frown at the touch. Instead, you feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand. “I think I might be starting too.”

Next Part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea

[moonlightkitties]

Van der Linde Gang boys when you fall asleep on their shoulder.

Gang Members: Arthur Morgan, Bill Williamson, John Marston, Dutch Van der Linde, Kieran Duffy, Sean MacGuire, Micah Bell, Charles Smith.

Arthur Morgan

Doesn't try to move you. He's glad you feel safe enough to fall asleep on him. His cheeks are most definitely red but at least no one can notice because of the fire.

Bill Williamson

Like Arthur, he doesn't try to move you, he will wrap his arm around your body and move you closer towards him though. His big body and the campfire help you warm up and stay asleep.

John Marston

He tenses up once he feels your head fall on his shoulder and he does try to move you but when you grumble and tell him that you're comfortable, he stops. He relaxes once he realizes there's no way he's getting out of this without waking you up and he really doesn't want to live with the consequences.

Dutch Van der Linde

Gets really cocky once you fall asleep. Will sit their with the smuggest face and puff out his chest a little. He thinks that this is a sign of his authority and control, as if you’re so comfortable around him that you trust him completely. Deep down though, he is glad that you really trust him enough to lean on him.

Kieran Duffy

Face becomes completely red it looks like the campfire gave him third degree burns. Tenses up and moves around a little until he realizes that you're fast asleep and comfortable so he stops. He relaxes into you and accidently falls asleep with you and gets made fun of by Sean and Bill.

Sean MacGuire

Like Dutch, he gets cocky as well. He'll crack a few jokes about how you think he's "so irresistible" that you fall asleep on him. Secretly, though, his very nervous about waking you up and a little bit protective that he wraps an arm around you.

Micah Bell

He's immediately uncomfortable. He's not used to someone, especially someone like you, getting close to him (he's not used to close contact anyways). Still, he doesn't want to wake you but you can be sure he is going to tease and act upset with you when you wake up.

Charles Smith

Isn't surprised at all and doesn't mind. He knew you were exhausted with the weight Grimshaw and Dutch were putting on you so he let you sleep. He'll position himself to where you're more comfortable and even carry you back to your tent when you're deep asleep.

[hihomeghere]

Gloves | John Marston / Reader

Word count : 2.2k Summary : John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves Warnings/tags : cursing, blow job, piv, creampie, cowgirl, reader is female

John felt like a damn fool. His hungry eyes followed you around camp. It’s not like you’re walking around in your bloomers for god's sake. You’re fully covered, other than your shoulders, the sleeves of your dress resting on your biceps. You were getting ready to go on a job with Hosea, a rich dinner party he somehow weaseled his way into.

You were the best pickpocket in the gang, the best woman pickpocket anyway. You were acting as Hosea’s daughter, a debutante.

And shit you were playing the part. You were gorgeous, looking like a lady of high society. Part of him wondered if you could have had the life you were pretending to have. If you hadn’t fallen in with the gang, maybe you’d have gotten adopted by some rich folks. Instead of sleeping on cots you’d have a soft warm bed, maybe even servants to look after your needs. These thoughts cause a knot to form in his stomach, knowing he could never give you that life. The soft ringlets Mary Beth had styled fell down your shoulders gracefully as you walked towards the coach.

And those white gloves. Those damned white gloves.

They were only gloves for Christsake, they weren’t anything special. But he couldn’t help the tent growing in his jeans, he was sure there would be a permanent dent in them once he got them off. His face was burning, his eyes glancing around camp making sure no one noticed his… condition.

You were so elegant, pure. He wanted to ruin you, devour you, make you scream and cry under him. He ran his hand through his hair, he needed to get a hold of himself. You were his partner, not some doe eyed socialite. Although you did play the part well.

“Oh Marston.” You called, your hand on your hip as you stood in front of the stagecoach. That corset Tilly had squeezed you into was doing wonders for your silhouette, although he knew it must be uncomfortable. He got up, quickly adjusting himself before walking over to you. “Won’t you help a lady into her coach?” You asked in a soft voice, an air of sophistication in your tone.

“Now I don’t think you would qualify as a lady.” He teased, his eyes raking over you. You could feel the heat from his stare, washing over you in waves.

“Just help me in.” You said, raising an eyebrow, offering your hand to him, your other lifting up the edge of your dress.

Christ Almighty. John gulped, taking your dainty gloved hand in his own, the silky fabric soft against his calloused hands. “Thank you sir.” You giggled sitting down in the coach, leaning out of the window to press your lips against his scarred cheek. He covered up his breath hitching with a cough, nodding as he stepped back from the coach.

“You stay safe now.” He said putting his hands on his hips, not daring another glance lest he blow his load right here.

“Always am.” You chuckled as Hosea moved past John, sitting across from you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her.” He teased smirking at you.

“I know.” He nodded, turning on his heel and walking back to his tent.

-

You and Hosea returned to camp with your pockets full. A successful haul between the two of you.

“Always a pleasure to work with you, miss Y/n.” Hosea said, helping you out of the coach. A broad smile splitting his face. “I’d have to say the same, Mr. Matthews.” You chuckled, letting out a small sigh as you stretched your back. Your eyes scanned the camp, looking for a certain member of the gang.

You hadn’t been able to get him off your mind all night. Wishing he was the one taking you to a stupid frilly party. The amount of times you had imagined him whisking you off to one of the private rooms. Especially after the look he gave you before you left with Hosea.

You could see John standing by your shared tent, his eyes just as dark and lustful as they were when you left.

“Hey there.” You smirked walking over to him, wrapping your arms sweetly around his neck. His breath hitched in his throat, you raised your eyebrow inquisitively, a small smirk on your lips.

“I missed ya,” He mumbled, with a small shrug, his eyes looking everywhere but your own.

“I wasn’t gone that long.” You chuckled, your white gloves threading through his hair. He let out a low groan as you tugged lightly at his raven locks.

“Corset bothering you?” He asked breathlessly, his hand trailing up your back.

“A little.” You nodded, seeing through his fake concern.

“Let me help you, yeah?” He asked so sweetly, turning you around in his grasp. His hand never strayed from your lower back as he led you into the tent, pulling the canvas flaps down.

You smirked, knowing exactly where this was headed. He would lay you down on the cot, slot his head between your thighs until you were crying out for him. Then, and only then, would he finally relent. Giving you exactly what you needed.

You didn’t know whether it was the adrenaline from the successful haul, or the way he had been eyeing you. Either way, you were practically drooling at the thought of his cock. You wanted- no needed to suck it. You turned in his grasp, before his deft fingers could pull free the laces from their knot. You pushed him back onto his cot, the back of his knees hitting the edge. He sat, looking up at you with his crooked, almost nervous, smile.

“Whatchu think you’re doing?” He asked, lowering his voice.

“Taking care of you, Marston.” You cooed, your hands gripping his thighs. He let out a shaky breath as you lowered yourself to your knees. You made sure to move your dress, as to not get it dirty. It was a beautiful gown, you didn’t want to tarnish it. Your knees hit the boar skin rug as you looked up at John. His boyish grin was long gone, replaced by the smirk of a hungry wolf.

You moved to take off your gloves before he stopped you.

“Those stay on.” He whispered, his eyes boring into yours.

“Yes sir.” You said softly, wetting your lips. You moved your hands to his belt, the buckle clinking as you threw it aside. His breath hitching as your hand brushed against his hardened bulge. You raised your eyes to meet his, feigning innocence as long as you could. You unbuttoned his pants pulling him out of his work jeans. His cock bounced against his stomach, he hissed in pleasure as you grasped him in your hand. His hands gripped the sides of the cot, already so sensitive when you had barely touched him.

“Let me take care of you cowboy.” You chuckled. He rolled his eyes at the tease before they went wide as you spread his precum over his head, effectively ruining your white gloves.

“Fuck darlin-“ He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Feel good honey?” You whispered, your eyes flicking back up to him.

“Real good, feels real good.” He mumbled, his tongue wetting his lips.

You smirk, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he looks down at you, biting his lip to try and keep quiet. You lick the tip, swirling your tongue around before diving into the slit on his head.

“Fuck-“ He groaned, his hand coming to the back of your head. Gripping your hair tightly at the base of your skull. You grinned as you took him into your mouth, breathing slowly out your nose as you slid down. “Christ uh-“ He moaned as his head hit the back of your throat. Whatever you couldn’t take in your mouth you wrapped your hands around. You started bobbing your head, hollowing out your cheeks as John made the foulest noises you had ever heard. He was trembling under you, his hands twitching against the cot. His hips stuttered up into your mouth, making you gag around his cock, an obscene sound.

“Shit- sorry darlin-“ He whispered, you swallowed around him, your throat constricting around his cock. You pulled off of him with a wet pop, smiling up at him.

This was more like it, he loved that sweet ‘pure’ side you fronted, but this was who you truly were. A surge of pride ran through his chest, knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this. Your pupils blown with lust, precum and spittle dripping down your chin. He gathered the liquid onto his thumb, swiping it off of your chin. Your mouth opened obediently, taking his thumb in your mouth and sucking, hard.

“Gonna kill me one day, darlin’.” He choked, his jaw hanging open as he stared down at you.

“Oh I ain’t done yet.” You smirked standing up, you hooked your fingers in the waist band on your bloomers pulling them down. “I’m an honest girl, I wouldn’t leave you high and dry.” You lifted up the front of your dress, showing your bare mound off to John. His hands immediately flew to your waist, pulling you forward onto his lap. You bit your lip, batting your eyelashes at him as you rubbed yourself against him. The head of his dick catching your clit as you let out a low moan.

“Stop teasin’ woman.” John grunts, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you were sure they’d leave bruises. You smirked, raising yourself off his lap. You reached between the two of you, positioning his cock against your entrance. You lowered yourself slowly, feeling each and every inch until you were flush with his pelvis. You both let out soft moans as you sank down on him.

You started to move, grinding your hips into his, your clit brushing up against his pubic hair. Eliciting a high pitched whine from your mouth.

“Shit darlin-“ John choked, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress.

You began to bounce on his cock, John’s hands moved to your ass, his fingers dimpling the flesh of your cheeks.

“Who’s ngh the cowboy now?” He whispered breathlessly, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Your legs were shaking as you continued to ride him, his hips raising to meet every one of your thrusts.

“Mmm John.” You hummed, biting your lip to keep quiet.

“Christ almighty.” John whimpers, his head falling into the valley of your breasts. He sucks at the curve of your tits, leaving marks everywhere visible. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” He groans into your chest. Your legs burn, but there is no way you’d stop now. Not when John is a whimpering mess under you.

“Shit-“ You huffed, feeling that familiar coil tighten in your stomach. His cock rubbing up against that delicious spot inside of you.

“You gotta- fuck- stop squeezing me like that.” He muttered, squeezing your hips, rutting up into you like a damn dog in heat. You hang on for dear life, your hands gripping his shoulder as he pounds up into you. His hands moved to where the two of you connected, rubbing against your bundle of nerves. An electric shock ran up your spine, a sharp gasp leaving your lips.

“Atta girl.” He smirked, a satisfied smile on his lips. It was like you were thrown under water, everything went quiet as white hot pleasure shook through your body. Your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You bit down on your lip, trying to silence your moans.

“I’m not- I’m not gonna-“ He huffed, thrusting up into you.

“Let go.” You said breathlessly, your body going limp above him.

“Where?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“Inside, cum inside me.” You knew it wasn’t exactly smart, but damn it you needed to feel him. It was like you had triggered something animalistic inside him. He snarled, his hips lifting up off the cot as he pounded into you. No longer caring about your pleasure, just chasing his own high.

“God damn-“ He groaned, slamming you down once more on his hips. His orgasm triggered by your own as you clamped down on him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

You sighed, laying your head on his shoulder, still feeling his pulse inside of you. Your chest rising and falling against his own. His hands moved to your corset, unlacing it for you.

“Thanks.” You giggled, feeling the corset loosen around your chest.

“Mmhm.” He hummed, kissing your shoulder. He reached for your hand, pulling off your gloves. He leaned back, tucking them into his back pocket.

“Is that,” You chuckled breathlessly, “Is that what started this?” You asked looking up at him. His eyes widened, coughing as he looked to the side. His cheeks are going bright red under your interrogation.

“Nah,” He said, shaking his head, a nervous smile on his lips.

“Mmhm,” You hummed, kissing his cheek, “Your secret is safe with me.”

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 2: CHARLES SMITH, THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 

synopsis: charles makes sure you're getting on okay as you continue to try to evade arthur (poorly, might i add).

word count: 3k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: i almost leaked this to my classmate when sending her a link. nearly shat myself but we're all good this is all still under wraps

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Charles was right. Even though you want to help, there’s really nothing to do besides hunt – and the good Lord knows you’re useless when it comes to that.

For the last day or so, you’ve just been hanging around the garage-made-kitchen. Even though Javier told you you weren’t intruding (and that “everyone needs shelter”), you feel like you are. It’s not a good feeling. So you stayed outside, in the company of a man who introduced himself as Simon Pearson and the camp cook, Charles, and occasionally Javier when he found the time to swing by. 

A fair few people have introduced themselves as well – Hosea Matthews, Bill Williamson, Lenny Summers, Reverend Orville Swanson, Leopold Strauss (who just oozed sleaze), Miss Karen Jones, Miss Tilly Jackson, Miss Mary-Beth Gaskill, and little Jack alongside his mother, Miss Abigail Roberts. Those who didn’t directly introduce themselves to you were pointed out by Karen and you were given a run-down on them.

So far, these are the people as you know them: Missus Sadie Adler is a grieving, skittish widow. Uncle is a lazy sack of shit. John Marston is better at being wolf food than being a father. Miss Susan Grimshaw is stubborn (but caring – somewhat like how neighborhood mamas care). Miss Molly O’Shea has a stick so far up her ass she spits splinters when she talks. The man tied up in the barn, Kieran Duffy, is an O’Driscoll (or ex-O’Driscoll, if what he insists is true is really true). Oh – and the blond man that punched Bill? That’s Micah Bell: a man with the eye of a viper tasting the air and the nose of a shark waiting for blood in the water. From what you’ve deduced, his general vibe is “I would take sexual relationship advice from Bill Cosby if given the chance.”

All in all, a healthily diverse group of people – even if the traits that make them diverse aren’t all that desirable. (Mostly Micah’s. Especially Micah’s.)

But Charles is nice enough. So you’ve stuck with Charles. Even if you need to hang around Pearson to hang out with him. Pearson isn’t an intrinsically bad guy, just… a little off-putting.

Right now, you’re able to put your hands to use by opening canned vegetables and putting them in the cauldron-looking pot Pearson has for rabbit stew. Across the table, Charles is butchering and deboning a rabbit as best he can with his injured hand. You try your best to keep your eyes on the cans of carrots and celery you’re opening. 

There’s footsteps. You glance up. It’s Arthur. You look back down. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Pearson gripes to no one in particular. 

You watch Arthur approach the fire and he holds his hands out towards the coals in your peripheral vision. He shakes his head. “Ah, we’re okay.”

“We have a few cans of food and a rabbit. For, what – ten, twelve people?” Pearson gestures over to where you and Charles are working. “Even more with them and that widow.”

Despite yourself, you can feel the tips of your ears start to burn. What do you have to be embarrassed about? Needing to eat? If anything, Pearson should be the one feeling embarrassed for talking about you in front of you. Yeah… that’s it. 

Pearson continues. “When I was in the Navy…”

Arthur immediately interrupts him. “I – I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mister Pearson.”

And yet, he keeps going despite Arthur’s protest. “We were stranded at sea… for fifty days.”

“And you, unfortunately, survived,” Arthur drawls. 

You glance up at him from underneath your eyelashes and smile. His eye catches yours, and your gaze drops, as does your smile. Instead, you work on getting your finger under the tab of a can of chopped onions – which is hard, considering the thickness of your gloves.

You feel Arthur’s eyes leave you and let out a soft sigh of relief that clouds in front of your face. Charles holds out his knife to you. You tip the top of the can towards him, and he wedges the (bloody – ew) blade of his knife underneath the tab and opens it. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You clench your jaw when you feel Arthur’s eyes on you again – yes, very briefly, but still. You can count the number of times you’ve made eye contact with him on one hand, and you don’t want to add to that total. 

Thankfully, Pearson seems ignorant to your plight and continues complaining. “When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in!”

“Well, when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short,” Arthur snaps. “We’ll survive. We always have. And if needs be, we can eat you – you’re the fattest.”

You bite your lip to suppress a laugh and clear your throat to mask any noise you might’ve made. You pour the onions in the pot and glance at the rabbit carcass, now carved up and stripped of meat.

“Damn, there’s nothing left on that thing,” you say. “You’re good at that.”

Charles nods in response. “If you’re done, you can put it on the fire.”

You lift the pot with a grunt – it’s heavier than you expected, but nothing you can’t handle. You move over to the coals and hang the pot on a hook over the fire while Pearson and Arthur continue talking. 

“I sent Lenny and Bill hunting, and they found nothing,” Pearson says. 

“Well, Lenny’s more into book learnin’ than huntin’,” Arthur says. You perk up at that. “Bill’s a fool. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain’t no wonder they haven’t found –”

“Enough of this,” Charles interrupts. Even though his voice is relatively quiet and deep, it still cuts through whatever Arthur was planning on prattling on about. “We’ll go find something. Come on, Arthur.”

“Well, take them.” Arthur gestures vaguely in your direction. “Since they seem so keen on helpin’ out, and all.”

“I, um…” You shake your head. “No, thanks.”

“They don’t even know how to hold a rifle correctly,” Charles says. (His bluntness stings a little, but it’s true. You know how to hold a handgun, but not these old-timey types.) “If they knew how to hunt, we would’ve gone already.”

Arthur sighs and shrugs. “If you insist.”

“Wait a second, hold on.” Pearson hurries over to the table you and Charles had been working at earlier. He pulls out a can from the small pile you had organized and tosses it to Arthur. “You’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

“Hm… “assorted, salted offal”,” Arthur reads off the label. He levels Pearson with a dead stare. “Starving would be preferable.”

You stifle a laugh and, again, clear your throat.

“Come on, let’s go,” Charles says, adjusting the bandage on his hand. 

“You can’t go huntin’,” Arthur says. “Look at your hand.”

“I can’t stay here listening to you two,” Charles says. He gestures to you without looking at you. “The conversation they make is tolerable, but, again, they can’t hunt. Look, if there’s game in those hills, I’ll find it – and you can kill it.”

“You need to rest, Charles,” Arthur insists.

“You think this is rest?” Charles’ face twists into a scowl, then he turns and walks towards his horse with a “Come along.”

Arthur scoffs under his breath and his eyes flick to you. You do your best to suppress the temptation to duck away from his gaze, as piercing as it is. You win, and he looks away, following Charles to the hitching post. They quickly mount up and ride out.

You draw your shoulders up to your ears and shudder. When Pearson shoots you a questioning glance, you excuse it with “What? It’s cold.”

When a few seconds have passed, you roll your shoulders back. You settle down on the chair that’s inside the kitchen, just watching a few late, fat snowflakes fall outside.

After a good ten minutes of watching Pearson and playing with your hands, you figure he’ll be fine on his own and wander out along the footpaths in the snow. You find who you’re looking for quickly. 

Lenny gives you a polite nod as you stand across from him, the fire on the ground separating you two. He has a rifle – the sight of which doesn’t surprise you as much as it first did – and he settles the butt of the gun in the inner corner of his elbow. 

“You’re Lenny, right?” You try. 

“Yeah. And you’re…” Lenny gives your name. You nod in response.

“I just…” You clear your throat and bat away the embarrassment and anxiety that’s creeping up on you – something that always comes with approaching strangers. “Arthur mentioned that you like books. I, uh… I read, too. Sometimes.”

“Really?” Lenny says. “What kinda books have they got out in the Mojave?”

You look down at the fire and think, trying to come up with some excuse and build your backstory. “We don’t have a lot of books – I live in a pretty isolated part of the desert. But there’s traders, and they bring medical books, and a few storybooks. I like the medicine books they bring. You?”

Lenny seems to hesitate for a moment. “Poetry.”

“Poetry?” You hum. “Huh. Poems are nice.”

There’s a lapse in conversation. You don’t know how to fill it. You say the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Micah’s kinda a prick, right?” You blurt out. 

Your eyes snap up to Lenny’s face. He’s surprised, but his face quickly melts into a smile and he laughs. You feel the coil of anxiety in your stomach loosen. 

“Why, I didn’t expect you to come out and say it,” he says. “But your assessment is correct.”

“Yeah, sorry.” You laugh nervously, your eyes falling to the fire again. “I just get bad vibes from the guy.”

“Bad vibes?” Lenny echoes. 

The coil is tight again. You think for a moment. “Uh, yeah. One of the tribes I live with believes in, um… vibrational energy, that kinda thing. When you look at someone and you get a bad feeling without knowing them that well, they give you bad vibes.”

“Hold on,” Lenny says. “Vibrational energy?”

You nod and continue to pull things out of your ass and curse Lenny for being scholarly. “Yeah. Life… um, well. I don’t remember the explanation too well. But I remember White Bird – the Sorrows’ shaman – saying…”

You tilt your head and look to the side and think for a moment.  “He said, “All life is music – all music is rhythmic – all rhythm is life.” And that somehow relates to vibrations. I don’t know, you seem smart. Maybe you can understand what he was talking about.”

“Well, I don’t know what it means, but it sure sounds pretty,” Lenny says. 

“They’re good people,” you say. “Maybe you’d like to meet them someday – if you’re ever so far west you’re in the desert, I mean.”

Why the fuck did I say that?! You curse yourself in your head. They’re not real! The Dead Horses and the Sorrows and Joshua Graham and Daniel are all made up! They’re fictional characters –

“I don’t know, maybe,” Lenny says. “For now, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be goin’ that far.”

You hum and pretend to act disappointed while you fight the urge to crumple in on yourself in relief. “That’s a shame. I’m sure you’d like them. They’re interesting people, especially the Sorrows. Though, Joshua…”

You trail off as you check over your shoulder. Hoofbeats, you’re pretty sure. And you’re right – Arthur and Charles are riding back into camp, a dead, snow-dappled doe on the back of each horse.

“Brought some food back, boys,” Arthur calls.

They both hitch their horses at the post and hoist the limp does onto their shoulders, carrying them over to the kitchen. 

You look back at Lenny and jab a thumb over your shoulder at them. “Should we…?”

“I don’t think so,” Lenny says. “From what I seen, Arthur’s a butcher – a mean one, at that. I don’t think he’ll like it if his work’s disturbed.”

“That’s fair,” you hum. (Secretly, you want to thank Lenny profusely. You already know that Arthur’s a mean man – you don’t want to see him even meaner.)

You check over your shoulder again. From where you’re standing, you can see an old man has taken your seat in the kitchen, and you can hear Arthur giving him hell for whatever reason. What was his name again… Uncle, maybe?

Unfortunately, your staring caught Uncle’s eye. He beckons you over with a wave of his hand. You give Lenny a quiet, polite “See you later,” and head over, trudging through the thick layer of snow that’s settled on the ground.

“Yeah?” You nod at Uncle as soon as you step into the kitchen. You sidle up to the fire, warming yourself with the smoldering embers. 

“Thought it’d do Arthur some good to see the…” – Uncle waves you up-and-down – “…wonders some modernity will do you.”

“What? Modernity?” You repeat back. You tell yourself to calm down – you haven’t been found out. (Not yet.) “I’m far from modern.”

“Why, you’re perfectly modern!” Uncle says. 

“You don’t even know me.” You scoff and turn away. 

Your eyes catch Arthur wrapping wire around the back ankles of one of the doe corpses. He pulls it taut, then hooks both legs to the deer hoist. He lifts it with a grunt and puts the hoist on the hook sticking out of the wall. You avert your eyes before he turns around. 

“Well, I mean…” You shrug. “I guess I’m… sort of modern? But I don’t see any issue with what Arthur’s doing. He’s just hunting.”

Arthur’s eyes fly to you again when you say his name. You wish that the Spanish Flu had come sooner so you could wear a facemask to hide your pursed lips and clenched jaw. After a moment, he looks away.

“What a surprise,” Arthur drawls, “to find the camp rat loiterin’ around in the kitchen, chargin’ dimes for his thoughts.”

He pulls away from the deer hoist and walks over to the fire. He keeps a healthy distance, but you can still feel some sort of heat coming from him when he stands next to you. You guess a man that tall and broad would be a furnace in cold like this. 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Uncle asks. “I feel we haven’t spoken for days.”

“I do my utmost to avoid you,” Arthur retorts.

Charles approaches the fire, standing on your other side. He gives you a small look that says “Ignore them. They can, and will, go on for hours like this.”

Uncle looks over at you and laughs. “He loves me, really. It’s his… sad way of showing affection.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, it isn’t.”

You and Arthur turn to look at each other. You hadn’t meant to speak over him, and from the kind of-surprised look he’s sending your way, you think he didn’t mean to speak over you, either. You nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“It isn’t.” He turns back to face Uncle and waves a hand. “Now shoot, get lost.”

“Well…” Uncle shrugs and stands. “See y’all later.”

Pearson swipes a bottle from Uncle as he steps out. He then looks over at one of the deer. “See you got on just fine.”

Arthur nods toward Charles’ direction. “Charles is a wonder.”

“Have a drink, my friends.” Pearson holds out the bottle across the fire. “Ya earned it.”

Arthur takes the bottle after you wave it away. He takes a swig and sputters, coughing. “Jesus!” His voice cracks. “What is that?”

He passes the bottle to Charles, who sniffs the rim and takes a tentative sip. 

“Navy rum, sir. It’s the only thing – the only thing!” Pearson laughs as Charles hands the bottle back. “Keeps you sane, it does.”

“Yes, seems to have done a treat on you.” Arthur glances at Charles and waves a hand in his general direction. “You go rest that hand, Charles.”

“I’ll be fine in a few days,” Charles says. 

He makes eye contact with you and nods towards the cabins, indicating for you to follow. You do so while listening to Arthur and Pearson talk about skinning the deer. (And you hide a smile when Arthur asks Pearson if he gets to skin him, too. He’s mean, but at least he’s funny with it.)

“You settling in okay?” Charles asks when you’re in a somewhat secluded area. It’s not all that isolated, but it’s out of earshot for most people.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks. For… y’know. Not being a massive asshole about everything.”

“You’re lost,” he says. (You notice he leaves out the very obvious “and scared” he could’ve tacked on the end.) “And you need help. It would be cruel not to give it to you.”

Yeah, totally! You think to yourself. You’re literally one of the kindest people alive and I’m… what? A scumbag that’s taking advantage of you? Oh, it’s so sweet that you’re ignoring the blatant lies I’m throwing in your face! Thank you, Charles! Thanks a fucking million.

“Still. Thank you,” you say instead. “You could’ve easily kicked me out in the snow and left me to freeze.” 

“We could’ve.” Charles looks out at the horizon. The way he pauses almost makes you think he’s considering it. “But we didn’t.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

Apparently, he doesn’t feel the need to reassure you or continue the conversation at all. After a few moments, you awkwardly hook your thumb over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna, uh…” You nod. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you later?”

Charles is still looking out at the treeline, looking at the way the snow weighs down the leafless trees and the way even the smallest sound could disrupt everything. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

[but-a-humble-goon]

It feels so fucking weird that Rockstar of all studios somehow created one of the most subversive and well written female supporting characters in gaming's recent years.

Sadie's introduced, shall we say, exactly as you'd expect a woman to in these kinds of stories. She's a damsel in distress, horrifically victimized by a gang of violent thugs who the "heroic" Dutch gang demonstrate they are better men than by rescuing and comforting her then being motivated by her suffering into taking action to kill the guys who did this to her. And if that had been the last we'd ever seen of Sadie she would fit right in with so many women in the background of so many westerns.

Instead though, she sticks around for the whole story, learns the gun, eventually becomes one of the most reliably skilled (and unhealthily enthusiastic) killers in the gang and wreaks her own bloody path of vengeance against what's left of the O'Driscolls, mercilessly hunting them to the last man in a fashion so violent even the hardened lifelong criminals are a little taken aback.

Now that's already doing a lot to be subversive but I think the thing that most got me about her story is it avoids becoming straightforwardly a "good person becomes corrupted into a monster by trauma and violence" story. Sadie goes very, VERY dark sure and she even gets the Unforgiven/Shane ending where there's no going back from the killing for her. John Marston gets to go live a mostly peaceful domestic life on a ranch with his family (at least until RDR1 happens) but Sadie decides this is all she has left and becomes a bounty hunter

Despite all that though, Sadie Adler never really stops being a good person. At least good relative to RDR2 where everybody's a criminal and a murderer. She takes charge, saves the whole gang and holds them all together when things are at their worst and even when the chips are down and the gang turns on itself and begins to drown in its own blood she remains one of the real ones. She comes to be one of the last people Arthur can rely on in the world. She consistently protects the others and puts them before herself. She always helps without ever needing to be asked. She never leaves anybody behind.

Something that stands out to me is there's multiple times where she assertively protects the male protagonists. She orders Arthur to stay well behind while she goes in to save Abigail by herself because he's sick and she keeps trying to talk John into going home to be with his family because unlike her he has something to lose.

Basically Sadie Adler is great and I love her. She's so much more textured, nuanced and just plain awesome than we normally get especially in stories of this kind and her story is handled with an honestly shocking amount of sympathy that I have come to really not expect from Rockstar.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Van Der Linde Gang's Fav Body Part On Their S/O

(Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Dutch Van Der Linde, Kieran Duffy, Sean Macguire, Eagle Flies)

Warnings: NSFW

Arthur Morgan - I’m under the belief his favorite body part would be something non sexual. He’d probably like your hands the most. Hand holding, hand kissing, etc… Especially if your hands contrast his greatly; gentle and soft to his calloused and rough. He’d probably do that thing where you guys press hands up against each other and just be fascinated by the size difference. Also loves to hold hands when you fuck, makes it so much more intimate and gives him a sense of security. 

John Marston - Ngl he’s probably a tits man. But he's subtle about it. Will never outwardly say it but you would catch him staring at your cleavage, or even just the outline of your breasts if you're wearing something form fitting. Type of guy to hold one of your boobs while he falls asleep. Definitely wakes up with a boner. 

Javier Escuella - Strangely enough, your ears. Love nipping them or sucking on your lobes. Even as a joke he'll blow into them or squeeze your ears to get a reaction out of you. Especially loves whispering dirty things into your ears while y'all are in public, and even during sex he'll do it. 

Charles Smith - Your tummy! Loves smoothing his hand over it, and if he can, he'll love squeezing or holding it. Only if you allow him to of course. Whenever y'all have sex he will just look on in fascination, and if y'all are on your sides he'll hold it or wrap his arms around your midriff. Definitely presses down on it when he fucks you.

Dutch Van Der Linde - 100% a tits guy. And is very overt. Thinks he's slick but he ain't. If you're wearing something flattering that accentuates your breasts he'll say "You look lovely, my dear" while his eyes slowly drift to your cleavage. Type of guy to say "I like your necklace" as an excuse to stare. Also plays around them with near obsession whenever he can. And going back on the necklace thing, will buy them for you so he can disguise his staring with "admiring how beautiful it looks on you"

Kieran Duffy - He'd also like your legs, but more specifically, your thighs. Even as a non sexual thing, he'll use them as a pillow and sleep peacefully. Is very gentle with you, and even during sex he'll ask before he can even touch them. Likes to put a hand on your thigh if you're sitting next to each other, runs soothing circles on em, gives reassuring squeezes 

Sean Macguire - Legs. Literally turns into an animal whenever he catches even a GLIMPSE of your legs. And he will straight up tell you he is looking. Insists on changing with you all the time just to see em, and during sex he'll probably give you a full leg massage just so he can palm and grope at them. Grabs at your calves and moves all the way up to your inners thighs gripping with a near bruising force. 

Eagle Flies - Ass man. Idky I just get a feeling. And I can come up with so many funny scenarios because of it. In private will slap it every chance he gets, if you walk past, if you bend over, if it's up in the air while you're laying in bed. If you get mad he'll apologize shamefully. Also I can imagine in public he's been caught by Paytah or even caught by his dad staring at your ass while talking to someone. During sex he definitely gropes it all the time, you’re bruised like 24/7. He’d probably BEG to try anal ngl. 

[jellied-milk]

NSFW ALPHABET: JOHN MARSTON

MINORS DNI // 18+ ONLY

🍂

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

• a little quiet, using the moment to catch his breath and adjust himself.

• he’d probably clean you with the closest thing to him (his bandanna, whatever clothes surround you).

• will pull you under his arm and caress your waist while enjoying the silence.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

• John probably has low self esteem because of his scars so he doesn’t really think of himself as attractive.

• ( likes his hands and fingers when teasing you during foreplay: “ Hmm, this pussy gets so tight roun’ my fingers.” ).

• Your breasts!! no matter the size, shape, or color, he will definitely grab them any chance he gets.

• Loves to lay his head between them when you two are alone!!

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

• will definitely come close to cumming inside you sometimes.

• cums on your chest because he loves seeing his spend drip down your nipples, off your breasts, on your thighs.

• (^^ especially if you’re holding your breast and his cum gets on your fingers!!).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

• wants to cum inside because he wants to feel your pussy milk his cock while being fully wrapped in your warmth.

• LOVES when you beg and whine a little during sex. (when you say to him, “mmm, you’re so big inside me!!” , “oh John, please fuck me faster!).

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

• Yes, but I don’t think he’s very confident in his abilities.

• Learned through working girls in whatever town was closest to camp in his wild and adventurous youth. (obviously excluding Abigail from this)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

• The Pretzel Drip!!

• Fucking your leaking heat as you look in his eyes while he plays with your breasts, pinching your nipples.

• Spreads your legs wild open so he can lean over your body and nip on your nipples while fucking you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

• Probably starts with some snarky remarks that get outta hand between you two and he gets flustered then takes you somewhere more private.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

• probably average based on his hair length and stubble.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

• cautious and definitely waits for you to give him signals to keep going or stop, (especially when you guys first start sleeping together).

• focuses on you more during foreplay because he loves teasing you and gets a little pussy-drunk when inside you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

• Simple answer, no. John would probably wait until you two are alone.

• BUT… if you’re gone on a job or hunt and he’s been drinking that night??

• He’ll fantasize about you, thinking about your little noises and slick heat. Quickly snaps out of it and rushes to his tent. Palms himself before impatiently pulling out his cock.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

• Cockwarming: LOVES having you completely wrapped himself and feeling your wet pussy clenched down

• Teasing: not necessarily him making fun of you but more so YOUR reactions to him and what he says.

• Titjob: when he’s sitting down and you’re kneeling in front of him, jerking your breasts up and down his cock while lickin his tip, it will take everything in him not to bust.

• Exhibitionism: in the form of quickies in the sense that, if John sees a chance with you in an alleyway, secluded train car, or in the open woods.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

• In a real bed preferably at a hotel or cabin, so you guys can also be away from the gang for total privacy.

• (but if the opportunity presents itself, he’ll snatch it so damn fast).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

• Honestly, attention from you turns him on, ( gets in his own head and likes when you ground him).

• if you wear a shirt/dress with a low-cut or a few top buttons undone, he can’t help but stare before noticing he’s hard.

• When you’re a little mad because then when you two fuck, you’ll be on top and he’ll be playing with your breasts, (win-win in his eyes).

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

• Causing any pain to the point where it actually harms you (would feel very guilty and somewhat reclusive about sex until you reassure him).

• Anything that would de-masculine him, (because he’s a bit self conscious) so pegging or being tied up.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

• personally receiving because he loves it when your tongue twists around his shaft (thinks your mouth feels so nice and warm, and whines a little when he hits the back of your throat).

• If he’s giving then his tongue will go down to your opening and tease it then clamps his mouth around your clit, harshly sucking on it before devouring you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

• Usually faster because he gets off to your noises and breasts bouncing up and down. He works you open with fingers while teasing your clit, making sure you’re dripping before shoving his cock inside you and setting a quick rhythm.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

• happens when there’s a safe opportunity.

• he LOVES them because he can be in any mood and feel instantly better if he gets to feel you dripping down him.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

• With both your lifestyles, you two constantly are risking your necks, so I don’t think so.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

• He can last about 3-4 rounds before needing a break.

• Usually holds himself off and waits for you to finish at least once or twice before he cums.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

• it’s 1899, so no.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

• When fingering you, he LOVES to tease since he lives for the noises you make, the feeling of your hot, slick pussy between his fingers, your hands gripping his arm and blankets.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

• He really does try to be quiet when you guys are in camp.

• But alone: the sound of grunts, raspy pants and his teasing can be heard among you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

• Whenever you whine, sometimes John teases your moans with a “yeah?” In a deep raspy voice.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

• 7 ½ inches, average thickness with prominent veins

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

• Pretty average and would get higher after you guys are together.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

• Either stays awake longer than you do, thinking about you, whatever’s happening to the gang, or himself

• Or instantly curls beside you so he can feel your warmth and softness against him.

[arthursfuckinghat]

I'm not usually one for assigning songs to characters but The Ballad of Jesse James is so so so John Marston to me

"Well I tried my hand at working, but working’s not for me. So I left my wife and children in the state of misery. I went off to make my living for my daughter and my son, and I found an occupation at the wrong end of a gun."

"Lying here looking up at the cracks in the roof. Well I thought you were my friend, but I guess I was a fool. There’s no pain, only blood and the smoke from your gun, and I ain’t on the run anymore."

"I joined a band of brothers, and those brothers took my name. We were feared across the country as the gang of Jesse James. Some folks call me a hero but those folks don’t know me well. There’s no place for me in heaven, there’s no peace for me in hell."

"I thought you were my brother, but now its come to this"

[garfieldblunt]

My RDR Roman Empires

Kieran Duffy - He himself is a Roman Empire to me

Javier Escuella - Specifically his past and those very few years that the entire gang was separated. I can’t help but to imagine the emotional breakdown he must have had after the gang split up :(

Dutch’s downfall - I genuinely believe that the decent of his mental health started when he killed that woman in Blackwater… since the beginning, Chapter one COLTER, he was questioning Arthur’s loyalty

Molly O’Shea’s Death - More specifically the things she said before she died. She never ratted out the gang, she was just in love and wanted Dutch to finally notice her

Mary-Beth - The impact that Kieran’s death had on her more specifically. As a fellow Kieran lover, I can’t help but feel so bad for her loss

Arthur’s Death Animal - The stag and the black coyote have such deep meaning behind them and I can’t stop thinking about it, especially since I’m an Animal Science (Pre-Vet) Major, I might make an entirely new post about the stag and the black coyote

I always wonder if Dutch looked at a Stag or a Coyote as if it was Arthur following him around. A strange angel/devil situation

Lenny - He was only 19 :(

Micah Bell’s Past - I want to know more about him. This is controversial, but he is my favorite character. The way Peter Blomquist played him in RDR2 genuinely made me hate the character. He’s such a fantastic villain, and he is perfectly made to be hated

Bill’s crush on Kieran - He didn’t know how to flirt, he was just trying his best to get Kieran comfortable after tormenting him with his balls, I don’t think they would have been a healthy couple, but seeing Bill vulnerable and awkward around Kieran made me see him differently

Javier’s Haircut - I know it’s very insignificant in the games, but I can’t help but to imagine the song “Blue Hair” by TVGirl every time I think about Javier’s new look in RDR1

John Marston - His love for his wife and the love he had for Jack while progressing through RDR2. I could talk all day about John learning to love and play with Jack

That’s all for now :)

[scarfacemarston]

So I completed basically ever request in my ask box. 23 in the past week. I'm fine with doing it, but I'm very frustrated with this fandom not reblogging. Why is it so hard for so many people to do it?Do people think it would be embarrassing to have it on their blog? If I wrote it, then that proves that it's not too embarrassing for me to complete the request. It's the only way creators can spread their work around. If that's not something people are willing to do, at least LIKE the post if you've read it and liked it. No one will know about it. Most tumblr users are doing this for free. Engagement is our payment. It's so easy, but shouldn't be so hard to ask for. To my mutuals and all those who did like or reblog, thank you. You are what keeps this site going and makes creating worth it.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

If you combine the RDR2 epilogue with RDR1, while the series is still about John Marston’s redemption, the epilogue expands the scope by asking the question, “Can John put away his guns for good?”

Because the RDR2 epilogue was all about how John just couldn’t get away from gunfights. Although you can argue that he was pushed into those fights with the Laramies, you can also see Abigail’s perspective in that the fights were putting their family at risk. So, when Abigail leaves, John is forced to really consider if he can put the guns away for good. If he can actually pull off being a rancher. To his credit, he does try.

He gets the bank loan, he builds the house with Uncle and Charles, and he learns how to properly manage the property. Because of his efforts, Abigail and Jack come back. But even so, John just can’t put the guns away because he’s driven by revenge against Micah Bell. Although he gets his payback, he’s punished for it by Edgar Ross tracking him down. Ironically, karma bit both Micah and John here.

So, RDR1 continues the question of whether John can put the guns away for good. It’s here where he’s almost reached that point. But now, he’s being tested on whether he’ll be tempted back into a life of an outlaw, back into a life involving violence and danger. Despite everything that’s thrown his way, John continues his path of redemption/putting his guns away for good:

1) He’s put into the role of a lawman and is pitted against Bill’s gang, essentially forcing him to be on the other side of the outlaws’ violence against others. It’s through this that John swears off from the outlaw life for good, especially when he sees just how awful Bonnie MacFarlane and her family were treated.

2) Javier tries to use nostalgia of the “good ole days” to win John over. It doesn’t work since John doesn’t want the good ole days, especially since he has a bright future with Abigail and Jack. The Mexico arc was, in general, about torn loyalties. John was playing both sides of the war and Javier tried to sway John based on their past friendship. Despite this, John stays true to his convictions. He doesn’t want the life of an outlaw anymore, nor does he want to keep shooting people anymore (he even says he’s getting tired of pulling the trigger!), so he rejects the nostalgia of the old gang.

3) Dutch challenged John over his desire to change. Dutch believed change was impossible and that John would “always” be a gunslinger. He can’t be a rancher, it’s just not what nature intended. John, once again, sticks to his convictions. In fact, despite all of his anger towards Dutch, he refused to shoot him. John can shoot Bill and Javier, but it’s Dutch who he refuses to shoot. When I first played this, I thought it was his fondness over Dutch as his former leader. Now, I’m wondering if it’s also John trying to prove his point. That he CAN change, that he CAN put the guns away. So he does, even when he had Dutch cornered.

Then came the final challenge. Jack Marston brings up the topic of “the day John Marston stopped shooting”. What will it take? John finally does, but in more than one way. Obviously, he puts the guns away since he dies. But John could’ve easily escaped. We’ve done it as the player multiple times. But if he did, it would be a return to a life on the run, a life where Abigail and Jack would always be in danger. The same life that made Abigail take Jack and leave John in the RDR2 epilogue. Everything he’s worked for, all the progress he made in changing his life would be ruined.

So, John makes the hard choice. He sacrifices himself to ensure his family would be safe. He refuses to return to the outlaw life, to a life where he has to shoot at people, even if it means his death. And what is the last thing John does?

He throws away his gun.

[brujahinaskirt]

I love rdr2 for the little things--like how sleeping arrangements over time reflect narrative arcs and interpersonal decay (or bloom).

Just a really quick observation:

The most obvious and important sleeping change, I would argue, involves the Marstons. At the start of the game, John has abandoned and disavowed Abigail & Jack; they sleep on the ground in a flimsy shelter while he, the returning golden boy, sleeps in a bed under a comfortable tent. John's tent arguably affords the most privacy in the game, and this makes sense early on, when he's trying to maintain a distance between himself and everyone around him (especially his family, including Arthur). In Shady Belle, John has welcomed Abigail and Jack into his bedroom, and -- notably -- he sleeps on the floor this time. It's as much a signal of John's growth as a person who is allowing himself to be a little more reachable as it is a sign of his fledgling sense of regret and apology (for abandoning them in the first place), and it is a sign of him warming to the idea of Abigail and Jack as his family. But it doesn't happen all at once; Abigail and John still refuse to sleep beside one another. In the epilogue, as they actively attempt to rebuild their lives together, John and Abigail finally sleep side-by-side as a couple.

I read someone once point out that Uncle transitions from sleeping all over the camp, wherever he happens to pass out, to sleeping directly behind Arthur's tent in Beaver Hollow. This was so cleverly observed. What a powerful sign of the overall degradation of the character of the gang as Uncle (the character most representative of optimism and comfort) begins to fear for his safety and future enough to take physical shelter behind Arthur. What a note of confidence and clarity re: the true person Arthur is beneath the air of danger he has worn like a job title and a suit of armor. (I hunted for that original post to no avail; if it was yours, please let me know so I can link back to it!)

Molly & Dutch and the sliding divide. We start off with a present but muzzled level of friction between these two. Molly sleeps on the only bed in Dutch's lavish tent; Dutch sleeps beside her but... sitting up (haha okay very healthy)... because there's no room for Dutch and Molly. Later, Dutch commandeers the master bedroom at Shady Belle while Molly drunkenly collapses in an isolated place, usually by the kitchen window, blasted with light (see: truth) but far removed from the others, a reflection of her self-isolation and detachment from the gang and anyone who might be able to help her.

Dutch's tent gradually drifts farther away from the center of camp, at its maximum distance in Beaver Hollow. Micah, Cleet, and Joe linger closest to Dutch at this point, noticeably even more so than Javier and Bill.

The slow pull-apart of The Girls. Similar to Molly, after Sean's death, Karen can increasingly be found slumped over drunk in various locations at the periphery, semi-conscious. This is never more apparent than the Beaver Hollow era. Meanwhile, Mary-Beth and Tilly remain sleeping tightly next to one another, not far from Sadie.

God only knows where Micah sleeps.

(Might come back and expand this more later! But that's all she wrote, rushed, for now.)