#like arthur bill charles n micah

[miguel-owhora]

trans der linde gang agenda is sooo real. Arthur would 100%, without question, pummel anyone who so much as tries to misgender anyone in the gang. that is, if the others don't shoot them first.

What's worse, being beaten to death or to a brain dead state by Arthur, or being shot in the head by one of the other boys after you misgendered them? There's no correct answer, it's all euphoric to them.

Be trans, be queer, be outlaws.

[penisbutterjellytime]

If someones not on the poll add them in the tags / comments

[spongeyspot]

Toxic Traits/Red Flags HC

Characters: Arthur, Javier, John, Lenny, Dutch, Micah, Charles, Sean, Hosea, Mary Beth, Abigail, Tilly, Karen, Sadie, Molly

(A/N): WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT THIS DAWG. I LOVED @cowboyfromh3ll 's take on that shit sm and these hcs have literally been swimming in my head for weeeeeeeeks bro

Edit: some of these were kinda hard because there's not a lot of bad in the characters themselves... I had trouble with specifically Charles, Lenny, Mary Beth, and Tilly. Sorry if they may be OOC. IM EVEN DOING THE GIRLS BECAUSE IM IN A SILLY GOOFY MOOD

Content Warning: female reader, jealousy, self hate, narcissism, gaslighting, physical abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, mentions of murder and violence, mentions of infidelity, mentions of sex (Sean, Micah, Sadie kind of) (MINORS DNI)

Not edited btw

The boys

Arthur Morgan

- Honestly, I feel like Arthur would have this insane, crippling fear of rejection, especially when it comes to dating. - His self hate/deprecation plays a huge part in this, and quite honestly, him and Mary not working out probably also probably contributed to it. - Very emotionally distant. Has a hard time expressing his feelings openly due to that same fear of rejection.🚩 - Bottles shit up until he feels like he's gonna explode 🚩 - His impulse control is almost nonexistent 🚩 - Will resort to saying things that he doesn't even mean. He just says things when he's angry🚩 - Will hate himself even more if he makes you cry - Won't hesitate to run away from camp for a while to cool off. This isn't necessarily a bad thing per se, but he usually takes his time away to overthink the fuck out of everything - Prone to acting violent. (not to someone he cared about, but to other people, absolutely)Also due to his poor impulse control. 🚩

Javier Escuella

- Has a flirty personality, but around women, it just seems to get worse. 🚩 - Tells you you're overreacting if you tell him it bothers you🚩 - Overprotective of you. Always has his eyes on you, and practically orders you to stay in camp where it's safe. - As if you step one foot outside the camp without him, you'll spontaneously drop dead - Jealous asf. Are you laughing at what Bill just said? It wasn't even that funny. Why are you standing so close to him? You should be at least 6 feet away from him, not 5 and a half. 🚩 - Also has a problem with how you dress sometimes. God forbid your shirt is ever low cut. He'd probably ask you to change. 🚩 - And if you get offended or upset, he'll lie and tell you it's because he can't stop staring at your chest, and he'd like to focus of whatever it was he was doing.🚩

John Marston

- Stubborn as all hell. Doesn't listen to anybody for anything.🚩 - Commitment issues up the ass - Says mean things out of anger and sometimes actually means them 🚩 - Won't apologize half the time. He thinks kissing it better actually makes it better 🚩 - Regularly ignores his own bad habits instead of actually facing them 🚩 - Will run away from problems like Arthur, but worse. He'd be gone a really long time.🚩 - Gets annoyed with you if you get angry at him for leaving and staying away for a while. He told you he needed space, didn't he? What else do you need from him?? 🚩 - Ignorantly clueless half the time. Head empty, no thoughts.

Lenny Summers

- Not assertive in the slightest, and usually, respectfully, keeps to himself. -Takes orders without verbal complaints but inside he's annoyed as fuck 🚩 - Even if he hates doing something he'll probably just go "Okay" and do it anyway, and he'll sulk all day afterwards - Refuses to tell you what's wrong because he thinks he'll sound childish.🚩 - If you push the issue, he might snap at you out of annoyance like "Would you just let it be??" - Immediately feels guilty and shameful, and he'll hide away until he's ready to apologize and face you again - Also kind of a know-it-all... He'll correct you a LOT. It would get annoying 🚩 - Would blatantly tell you you're wrong before correcting you🚩 - Not necessarily an asshole about it but he still tends to get under your skin sometimes

Dutch Van Der Linde

- The BIGGEST Narcissist you'll ever meet.🚩 -He loses another piece of his mental state with every breath he takes. Slowly but surely losing his mind.🚩 - King of gaslighting🚩 - How could you even think that about him? He could never do anything wrong! You must be crazy...🚩 - Tries to recite his "pretty words" from Evelyn Miller to try and sound smarter than he actually is 🚩 - Expects you to just feed his ego without him actually doing anything to earn it🚩 - Will try to correct you even when he's wrong🚩 - Refuses to admit he's wrong. He can never be wrong. That word isn't even in his vocabulary unless he's talking about literally anyone but himself🚩

Micah Bell

- Where do I even start with this guy - Not above putting his hands on you if he doesn't get his way. Let's be honest here.🚩 - Mega Narccisist, almost as bad as Dutch 🚩 - Will brag and share every sexual encounter you've ever had with him like he's talking about the weather🚩 - VERY prone to Violence 🚩 - NO impulse control. Murders people for fun.🚩 - Backhanded and borderline abusive compliments 24/7 "You'd look so good if you weren't so fucking fat..." 🚩 - Selfish lover. Thinks just sticking it in will do the trick, and it does, for him at least.🚩 - Little to no affection. What are you? His girlfriend? Wait...🚩 -If he actually does show you affection, and you react in surprise, he'll tell you to go fuck yourself, and that that's the last time he ever does anything nice for you.🚩

Charles Smith

- Impossible to read sometimes - Like Arthur, Charles tends to keep a lot of his emotions bottled up until he feels like he's gonna pop 🚩 - Like most of the men in the Van Der Linde gang, Charles is also prone to acting violently. I mean, he started a bar fight with a fucking chair, and he fights in street fighting rings, let's be real for a second.🚩 - He's incredibly quiet and reserved a lot of the time, and sometimes you just assume that he's listening to you when you talk, but a lot of the time, he's lost in his own thoughts. - Will do everything anyone asks him to at the expense of his own free time and energy, and sometimes he works himself to exhaustion just to try and please everyone.🚩 - In doing so, he sometimes doesn't have time for himself at the end of the day. It also seems like you spend time together less and less as the days go on. - If he ever got himself hurt and you tried to help him, he'd decline any help with anything to save his own pride. The last thing he needs is you thinking he's weak. 🚩 - Extremely Overprotective. Like to the point where he'd beat the shit out of anybody you asked him to🚩

Sean Macguire

- An Alcoholic🚩 - horny 99% of the time, but half that time he probably has whiskey dick. Still asks you to try but doesn't understand that it's like trying to play pool with a rope... - If he can manage to be sober enough to actually get it up, and you're not in the mood, he'd get pissy and annoyed with you for "wasting his boner" 🚩 - Will probably also brag about having sex with you to everyone🚩 - Needy as all hell - Bro sulks on purpose - Low key loves the attention you give him when you continue to ask him what's wrong, but he never actually tells you and constantly says "I'm fine..." or "It's nothing..." 🚩 - But then sighs dramatically and continues sulking and dragging his feet so you keep giving him more attention 🚩

Hosea Matthews

- Ignores his physical health until he's practically dying. You've told him to get that cough looked at for literal years and he just says "I will" and does nothing 🚩 - sometimes talks to you as if you're a child especially if he's around Dutch -low key gaslights you sometimes 🚩 - and he says it with such a gentle tone, its hard to catch it 🚩

The girls

Mary Beth Gaskill

- Daydreams way too much - Likes to live in her romance novel fantasy land rather than face reality 🚩 - Cries a lot - Tries to be angry but can't help but cry instead - If crying makes you feel bad for her, she'll probably do it on purpose so you comfort her and give her attention🚩 -If you're in a fight, she'll turn on the crocodile tears to get you to stop being angry with her or whatever it is you're arguing about.🚩

Abigail Roberts

- She can be verbally abusive if she's pushed far enough 🚩 - Holds in a lot of her emotions🚩 - Neglectful of her own personal needs to make sure you or Jack are fully provided or cared for🚩 - a lot of the time, when she's upset with you, you're probably given the cold shoulder and the silent treatment - incredibly protective. Not necessarily a bad thing, but she can sometimes be super overbearing.

Tilly Jackson

- Tells it how she sees it, sometimes accidentally sounding a lot colder than she means to 🚩 - Too sarcastic for her own good 🚩 - Laughs a little too much sometimes when you tell a joke, and you can often tell it's actually incredibly fake🚩 - gets irritated really easily, especially if she's bothered while doing her chores. The last thing she needs is Grimshaw on her ass again.🚩 - irritable a lot of the time, unintentionally becoming short or snapping at you - like john, she also believes that kissing it better is better than actually apologizing

Karen Jones

- An alcoholic 🚩 - picks fights with you for fun, finds it entertaining to see how red your face can get from anger 🚩 - Screaming matches are a regular occurance between you guys, and she starts it almost every time 🚩 - Pretty jealous when it comes to the opposite sex🚩 - Has self doubt and believes that she can't give you everything a man probably could

Sadie Adler

- The nosiest woman in America. No chill. She reads everyone's mail. - Makes a lot of loose threats 🚩 - Anger issues🚩 - Low impulse control🚩 - Can be a little too rough sometimes 🚩 - If she's upset with you, she'll either yell or storm off. Sometimes both. 🚩 -(She tends to walk away a lot more often because she's actuall self aware that her anger issues are a problem) - She'd never admit that to you though.

Molly O'Shea

- Even more jealous than Javier🚩 - Glares at and envies anyone you talk to that isn't her🚩 - Has immaginary conversations with people in her head🚩 - Rubbing her hands together when the real life conversations are following the script she had planned out in her brain - Needs constant reassurance - "D'you even love me anymore?!"🚩 - Overthinks everything 🚩 - Paranoid as hell about infidelity - Gets mad at you when she dreams about you cheating on her🚩

[garfieldblunt]

Random VDL Headcannons I thought about on my 10 hour road trip

Dutch- Uses big words he doesn’t know the meaning of to make him seem smart

Arthur- Will eat an entire watermelon, all of it, rind included

Hosea- Uses a lot of midwestern dad phrases (No more mister nice guy, Who’s ready to rock and roll?)

John- had an emo phase (galaxy wolf shirt n all)

Javier- will sometimes speak gibberish and pretend like it’s Spanish to confuse John on purpose

Abigail- Loves perfume

Jack- Quotes Vines to his mom and dad

Uncle- rips the most vicious and violent farts when he sleeps

Micah- motherfucker loves cheese, can’t get enough of it, he *NEEDS* it

Kieran- kisses the horses on their forehead before he goes to sleep

Sadie- can down a bottle of whiskey without flinching

Josiah- married his wife for tax benefits

Swanson- Speaks perfect Latin

Pearson- Loves canned fish

Grimshaw- Helps curl and braid all the women’s hair in the camp

Molly- uses her hand mirror to spy on Dutch

Tilly- serial killer podcast listener (so she can get inspired)

Mary Beth- Frequent Tumblr user

Charles- Has a Disney Princess affect on Animals (all the deer and birds n shit just lovingly flock to him)

Bill- Slept with Cain next to him (sometimes in his arms)

Lenny- huffs book smell like it’s gasoline

Sean- Avid Jerma enjoyer

Karen- Sings herself to sleep (sometimes Sean too)

[polakina]

on his knees for you

pairing: javier escuella x reader

rating: mature

outline: a robbery goes sideways, and your already rocky friendship with a fellow camp mate is put to the test as you evade the guards of Van Horn

warnings: cursing, so much bickering, canon-typical gore and violence, flirting, slightly suggestive (this is by far the tamest thing i've ever written)

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

a/n: i can't believe how many notifications i've gotten about my works over the past week. its fucking crazy. thank you so much, you're all absolute stars

masterlist

II

It was a simple job, really. Get in, steal the bonds, and get out.

But nothing ever went as simple as the original plan, did it? Not with the Van Der Linde gang. There was always a little bit of improvisation to be had. Which was exactly what you were doing right now.

Bullets firing past your ears, blood running down your leg, the target’s personal guards chasing you down the winding paths of Roanoke Ridge.

-

One day earlier.

The plan was set. Arthur, Bill and Lenny were to infiltrate the building and steal the bonds, while Micah and Charles handled the guards. You and Javier were on lookout, posted at the entrance gates. 

You were all stationed just outside of Van Horn, your target being the mansion and its occupiers. Trelawny had brought intel of bonds on their way through Van Horn to Annesburg, stopping off at the mansion overnight. Roanoke wasn’t a place anyone wanted to be caught up in at night.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” you muttered, leaning further against your horse, absorbing his body heat as much as you could. It had been hours of waiting around and checking on the mansion. No movement whatsoever since the sun began to set. Darkness was nearing and the coach was nowhere to be seen.

Javier stood beside you, rifle in hand, eyes fixated on the road to the right, where the coach should appear from. “Want my poncho?” He asked, glancing at you briefly.

You didn’t even cast him a look as you responded. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your style, Escuella. I think I’ll survive without it.” You sighed, and moved from your position, heading further down the road, hiding in the trees to watch from a different position, seeing the road winding down Roanoke Ridge to New Hanover.

The two of you had never gotten along. He didn’t like your attitude one bit. You were snarky, cold. Something you’d developed after years of running with Arthur and John. He’d try and make conversation, you’d brush it off. He’d invite you on a fishing or hunting trip, you’d decline and say you preferred to hunt alone. He couldn’t win. You never sat with the camp during his songs or meals, you were always perched somewhere else, keeping lookout. That’s what you did. That’s all you ever did. 

So after a few months, he gave up. Not exactly understanding your harshness to him, he just accepted it instead. He returned your cold comments and your mean stares. Years passed and you bickered like enemies living beside one another. 

You whistled out to the group as you spotted the coach. Your whistle blended with the birds, so it was undetected by the gourds watching the bonds.

Everything went smoothly, Arthur, Lenny and Bill making quick work of breaking into the bonds lock box, and you heard the guards grunting and groaning as they hit the floor from Micah and Bill’s attacks.

Through your scope, you spotted as the boys grabbed the bonds, throwing them into their satchels. Drifting your rifle along the side of the mansion, you sensed something wrong with Bill. He was arguing with Micah. More so than usual. 

“What’s going on?” Javier whispered, lying beside you, hidden between the trees.

You shushed him, focusing on Bill. Their argument grew even more heated, and you caught a glimpse of lantern light behind them. You watched as they turned, cursing loudly before returning fire. Micah had scurried off during the brawl with the guards, seeking other treasures and getting himself caught in a scuff with guardsmen minding their own business.

“Shit, shit,” Javier cursed, throwing an arm over you and holding you down, protecting your head as bullets fired your way. “He can’t keep his head for one mission, puta madre!”

Arthur had ordered for, if the mission went south; which you had good money on it that it did, that you scatter. Split up and evade Van Horn at all costs, go the long way around New Hanover until it was safe to return back to camp so you were sure you weren’t followed. 

They had the bonds, all they needed to do was escape without getting caught. But you wouldn’t have minded if Micah got murdered in the. Just when you thought he’d found your last nerve, he managed to hit another one.

“I think this is our cue to leave,” you said through gritted teeth, pushing yourself onto your feet and grabbing your gear. Javier was on your heels, close behind. You hiked deeper into Murfree Brood territory, constantly keeping an eye over your shoulders for lantern light.

“Our safest path is through Roanoke,” Javier said from behind you, following your path through the trees. “The guards won’t dare follow us through there this late at night.”

You halted suddenly, whipping around to face Javier. He was caught off guard, almost stumbling into you, a surprised expression on his face. “Are you crazy, Escuella? Murfree Brood hunt here at night. If it’s not the guards who get us, it’ll be them. And I’d rather take my chances with bullets rather than-”

A bullet shot through the wind, straight through your leg into the tree behind you. It caught your words in your throat and you almost crumbled to the ground under the pain firing down your leg. Javier didn’t even blink as he wrapped an arm around you, catching you before you fell. He pulled his gun from its holster at his hip, pointing it over your shoulder and firing it straight into the head of the guard who fired at you first.

It drew attention. Of course, it did. Javier pulled you away from the scene, down the winding path leading to New Hanover. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, and you tried to hold in your groans of pain as your feet collided with uneven terrain, worsening the sting of the wound.

You both heard voices, coming from the top of the hill of which you had just descended. Javier pulled you around a large oak tree, pushing your body against the bark which pulled a pained gasp from your lips. “Fucking hell, Javier. At least try to be gentler with-” His hand clamped over your mouth, his body pressed against yours as he looked past the tree trunk to the guards making their way past you, checking their surroundings as they went. 

“You need to learn to shut up once in a while,” he whispered, looking back to you. His hat was tipped down his head, shielding his eyes. “I’m trying to save you and you’re still complaining.”

You looked up at him, your mouth still firmly covered, your hand wrapped around his wrist, instinct from when he shut you up. He smelled of whiskey and firewood, his scent filling your nostrils. His hand wrapped around your waist protectively, tightening as the footsteps grew closer.

Pulling his hand down, you noticed his skin never left yours. It rested around your neck. Softly, no pressure in his fingers, but the heat of his palm burned against your pulse, and he felt your heart rate jump. “Thought you would have wanted to get rid of me, Escuella,” you whispered, looking up at him. 

But he just looked down at you, surprised. “What?”

“Get rid of me. Hand me off to some guards searching through half the woods for us.” Your gaze never wavered. “Would certainly save you the trouble of dealing with me back at camp.”

He just smirked, tilting his head up, his eyes turned down to look at you. “And why would I want to get rid of you? Perhaps I enjoy the trouble you cause me. Ever thought about that?” His eyebrows raised as you stood there, unable to form words. “So are you going to  shut up and behave yourself while I get you out of here? Or are you going to keep talking until they figure out where we are?”

Javier waited for your response, but it never came. You just bowed your head, sealing your lips in a thin line. He took that as a sign that you’d ‘shut up and behave’. 

The men eventually left, abandoning their search for you, leaving both you and Javier a window of opportunity to flee.

-

The sun poked out above the trees from the makeshift camp Javier had set up in New Hanover. You were shielded by the canopy of branches, the fire in front of you keeping you warm. But it wasn’t doing anything good for the bullet wound in your leg. You stretched out your leg, wincing at the pain shooting through your body.

“I told you not to try and fix it by yourself,” you heard Javier say as he emerged with an armful of firewood, dropping it by your bags. “Your hands will shake before you’ve finished stitching it.”

You glared up at him. “Would you suggest I just leave it? Cut my leg off?”

Javier rolled his eyes at you, kneeling in front of you, his knees on either side of your wounded leg. “I would suggest…that you should wait for me. I’ll stitch it for you.”

Pulling his knife from the holster at his ankle, he sliced the blade through the fabric of your pant leg like butter. All the way up to your hip. “Hey!” You called out. “They were new pants.”

“I’ll buy you a replacement. Now shut up.” He was always harsh with his words, but now, it was even more so. A slight pang of worry soaked his tone.

“You’re such an ass sometimes-ow!” His fingers pushed against the wound on your leg, blood pooling out to the floor. “The fuck was that for?”

He looked indifferent as he looked up at you. “Feeling for any shrapnel. You don’t have any, thankfully, or else this would have hurt a lot more than its about to.”

“I could have told you that,” you grimaced as he began cleaning the wound. Applying pressure to one end of the bullet hole only forced blood through the other side. You could see both the entry point and exit point of the wound, stretching across the left and right sides of your leg.

You were both silent as he cleaned your leg, but you gasped as he pulled out a needle. He saw a panicked flash across your face, seeing it appear as quickly as it fled. “Easy,” he soothed, patting your knee. “I’ll be quick. You won’t feel it.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you whispered, your eyes only focused on the needle.

He sighed, leaning closer, tipping your chin up to meet his softened gaze. “Okay. You will feel it. But not much. A bee sting, that’s all it feels like. But it’ll be easier if you lie down.”

“Why?”

“Your muscles tense when you sit upright. You could at least be comfortable while I stitch you up.” He helped you into a more comfortable position. Javier still straddled your shin, one of his hands pressed against your thigh while his other stitched the hole closed. You laid there, his poncho acting as your pillow as you looked up at the trees.

You ignored the sting you felt each time the needle pierced your skin. Javier wasn’t wrong, it did feel like a bee sting. What’s more important, was that you could manage that sort of pain. “Thank you,” you said quietly, but you weren’t certain he heard you at first, until the needle stopped in your skin, his actions immoveable. Lifting your head and straining your neck, you met his eye. There was a small smile on his face, the corners of his moustache turned upwards with his laugh lines driven deep into his skin. You always did like his smile. That was the one thing that never changed about him. 

“It’s the least I can do,” he smiled, turning his attention back to your stitches. “It’s sort of my fault you got shot in the first place.”

“Sort of? You mean ‘entirely’?” You laughed as he playfully slapped your other leg with the back of his hand.

“Quit laughing,” he chuckled with you. “Or I’ll end up stabbing you in the wrong place.”

He finished quickly, wiping away any trace of blood before gently bandaging your leg. His soft touch lingered for a little while, his thumb gently rubbing soothing patterns into your skin. Your breath stopped in your throat as his touch rose higher. Higher up your thigh. To where your thigh met your hip. He was so fixated on it, he didn’t realise what he was doing until he felt your pulse beating at an ungodly rate at the top of your inner thigh.

His eyes flicked up to yours, where you laid, patiently. You were curious what sorts of thoughts were running through his head right now. What sort of cogs were turning in that brain of his.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your face closer to his than it had ever been before. “What?” You coaxed, too curious to keep quiet now.

“Nothing,” he moved to lean back, his hands drifting down your thighs, but they never left your body before you grabbed the front of his shirt, holding him in place.

“What did I say? Don’t lie to me, Javier.” Your voice never raised above a whisper. It didn’t need to. You were so close a whisper felt like a shout.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t speak. The close proximity had rendered him faulty in speech. So instead he closed the gap. His lips touched yours, his body melting against your touch. You didn’t expect it. All those years of bickering. All those years of cruel comments and nasty looks. Nothing prepared you for this. But you welcomed it.

Javier leaned you back, your head meeting the poncho  as you felt his body settle on top of yours. Breaking away for air, you saw a softened, kinder look in his eye when he looked at you. “Is this your apology for me getting shot?” You asked, smiling against his lips as he kissed you once more.

“Is it working?” His lips moved to your neck, hovering above your skin to a point where it tickled.

“Hmm…maybe.” 

“Then perhaps I’ll try a different angle,” he smirked, unbuttoning your pants, encapturing your lips in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He had a lot of making up to do.

[omgwhatchloe]

REASONS WHY HAVING SOME RDR2 CHARACTERS AS YOUR PASSENGER IN YOUR CAR SUCKS:

Charles: Only talks to points out every single animal he sees. Other than that, it’s just silence unless you start the conversation or you’re Arthur. Oh but trust me, he wants the AUX. He’s just not gunna ask.

John: Either demands the AUX cord or just connects it anyway, then proceeds to be musically inconsiderate with what he plays. You despise this song with every ounce of your being? Too bad. This song reminds you of your lowest point? Suck it up buttercup. This was playing in the car when you crashed and killed the person in the passenger seat? Womp womp.

Dutch: Seems to think it’s his car. In fact, he feels completely free to change the music, turns up the heat as much as he pleases, winds the windows up and down, moves his seat constantly etc etc.

Reverend Swanson and Mary-Beth: Car sick. So very car sick. Your two options when driving them anywhere is the sound of heavy breathing with the sounds of the highway being blasted in through the open window, or bags rustling with the sound of puking and groaning. Trust me, they’d rather have walked as well.

Javier: Awful navigator. It’s fine when you know where you’re going, but absolutely awful when you need navigation. Half the time, you look over and he’s gone off the navigation app and is playing subway surfers and texting. The other half of the time, he’s misreading the directions then yelling at YOU. Not to mention it’s completely unsurprising to wonder why you’ve been driving for so long then find he’s clicked on the entire wrong destination without a second thought.

Sean: Acts like he’s never eaten before in his life as soon as he gets into the car. Sees a Wendy’s? He’s suddenly starving. Burger King? He hasn’t eaten in three days. KFC? He’ll pay you back, he swears! In fact, the man has absolutely no problem being late for anything if you stop for food. You could be on the way to Davey’s funeral, already running late and suddenly pull into the Krispy Kreme carpark and you would not hear a single protest from him.

Micah: Yaps a whole lot of waffle about how he’s all this n all that to the point you don’t even know what he’s saying anymore and neither does he. Also enjoys flipping random people off and yelling shit out of the window. Expect to be chased by an angry driver for at least 12 miles.

Bill: Eats and then just throws his trash on the floor without a single second thought. If you ask him to pick it up, he will, but not without angrily grumbling and snatching it up. Is in a bad mood for about 2 minutes before he realises he wants to yap so does.

Karen, Uncle, Abigail and Sean: Distracts the driver. Whether it’s with yapping or loud videos or drinking or messing with the music volume, they somehow keep it up from the start of the drive right to the end.

Hosea: Puts his feet up and puts his seat back like he’s in bed. Just won’t sit normally. Will give you a ‘look’ when you ask him to put them down.

Lenny: Makes things awkward, because the first thing he does is comment on the dirtiness of your car then looks extremely shocked and uncomfortable at himself for saying that for about 7 seconds before pulling out his phone and facetiming Sean for the whole drive and giving you the same looks Hosea does when you try to speak to him. When not on the phone, he tends to respond with shrugs and “Okay then,” while folding him arms and staring out of the window. Seems to be in an awful mood until he’s out of the car. He hates car rides if it’s not with his favourite people.

Molly: Acts like you can’t drive. Struggling to see what’s right in front of you? Molly’s got your back! Seriously, she will yell at you to stop at the red light you had already seen 7 seconds ago and started to slow for. Old woman crossing (while you’re already stopped)? She will yell at you not to go so loud you debate kicking her out and making her get her own car, since she knows so much.

Tilly and Strauss: Tries to get you to speed. It’s like they’ve never heard of laws before, and will insist you ‘go faster’ even though your way is blocked by other cars. It’s painfully obvious they both can’t drive and have never had to pay for gas money.

Miss Grimshaw: Absolutely disgusted by your car and wants to make that very clear. It wouldn’t be surprising if halfway through, she started to clean it herself.

Jack: Really really really wants to press that horn. You’d find it cute at first, but so goddamn annoying when your car starts honking in the middle of a busy crossing. It’s like a constant slap-fight except you’re pushing his hands away every-time they come for the horn.

Arthur: Constantly asking to pull over. He’ll casually say “stop here” as if you’re a taxi, not to mention you’re in the middle of nowhere on the highway and you really don’t understand what a stranger mission means. Commonly, you have to explain things like how you’re already an hour late and you literally do not have the room to drive that family of five that’s broken down anywhere, nor can you stop at an empty warehouse and potentially get arrested for trespassing because he wants to explore.

Kieran: Terrified when you go slightly over the speed limit. He acts like he’s in an F1 race with no seatbelt being hung out of the window.

[kaznejis]

Forever is the sweetest con- Dutch Van Der Linde x Reader

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalised words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face. His name. The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope's front gate.

A/N: Hi! I actually wrote and posted this to AO3 YEARS ago, but after a recent replay of RDR2 I decided to fix up some mistakes in this fic and post it on here! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 9287 / Read it on AO3!

NOTORIOUS BAD MAN ALIVE —--------------------------------------------

A dispatch from Tall Trees reports a sighting of infamous outlaw Dutch Van Der Linde, who has been on a bloody run from the law for many years now. The notorious Dutch’s Boys gang once plagued this state, but it was believed to have disbanded as long ago as 1899. Two of his henchmen - Hosea Matthews and Arthur Morgan - were both killed in separate raids by Pinkerton agents that same year. Gang members Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, John Marston, and Charles Smith are still believed to be at large. But most notably, Dutch’s supposed lover - rumored to have allied with the opposing powers during the gang’s infamous civil war - Y/N L/N has been seen haunting our states, donning bounty hunter wear. Will our young outlaw-turned-heroine be the one to finally end Van Der Linde’s tyranny?

Either way, law enforcement have pledged to continue searching for Van Der Linde, who still has one of the largest bounties on his head for kill or capture.

-

Eventually, the hands that were once calloused from gun slinging and knife wielding grew used to the arduous task of milking Betsy, Beecher's Hope’s famed prize cow- tuning to the rhythm of milking a cow that only really took a liking to the young Jack Marston. Swiping a palm through the mounting sweat on your forehead, you glared at the cow as it huffed.

“I hate this as much as you do, honey,” You turned slightly to retrieve the second bucket to be filled, “But we all want to eat, so you’re going to give me every last drop of that milk of yours.”

The cow’s ears merely twitched, the animal equivalent to a relenting eye roll.

You gave one right back.

“You tell her.” Abigail chuckled from behind you, pacing forward to lean against Betsy’s stall, “I’m not surprised John has you down here today, Ol’ Missy here tried to feed him a hoof at the slightest sign that he was about to milk her.”

You snorted, an image of John’s hat flying from his head and into the neighboring stall entering your mind, “She’s just stubborn is all, she’ll like me more than Jack soon, you’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt it,” She laughed, easing the weight of one of the buckets brimming with milk as you stood, ”Hey, walk back to the house with me. John said he has something to show you.”

“Oh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, a thick feeling began to lodge in your throat. The cautiousness of years on the run still lingering despite the secure life you now lived. “Any idea what it was?”

She shrugged, “He refused to tell me so probably some bounty hunting stuff. The silly man.”

You nodded; calming yourself as you deposited the contents of the bucket into a jug. You were safe, things had been relatively safe since you’d stumbled into the last remnants of the gang in the Blackwater Saloon. You had entered the building desperate for a comfortable bed and a hot meal- only to leave brimming with whiskey and laughter, a permanent room available to you mere minutes from your original destination. You had stared up at the stars that night, laying in the comfortable night time breeze upon the house’s deck as Rufus had snuffled at your hands, excited at the premise of a new friend.

Fatigue rotted the depths of your being, having followed the cold trail of Micah Bell for the better part of eight years. You had vowed that fateful night, as he forced you to point a gun at the only man you had and would ever truly love, that you would kill him. Globs of spit and blood flickered from your mouth as you had fled upon your steed, screaming likewise threats of revenge and murder as he had hunted you- the red of his vest merging with the rage in his eyes.

Micah had always wanted you dead.

You had been an obstacle before his beloved leader, the gem in the notorious Dutch Van Der Linde’s eyes. His sweet, his darling, his largest weakness.

The O’Driscolls had known it, the Pinkertons had known it and Micah Bell had known it.

His hackles raised everytime you neared, steering Dutch away in order to discuss his new “plan”. It had grown severe in Beaver Hollow, the drapes of Dutch’s once-welcoming tent consistently closed as he drowned within his own mind. You had moved into Tilly’s tent, terrified of Dutch’s inherent darkness breaching your own soul even despite the love you felt for him.

Micah had pounced then- Dutch’s last flicker of lightness being efficiently snuffed out. His once dormant toxicities were pampered and brought to life; riches and Micah became the forefront of his racing thoughts. You were simply lost in the tide.

“Now that I come to think of it,” Abigail placed her jug into the cart and spun to face you, “John looked like he was holding a newspaper of some sort- I think there was something of interest in it.”

Squinting, you turned to face the house- sure enough, John was sitting upon the front steps; a newspaper open within his hands. His face uncharacteristically devoid of emotion, “I’ll head over to him now, thanks Abigail.”

You spared a wave as you both went your separate ways, meeting eyes with John as he somberly raised his eyes, “Who died?” You joked, standing before him with your hands on your hips, “You look like you’re preparing to draw.”

John only swallowed, his jaw tightening as he looked away- almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes.

“John?”

“I think you’ll need to sit down, Y/N.” You quickly obliged, the scratch of his accent carrying a sorrowful timber; rougher than ever. lowering yourself beside him and wringing your hands together- the previous dread now returned at a higher fervor, taking residence within the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?”

John finally turned to you, his eyes filled with a dangerous mix of pity and anger, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I knew I shouldn’t have bought this place. I really should have looked into the area first.” he stood suddenly, his boots scuffing against the gravel as scrubbed at his face. Almost as if he was punishing himself for his supposed mistake.

“John?” You guffawed, straightening in your seat as you gaped at him, “What are you talking about? We’ve been over this, this is the perfect place for your family. It’s where Abigail wanted to be!”

The gravity of the situation weighed upon your conscience suddenly, John hadn’t been this stressed in months- having left the life of an outlaw to become an established father and farm handler. Whilst the weight of his past did prevail, the future had not previously posed any issue.

John nodded somberly, his eyes fixing upon a huddle of trees in the too-near distance.

“You know what happens in Tall Trees, don’t you?” You nodded and turned towards the trees yourself, urging him to continue. You’d had many runs in with the Skinner Brothers since moving in. “It’s filled with dangerous people, a fugitive paradise for people who are still like how we used to be.”

He stopped then, looking down to the newspaper within his hands. You noted that it was heavily crumpled, as if he��d been about to tear it up though decided against it at the last second, “You need to read this for yourself, I think.”

“Okay.” You spoke tentatively, peeling the newspaper from his hands as he gripped it reluctantly- as if to protect you from what you were about to read. You loved that about John, always willing to take the brunt at his own expense in order to protect the ones he loved. A trait carried from Arthur, you thought, stealing a look at the worn hat upon John’s head.

You looked away, the pain of loss forever present at the back of your mind. It lingered like a festering wound- oozing and growing at the merest memory of the pain. Arthur had given up everything for the safety of the remnants of the group; sometimes you wondered if it should have been you.

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalized words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face.

His name.

The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope front gate.

-

“So, to dismiss the elephant in the room, are you going to hunt the bastard down?”

“Sadie!” Abigail choked, glaring at the woman across from her- having just barely managed to coax you out of your room and into a seat at the dinner table.The news had left you partially catatonic- a haze feeding into your limbs as you had fled from John, curling up against the wall of your room until the cool glaze of Abigail’s palm had rubbed your shoulder. The usual buzzing cacophony of sound during dinner had become a mournful silence prior to Sadie’s announcement; each member treading on eggshells around you. Even Jack had barely spoken, having heard scattered tales of the time of the Van Der Linde gang, much to Abigail’s disapproval.

“What?” Sadie shook her head, stabbing a lump of beef with her fork threateningly. “The only reason I’m not already knee deep in those woods is for Y/N,” she turned to you then, her blonde plait glowing in the evening tint, “It’s your call hun. If anyone other than me had taken action against those damn O’Driscolls in Jake’s name; I’d never have forgiven ‘em.”

Abigail nodded in agreement, placing a hand beside your plate barely skimming your fingers, “We will support you in whatever you do Y/N.”

A scoff sounded from the end of the table, Uncle spat crumbs across the table as he spoke, mouth filled with stew, “I say we kill the bastard, especially if he’s allied with those wretched Skinner Brothers.”

The group stayed silent at that- all too aware of the extent of Uncle’s horrific injuries. You or Charles would regularly return from a hunt with ointment, to which Abigail would apply to Uncle’s injuries; her hums attempting to drown out his screams and cries. But nothing could amount to the nightmares that Uncle endured- reliving the torture he endured night after night. His alcohol dependency had only seemed to worsen. Not taking action against a Skinner-allied Dutch would only feel like betrayal.

John was the first to speak up, taking on the authoritative tone he seemed to muster during severe circumstances, “Either way, we need to decide what we’re doing fast.” John spoke, ever the strategic, “No matter the connections we used to have with Dutch, he’s going to be as unpredictable as ever. He cannot be trusted, not so close to Jack.”

“He could be here for us.” Charles regarded the matter for the first time, his deep baritone carrying a rougher tone, “It’s too much of a coincidence that he’s here so soon after you properly settled down.”

The sound of your spoon dropping filled the silence that followed, everyone turned as you placed your head into your hands- grinding your palms into the tears that filled your eyes, “I’ve gone so long.”

“Y/N it’s okay-”

“I’ve gone so long,” You repeated, dribbles of snot clouding upon your upper lip, “'I've been able to forget about him. All these years, I’ve been able to focus on other things-” A sob escaped from your lips as you refused to meet the sympathetic eyes surrounding you. “Why did he have to do this now?”

You broke down then, folding into Abigail’s embrace as she stroked your hair, coaxing the pained cries out of you. “Why don’t we run you a bath? A hot bath and a good nights’ sleep will do your mind some good.”

Nodding slowly, you wiped your face without a care towards the stains that would now grace your sleeves. Abigail led you towards the comfort of the chair before the fireplace as Charles jogged ahead to prepare you a bath- promising to add an array of the herbs he had recently discovered to be of abundance in the area. The joy you had felt during previous dinners had been long abandoned.

-

When the bathwater had long gone still and cold, the longer-lasting bubbles floating alongside the waves traced upon the water- the memories finally set themselves free, the tranquility of the soak loosening the long-secured walls within your mind.

The days spent leading up to the initial heist in a camp not far from your own, long morning’s tucked up in animal furs and Dutch’s arms as the Blackwater heat and assurance of soon-to-come-riches washed over you. The subsequent plight, Dutch’s eyes constantly swiveling back towards you from his wagon as you had chosen to ride upon your own horse; the way he had protested against this decision, digging his heels in even despite the fangs of the law snapping at them mere minutes away. Your safety being his first priority.

You had shut him out during the short stay at Colter- furious that he had prioritized you before his duties as the leader of the gang. Furious that he had put you before young Jack, the other women, the wide span of injuries slowing the gang to a desperate stagger. But no, he had snapped at you; waving desperately towards the wagon the last of the women were piling into as you shook your head- tightening your horse’s reins. He had cast your wrist into his iron grip then, his eyes hard and swarming with anger; a mirror image to the swaths of the law’s blood coating his shirt sleeves. The blood of an innocent woman.

With shaking limbs, you had snatched your hand away and mounted before kicking your horse into a gallop, following the others who had already enacted their hasty departure.

With only mere seconds free to himself during those cold days, Dutch had tried- he’d stared determinedly at you during every speech and attempted to corner you at every given moment. You had successfully evaded his advances every time, opting to escape into the mounting snow outside of your cabin in opposition to being with a man you weren’t sure you could trust anymore. It was Arthur who successfully infiltrated your movement, joining you at one of the scarce campfires the gang had managed to light.

“You’re driving him mad, Y/N.”

“Oh, Arthur.” You shook your head, poking the embers with a stick. “You of all people know that he’s already there.”

He sniffed, a short flash of amusement crossing his face before it was replaced with sobriety. “Maybe. I wasn’t at the massacre, I didn’t see exactly what he did-”

“He killed an innocent woman, Arthur. Right in front of me and then had the audacity to claim that my safety was the most important thing to him.”

“Yes, I want to beat him senseless for the way he’s damned us too, I promise you.” He scratched his beard tentatively, almost searching for the correct words to say, “But… no matter what he did, we need to stick together, Y/N.” A pause. “And if his only source of light is snuffed out, there’s no way we’re getting out of here.”

“Don’t make this my fault, Arthur.”

“I’m not, Y/N. You know I’m not. But we are all starving and cold and tired. We need a right-minded leader to get out of here and once we do, we can judge Dutch all we want.”

You laughed then, a foreign sound in the somber setting; Arthur had grinned crookedly too, wrapping an arm around shoulder as he pulled you into his side. “Alright, I’ll talk to him..soon.”

Arthur had simply huffed, rolling his eyes and giving you a pat on the head as he rose- behind on his schedule of carrying the burden of the gang. You had remained at that campfire for some time after that, dwelling within your own conflicting thoughts.

Sitting in the bathtub, you felt the same affliction as you did all of those long years ago, even despite being so much younger and naïve at that time. You wanted to run out there, into the darkness of the forests and deep troughs of moss, into the arms of your lost love. But another part of you, the part that had grown and hardened with age, the part that hated Dutch Van Der Linde with every fiber of its existence- wanted vengeance. It wanted to provide Sadie and John with your vital blessing to go out there and capture him, kill him even.

Despite the years you had garnered since settling eyes on Dutch, you didn’t trust yourself to follow through with ending it all yourself; you didn’t trust yourself not to melt entirely within his presence. His charisma would sway you, his ability to flirt and coerce would be an instant match for your own stoic toughness. You couldn’t possibly know what he looked like anymore- but your betraying conscience conjured an image of his trimmed mustache complimenting his sharp jaw, his towering stature and taut muscles- those same muscles that had pinned you down night after night, the same ones that belonged to the only body that had ever truly pleasured you. The rings that adorned his fingers, each one a symbol of masculinity and fabrication, glinting in the moonlight as he smoked his complimentary, post-orgasm cigar.

Your insides tingled as you recalled the way he used to ravage you, the hungry glint of his eyes from between your thighs or the heavy pants that would spill from his lips as he buried his head into the sweaty base of your throat, his sex-tousled hair drawing paths against your skin, lighting the fuses beneath your jaw and throat.

Mr. Van De Linde had always been the embodiment of seduction- whether in his manipulative nature or in the coital bed you shared. You doubted that this feature had hardly changed.

Which is why you could-

“Y/N?”

You sprung from your dazed position within the tub, jumping and wrapping linens around your soaked body, “Sorry- uh- Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while now?” It was Jack, probably worried sick about you alongside the rest of the family.

“I’m fine.” you spluttered, desperately wringing out your sopping hair as you opened the door, plastering on a half-convincing smile, “I won’t burst into tears on you again, I promise.”

He simply nodded, a concerned look in his eyes that frighteningly reminded you of his own father. A look far too old for his youthful features, “I just wanted to check that you weren’t drowning in there. The bath is far too deep for me sometimes.”

Ruffling his hair, you laughed- mood slightly improved, “Don’t worry about me Jackie- just had a little blast from the past is all.”

He nodded, though a pensive look flashed across his face.

“What?”

“I don’t have many memories from back then,” you nodded, encouraging him to continue, “but I do remember you and Uncle- sorry, you and Mr. Van Der Linde.” He looked at you sadly, possibly seeing the shock and grief that instantly sunk into your face, “Sometimes, you’d be so happy but then other days all that could be heard was your fights… I remember once it got so bad that Ma wouldn’t let me out of that room in that big house. But I also remember when you went missing for a day or two, he’d practically torn the place apart with the worry that you’d been taken.” He paused again as you watched him through tear-blurred eyes, “I’m sorry that he’s come back Y/N.”

Sniffling, you wrapped your arms around Jack, allowing your tears to slip into his hair, “I’m sorry that you had to experience that, Jackie,” you pulled back, cupping his cheeks and tightening your lips, “I hope to God that you never have to deal with something like that. Promise me you won’t let it happen?”

“I promise, Y/N,”

“Good. Good boy.”

“But… Do you still love him Y/N?”

Your teeth clacked shut, the sound resounding throughout the thin hallway. Not even when you and Dutch had been together had anybody dared question the true status of your relationship- opting for sympathetic smiles or knowing looks alike in respect for their brash leader. Shaking your thoughts, you attempted a warm smile, guiding Jack towards the living room. “Love is a complicated thing Jack, part of me hopes that you’ll never have to experience the woes of it but the happiness it brings outweighs everything,” tightening your robe around your chest, you sat beside Jack before the hearth of the fireplace, “Dutch could render me happy or sad at any given moment, the power he held over me was…terrifying.” Jack nodded, his eyes glinting curiously with the fire’s light, “But I think I did love him. Maybe I still do, but that doesn’t matter anymore because he’s not a good man.”

“You deserve a good man, Y/N.”

You chuckled, a real source of warmth and comfort finally replacing the cold of the bathwater, “Maybe. I look forward to the day that I finally meet one.”

“I think Uncle Arthur was a good man.”

“Yeah.” A lone buck sauntered along the hills surrounding Beecher’s Hope, its ears pricking towards Tall Trees. “He was.”

-

Shadows of branches intertwined and floated amongst the ceiling of your room, a light breeze filtering in from the opened window. You had opted to retire to bed early, skipping the usual drinks you would share with the rest of the family around the fire. You couldn’t face them, the pitious glances and the sway of alcohol would be too much, an easy passageway into spilling your darkest secrets.

The smell of alcohol had a tendency to remind you of Dutch, anyway. The acrid taste of whiskey and cigars mixed to create an unashamedly addictive scent; the taste of it upon his lips practically doubling the initial effect.

Not only had Dutch Van Der Linde always been an object of seduction, but he had become an object of addiction too. He had been the one to tie your dependency to cigarettes during your time in the gang, having quickly picked up his habit of smoking a cigarette in the event of anything extraordinary. You would regularly smoke together post-sex, bathing in the privilege of sharing one, or even two, of his prized cigars- picking up on his ever-watchful eyes as you wrapped your lips around the blunt and puffed; always making sure to add an air of extravagance as you exhaled.

The thought had you scrambling at the bottom of your mattress, searching for the stash of cigarettes you had stowed there for the event of emergency. You swore to yourself you had quit, but living a Dutch-less existence required other outlets.

Low and behold, you had smoked the last of them after attempting to round up a herd of sheep the week prior.

You swore, jumping out of bed and pulling the mattress back further to no avail. “It’s fine.” You mumbled to yourself, checking your wardrobe and dresser subsequently, “It’s fine.”

In all honesty, you could do with the fresh air- your room had quickly begun to forego the open window and grow stuffy with the weight of your own sinful mind. Though, your objection to facing the others still remained steady- leading you to hoist yourself out of the bedroom window and onto the saddle of your horse.

Blackwater remained a constant bustle of energy even within the darkness of night, having returned to its pre-Van Der Linde glory as a portside town. The city itself acted as a constant reminder to what Dutch had done, marking the beginning of his true tyranny as the blood of the innocent Heidi McCourt had splattered along the sidewalk and his very own shirt sleeves. You had only learned her name from the bench before the boardwalk- “We remember Heidi McCourt” scratched into the base of the wood, only a minute of research informed you of exactly who that was. But upon further residence within Blackwater- you learned of the hatred felt towards the notorious members of the gang; cutouts of previous gang members pinned to dartboards and littered with darts and even bullets alike.

Despite your pardons, the people of Blackwater had never forgotten what you had done.

Your hair was longer now, providing the disguise necessary to lay low. Besides, your bounty hunter escapades had quickly taken over any true resemblance to the you that had resided within the gang; the very newspaper detailing Dutch’s return had coined you a “heroine”. It was good to know that people knew you mostly for your good, the version of yourself eight years prior would have feared your very being.

Dismounting your steed, you patted her side as you pulled out a set of twin revolvers- ever aware of the new threat that lurked nearby. The thought that he could be anywhere made you shiver despite the warmth of Summer as you jogged towards the grocer, apologizing for your late arrival as it was near closing time. The man waved you off, rolling his eyes as he continued to sweep the shop floor.

Maybe chivalry was dead, you smirked to yourself as you requested a pack of premiums. The man nodded, but before he could bend to grab the cigarettes he paled, sweat beginning to bead at his temple as he whimpered- seemingly catatonic in place. Rising your eyes to the dusty window, your lips pursed as you spotted at least four figures behind you in the reflection, all obviously armed.

“Raise your hands darlin’.” A gruff voice spoke, the traditional accent carried by the Skinner brothers.

“I’m just grabbing some cigarettes,” You spoke firmly, your hands lowering towards your revolvers, “Just let me leave and we don’t need to have any issues.”

The men began to cackle at that, you could hear the sound of them clapping at each other’s backs and howling like dogs. The shopkeeper remained cowered beneath the counter, frozen in place as his eyes pleaded at you to do something- the stoic shopkeeper from mere minutes ago was no longer present.

“You think we’re just gonna let an infamous bounty hunter like you leave just like that?” The speaker spat at the ground, a display of disgust. “Do you know how many of our brothers you’ve killed?”

Chuckling, you rose your eyes. “I think they use the word infamous for a reason, you know.” You turned, spinning your revolvers and executing two of the men in a split second; time slowing as bullets lodged into each of their skulls. Tearing through skin and bone, the sound of the bullets pinging into the wall shattered their amusement, the fallout spraying their faces with blood.

The remaining men had barely even reached for their weapons before you delivered bullets into their heart and kneecaps respectively, the latter would live but never walk again; able to enforce the resounding fear of your presence into the outlaw community. Stepping over the bodies, you leaned over the survivor- clutching his shattered legs as he screamed and cried.

“Never underestimate me again.” You spat, mimicking his revolting action from earlier.

Despite his cries, the man laughed at your statement- his rotten teeth and stringy hair coated in the blood of his assailants. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he rose to rest on his elbow, his hitched breath releasing in pained pants, “We didn’t.”

Your eyes widened, you were only rewarded for a split second to prepare for the barrage of gunfire that attacked the storefront. Rolling backwards, you surveyed the frenetic gunfire from behind one of the many shelves and calculated how grossly outnumbered you truly were- at least ten men awaited outside, the group very obviously having not underestimated you.

You quickly discovered that the shopkeeper had locked himself in the back room- leaving you isolated with the threat of the Skinner Brothers. Without a second thought, you scaled the shop counter- loading your revolvers with bullets and replacing the empty space with the money in your pockets; it would serve you little purpose now.

You had no choice but to fight, your stubbornness making cowering and hiding not an option- if you went down, it had to happen fighting. You knew that your death would be gruesome, the feeling of the rough, splintering wood against your back and the tight press of your boots against the wall would not be the last thing you ever saw. You knew that you would be waking up again. Closing your eyes, you said a prayer- for your family. For Jack’s strength and innocence, for Abigail’s love, for John’s unwavering loyalty and for Sadie’s strength. You prayed for Dutch, prayed that despite all of his evil and wrongdoing, that he would not see you in the condition you were bound to be in. That he would not be the one to inflict the pain to come upon you.

Time slowed once again as you rose, meeting the men as they slammed open the shop door- grossly outnumbered as you had calculated. Vision blurring, you shot widely- fighting for your life as men collapsed throughout the room. The flash of gunfire and the glint of throwing knives blinded you.

Finally, you ran out of bullets. The bodies of vile, disgusting men surrounded you. The bodies of the men that had terrorized your family. As an arrow lodged itself into your unguarded chest, you felt nothing but vindication.

-

Blinking, the sound of dripping rang throughout your brain as your senses faltered. Slower than usual.

You couldn’t move your arms or legs.

“I can’t-” You stuttered, fidgeting and shaking, “I- can’t…I can’t move.”

No one replied, only the sounds of your unsteady breaths could be heard, each one followed by that dripping sound. The horror of the situation dawned upon you, you had been right. You had woken up.

The skinner brothers hadn’t killed you.

Your cheeks felt wet, slicken with tears and something else as you heaved and pushed against your confinements.

Boots crunched along grass then, the sound of a rolling glass bottle rung beside your head.

“Who’s going to shut her up this time then?” A misty voice spoke nearby, it was followed by a mixture of sounds, to which your brain couldn’t decipher. It almost sounded like they were fighting over who would finish you off. You continued to cry then, your brain running at a speed faster than you could manage as the pain outweighed any coherent conscience. Finally, your eyes managed to peel themselves open.

To your horror, the dripping sound was your own blood- oozing from a cut on your arm that dribbled down through your fingers and onto the gravel below. You were tied to a wooden frame, similar to what Uncle had been tied to- though the fire had not yet been lit below you. The shine of the sun above you told you that not only had it been multiple hours, but that they were saving your sacrifice for the following night. Your body adorned a number of cuts though the arrow wound within your stomach had been messily patched up.

“They’re keeping me alive.” You mouthed, your eyes flitting around your surroundings as they welled with tears. You were within tall trees- deep in the forest and past the border lines you had previously ventured towards; they were ensuring that you would not be found.

“Have you found any takers for her?”

“Hm?” A large man looked towards a smaller man only a few steps from you.

“Any takers?” the smaller man rolled his eyes, socking the larger man in the arm, “Has anyone posed any offers to purchase her?”

Your ears rung as you squeezed your eyes closed, feigning sleep as you listened in on the conversation. They were keeping you alive to sell you, they were aware of your worth as a ruthless bounty hunter. It was their job to strip you of everything you had so they could sell a bounty hunter reduced to nothing to the highest bidder- a fate potentially worse than the fate of the Skinner brothers.

Before you could squirm frantically, the larger man spoke, “We have actually- some man spotted the poster up near Manzanita Post, claims he has some personal business to settle. Hefty sum, he’ll be here within the hour.”

The younger man grinned, his molten teeth dull in the sun’s light, “Personal? Damn, she must have taken out someone close.”

The larger man hummed as they departed their posts, moving towards the larger group of men. Your heart thumped in your chest as you squirmed- using any tactic you had ever learned from your fellow outlaws to perform any attempt at escape. But all was to no avail- the Skinners knew damn well how to hold a hostage.

Closing your eyes, you laid back. Every ounce of fight that had resided within you during that initial fight had vanished. There was nothing left, you had nothing left- all you could do was wait for what came next.

“Look at this pretty lady.” A voice spoke above you soon after that thought, a Skinner with a patchy ginger beard hovered in your eye line, a menacing grin upon your face. “What are we gonna do with you?

Fellow skinners laughed as a sharp pain, a knife, punctured your side- you’d experienced stabbings before, but not in this state. You succumbed to the urge to scream, the sound tearing from your throat and laced with terror. The man grinned, twisting the knife before wrenching it out and watching as you panted through the pain.

“It’s alright Darlin’. We all have to pay penance for our actions sometimes, seeing as you killed my father and all.”

You grinned, the feeling of blood dripping from your scabbing lips pushed aside as humor filled you, “Am I supposed to know who you’re referring to?” The mans’ eyes darkened at that, though just as he went to resume his torture, a deafening shot resounded throughout the forest.

You could only watch as the man collapsed backwards, blood spraying your already coated skin in thick beads. The background noise within the camp instantly dropped, all present turning to face their attacker- though none dared to retaliate.

“For the sum I’m paying, I’d hope my investment would be in pristine condition.”

The worst of your nightmares paled in comparison to what you saw as you turned. Dutch Van Der Linde stood at the edge of camp, tall and boisterous as ever. A repeater laid pointed within his hands, complimented by black rings adorning his fingers and aimed ready for whoever dared to step forward. The black waistcoat and linen shirts had been replaced with a silk black shirt, the sleeves rolled and the top button undone in respect of the humidity of West Elizabeth. No hat laid upon his head now, his hair curling at the nape of his neck and slicked back with pomade. He looked rich, luxurious. He didn’t look like the most wanted man in America.

It seemed that his obsession with finery had never dispersed.

You heaved, grappling at the wooden frame as you hoped, prayed, and begged for any way to escape. Any route other than having to go with him. The mere sight of him invoked sickness, suffering and fear- you felt like you had regressed, all progression made dispersed at the sound of his voice.

“Sir…You are free to take her.” The larger man whimpered, despite Dutch’s smaller frame, the man lowered himself to one knee; bowing his head. You scoffed, shaking your head as tears of anguish and defeat rolled down your face.

“Free?” Dutch sneered, his lips curling as he stepped before the cowering man, “I would hope so- seeing the state of her. What am I supposed to do with her if she looks like that?”

“Of- of course, Sir.” Multiple Skinners nodded in agreement, joining in bowing before the renowned criminal mastermind.

“Good.” Dutch spoke calmly, his features void of all emotion. You shook, in fear of what was to happen. In fear of the man you had previously thought you had left behind, the man you had presumed long dead. But part of you, the long cold and dormant part that had loved him. The part of you that yearned and starved, that had dragged you on that late-night outing in the first place- it longed for him.

Before anyone could blink, fathom the possibility of Dutch’s evolved tyranny over the years- he pressed the repeater’s trigger; ending the lives of the men bent to his will with a parade of clean headshots. You were no stranger to brutality, especially not Dutch’s, but your position was significantly more vulnerable than theirs; you could do nothing but bend to Dutch’s will.

As the last bullet sounded and the last man fell, Dutch wasted no time in slinging the repeater upon his shoulder and advancing towards you. Dutch reached you then, staring down at your dwindling and shivering form. Your groggy brain registered the crease of his brow, the red lining of his eyes and the worried curl in his lips.

He composed himself quickly, a mask settling as he moved to cut open your bindings. “The man was right, what am I going to do with you Y/N?”

-

You faded in and out of consciousness in the back of a cart- effectively bleeding out onto what felt like boar pelts. Dutch had instructed you to hold on as he fled from the camp, leaving the Skinner’s to decompose in his wake- a fleeing devil and all. The canopy above Tall Trees swirled above you, the sun remaining high in the sky throughout the journey. It could have been minutes or hours.

“Alright Princess,” Dutch said from the driver’s speech above, refusing to look back at you, “Hold on, we’re nearly there now.”

The use of your old, long unused nickname made you recoil- Dutch had always been one for sweet remarks, but he especially favored Princess- he was the beast, you were the innocent beauty. It created the rhetoric that you were to be protected, despite the major contributions you had made towards the camp on many occasions. You had to fight to be sent on missions, Dutch would respond with cold refusal; opting to insult you brashly in order to supposedly keep you safe. At his worst, you had stormed from camp; jumping onto the back of your horse and galloping away, ignoring the pleas of the gang. It was only when you didn’t return that worry had set in, three days you had been missing- later found by Arthur near Emerald Ranch. You had later learned that Dutch had practically torn the camp and nearby settlements apart; his shirtsleeves painted in red as he had searched for you- knocking down anyone in his way.

“Don’t call me that.” You mumbled groggily, using all of your energy to deliver a retort.

“What? Princess?”

You gritted your teeth, Dutch-induced-irritation felt like home- the gritting of your teeth and press of fingernails all too familiar when in his company. As the cart halted to a stop, Dutch leaped over the back of the wagon, instantly picking you up and taking you into a nearby tent.

“Okay Y/N,” he spoke hastily, flitting around the tent as he artfully bandaged up your wounds and poured health cure down your throat, “You’re going to stay alive because even though I did get you for free in the end- I’ve put a lot on the line for this.”

The utterance of your name blindsided you, the specific phonetic variation of your name on Dutch’s lips a foreign concept to you. Though at the same time, it felt right. Like returning home. But he hadn’t changed, you told yourself. He was still rude, materialistic, and conniving. You may have been better off staying with the Skinners. As he pressed into the stab wound in your side- you felt your consciousness fading, the pain blurring your vision and eliciting shouts from your throat.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbled as you felt a hand ridden with jewels caress your hair, “We have a lot to discuss.”

When you next awoke, the hum of night surrounded you as the crackling of a fire sounded nearby. You were laid upon a pile of warm pelts, a thin cross stitch blanket laid over your frame, covering the injuries that each individually created a cold ache. The tent you laid in was a decent size, though smaller than what you had previously slept in with Dutch- it was filled with mismatched furniture; pieces that he had presumably scavenged due to the inability to show his face anywhere. A thin cloth shirt lay beside you; to which you awkwardly pulled on, careful to avoid the extent of your injuries, in favor of losing your long destroyed and stained clothes. From your position you could see a horse, the Count, strong and faithful as ever though its once pristine, shining coat was greyer with what could be presumed as turmoil and age.

Dutch filtered into your vision next, sat beside the horse and facing away from you- his back solid and strong as ever, posture perfect as he cleaned the repeater that you had only seen to inflict pain. You attempted to rise from the bed, instantly wincing as a burn resounded within your side- that gained Dutch’s attention as he spun, his features wearing a look of shock.

“Finally,” He smirked, placing the gun on the ground and rising to come and meet you, “I thought you’d never wake up Princess.”

You glared at him, both for the nickname and his forceful attempts to lay you back down, “I’m a renowned bounty hunter now, you know.”

“Oh, I know that,” A grin marred his features, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, “I’ve seen you all over the papers- the wonderful tales of justice and empowerment. Always a great read.”

“It isn’t a fantasy story to enjoy over breakfast,” You snapped, “I’m finally doing something good with my life, going straight and working alongside the law. Not against it.”

Dutch scoffed, always the cynic in the face of accomplishment “You’re nothing but a tool to them Y/N- one wrong move, one slightly unlawful kill and you’re finished.”

You cut him off with a laugh then, scrubbing a hand against your eyes in disbelief, “You are seeing me for the first time in eight years and you are seriously giving me a lecture right now?” You paused, preparing to deliver a punch, “The public are betting on me to do it you know, to kill you.”

Dutch stood then, an unbridled rage in his eyes as he towered over you, though he only spoke two words. “You wouldn’t.”

You shrugged, smirking up at him cynically, “How would you know? We haven’t seen each other in eight years, Dutch- the last time we did see each other, you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed you?” Dutch raged, “I never betrayed you; my gun never faltered in your direction though I remember you sending a number of shots my way.”

“You killed Arthur.”

Dutch swallowed, his throat bobbing; the weight of your accusation infecting the strength of his shoulders and setting stone within his chest. He spoke slowly, each word laced with venom as spit flew from the lips, “How would you know?”

“I saw,” your voice shook with anger, “I followed him up there. I saw what you did. I saw the way he begged. I saw the way you left his body lying there. If I hadn’t been there- he would have been left behind to rot.”

“I did what had to be done.” His voice cracked, emotion tiding the way over any rational thought, “I did…what had to be done.”

Shaking your head, you turned from him; the severity of your injuries rendering you useless, unable to run. Dutch refused to move from your peripheral, his gaze heady and severe upon the back of your head. “Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Dutch paused, his fists clenched and hair falling into his eyes, the pomade long worn off, “Because, I miss you Y/N.”

“Bullshit.”

“Y/N,” Dutch was pleading now, grasping at your shoulders and arms, his hands skimming any skin he could find; the actions of a starved man, “No matter what I do, no matter where I go, who I’m with, what semblance of riches I am able to grasp- you never leave my mind,” He gulped, no stopping now, “I’ve been reading about you for years but when I saw that poster up in Manzanita Post, I went insane with worry- I thought I’d be collecting your dead body but when I saw you strung up there I felt even worse; I practically felt the pain you felt.”

“Seriously?” You spat, “You felt my pain? I was being tortured and you spin this to be about you?”

“Princess that’s not-”

“Leave it Dutch,” You growled, slapping away his encroaching hands, “You haven’t changed.”

“What was wrong with me before? I was a leader, I kept you all alive. And what do I get for that? Nothing.”

“You ruined us!” You yelled, “You ruined me! My life since leaving you has been reduced to nothing but surviving, I can’t fade into the background anymore because of the target you placed upon our backs Dutch.”

“You had a choice, you could have left whenever you wanted.”

“But, I couldn’t. Anytime I left I’d be watched like a hawk Dutch. I was finally free, but now you’ve reigned me in again.”

Dutch laughed then, a fabricated cackle as he clutched his stomach- though the grin above his face did not reach his eyes. “I saved your life, Princess.”

“My fate there would have been better than this.”

“Ah, I see.”

The two of you sat in petulant silence then, too stubborn to back down as the weight of trauma and regret outweighed any semblance of forgiveness. The stale air of silence continued for days as you recovered- Dutch would check your injuries and bring you meals whilst you were still bedbound; allowing for only small glimpses of contact as he opted to spend as much time as possible outside of the tent; favoring humidity and his horse over your company. As you recovered, you began to venture outside of the warmth of the bed- opting to explore the surrounding wilderness, ignoring Dutch’s ever watchful gaze. It seemed his possessive streak had never ended, possibly having worsened seeing as though he had the gall to stroll into the camp of some of the most ruthless killers in the state.

In your solitude, you thought of home. You thought of your little bedroom in Beecher’s Hope, a place you could finally call your own. You thought of the family dinners you were missing; Abigail’s horrendous cooking feeling like a distant memory as you ate only scavenged animal meat and local berries. You thought of nighttime bonfires, morning coffee and the glow of the sun upon the crops during the afternoons; sweat congregating at your forehead as you had earned your keep. You missed home, you missed home like you had once missed Dutch.

The knowledge that you couldn’t have both was heartbreaking- serenity and Dutch was not an amicable match. Dutch only brought destruction and suffering; you hadn’t spoken properly in days due to his inability to see the point of others, his leading mindset never faltering. Dutch could simply never be a part of a family. You glanced over at him from your perch then, watched as he brushed down The Count; taking care to smooth down its hair and whisper sweet nothings into its ear.

Everytime he acted contrary to his real self you felt your heart shatter.

You stood then, unable to bear the weight of loaded silence any longer. “I spotted a river down the hill, I’m going to go and wash myself down.”

Dutch paused, seemingly shocked by the sound of your voice, “I’ll join you.”

“Dutch-”

“No, Y/N.” Dutch spoke firmly, raising a hand towards you, “Your injuries are too severe, if you slip and open up your side, your death will be in my hands.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and sauntered down the hill; listening as his footsteps followed. The silence continued as you walked, all too aware that you would have to remove at least some articles of clothing before him. It was nothing he’d never seen before of course, but it had been years since a man had seen your body in that way- you couldn’t account for your actions if his heated gaze met yours after so long.

“Turn around.”

Dutch grinned, turning slowly with his hands on his hips, “It’s nothing I’ve never seen before, Princess.”

You knew he would say that. You merely scoffed in reply.

As you stripped, you became too aware of the sensitivity of your injuries; the ache in your shoulder, the sting in your stomach and the pain in your side. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Dutch called, back still turned.

“I don’t-” You screwed your eyes shut, dreading what was to come, “I don’t think I can wash myself.”

“Okay,” Dutch spoke slowly, turning though his eyes remained closed, “Do you want me to help you?”

Gulping, you nodded frantically, “Yes.” You spoke hastily- terrified that if you didn’t respond quick enough then the moment would be over. Part of you felt disgusted at yourself, disgusted at your lack of resistance towards the man that had broken your heart. But, the other part of you felt thrilled; electrified, brought back to life at the thought of him truly touching your skin again. Rolling back his shirt sleeves, he approached; his uncaring facade refusing to break as he helped you peel your shirt from your arms, instantly exposing your bare breasts as you had foregone upper undergarments in favor of allowing your injuries to heal. You gulped, refusing to look at him as he moved to unbutton your pants, stifling groans as you felt the linen brush over a sore spot. He shushed you comfortingly, discarding your pants to the side. Beads of sweat had formed at the base of his temple.

He began to lower you into the cool tide then, cupping water within his palm and pouring it onto your head; shushing you soothingly as he did so. His finger constantly skimmed your body- the edges of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, the corners of your mouth. Your lips pursed as you stared up into his eyes; to which he resolutely stared back, the mask finally breaking. He could’ve done anything to you in that moment- pinned you down beneath the water, stolen your last breaths.

You dwelled on whether that would be the case if anyone other than you laid within his arms.

“Dutch,” you gulped, your throat running dry as you attempted to voice your feelings, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

Dutch blinked at you, his finger tracing a path down the side of your face- his voice croaked as he spoke, half-speaking half-groaning, “Princess.” The sound of his resistance breaking was mesmerizing and you laid compliantly as his finger began to circle your nipple; creating goosebumps in its wake.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N.”

“I- I can’t.” Your head spun as he moved his hand downwards, holding you steady as he reached down to swirl a ringed finger around your clit. The feeling of the stark cold of the ring matched with the heat of his skin elicited a guttural moan, your eyes rolling backwards as he began to pleasure you. His throat bobbed as he stared down at you, his eyes darkening and intense as he watched you break apart, a familiar mirage of the past. The semblance of a woman could break even the strongest of men.

You broke entirely, gripping Dutch’s hair and smashing your faces together; drenching his shirt in water and kissing him messily. His tongue dove into your mouth as he pinned your face against his own with his free hand, continuing his ministrations upon your clit. You groaned into his mouth, working at the sopping buttons of his shirt. You were all too accustomed to his rough nature during intimacy, often opting to pin you down and clutch your hair over soft, sweet actions. You had cared in the past, but now you couldn’t, opting to claw at his back and hair; scratching his scalp and drawing lines down his back.

Just as you reached for his pants, he stopped; pulling away with swollen lips and ruffled, wet hair- “I’m sorry Darling, we can’t do this here,” he breathed, moving his hand upwards to cup at your breast, “Let’s get you up to my tent and then we can continue.��

You shook your head, eyes pleading and begging, “We can do it on the shoreline, please we can’t stop now.” You knew that if you stopped, you wouldn’t be able to continue; the disgust and horror would set in. Dutch nodded reluctantly, a tinge of suspicion lingering in his eyes. You stumbled out of the water; collapsing together as you hastily pulled his pants from his body before lowering yourself onto his cock. He groaned huskily, his hands flying to your hips as he threw his head back. He had been craving this.

As you rocked and rolled together- you knew that this couldn't happen again. Dutch Van Der Linde was not safe- you could not let him enter your sphere any further. You moaned and cried and whimpered- relishing every last touch and taste and feeling. The sweat congregating between your bodies was slick and hot- connecting every last fiber of skin.

This couldn’t happen again, you told yourself, this couldn’t happen again.

Afterwards, you laid together at the shoreline- naked and bare to the forest as you laid in Dutch’s arms. He told you stories- stories of his time on the run, moments where he thought of you, moments where he caught glimpses of you in the paper, glimpses of you told in the fireside tales of other outlaws. You laughed, smiled, complied- gave him exactly what he wanted- you told him stories of the gang; neglecting important details though providing him with the skeletons of true stories. He too smiled, his lips curling genuinely as he placed a kiss into your hair.

Just before sleep overruled him, he informed you of his plan. His plan for the two of you, how you would travel together in his wagon; find a farmhouse and make a living there. You smiled, agreeing.

But it was the life you already had.

When dawn hit, you crawled out of his arms; allowing yourself one last look before you fled- into the dangers of Tall Trees and the semblance of home that lay just past it. You had to return to your family.

[male-fanfics-for-days]

Check-ups Can be Rough

Arthur Morgan X Male Reader

A/n: A little fanfic idea I had while doing laundry, please don't ask why I am just really gay for this cowboy.

Warning: a slight sexual theme towards the end

Some of the men in camp had just gotten back from a decent-sized robbery, Arthur and you included in that group. Now in camp, you were quick off your horse and ushering the men into your medical tent to be checked before they were allowed to go about the rest of the day.

You were the camp's actual doctor, as helpful as Reverend Swanson's medicines could be in the harder situations, you were actually trained in what you did by professionals. Those same professionals taught you how to use a gun, specifically long-ranged weapons, you favoring the sniper. It was actually your attempted killing of Dutch van der Linde that brought you into the gang.

Charles went into the tent with you first, as he was usually the one in first if no one was obviously hurt. He wasn't ashamed to get checked over by the doctor, other men in camp thought going to you was a slight show of weakness.

After Charles was Javier, then John, a stubborn Bill Williamson, then Micah

Arthur would have gone after Charles but Dutch wanted to speak with him just as he had gotten back. Never one to half-ass things, you had Arthur promise to come to visit the medical tent after he was done, even if you gave him a quick once-over to see he was fine.

So, after talking with Dutch, he made his way over to your tent. Most times your tent flaps were closed when checking over someone, but you had assessed that none of them were hurt enough to need the privacy of a closed area. This meant Arthur could see you looking over Micah as he walked up.

He stayed quiet outside the tent, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the poles of the tent fixed to the ground, simply watching you work.

Arthur wasn't too ashamed to admit he was impressed by you. You worked in an efficiency he could only dream of achieving, always on point with everything you do but especially your shots. He's seen you first hand down men 100 meters away, and that was with a bow!

Then came your medical work. You never left anything to chance, not a cut, bruise, cough, or sneeze that happened in camp you didn't hear and check on. It was seen as overbearing and unnecessary to some, but Arthur knew that this carefulness came from a good heart.

You'd confided in him about how you were taught. Sure, you had read some books, but you were mostly learning by action. You saw firsthand how even the smallest cut could kill a man by infection, that an unassuming bruise of the skin could lead to amputation because of an ignored issue.

You knew you could be a bit too much sometimes, but after coming to care about (almost) everyone in camp, their wellbeing was on your mind constantly.

He watched you switch between looking over Micah's physical form to listening to his breathing and his heartbeat, which made the man swat your hands away.

"Alright alright, we're done here." He stands from the chair you had everyone sit in, glaring at your hands. "I ain't need to be fussed over anymore, I'm fine."

"That is for me to determine, Mr. Bell." You grit your teeth at him, putting away your stethoscope, pushing on his shoulders to sit him back down.

"Everyone gets the same checkups, and I just had to dig a 3-day-old bullet out of your shoulder."

"And I'm telling you, Doctor," Micah spits out in mockery. "I'm fine."

Micah goes to push you off him, but you shove him into the chair quickly. You put your knee on his chest, forcing the chair to lean back and hit the table behind it. Micah flailed for a moment but went still when you just as quickly brandished a small nearby scalpel (still clearly covered in Micah's blood from getting the bullet out) and put it close to his throat.

"Now, Mister Bell," You speak lowly, your eyes going dark as you lean in closer to him.

"I am a doctor, the only one here, in fact. You may not like it, but I'm the only one who can keep you alive in this camp, and if I see fit? I could turn a blind eye to your injuries."

Despite being pinned in a chair, leaning back on a table, and unable to sit up, Micah chuckles darkly.

"You ain't got the nerve." His voice dripped with venom. " The only kills you've gotten were from people dumb enough not to look in the trees, you monkey. Even today, you were hiding away and shootin' from afar, too afraid to fight like a real man."

"A real man, you say?" You scoff, leaning back and letting Micah's chair fall back to the ground as you back away.

You turn from him to the table on the other side of the tent, and having thought he won, Micah smirks.

Then, yelps and flinches as a much bigger knife than a scalpel embeds itself into the chair, right in the space between his legs and extremely close to his nethers.

Micah looks at the blade in shock then turns his head up to look back up at you, still standing in the motion of throwing it. A dark look in your eyes as you sigh through your nose.

"I'll tell you right now, Micah Bell, as good as I am with a rifle?" You point to his crotch. "I'm even better with a blade."

Looking back down, Micah sees that the blade was so close to his crotch and so sharp, that it sliced a thin hole right through it. While looking at the knife he doesn't see you walk over and pull it out of the chair's wood, swiping it near his face so close that it took a few strands of hair with it.

You take a cloth off your belt and wipe the blade down as if it being close to Micah was enough to dirty it. You turn your back to him once more and wave the blade out, dismissing him.

"Now get the fuck out of my tent."

Micah sat for a moment in stunned silence, as if he didn't expect you to openly threaten him within earshot of others. But then he huffs, standing quickly and stomping out of the tent, pushing past Arthur even despite having enough space to leave.

Arthur had watched all of that happen with so much focus, he only just noticed after Micah had left that his eyes were dry from leaving them wide open the whole time.

He wasn't sure why, but his heart was racing and his face felt hotter with every passing moment as he replayed what happen in his head. The way you silenced Micah, the way you held the blade, the way you stood, the way you talked. Everything about what happened made Arthur feel... something.

"Arthur," you called out, snapping him out of his thoughts as he looks at you.

You have a growing grin on your face as you clean your hands off in a bucket of water.

"Looking to camp in my workspace?"

Arthur gives you a confused look as you chuckle a bit and point down at his pants, a mischievous look in your eye.

"With your tent pitched I assumed you'd be staying awhile."

Horrified, Arthur looks down to see that, indeed... he had a very visible bulge in his pants. He gave an awkward cough, taking off his hat to cover himself, all the while you laughed.

If he wasn't red and hot in the face before, he sure as hell was now, your laughing at him sure didn't help.

"Alright, big boy, let's get you checked out quickly so you can deal with that in private."

With the realization of some feelings he had towards you, he also came to the conclusion that this was by far the most embarrassing medical checkup he's ever had.

[phasewashere]

susan grimshaw wears victorian goth. karen wears like. trailer park trash fashion and i mean that in the highest regard. sean dresses like a cliché stoner. john,javier, and eagle flies (paytahs also there) are the emo unholy trinity. abigail dresses like its the early 2000s jean skirt and all. charles is a hoodie sweats and too many layers of clothing king. arthur dresses like hes on brokeback mountain. dutch dresses like he plays golf regularly (he doesn't). hosea dresses like the gayest theatre kid you can conceive. bill wear strictly camo cus he thinks it makes him look tough. it doesnt. reverend swanson just. dresses like a protestant preacher. uncles got that karm fit with the really questionable graphic tee and sports cap. lenny wears 90s preppy style but not. white 90s preppy style. prince of bel aire. to me. 90s sitcom fashion. marybeth wears strictly vintage and frequents any yard sale and flea market. tilly wears hand-me-downs but she makes them look cool and sows patches n shit onto them. like. the cool patched shit you find at thrift shops. kieran just wears the ideal dysphoria/depression fit. strauss is a proud old man clothing wearer. he still dresses like its 1950. pearson just dresses like a 1980s dad with his many patterned sweaters and khaki shorts. trelawny only dresses in the most disgustin gaudy eyebleed fashion known to man. and his bath robes are extravagant and layered. micah dresses like eminem but he looks so fucking cringe and stupid. his ankle moniter doesnt help either. molly exists solely in cozy wear and flowey skirts. and platform heels. sadie wears exclusively mens clothing but also like 70s mens work wear and also always dresses like shes on brokeback mountain. like the butch she is.

[zarkishere]

chat i've decided to download the sims again and make the vndlnd gang but also they're gonna be mostly non-human

here's the list so far but do give me opinions plz (also i feel like im forgetting people ough help)

werewolves :

hosea, bill, john, jack, abigail, sadie, tilly, sean, mac n davey(?

vampires :

dutch, molly n grimshaw (turned vampire by dutch), micah?, javier, strauss, lenny?

spellcaster : trelawny, charles, arthur, karen, mary, pearson???,

human : uncle, maybe pearson??, kieran????? (he's gonna be a horse rancher for sure tho)

[charthurlover]

What perfume/cologne would the Van Der Linde gang wear

hi!! this is my first tumblr post, and i don’t exactly know how to do this or work the app, so forgive me if this is horribly worded or confusing.

anyways, this is my opinion on what colognes or perfumes the gang would wear. horses and cain included, since they are technically a member of the gang!!

Abigail -

something woodsy, maybe like the forest or a campfire, cedar wood, trees, plants.

examples:

- G-Water

- Tam Dao

- Snoqualine

Arthur -

tobacco, scent of alcohol, mud, outdoors.

examples:

- Jasmin et Cigarette

- Rien

- Earthworm

Baylock -

ashes, grease.

examples:

- Tobacco Blaze

- Garage

- La Yuquam Homme

Bill -

any popular male fragrances, or like gunpowder and fire.

examples:

- 9mm Ballistic Therapy

- High Noon

- Campfire Nights

Boaz -

dynamite, money.

examples:

- Wall Street

- Don Xerjoff

- 1805 Tonnerre BeauFort London

Branwen -

oatcakes, apples, water.

examples:

- Lostmarch Lann-Ael

- Be Delicious

- Cavalli Acqua

Bob -

blood, gunpowder, sweat.

examples:

- Vena Cava

- Richard Dark Side

- Secretions Magnefique

Brown Jack

pomade, alcohol, blood.

examples:

- Classic Fragrance

- Heeley Agarwood

- Molotov Cocktail

Cain -

dog, mud, grass.

examples:

- La Panthere Edition Soir

- Grass

- Zoologist Bat

Charles -

light florals, nature, clean fur.

examples:

- Coach Floral

- Super Cedar

- Coyote

Dutch -

blood, metal, tears.

examples:

- Vassago

- Spacewalk

- Rainy Season of Dresden

Davey -

snow, wood, fire.

examples:

- Waltz of the Snowflakes

- Tobacco Vanille

- Inquisitor

Enis -

whiskey, beer, grass.

examples:

- Tom Oud

- Stout ‘n Smoke

- Dune Road

Grimshaw -

sulfur, metal, cinnamon.

examples:

- Bloody Smoke

- Vanille Absolu

- Jupiter

Gwydion -

birds, leather, salt.

examples:

- Seemannn

- Black Saffron

- Millésime Impérial

Hosea -

moonshine, stew, metal.

examples:

- Moscow Mule

- Starfish & Coffee

- Santal 33

Jack -

water, horse, corn oil.

examples:

- Petrichor

- Cuir de Russie

- Seems Legit

Javier -

mahogany, cotton, musk.

examples:

- Redwood Leaves

- Lazy Sunday Morning

- Urban Musk

Jenny -

snow, wool, wood.

examples:

- Redwood Mist

- Battaniye

- Grey Vetiver

John -

sweat, musk, grease

examples:

- Flores Negras

- Silver Musk

- Cristina La Veneno Ni Puta Ni Santa

Kieran -

blood, grass, oats.

examples:

- Hora de la Verdad Sombra

- Figuier Eden

- Harran

Karen -

beer, guns, whiskey.

examples:

- Beguile

- Wicked John

- Kutay

Lenny -

blood, books, bullets.

examples:

- Seems Legit

- Diamonitirion - elixir atonit

- Moon Child

Mac -

metal, bullets, kerosene.

examples:

- Craft

- Iron Duke

- Nuvolari Rubini

Maggie -

dirt, stone, bog.

examples:

- Le Sillage Blanc

- During the Rain

- Swamp elixir

Mary-Beth -

books, ink, gold.

examples:

- Bibliophilia: Love of Books

- Supreme Vanilla

- Royal Blood

Micah -

rot, corn, mold.

examples:

- Saint Louis Cemetery #1

- Funerie

- French Kiss

Molly -

roses, grass, trees.

examples:

- Roses Musk

- Leila Lou

- Colors de Benetton

Nell II -

sweat, cows, pig.

examples:

- Amyi 3.17

- Cuir de Russie

- Hyrax

Old Belle -

carrots, beer, hay.

examples:

- Carotte

- Sónar

- Basilico & Fellini

Old Boy -

musk, tears, cow.

examples:

- Another 13

- Ozone

- Osmanthus

Pearson -

meat, vegetables, crawfish.

examples:

- Gino: Steak Scented Eau de Parfum

- Eau de Cuisine

- Wild Carrot Oud

Reverend -

whiskey, incense, coffee.

examples:

- 7 Loewe

- Bourbon e Fava Tonka

- Black Opium

Sadie -

blood, tears, gunpowder.

examples:

- Bull’s Blood 2nd Edition

- Cool Glacier

- Rendez-Vous!

Sean -

whiskey, sweat, bullets.

examples:

- Malt Akro

- Monochrome

- Amour Nocturne

Silver Dollar -

fire, wool, metal.

examples:

- Encens Pyro

- The Sheepfold, Moonlight

- Rosenrot

Taima -

deer, blood, meat.

examples:

- Ma Bete

- Trinity Blood

- Good Girl Gone Bad

The Count -

sugarcubes, peaches, pears.

examples:

- Pixie Dust

- Allure Eau de Parfum

- First Base

Trelawny -

doves, rabbits, silk.

examples:

- Ruğa Sablo

- Wet Garden

- Baklava Musk

Tilly -

bullets, baby powder, swamps.

examples:

- 266ts Pontiff’s Harley

- Cashmere Mist Eau de Toilette

- Haxan

Uncle -

manure, horse, cow.

examples:

- D’zing

- L’heure Fougueuse

- Zoologist Cow

again, this is my first post so i’m very sorry about it being bad or isn’t looking right for tumblr. so sorry.

[bat-gwuck]

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

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

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

I also just fucking LOVE the grey wardens so…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

also Arthur absolutely nicked the fur collar off a rich noble

[azures-bazar]

To His Eyes

Here's a one shot following the lovely request of @bubblegumbitchs-world ! The plot was that buff female!reader was insecure about her body, and Arthur is here to comfort her !

I added a few things to the plot, like Micah being mean (as always). Please excuse all these mistakes or non-sense English terms, some of them make sense in French lol

Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader 

Word count : 2.8k

Short summary : You always had a stronger build, as far as you could remember. And Arthur is probably your number one supporter whenever you feel down about it ! 

Tags : Buff woman, Chapter 2, insecurity, cute, you’re beautiful, your muscles are astonishing, Arthur admires and loves you, post Sean’s return party, Micah being mean

"Y/N !" Lenny shouted from the other side of the camp while getting to his horse. "Could you chop some wood ? I have to head to town and can’t do it now ! I’ll pay you back !"

"I’m on it !" 

You put down your morning coffee and headed over to the pile of wood Lenny had left for you. You did not mind trading tasks since you knew how busy Lenny could be at times. Charles was away hunting with Arthur, John was still not feeling well, and Sean… well let’s say your favourite Irish Terrier was too busy sleeping it off after last night’s party before his guard duty. You were the only fella suitable for a task you somewhat enjoyed at times. Wearing one of Arthur’s shirts and a plain grey skirt, you obliged. 

As far as you could recall, you always had a strong build. You had been stronger than the vast majority of children since a very young age, always carrying the weakest ones around the streets of your town. Dutch found you by chance somewhere in 1894 while you were having some hard time finishing a brawl after a drunk man, displaying a cruel lack of decency, had tried courting you by dragging you close to him. You had pushed him away, resulting in a fist fight, which then escalated to a brawl in the entire saloon. Dutch had dragged you out of the pit and took you to his hideout without questioning anything about your bruise-covered face. 

"We need another pair of strong arms, this lady right here will do the trick !" you heard him laugh as you were left with Arthur 

Morgan had spent a few hours trying to stitch your wounds, which was something you obviously hated. He had tried catching your attention by getting to know your name, calmly reminding you that you were safe with him, joking about his current torture in order to make you smile. It took you two weeks to get back on your feet and work with the rest of the gang members, performing chores that were mostly assigned to men due to your strength. Arthur unexpectedly fell for you while you were carrying sacks to Mr. Pearson’s wagon, dropping them nearby before adjusting your hair. 

Arthur had often found himself staring at you, sketching your movements in his journal while contemplating your beauty. He admired your strength, your shape, your beautiful traits, the way you could easily cut Bill’s speeches about women being inferior to men. Even Davey and Mac respected you for that ! Arthur was quick to find himself dreaming about you, waking up shaken and almost sad since nothing he had seen earlier was real. He had made a very first awkward move to tell you how beautiful you were by slipping a drawing on your cot with a note inviting you to meet him in the middle of the night outside camp. His confession was the sweetest thing you had ever heard as you could tell this brawny man, looking so threatening at times with his heavy Southern accent and rowdy behaviour, was as adorable as a puppy whenever he was around you ! 

Your affair had started just a few weeks prior to Blackwater’s ferry heist. Arthur often took you to town, enjoying spending time with you at the saloon or taking you to the tailor for you to get better clothes. Your shape was different than the rest of the girls, and you deserved more than a full ocean of gold according to Arthur. Your stay at Colter, holding onto each-other on his bed had brought the two of you close enough to lead you to share his tent at Horseshoe Overlook. At least, neither you nor him would have to walk through the entirety of the camp to see one another ! Surprisingly enough, it was Dutch’s idea to to bring the two of you together, for the better… and the worse, since you were not this quiet most of the nights.

As you finished your chopping wood, you walked around the hideout to carry a few sacks to Pearson’s wagon before stumbling upon Micah, who had left his chair to head to you, smoking his cigarette with a large smile. You crossed your arms on your chest as you wanted him to move aside, but whenever you tried stepping near him, Micah would move and block your way. Meeting his gaze made you regret not begging Arthur to leave him in Strawberry. 

"And here’s our strong lady." Micah smirked. "How does it feel to have your clothes directly borrowed from Arthur’s stash ?" 

"Get lost." you said as you noticed Karen nearby, who was quick to stop her guard duty as soon as she noticed you

"Must be hard being a lady and having to buy men’s clothes since women’s are too tight."

Ever since the day Dutch brought him in, Micah’s favourite hobby had been to tease everyone around camp, often provoking women. You were his favourite target since you could easily fight back, he had adored the first punch you gave him after witnessing him acting inappropriate towards Mary-Beth. 

"'Em big arms are good for a man, but for a lady…-" Micah laughed

"Shut up." Karen said, interrupting him as she noticed you trying to hold yourself from punching him 

"In my opinion, ladies built like men shouldn’t be called…-"

"No one cares ‘bout your opinion. Leave her alone." 

Micah smirked and walked away as Karen carefully placed her riffle on the ground, taking your hands between hers. Being Micah’s second favourite target due to her overall behaviour, she could not help but feel empathy towards you.  

"Are you okay ?" she asked. "Micah’s always a dick with us ladies." 

"I’m alright." you smiled. "I… I should get back to my chores."

You quickly walked away from Karen, grabbing a few more bags while making your way to Pearson’s wagon, doing your best to avoid Micah who kept looking at you from his seat. His sole remark about your arms made you vanish under a wave of insecurity towards your own body. You looked at the girls, analysing their beauty while they were apparently stitching a skirt. 

It had always been easy to notice that your body type was a little different from theirs. Your muscles were more defined and larger, you were in a perfect shape since you were active most of the time, only sitting down three times a day as you were doing so many things around camp. When you were not doing chores or hunting, you could be sent outside to rob some shops. You were never truly resting, always being active, which caused your muscles to remain as defined as they were. 

"Damn." you grumbled

You found yourself envying the girl’s various body shapes. From Karen’s beautiful curves to Tilly’s thin corseted waist, the way Molly held herself, how sweet Mary-Beth appeared… Micah had made you highly doubt yourself, despite your overall shape never caused you any trouble earlier. In fact, you were proud of it, despite having to borrow some of Arthur’s tightest shirts at times since the ones the girls were wearing were not fitting or could be uncomfortable for your daily tasks. Your body was different and, despite you felt insecure about it, everyone loved the way you looked. 

The girls admired you, you were strong and beautiful ! You were kind and so sweet, with a precious porcelain heart anyone could notice. Men around camp adored your implication into chores, you often demanded more to keep up, frequently asking anyone if they needed help. Even Bill was always amazed by the way you could do things the rest of the girl couldn’t. But your number one admirer and probably best support was Arthur, and nobody could deny it. 

You were his everything, his sweetest girl, his darling lady he would love until his last breath. He loved having you rest into his arms, drawing circles on your back, massaging your scalp while whistling a few old melodies his father had taught him decades ago. He adored the sight of you wearing his shirts since most of them were too large for you, drawing your portraits by night when you were asleep. He loved seeing you wear pants and skirts, dresses or even rags. Every single thing you were wearing suited you, and he was quick to remind it.

"M’lady, you could wear a tent as a dress and a flower pot as a hat, everything suits you !" he often said 

You kept doing a few chores around camp, barely noticing Arthur and Charles were back from hunting. After giving some meat to Pearson, Arthur’s very first gesture was to gently kiss your forehead. Instead of spending time with him, knowing that your chores were done, you decided to withdraw inside your tent to get some rest and untie your corset, wanting to take it of for the rest of the day. 

Since he came back to camp, Arthur could not take his eyes away from you. He could easily notice something was wrong, he could feel it. Just by the way you held yourself, or how quickly you headed to your tent, closing its flaps behind you. Whenever he would come back, even after a few hours, you would spend the rest of the day with him, sitting on his knees by the fire, singing old ballads with him, kissing him under the ocean of stars above your head… but not that day. 

Arthur had left his current conversation with Javier and Sean to head to your shared tent, calmly clearing out his voice before entering, not wanting to walk in while you were getting dressed. Indeed, he had seen you naked more than once, but he did not want to have anyone look inside the tent while passing behind him, just out of curiosity. Sean was quick to do it at times, but no one had the right to see your body bare but Arthur. 

"Can I come in ?" he asked 

"Yes." 

You sighed as you took your shirt off, moving your arms back to reach the laces of your corset. Ms. Grimshaw had given it to you a few days after you arrived, she had worn it years ago when her shape was a little similar to yours. It fitted you perfectly, but you wanted to take it off, feeling the need to wander around camp without it for a few minutes. A dress and one of Arthur’s shirts would certainly do the trick ! 

"Hey sweetheart." Arthur said, walking inside as you were untying your corset. "What’s wrong ?"

"Are my arms really this big ?" you asked, dropping your corset on the ground

"What ?" 

"Am I built like a man ?"

"What the hell are you talkin’ about ?" 

You turned back to Arthur while dragging a skirt out of your chest, putting it on over your chemise as he approached you, looking concerned. You stepped back, wishing for an answer first. You could easily spot Arthur’s confusion as his eyes were quick to speak for him. You proceeded putting on one of your shirts you usually would wear for the evening. It was a tailor-made blue blouse Arthur had bought you back in Blackwater. Your favourite. 

"Just… just tell me if I’m built like a man." you asked, being suddenly brought to tears 

"Of course you ain’t !" Arthur laughed, believing you were joking. "What the hell, Y/N ? Haven’t seen a man lookin' as feminine as you yet !"

Arthur’s reaction made you chuckle, but tears were quick to make their way out of your eyes. You hid your face behind your shaking hands as you started crying, doing your best to mute yourself. Micah’s comments were repeating themselves in your poor mind, causing you to break down into pieces despite knowing how beautiful you were, and how amazingly you were built. 

"Oh, princess… c’mere." Arthur said, opening his arms to greet you

"I’m sorry, I’m…-" 

"C’mere."

You walked forward and threw yourself into Arthur’s embrace, burying your head in his shirt, allowing yourself to cry against him. One of his large hands made its way to your hair while the other one kept caressing your back. He kissed the top of your head and closed his eyes. 

"Lemme guess… Micah’s been sayin’ shit." 

"Mmmm-mmmm…" you hiccuped

"I’m so sorry he’s such a bastard…" 

"It ain’t y-your f-fault…"

Arthur kissed the top of your head, feeling deeply saddened about your the way you felt. He was sorry for leaving you alone with Micah, he was sorry for bringing him back to camp after what they did in Strawberry. On a few occasions, Arthur would deeply wish to go back in time and stop Dutch from leaving camp on the day he would encounter Micah. Life might have been easier without him around, the Blackwater’s botched heist would never had taken place, and you would not be crying into his embrace by now. However, there was one thing which made him outrageously devastated, one single thing which was quick to bring him to tears : witnessing you being insecure about your body. 

"It’s alright, sweetheart." Arthur whispered to your ear as you clung onto his shirt. "I got you."

Needless to say, Arthur adored your body. He would run his fingers on your toned arms, on your back, on your calves, and often admire how beautiful you were. You were his main subject when it came to sketching people. You were so inspiring, inside and outside ! Whatever you were doing, Arthur loved it. To his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. A large shining sun which was blinding him with love. You were the beautifulest gem of his crown, his pride and most certainly one of the main reasons why he was still alive. There were no other women like you, so sweet, kind and caring, so gentle and so strong, eager to help anyone, whatever the situation was. He loved you for who you were, and the rest of the world did not matter as long as he had you by his side. 

It took him about five minutes to calm you down. You left his embrace after some time, he firmly held you by the shoulders, looking into you eyes with a large smile. You could easily feel lost when your eyes would meet his, they were the main reason why you fell in love. His puppy glance won you over so often that you could not even count the number of times you had forgiven Arthur’s attitude and manners. His beautiful green eyes were quick to show you all the support you needed, you knew Arthur was quick when he had to cheer you up, just like you were with him. 

"You don’t have large arms, and you ain’t built like a man." Arthur smiled. "You’re literally a greek goddess or somethin’. You’re perfect."

"You’re saying it because you like me." 

"First of, I ain’t likin’ you, I love. And secondly, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, period. I love your body, I love bittin’ your well-shaped muscles when we’re in bed, run my fingers on your body… I love you, as a whole." 

"Arthur, I…-" 

"If you don’t believe me, lemme try something. SEAN !" 

You gasped, hiding behind Arthur while buttoning your shirt above your chemise as Morgan called for Sean a second time, you heard him scream from the other side of the camp. He was probably eating some stew or was drinking a whiskey before going on guard duty, and would not hesitate to look between your tent flaps if needed ! 

"Oi ! What’s it, English ?!" Sean shouted 

"Ain’t Y/N beautiful ?!" Arthur asked 

"Oh, ya ! One of the most beautiful women of that damn country with Miss Jones !"

"Shut up, Sean !" Karen laughed behind your tent 

"See ?"

This overall interaction made you laugh. Arthur turned his head back to you and gently lifted your chin up for you to meet his gaze one more time. This time, he was blushing. Just the sight of you smiling at him was quick to make him believe some butterflies were flying in his stomach. You were such a gorgeous woman, even Sean, being in love with Karen, was quick to confirm it !

"Darlin’, you know you’re so beautiful when you smile." he mumbled 

"Thank you, Arthur." 

Don’t ever let Micah make you feel like that. You’re a beautiful woman, the most beautiful I know. Nobody should convince you otherwise. 

You nodded, allowing Arthur to drop a soft kiss on your lips before embracing you one more time. Your confidence was still hurt, but Morgan’s words were so encouraging and genuinely filled with love that Micah’s comments were quick to be forgotten. You nuzzled your head into Arthur’s neck, allowing him to kiss your forehead. You felt protected, you felt loved. You did not need anything but Arthur at this moment.

To his eyes, you were beautiful. And nothing would change his mind, nothing. 

Nothing. 

Nothing.

[gxbbyhoneybadger]

Richer than Gold

Pairing: !HH!Arthur Morgan x !F!Reader

Summary: Dutch has done it again, finding the jackpot for more money. He tells his gang about a rich man who spoils and loves his only child, hatching the perfect plan to kidnap the child for ransom. He sent his best men out to catch the victim, but what they got in return was something Arthur did not expect to meet, or better yet, fall for. But no one knew yet, just how dark the truth was behind the perfect dollhouse.

Warnings: adult language, guns, angst, tension, over-controlling parents, deception, abuse if you squint, forced arranged marriage, mutual pining, flirting.

This was just a drabble I thought of after I watched one of my favorite Pixar movies (Brave), I also added a twist to it, this was a winner at the polls!

The picture was edited by me.

Part 2, Part 3

Minors DNI 🔞 18 below the cut

--

Dutch had called everyone over, Tilly, Susan, Bill, Sean, Micah, Javier, Charles, John, Sadie, Mary-Beth, Molly, Lenny, Karen, Abigail, and the rest. Arthur approached after getting off his horse and listened to what Dutch was saying. "I've got a plan, this'll be our biggest and greatest heist there'll ever be!" Dutch said with a sly grin, "Just over in Saint Denis, a man named Richardson Jones, has just paid a visit to one of his many homes. And what's better than that! He has decided to bring along his greatest possession."

"Money?" Karen suggested. "Nope, his own youth." Dutch said. "A kid?" Bill chuckled. "Now, I know it sounds rather odd, but trust me when I tell you this. His child is his only weak spot, he'd do anything for his young'un to be happy! Spoiled to no end! We get our hands on his child and take it, he'll give us whatever we want! And trust me, Richardson is Richer than Gold itself." Dutch said.

"You want us to kidnap a child for ransom?" John questioned. "You won't even have to force the kid to follow, just use some damn candy." Micah snickered. John rolled his eyes as Jack wandered up to his mom's legs. "Arthur, John, Bill, Javier, Charles, Hosea, and I will leave to find Richardson's heir and bring it here for a day or two, afterwards, we get the money and book it to Tahiti!" Dutch said.

"But a child, Dutch?" Arthur finally said. "Yes, Arthur, a kid. It ain't going to be so terrible, we're not gonna hurt 'em." Hosea rubbed the back of his head as he listened, "It'll be a quick babysitting gig before we return the child, right, Dutch?" Charles questioned. "Yes, my boy." Dutch confirmed.

"He should be arriving pretty soon, we needa go and find out what our target'll look like. C'mon!" Micah yelled as he ran to his horse.

~~~

John, Arthur, Charles, and Javier, were set on catching the child as Dutch, Hosea, and Bill were gonna distract Richardson and his friends. "So he's the one richer than gold?" Javier asked as he looked through the binoculars at a handsome wealthy dressed man with a trimmed beard and silver eyes. The four men were hiding near the building which was close to the docks where the ship had been stationary for a while.

"Guess so." Charles said before looking himself. "You got candy, right?" John whispered to Arthur. "I got the damn candy, now I owe Jack." Arthur muttered. "Look! Look! Someone's coming out!" Javier warned the men. Richardson was speaking to a well dressed Dutch and Hosea.

"Gentleman, please meet my beautiful daughter, Y/n Jones L/n, she has her mother's last name." Richardson introduced as he raised his arm to point to a beautiful lady walking down the plank set on the dock. She had to be in her youthful years, beautiful jewelry, gorgeous dress, her hair done up in a stunning braid.

"Oh shit." Bill muttered, "I don't think he has a child, that has to be his wife."

"Hello, Gentlemen. It's an honor to meet my father's dearest companions." She smiled while bowing her head out of respect. Arthur held his face with on hand as he tried to contemplate a different way to get the girl. "Dammit, what are we gonna do now?" Javier asked. "Y'all keep an eye on her, I'll run to Dutch and Hosea, see what they think and I'll come back to you. Follow her." Bill said before running off.

John and Javier made their way towards an alley in the town while Arthur made his way closer to the docks to listen in on any conversation. "Oh. . . My." Hosea muttered when he and Dutch saw the young girl. "Mr. Matthews." Y/n smiled as she shook his hand, "Pleasure to meet you."

Arthur shook his head as he started to watch the girl, making sure she didn't take off. "Y/N!" A woman screamed as she ran towards her with excitement, holding her dress so she didn't fall and into Y/n's open embrace. "It's been so long!" The woman with red hair said.

"It has indeed, Kimberly! My goodness, look at you!" Y/n gasped as Kimberly spun around to show off her new purple dress. "It's beautiful, ain't it? Just got it yesterday from my daddy!", "Kimberly, my girl, you've grown up!" Richardson greeted as he hugged her. "I have, indeed, Mr!"

The two girls walked towards a small shop and sat down by a table, Arthur had quietly and discreetly made his way towards the corner and hid behind it to listen to the girls. "So! How old are ya, now?" Kimberly asked Y/n. "Can't you guess?", "Twenty-one!", "Nuh uh!", "Twenty-two?", "No.", "I don't know!"

Y/n let out a sigh and shook her head, "I'm twenty-four, Kim. It's only been five years since we last saw each other!" Y/n giggled, "It's strange to be here again, I forgot if it was nice here in Saint Denis?"

"Oh, absolutely! Except for the random robberies and such." Kimberly sighed. ". . . Robberies?" Y/n muttered with am inquisitive tone. Arthur rolled his eyes, already knowing what was going to come. The spoiled daddy's girl was about to complain and whine about the dirty old outlaws who take what they want.

"Where they really outlaws?!" Y/n gasped. Kimberly scoffed and crossed her arms, "I forgot you're a total freak when outlaws come up in a conversation. You don't even act like a lady!" Y/n laughed and pulled off her white gloves, "You know I hate wearing these dumb dresses, wearing this annoyin' heels, having my hair done in this tight and uncomfortable way! I despise it, Kimberly!" She whined.

That's a new one. Thought Arthur as he listened, Kimberly giggled and held Y/n's hands. "Thinking about sneakin' out tonight with me?" Kimberly asked. Y/n gasped and shook her head, "My daddy'll kill me!" Kimberly snickered and slapped Y/n's hand. "Ow-!", "Like you cared if he did. All you gotta do is cry and say that it was a mistake, then he'll just let you go as always. C'mon, I know you wanna. Maybe finally you'll find a man."

Y/n groaned and stood, "C'mon, my daddy already told me where our manor is. Let's go and have some fun before I roll my eyes outta my own skull." Arthur watched where they went and followed along. Soon, he and the two other men found Y/n at the large manor. This time she was wearing an entirely different attire.

She wore jeans with a button up red shirt, a cowgirl hat with some boots and a belt, her hair was down and hung beautifully down her back, and she was riding a large Shire Horse. All black with white cuffs around it's hooves and shins, it's mane was a beautiful raven color that shined off the sun. Y/n looked so small compared to the beast she was on top of. "Oh my goodness! Y/n's he's a big monster!" Kimberly gasped, still wearing her blue dress.

"He ain't no monster. He's big but really he's a big soft boy, ain't you Buckley!" Y/n cooed as she brushed Buckley's mane, his tail swished as he huffed out a thank you. "He likes it when you compliment him! Ugh! I've been waiting to get somewhere big and open for him to run in!" Y/n laughed.

"That a horse or a giant?" Javier asked with wide eyes. "My momma got 'em for me when I was just nine years old! Big boy here was still just a colt!" Y/n smiled as she clicked her tongue, Buckley's ears twitched before he started to walk forward slowly, each step he took, Y/n slightly bounced. "He's beautiful, ain't he?" She asked her friend. "A-Absolutely!", "Mother knows best! I've always wanted a horse and she got me the biggest one, daddy always said I'd never be able to handle one, but look at me now. She'd be proud. . ." Her smile faded as she held onto Buckley's reins.

"What's wrong, Y/n?" Kimberly asked. Y/n covered her eyes with one hand as she started to tear up. "Y/n!", "No, no. . . It's just my mother. . . I miss her. . . Ever since my uncle and my mother's death, daddy has been so different. . . He seems more cold to me, not in front of guests like you of course, but. . . With me, it's like he doesn't care. He sends me to all these classes, fencing, Spanish, French, Dutch, Italian and more but. . . He's never there for me, y'know. He doesn't like it when I take Buckley out, or even wear clothes like this. . . My mother always supported me, and so did Daddy, until she. . ." Y/n let out a stuttering sigh as she relaxed.

"Buckley and my bow are the only things my mother left me before she was taken away. . ." She whispered.

". . . Wait here." Kimberly said before running into the manor and coming out ten minutes later, dressed in a skirt and a shirt before jumping onto her own horse, a brown Thoroughbred with a black mane. "Kimberly!" Y/n said with a small smile. "I wanna see those talents put to work, here!" She said before tossing Y/n her signature bow and a quiver of arrows. She attached the quiver to her saddle and held onto her bow, "You really wanna see?" Y/n giggled while cleaning her tears.

"Course I do, I may be a Lady. But I always wanna see a good time." Kimberly smiled.

The girls laughed before their horses took off running down the large land of grass and towards the trees. "Keep an eye on them both." Javier warned the two before sneaking off to spy on any incoming guests. Arthur and John both found their horses and began to trail after the girls.

That was when the men saw the hidden talent that Y/n was hiding. Buckley ran and jumped over a fallen tree—Y/n had her bowstring pulled back before she released an arrow straight into an apple hanging from a tree. Buckley landed and kept running as Y/n reloaded another shot, she whistled and a flock of birds flew from the trees before she shot two with one arrow.

Buckley was quicker than the men's horses as he continued to pick up his speed. Kimberly was smiling at Y/n's joy as she leapt through the air with Buckley. Her hair flowed as she rode on through the woods, "Throw something!" Y/n shouted to Kimberly. Kim grabbed her old hat and threw it in the air, no longer than two seconds had passed before it was nailed straight into a tree by a sudden arrow.

"You're amazing at this Y/n!" Kimberly laughed. "Thank my momma!" Y/n smiled.

The men remained hidden til the girls rode him. They stayed hiding when a carriage came, carrying Richardson, another man and a woman, Dutch, Hosea, and even Bill who looked more cleaned up. "Gentlemen, let me bring you into our lovely home for a drink!" Y/n and Kimberly saw their parents exit the carriages.

"Oh no." Kimberly muttered before looking at Y/n, "Your dad doesn't like you wearing those clothes, don't he?" Kimberly whispered. ". . . No, no, he doesn't." Y/n hopped off Buckley and tapped his rear, "Go to the barn, boy. Put this back where you found it please, Kim?", "Okay. . ." She whispered.

She approached her father and looked at the men who finally saw her without the beautiful jewelry or the dazzling feminity she once carried in the morning. When Richard laid his eyes on his daughter, he practically gasped. "What do you think you're wearing?" He questioned her. "Daddy, don't get mad. It's just clothing-", "Excuse us, gentlemen, Antonio, please escort these men to the manor. Apparently, I must have a talk with my daughter about mannerisms and proper attire for a young lady." Richardson held her back before leading her to the side of the manor.

Arthur watched and listened nearby as Richard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did I say to you the moment we got on that ship?" Richardson asked her. "Daddy, I-", "Don't you "daddy" me, young lady! You are not to be wearing such demeaning outfits such as this! You look like a street rat or worse, one of them outlaws! I send you to the best of schools, just like you need, I get you your own personal trainer in fencing, a degree, money, everything a woman would want!" He said.

"B-But daddy, I don't want-", "Enough!"

"I am not going to kid around with this. Get those clothes off and put on a proper dress. You look ridiculous. I shouldn't have let you keep that damn horse, he's the reason why you're acting up like this." He snarled to her, she grew tears as she looked down at the ground in shame. Arthur felt sorry for the girl, her fists were clenched as she steadied her breathing.

"I ain't a little girl no more, daddy." She whispered. "What?" Richard scoffed. "You can't control me and tell me what I want or need anymore." Richardson laughed and brushed his hair back. "You ain't gonna leave any time soon. I'm selling Buckley-"

"Daddy!"

"I don't want that damn horse around anymore. Your witch of a mother bought that thing in spite of me." He growled. "Buckley didn't do nothing to deserve this! Mother got him for me as a gift-!" Arthur's eyes grew big when Richard slapped her. His hand slowly snaking down towards his holster as he glared at the rich man

"I am your damn father. If I say I'm going to sell a damn horse, I'm selling it. I'll buy you a pony instead, now, you are going to walk up those steps, change out of your clothes and into a proper outfit. Mr. Jameson is coming over later with his son, Damon, who'll be your fiancee."

Y/n looked straight at her father with wide eyes while she held the side of her face from the pain. "Daddy-", "He has asked for your hand in marriage, and I had agreed. It's about time I find you a husband, we'll receive more money and land afterwards. Don't worry, Damon will treat you well."

Y/n shook her head as she started to back away from her father. "Get up those steps, right now. I'm right behind you." He growled, ". . . You know what." He grabbed her arm and started to pull her into the manor, she didn't fight back but obeyed his directions.

He made her go up the steps and had the maids help her get dressed. She wore a dark teal cotton dress, with white tights then a tight corset underneath it, her hair was braided back into a French braid. She was then sent downstairs, and stood by her father who was laughing with Dutch and Hosea.

"Yes, yes, exactly!" Hosea chuckled, "Your daughter looks lovely, you must adore her." Richardson laughed and covered his mouth. "She's too much to handle, that's why I'm going to marry her off." Hosea was taken by surprise as he looked to Dutch who arched his brow. Y/n simply looked away before breaking out into a run, getting away from the room.

"Y/n!" Richardson shouted.

"Y/n?" Kimberly said when she ran past her. Y/n didn't stop when she ran through the door and towards the barn, unlocking the stall, quickly slipping on the reins, snatching her quiver and bow, before jumping onto Buckley's wide body. She kicked her feet and he took off running. Richardson made it outside only for Buckley to brush past him with such speed—the wind knocked him backwards onto his back. "Y/n!!" He shouted.

Y/n didn't listen, she kept running. Tears falling from her face as she started to cry, holding onto Buckley's mane as he charged forward. Unwilling to stop or rest, even being a horse, he understood her emotions better than any person could. He was indeed a special gift from her mother. He ran and continued to go wherever he intended to go, and he knew just the place.

But what they didn't know was that Arthur was chasing them close behind.

~~~

When Dutch and Hosea ran out after Richard, Y/n had blown by them. Arthur came running with John and Dutch spoke: "Don't worry, Mr. Jones, I'll send my best men to go and fetch your daughter. Callaghan, go and get his daughter! Right now!"

Arthur tipped his head and called his horse before jumping on and chasing after the girl. One hand, after to catch her, and on the other, to comfort the poor thing. He listened to the heavy running from Buckley, he saw her soon enough as the horse zoomed through the trees and branches. For a giant beast, he sure was agile.

~~~

Buckley whined when he approached stone pillars that were placed around in a large circle, grass was everywhere as the forest provided a large open space. Y/n opened her eyes and wiped her tears to see clearly. When she did, she saw the tall stones. "Buckley. . . You. . . You remember this place?" She muttered, slowly she got off her horse, sliding off her shoes and letting her feet touch the bare grass—entering the large circle. Looking at the stones.

She sniffled and stood in the grass, beside one of the pillars, a heavy puff of air was blown into her hair as Buckley slowly and gently knelt down on his knees before slumping against the pillar and lying down. Y/n knew that position he always made, she knelt and sat down. Leaning her back against his hefty shoulders before he rested his large head in her lap. Letting her brush his mane.

Her tears fell as she kissed his head, "He doesn't want me to have you. . ." She whispered with closed eyes, "I want to love him, Buckley, I really do. . . But he just makes things so much more difficult. . . First, he takes away my dreams to become an archer. Then my goal to become a seamstress, now the only two things my mother left me."

Buckley huffed and nudged his face closer into her chest, she hugged his neck and rested her head on his. Before hearing a crunch from afar, she stood and pulled out her bow. Aiming the arrow straight as Arthur who raised his hands.

"Hey now, easy there." He said while slowly walking towards her. Buckley stood and protectively walked up besides Y/n as he watched the strange man approaching. "I'm just here to bring you back home." He said. Y/n shook her head as she pulled the bowstring even tighter, "I'm not going back. . . Not without my horse." She muttered.

"I understand. What if we went somewhere, jus' for a day or two. You and me?" Arthur asked. "Why would I trust a stranger like yourself? You're just gonna be paid off by my father to drag me back!" She accused him, he kept his hands up and reached up for his hat before it was shot clean off his head and pinned into one of the stone pillars.

Arthur looked at her with shock as she instantly grabbed another arrow, "Don't move." She warned him. He simply nodded his head. "Want me to tell you somethin'?" He questioned, "I heard you chattin' with your friend, Kimberly her name? Said you was interested in outlaws robbin' Saint Denis. Lemme show you somethin'." Quicker than a blink of an eye, Arthur shot Y/n's quiver off her hip and placed his gun back in his holster.

She gasped and almost tripped as she jumped to the side. Still holding her bow as arrows spilled on the grass, she looked back at him and growled. "You owe me for that!" She hissed. "You come with me, and I'll pay you back. Buy a whole new case for yer." He offered.

"How do I know that you won't drag me back?" She questioned. "Lady, I'm not the type to force a woman to do what she doesn't want to do, but I am one to listen. And you can trust me when I tell you, I ain't takin' you back to your daddy." Arthur said.

Y/n was hesitant, but she glanced at Buckley who let out a soft huff from his large nostrils. She eased the tension on her bowstring and lowered her weapon, removing the arrow from the string as she let it drop onto the fallen pile of arrows. ". . . You swear?" She asked. "I swear, ma'am."

Y/n rolled her shoulder before strapping her bow into her chest then grabbing the quiver which now had a broken strap. ". . . Where to?" She muttered. "I know a place. Just, take your time getting on that horse." Arthur backed away and let her have alone time with Buckley.

Out of sight for a moment, he walked towards the tree and spotted Javier and John walking towards him. He stopped them before telling them his plan, saying to tell Dutch where he was going to be. "Yer goin' to Horseshoe Overlook?" John muttered. "Hosea said it was a good place to lie low, I'll be there with the girl. Holding her there for 'bout a day or two before I come back-", "About that, Arthur. . ." Javier cut in, "Dutch said we might need to keep her for a week instead."

"What?" Arthur mumbled. "Dutch said that he and Hosea could possibly raise the price to whoever finds her, from money to solid gold bars!" Javier whispered. "Where'd you go, Mr?" Y/n asked. John and Javier both ran off quickly as Arthur turned around, "Just about to grab my horse." He said. Y/n arched her brow and looked at his horse.

". . . She's beautiful." She muttered, Buckley following right behind her. "Thank you." Arthur said as he walked to his ride, he grabbed his hat first before setting it on his head. "Ma'am." He added before jumping into the saddle. Y/n climbed onto Buckley bareback and looked at Arthur. "I never got your name." She said.

"Arthur Callaghan." He replied, "Now, Y/n, follow me."

~~~

"Little brat just ups and decides to run off!" Richardson cursed, Dutch approached him and held his shoulder. "Callaghan is an amazing hunter, although he ain't exactly cheap for his type of service. He expects payment from me, which I can only get from someone else paying me." Dutch sighed.

Richardson groaned as he looked back at Hosea, "How much are you asking for?" Dutch just smirked.

~~~

Y/n rode close beside Arthur, he gave her a small cloak for her to wear and cover her head just in case it started to rain. "May I ask why you ran off so suddenly?" Arthur questioned. ". . . My father was plannin' on marrying me off to some random man I've never met. Selling my horse, and who knows what else." She said, "I wanted an out. . . So I left. I didn't expect this to happen."

Arthur shook his head and looked at Buckley, "What's his name?", "Buckley. . . Sometimes I call him Buck for short." Y/n answered. Buckley bowed his head and kept walking, "I taught him that trick." Y/n smirked.

Arthur chuckled at the small gesture. "C'mon, we needa speed up and get there before dark."

~Y/n pov~

The breeze was gentle, and the crickets chirping from the distance was calming to hear. I set Buckley by a tree and let him eat the grass, I looked over my shoulder and saw Arthur Callaghan fixing up a tent. I don't know where he got it from, but it's something. I've never slept in a tent before, or a cot.

I'm used to a large king sized bed, multiple blankets. Now it was just a small cot, a blanket, and probably campfire, one side of me was excited that I was camping, but another was terrified that I left my home with a stranger and I'm also staying with him. "So what's your plan?" I said. "What plan?" Arthur replied.

"When my father sends his men after me? He's going to send the entire town to find me.", "Trust me, ma'am, I don't plan on bein' caught." His southern drawl sounded rough but also sexy at the same time. I turned away from Buckley and slowly stepped closer as he tied something up, "You've done this before, I see?"

"Plenty of times, ma'am. Sometimes I travel with a group." He said. "Is it always this quiet?" I asked. "Rarely if I'm with a group." I sat on a log and sighed when my dress snagged on a twig, "Dammit." I scowled as I tugged it off. "You alright, there, Ma'am?"

"I'm okay, it's just, excuse my language but, it's my damn dress. It gets stuck on everything!" I sighed. I was looking at the sky when I heard Arthur approaching me, I turned my head and finally saw just how handsome he looked up close. "Do ya wanna buy somethin' else to wear?" He asked me. "I. . . Um, if you don't mind. I don't really care." I stuttered before looking away.

Were men's eyes always that blue? They look like pools of the ocean! "I can stop by a shop." He knelt down and started to stack a few sticks together for a fire later tonight, "I just needa know yer size and I'll be back, y'know, so people won't catch you sneakin' around." I just nodded my head while clenching my dress, I felt something tingling in my stomach but I didn't know what it was.

"Y-Yes, that'll be wonderful, Mr. Callaghan." I muttered, "I'd very much appreciate it." He set a small fire and wrote down my size for shirts and pants. "Thank you, really, Mr. Callaghan."

"No problem, ma'am. All you need to do is stay here. I'll be back." He said, he left soon after and I looked back at Buckley. "You like it here buddy?" I asked him. He flapped his ears and continued to graze the grass as he slowly found his way towards me.

The sun was close to setting, I could see the darkness coming as the crickets started to grow louder. It was beautiful outside, I stood and walked towards the cot and saw the lamps inside the tent. He has done this many times.

It was odd being outside after dark like this. I was used to a curfew; I reached up and undid my hair and let it down, undoing the braids completely as I sighed with relief. The tension was undone. I believe thirty minutes or so had passed before Arthur came back, I looked and saw that he carried a few boxes and set them on a table he left behind. "I don't have much of a fashion sense but. . ." I approached the boxes and lifted the tops off each one, seeing a different outfit in each of them.

Red flannel with jeans, another set with a blue shirt and a beautiful belt, another with a black shirt and two different hats, each one had a spare white shirt to wear underneath, different set of undergarments. "I didn't know which one you'd like, so I bought the best three they had-", "Thank you so much, Mr. Callaghan!" I smiled while hugging him. Never has a man or even a boy bought me clothing that I always wanted to wear and feel comfortable in. "You don't needa thank me, ma'am. Oh, and here. . . Thought you might needa few pairs." He grabbed one more box and placed it in my hands.

When I opened it, I felt my eyes shimmer with joy as I overlooked a beautiful pair of boots. ". . . Arthur. . ." I mumbled as I let my finger trace over the delicate pattern of golden roses that blended beautifully with the rich tan and black color. "I sorta measured your shoe size when I was fixin' the fire." My smile was bigger than ever before when I grabbed the clothing. "Thank you!" I said again before running into the tent with two boxes.

~3rd pov~

Arthur didn't know how to react when she hugged him, or even thanked him for simply buying a few outfits. Never had he had a woman almost tear up over some clothes, even though he had Sadie and Tilly help him with the clothing choices at the shop. He brushed his hair and slipped his hat back on, he kept thinking how he was going to keep a woman inside a camp for an entire week without scaring her off.

He tended to the fire and walked to his horse which carried two hares that he had hunted down on his way back. "You won't last long." He muttered. "Mr. Callaghan?" Y/n said. "Yes?", "Can you help me with something?"

Arthur approached the tent and stood by the flaps, "Anything, ma'am." He replied. Y/n exited the tent and was only wearing her corset with her undergarments covering her legs. "Do you mind undoing this corset for me? I can't reach it, those maids tied it up in a way I couldn't undo it without someone's help." She awkwardly said.

"Oh. . . Of course, here. Turn around." He said, when she did, he felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. Her bashful face and her sweet voice made him smile. He pulled the strings loose and undid the different knots and ties before it came undone. "There you go.", "Thank you." She said before entering the tent once more.

"Was your daddy always this. . . Demanding?" Arthur asked her. "Uhm, no actually. When I was nine he wasn't like this at all. He liked it when I wore jeans and boots, supported me about my talents with my bow, but. . . Then his twin brother, or my uncle, and my mother were killed. That's when he changed. Ever since, he's never wanted me to shoot another arrow, dress the same, or even ride Buckley anymore." Y/n answered.

"Wait, how do you know that he was demanding? I never told you all of that." Arthur chuckled and let his thumbs hook onto his belt, "I sorta overheard your conversation by the side of your mansion, I heard him hit you. I was tempted to shoot him right there and then." He confessed.

Y/n was silent, Arthur thought he made her uncomfortable but inside of the tent. She was grinning as she slid the belt into the loops of her jeans. "Well, I appreciate the thought, Mr. Callaghan. Your wife must be lucky to have found such a good man like yourself." She complimented him.

"Nah, I ain't married. I was, but it didn't work out." He said. "Oh, I'm sorry.", "It's alright."

Y/n slid on her boots and sighed when she stretched her arms, she opened the flaps of the tent and walked out. "What do you think?" She asked. Arthur could feel his heart leap out of his chest when he saw her dressed. The jeans brought out her hips, the shirt fitted around her waist and chest so well. The hat on her head and her boots tied it all together along with two regular braids hanging off both her shoulders as she leaned on her leg and crossed her arms.

"Beautiful. . ."

"What was that?" Y/n smiled as she looked at Arthur's dumbfounded expression. "I. . . You look good." He said. Bringing a brighter smile to her lips as she spun around in her new attire, "This feels amazing! It's all brand new! I love these boots, the hat, everything!" She said.

"What do you think we can do tomorrow?" She asked him while looking at the sky. "Whatever you wanna do." He answered. Y/n giggled and took in a deep breath, "I think I like it here." She sighed, "Let's go hunting tomorrow! We can find a deer—oh! Or a bear!"

"A bear?" Arthur said. "I've always wanted to hunt a bear. Especially Mor'du." She muttered. "Who the hell is Mor'du?" Arthur questioned. "You never heard the legend of Mor'du?"

Arthur shook his head and Y/n grinned, "I'll tell you if you take me hunting." She said. Arthur hung his head and sighed, "Sure, we can go hunting tomorrow." He replied

"Yes!" She smiled before hugging him again, "This is going to be the best few days of my life!"

_____________________________________

Part 2 coming soon!

[garfieldblunt]

Modern Jobs I think the VDL Gang would have

Dutch - Drug Lord Prolly - but as a real answer I feel like he would Definitely be the leader of a shitty MEGA church

Hosea - I imagine him either as a therapist or a preschool/elementary teacher - Or even better, Number one Bingo Player in the retirement home

Arthur - Funny enough, I can't see him being more than a ranch hand

John - He's a good ranch owner - He, Arthur, Abi, Jack, n a few others live on a big ranch and live happily ever after

Mary-Beth - She's a librarian, author, and frequent AO3 visitor - can't convince me other wise, She has one of the best fanfictions on WattPad I just know it

Abigail - My heart and soul tells me that Abi would be an illustrator for children's books - or a stay at home mom

Kieran - My little Princess Pupcup is getting his degree in Equine science and becoming a veterinarian for horsies

Micah - Hitman or Dishwasher no in between

Bill - Gas Station clerk - Or I can also imagine him working with Kieran with the horses

Javier - Performer, duh - He does a lot of side gigs and plays at cafes on the reg - I can also imagine him being a Spanish tutor for kids

Susan - Let's be honest, she's the principal of a high school or middle school - any other answer is wrong (/j)

Lenny - He's also a writer, but he's not a fanfiction writer like Mary-Beth - I can also imagine him visiting Mary-Beth's library and reading to the kids on Sundays <3

Sean - Youtuber/ Twitch Streamer - need I say more???

Swanson - AA leader - He's also probably trying to get people to stop joining Dutch's MEGA church

Pearson - He's a chef for the Retirement Home that Hosea is bound to - He also works for the local soup kitchen

Karen - I can see her being a dance performer - not like a stripper, but more like ballet or even musical theater

Charles - State trooper at a National Park - No further questions

Tilly - I just imagine her as such a good lawyer like her husband - She's defiantly someone who can talk her client out of the death penalty if needed

Uncle - His job is to park his ass in a rocking chair and Bother John til the day he dies

[mayweneverdie]

Love Languages

—

Cw: reader has no assigned gender

Characters: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, and Charles Smith (bonus and totally unpredictable bonus character at end)

—

Arthur Morgan

• Acts of service

He’s a simple man. He loves when you help him and loves it twice as much when he can help you.

Loves when you stitch up the holes in his clothes or sets aside a little something something in your shared tent after he’s been away for a while.

If you set aside a chocolate bar for him, he’ll double it and set aside something even better for you.

•Physical touch

He’s touch starved, don’t argue. At first he’ll be a bit tense in a hug, but that’s because he never really got hugs or physical attention during his youth.

Once he’s gotten more accustomed to it, he’ll give small gestures like placing his hand on the small of your back, holding your hand by the fire, or when the both of you are in the shared tent, he’ll cuddle you.

Some one give him a hug.

Charles Smith

•Quality time

He doesn’t care what you two are doing, he’ll always be down to do it so long as he can be with you. He’ll sit by the fire with you for hours if you allow it.

In the early mornings, he’ll often watch you sleep for two reasons: he thinks you looks so serene and peaceful, and he finds it to be bonding time (even if one of y’all is sleeping).

He also takes the time to learn your favorite hobbies to bond with you better. If you do something like sewing, crocheting, or weaving, he’ll be so ready to learn, though he’d likely accidentally mess up or poke his finger. But if you enjoy something like reading or bird watching, he’d point out birds or read to you/listen to you read.

•Words of affirmation

Considering his sad backstory, he likely didn’t receive a whole lot of comforting words. And he craves it. Hearing you say that you’re proud of him is enough to keep him smiling at random times.

Sometimes when times are tough, you telling him that he’s inspiring or strong will have a lump forming in his throat. But he’d die before he’d let anyone find that out.

John Marston

•Physical touch

C’mon, look at the scrimblo.

He loved touches, even if they’re fleeting. He’ll constantly have a gentle hand on you. Hand holding, hugging, hand draped on your waist or shoulders, doesn’t matter, his hand is there.

I think he’d like it if you traced his scars. He’s humming and leaning into your touch if you do. But god forbid if someone like Micah, Bill, or Arthur see this.

Micah for sure would make fake retching noises, Bill would do the same and tell you two to get a room, and Arthur would tease him like an older brother would.

•Gift giving

He’d give you stupid doodads (ex: squirrel statue in the epilogue. And loves receiving stupid doodads.

Nuff said.

Can we get a drum roll for The totally unexpected bonus character…

EAGLE FLIES!!!!!

•Physical touch.

Hums when in the zone of relaxation and hugs.

If there’s any downtime with him, he’ll always propose to lounge about.

He’s already sitting you down and resting his head on your lap before taking your hand to hold and fidget with as his stress melts away.

Even though he’s super into physical touch, he’s more reserved. Don’t get me wrong, he’ll hold your hand or give a little kiss, but that’s as far as pda goes.

Thinks this is pretty intimate and only wants that to be between the two of you. Mainly because he only feels comfortable being vulnerable in front of a few people.

•Quality time

He just likes to be in your presence. Preferably touching, but if not he won’t object.

Similar to Charles, he’ll also watch you sleep, but more so watch you go to sleep rather than wake up before you to watch you sleep.

He simply wants to make sure you’re comfortable and asleep before he sleeps. He also finds it to be a good time to bond and get any last words out before the next day.

—

A/n: eep