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mx-pastelwriting · 11 months ago

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RDR2 HC - Running away together & what would it take

RDR2 x GN! Reader

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

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

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

Dutch van der Linde

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur Morgan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javier Escuella

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles Smith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill Williamson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hosea Matthews

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Marston

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Josiah Trelawny

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

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phant0mmm-jaiden · 6 months ago

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‼️ I FINISHED MAKING BIRTHDAYS FOR THE RDR2 GANG‼️ (under the cut)

these are my own personal headcanon (with some help from the comments) so take with a grain of salt, we may have different interpretations

(source for all traits is zodiacsign.com)

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

- Founding member, for 23 years (1876, when he was 21)

- 44 in May 1899

- Born April 11th 1855 (Aries)

Positive Apr 11th traits: “Assertive, strong and remarkably passionate, they will burn every obstacle in their way if they have something to strive for. They are excellent workers and managers, showing initiative with just enough tact to be loved by a team they work in.”

Negative Apr 11th traits“Preoccupied with their own problems, they could fail to see what their friends and close people are going through. Self-centered, too feisty, ready for battle when it isn't necessary, reactive, and sometimes aggressive when they should remain calm.”

HOSEA MATTHEWS

- Founding member, for 23 years (since 1876, when he was 32)

- 55 in May 1899

- Born October 22nd 1843 (Libra)

Positive Oct 22nd traits: “Warm, open for emotional contact, and nurturing, they are tender and kind to those they love and treat everyone with enough empathy to resolve issues at hand. Their emotional sensitivity is their greatest strength.”

Negative Oct 22nd traits: “Covered in sadness, broken and depressed, they might lose faith if they don’t give themselves time to rest and regenerate from past experiences. Tied by stories of their ancestors, they could simply play parts of others without getting truly invested in their own life and their happiness.”

ARTHUR MORGAN

- In gang for 23 years (since 1876,when he was 13)

- 36 in May 1899

- Born September 30th 1862 (Libra)

Positive Sep 30th traits: “Truthful, powerful, deep and ready to commit to issues that are too painful for other people, they have the power to change the unchangeable and build a sense of magic in their life that allows them to attract and control their own destiny and heal others of prejudice.”

Negative Sep 30th traits: “Depressed or lost in what they’ve been taught, they could be too scared to get out of their usual directions and choices in life, getting stuck in mental activities that keep them unsatisfied, egocentric or grumpy.”

SUSAN GRIMSHAW

- In the gang for 14 years (since 1885, since she was 29)

- 45 in 1899

- Born March 27th 1854 (Aries)

Positive Mar 27th traits: “Standing out, innovative and wide in perception of the world, they are good friends and tend to build a social circle that can support them in their path. Free to shine and give freedom to other people.”

Negative Mar 27th traits: “Stressed, torn between extremes, their mood changes without warning. They can get aggressive if too much anger builds up, unsure how they will react or what their next move will be.”

JOHN MARSTON

- In gang for 14 years (since 1885, when he was 12)

- 26 in May 1899

- Born August 3rd 1872 (Leo)

Positive Aug 3rd traits: “Straightforward, on the move, and wide in their opinions, they are the travelers with a cause, those who share their views and their knowledge selflessly, and wish to give their energy to those willing to follow.”

Negative Aug 3rd traits: “Stubbornly chasing after things that aren’t real, they could get stuck in a loop of disappointment and mental efforts that won’t lead them where they wish to go.”

SIMON PEARSON

- In the gang for 13 years (since 1886, since he was 35)

- 48 in 1899

- Born December 16th 1850 (Sagittarius)

Positive Dec 16th traits: “Laughter, positivity, and a fun personality ordain those born on December 16th for as long as they are in tune with their talents. Emotionally charged, they stay on the move, give love to be loved, and understand how to create balance when they find themselves falling into an extreme.”

Negative Dec 16th traits: “Lost in confusion of relating with others, they absorb atmospheres, feelings and ultimately opinions of others, thinking that their personality is defined by what others see instead of feeling their own core of Self.”

LEOPOLD STRAUSS

- In the gang for 12 years (since 1887, since he was 41)

- 53 in 1899

- Born in September 10th 1845 (Virgo)

Positive Sep 10th trait: “Deep, intelligent and extremely powerful, they are focused and dedicated to the higher truth and find change satisfying, without fear of what tomorrow might bring. They bring order to large things in the lives of people around them and announce change everywhere they go.”

Negative Sep 10th traits: “Obsessive, possessive and jealous, they can get dismissive of other people's ways and unwilling to recognize their own shadows while judging others. When bruised, they may become vindictive or manipulative.”

UNCLE

- In the gang for 11 years (since 1888, since he was 43)

- 57 in 1899

- Born May 6th 1842 (Taurus)

Positive May 6th traits: “Loving, creative, good with children, they are positive individuals with a lot of energy to live life to the fullest. Humorous, smiling, and grounded, they search for a place to belong to and connect easily to other people.”

Negative May 6th traits: “Unaware of the bigger picture, too focused on problems when they become aware of them, they can get obsessive and go into negative details for days. At times superficial in search for pleasure, but only if their heart isn’t open for relating.”

JOSIAH TRELAWNY

- In the gang for 9 years (since 1890, since he was 31)

- 40 in 1899

- Born May 26 1859 (Gemini)

Positive May 26th traits: “Loving, emotional, kind and caring, they are the messengers of beauty and laughter, humorous enough to make a grown person turn into a little child if this is their intent.”

Negative May 26th traits: “Using the power of words for strange things, unsatisfied and unable to find balance between emotion and reason, they get lost waiting and thinking about times when they were actually free while missing opportunities to set free in the now.”

ORVILLE SWANSON

- In the gang for 8 years (since 1891, since he was 38)

- 46 in 1899

- Born November 29th 1852 (Sagittarius)

Positive Nov 29th traits: “Idealists with a cause, they dream big and aren’t afraid to try themselves out in talents that make them who they are. On the quest for inner truth, they are sensitive, empathic and honest about the way they feel with people they love.”

Negative Nov 29th traits: “Seeking attention and unable to untangle issues that keep them intoxicated or tied to the past, they could get lost, searching for ways to anesthetize that pain and forget what bruised them in the first place.”

BILL WILLIAMSON

- In the gang for 5 years (since 1894, since he was 28)

- 33 in May 1899

- Born in April 27th 1866 (Taurus)

Positive Apr 27th traits: “Strong-hearted individuals, filled with vigor and energy for things that make them feel passionate. They are different but social, well-incorporated into society, and make excellent friends who find humanitarianism and compassion to be everything that is right in the world.”

Negative Apr 27th traits: “Sloppy, unsure what they wish to do with their energy and frustrated with their own nature. In opposition to themselves, they are unable to heal their own inner differences, becoming frustrated and passively angry at other people.”

ABIGAIL ROBERTS

- In the gang for 5 years (since 1894, since she was 17)

- 22 in 1899

- Born October 20th 1876 (Libra)

Positive Oct 20th traits: “Deeply emotional and empathic, if they keep their heart open throughout changes in their life, they become healers and incredible support in times of crisis and all possibly dangerous situations in the lives of others.”

Negative Oct 20th traits: “Casting their feelings away, they could become cold, distant, too difficult to relate to, and vindictive. They need a strong foundation to grow from and won’t be at all pleasant if they don’t learn to regenerate and flow with the beat of their heart.”

KAREN JONES

- In the gang for 4 years (since 1895, since she was 21)

- 25 in 1899

- Born June 12th 1873 (Gemini)

Positive June 12th traits: “Emotional, sensitive, compassionate and willing to listen, they are less rational than other Gemini representatives and this gives them more space for relating and reaching for the Divine Love.”

Negative June 12th traits: “Moody, torn between different roles and too adaptable to people and situations that don’t make them feel good. They get self-destructive when unable to deal with their own emotional baggage.”

JAVIER ESCUELLA

- In the gang for 4 years (since 1895, since he was 22)

- 26 in May 1899

- Born August 13th 1872 (Leo)

Positive Aug 13th traits: “Energetic, focused visionaries, ready to act with initiative and clarity of ideals, they are the ones to fight for the cause and move forwards when others would stay behind. They are warm, passionate people, ready to learn new things and move one step ahead of the rest of the world.”

Negative Aug 3rd traits: “Feeling as if they were all mighty, they often get caught up in their own ambitions and strivings, expecting nothing less than perfect from their ways of expression and battles that might be impossible to win.”

JACK MARSTON

- In the gang for 4 years (since 1895, since he was born)

- 4 in May 1899

- Born November 7th 1894 (Scorpio) (tried to be based on RDR1 but i’ve never played it 😬)

Positive Nov 7th traits: “Innovative, groundbreaking, different and individualistic, they understand that their greatest quality hides in their special way of standing out. Reliable friends with a need to fight for the greater good, they are those who bring necessary changes into a dysfunctional system.”

Negative Nov 7th traits: “In their battles they might get lost, become aggressive and pushy, losing contact only to pursue information held in their mind. Their mental processes get detached from their heart, leading them into abusive states towards self and others when they should be simply flowing with the times.”

MARY-BETH GASKILL

- In the gang for 3 years (since 1896, since she was 20)

- 23 in May 1899

- Born March 3rd 1876 (Pisces)

Positive Mar 3rd traits: “Great learners, teachers, and healers, they find love and beauty in everything they see and touch. It is their talent to use their optimism and beliefs, and turn every negative thing and experience to art, acceptable fate, and a step to a brighter future.”

Negative Mar 3rd traits: “In denial, distant, lost, they can be wanderers that cannot find the right direction to move in. Their defense mechanism protecting them from hardship is delusion.”

TILLY JACKSON

- In the gang for 3 years (since 1896, since she was 17)

- 20 in May 1899

- Born February 18th 1879 (Aquarius)

Positive Feb 18th traits: “Passionate, creative, focused, and understanding, this is someone able to sense the moment when the leader is needed, bravely becoming one. Fast and fiery, on their search for emotion, they wish to stay open-hearted throughout their lifetime.”

Negative Feb 18th traits: “With boundaries shaken, they can dismiss emotions, becoming overly rational and turned to the practical future in front of them. Unaware of their own sensitivity and hurt they might have caused to other people.”

MOLLY O’SHEA

- In the gang for 2 years (since 1897, since she was 22)

- 24 in May 1899

- Born May 4th 1875 (Taurus)

Positive May 4th traits: “Dependable, organized, ambitious, and responsible, they are easy to work and plan a future with. Just and turned to values of interpersonal bonding that lead them towards ideals.”

Negative May 4th traits: “A bit dark, difficult, and stiff, they can be set in their mind and unable to change. Stuck in a moment, a relationship or a job that makes them unhappy, it is their imperative in life to find faith and let go to the pull of the Universe.”

SEAN MACQUIRE

- In the gang for 1 years (since 1898, since he was 25)

- 26 in May 1899

- Born July 23rd 1872 (Leo) (sign rec from anon)

Positive July 23rd traits: “Optimistic, with a fine sense of humor and ready to chase off any negative emotions with their smile, they are positive, loving and supportive of those they care for. Travelers and teachers, they have something important to give to the world.”

Negative 23rd traits: “Scattered and pushed by too many beliefs they never questioned, they tend to spin in circles of negative choices, lost in their inability to receive as much as they give away or vice versa.”

CHARLES SMITH

- In the gang for 9 months (Since August 1898, since he was 26)

- 27 in May 1899

- Born November 1st 1871 (Scorpio)

Positive Nov 1st traits: “Centered, standing firm on their identity and seeing the light in others, they make wonders in therapeutic and supportive relationships with those who are insecure and find it hard to stand confident on their own two feet. Strong-willed and ready to learn, they are the ones to lead the way when their beliefs are set in place.”

Negative Nov 1st traits: “Getting lost among strong individuals meant to inspire them, they give up on their true role due to lack of belief in their own emotional world and their personal convictions. This could get them lost and put their talents to waste out of the need to prove themselves worthy.”

LENNY SUMMERS

- In the gang for 9 months (since 1898, since he was 19)

- 19 in May 1899

- Born June 5th 1880 (Gemini)

Positive June 5th traits: “Childlike, curious, excited about life and focused on their daily sources of happiness, they are humorous and always with a nice thing to say in just the right moment.”

Negative June 5th traits: “In need of a different view, they could get stuck in patterns that don’t give much room for personal growth. If their hearts close, they become superficial and uncaring for the wellbeing of those who aren’t in their closest social circle.”

MICAH BELL

- In the gang for 4 months (Since december 1898)

- 39 in May 1899

- Born January 1 1860 (Capricorn)

Positive Jan 1st traits: “Powerful and resourceful individuals with an incredible potential for a successful life, influential and knowing exactly where they belong. They are assertive, strong-willed, with a deep understanding for natural development of any issue at hand.”

Negative Jan 1st traits: “Inventors and great minds that turn to solitude and separate from the ideal of emotional fulfillment. Manipulative, they may be using questionable methods to reach their goals.”

SADIE ADLER

- In the gang for a few months (since May 1899, since she was 25)

- 25 in May 1899

- Born July 4th 1873 (Cancer)

Positive July 4th traits: “Focused on their goal point, ambitions and understanding the consequences of their deeds, they are strong, endurable and extremely reliable as friends and confidants.”

Negative July 4th traits: “Dark and filled with depressing thoughts, they can get pulled by negative emotions, memories they don’t know how to metabolize, and nostalgic turns that pull them into harmful circumstances that weaken their boundaries.”

KIERAN DUFFY

- In the gang for a few months (since May 1899, since he was 28)

- 28 in May 1899

- Born January 20th 1871

Positive Jan 20th traits: “Compassionate, caring, sensitive and talented, this is someone who can create incredible things if emotionally supported by all the right people. Nurtures their inner child and cares for others greatly even when holding back instead of showing their affection.”

Negative Jan 20th traits: “Closed from the rest of the world, unable to find meaning in hurtful experiences from the past and questioning their vision daily, these individuals easily turn to destructive tendencies.”

THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP ‼️

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aoioozora · 24 days ago

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Being Kieran's Darling: Headcanons

Divider by @bunnysrph , image by COPPERCORPSE (Pinterest)

Fluff hcs, fem reader :)

Shy, shy boy. How are you going to flirt with him without getting him so flustered? You decide to just settle with talking to him and initiating conversation for now. He speaks normally, but whenever you meet his eye, you find him looking away and blushing a bit.

Not a single theoretical clue on how to handle a lady, and yet he seems like a natural in practice. He holds your hand very tenderly, like you're made of glass. And he'll look between you and your hand in awe, as if he can't believe someone likes him back at all. He'll tell you how soft it is, even if you have callouses.

If he's feeling very brave, he might even venture to kiss the back of your hand or your wrist. And when you smile and blush at him, he feels encouraged to do it more often.

He likes to hear you talk, likes to hear you sing. And he always looks like he wants an encore.

Sometimes you'll invite him to lay his head on your lap. While his horse Branwen obliges as soon as you're sitting down, Kieran takes a bit of time to get over his shyness before he's ready. And when he finally does, you run your fingers through his hair and Branwen's mane and sing to them. Both feel like they're in heaven, especially Kieran.

You usually help out in mending clothes, and when he asks you to mend his, you always make sure to embroider a tiny heart in red thread where the mend was made. He is too shy to mention it, but he loves this gesture to death.

Sometimes both of you ride out of camp and find a quiet spot afar off to set up a little camp of your own. There, he starts a fire and cooks some rabbit he caught. Both of you share the fine meal and watch the stars, talking in quiet whispers. And when it's time to tuck yourselves in, you ask to cozy up next to him. He hesitates, but opens his arms for you.

He kisses a little too feebly because he's afraid of hurting you. You then ask him to put a little more pressure in his kisses. When he tries to, he accidentally puts a little too much. And when you pull away, you can't help but laugh at him for failing twice. He can't help it, he's never gotten a chance to kiss before. And so you show him the right pressure for a kiss.

There's a certain sparkle in his eyes if you talk to him about wanting to get married one day. Even the singular mention of it will have him dreaming of it all day; of your dress, his suit, the church and the vows, the rings, the party, the first night, a lifetime of happiness.

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twistedgameswewrite · 9 months ago

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Ideas ya'll rdr2 simps could request along with your own😌 :D

RDR2 x Reader Ideas

SFW

x reader!leader of a female gang

Sneaking into your room

teenage character x teenage reader

x reader!whos been kidnapped

x reader!witch

getting drunk together

x reader!dutches sibling

x reader!child(PLATONIC)

x reader!orphan(PLATONIC)

Putting flowers in their hair

x reader!selective mute

x reader!who wears a mask

TLC with the characters

NSFW

reader!gets a snake bite on their thigh

Getting caught in the woods

Buying a hotel for the night

In front of a mirror

ANGST

x reader!who gets kidnapped

x reader!orphan

x reader!is killed

character gets killed

finding out reader was sa'd

x reader! who gets their masked ripped off

Reader is killed in a gun fight

Reader is killed by Micah

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan headcanons #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch x reader #lenny summers x reader #charles smith x reader #sean mcguire x reader #josiah trelawny x reader #kieran duffy x reader #van der linde gang x reader

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bg3kagha · 6 months ago

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we need more trelawny content you people need to get the fuck over your ethics i don’t give a flying fuck if that man has a wife i don’t care i am going to ride that man into oblivion and beyond

#josiah trelawny #josiah trelawny x reader #‘content warning: adultery’ THERE FUCKING BETTER BE

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josephquinnswhore · 5 months ago

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Arthur Morgan:

• Haven Amongst the Chaos - he finds solace in you.

• dead men don’t kiss (mini series) - It’s 1896, five years since Mrs. Simmons has been seeking vengeance against Colm O’Driscoll. The forsaken leader of a group of blindly loyal men that destroyed the only life you ever knew. Left with unresolved grief, Mrs. Shaw develops a new sense of life, violent, criminal and personal. Armed with a pistol, a tube of cherry red lipstick and a gut full of blinding rage, you partner with the Van Der Linde gang in hopes of finally killing Colm and the rest of his gang. You will stop at nothing.

Javier Escuella:

• mi vida - life with a romantic outlaw.

Micah Bell:

• the devil is real and he’s a besotted outlaw - micah bell can be a twisted man, and you’re complacent in his actions.

Characters COMING SOON;

•Charles Smith

•Dutch Van Der Linde

•John Marston

•Jack Marston (adult only)

•Kieran Duffy

•Josiah Trelawny

•Sean MacGuire

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #Charles smith #Charles smith x female reader #Javier Escuella #Javier Escuella x female reader #dutch van der linde #John Marston #jack Marston #josiah trelawny #Kieran Duffy #red dead redemption #Masterlist !!

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ilovecats-07 · 1 year ago

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my new wedded husband 💗

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde #my husband #Dutch #rdr #reddeadredeption #Dutch van der linde x reader #tw stalking #somno fantasy #joe goldberg #josiah trelawny

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say-hwaet · 1 month ago

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That's The Way it Is

Chapter 20: Know When to Fold 'Em Next Chapter: Twenty-One Summary: Kit and Arthur meet with Trelawny, as he has a job for them. While Kit is unsure as to what these plans are, she holds onto the hope that the money they'll make will help them find a new life somewhere else. Warnings: Mature Themes, Language, Innuendo, Cross-Dressing, nudity Word Count: ~8,200

“I’ve already gotten my hair cut, Josiah…” Arthur groans as he reluctantly sits in the barber’s chair. “That party was much fancier than what this is gonna be.”

Trelawny clicks his tongue. “I wouldn’t be so sure, dear boy! You’ve practically grown a beard since then! They don’t call you mountain man just because you lived in a cave, you know.”

Arthur doesn’t have a beard, and while you can tell that Trelawny is enjoying this, you have a little pity for your husband. He looks like a wild animal forced to domestication: miserable.

You decide to divert Josiah’s attention by starting up a conversation with him.

“I don’t suppose you want me to get all fixed up, too?”

Trelawny takes his eyes away from Arthur long enough to smile mischievously at you. “Not this time, my dear.”

Your smile falls. “I won’t? Well…what then…?”

“In due time you will know, for now…I have some important information to share with you…” He takes you by the arm and begins to lead you out of the barber shop, not before calling back to Arthur. “Now, you get yourself spiffy, Mr. Callahan! Or your wife will have my skin!” The door closes behind you and he pulls you aside. “Now, remember the favor you asked…?”

Yes, you do. When he was helping you and Arthur get ready for the mayor’s party, you had asked him to look into the Blackwater Massacre. He must have found something. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good, because I think you'll be interested to know that the day of the ferry job gone bad, one of my sources managed to look at medical records that were logged that day.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hang onto every word. “Oh, don’t keep me in suspense, Trelawny…!”

“Well, the records show that an unknown woman, in her late twenties, was shot by a revolver.”

Your excitement quickly dims, what a build-up for such a letdown! “But that is like saying that I ate a piece of fruit for breakfast.” You grip Trelawny’s arm with a deep intensity. “What kind of gun?”

There is a twinkle in Trelawny’s eye and he pats your hand, unphased by the strength of your grip. “Ah, I knew you’d want more details! So I dug a little deeper and come to find out that it was a Schofield revolver.” He pauses then adds. “The very same gun Agent Milton uses, and other lead Pinkerton Agents.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a chill spreading through your veins. If Trelawny’s findings are accurate, this could link the Pinkertons directly to your own injuries. The implications of this information unfurl in your mind like the dark clouds before a storm. They know who you are and that your escape was futile. They must have caught you somehow, perhaps you were on your way to Arthur, or maybe doing something else? Would you have abandoned the plans?

You should talk to Arthur. When this plan of Trelawny’s is over.

You look up at Trelawny and nod your thanks. “Thank you, Josiah. If you do find out anything more, please let me know.”

He raises his top hat in a flamboyant gesture and bows. “Anything for a fellow magician.”

You chuckle. “I’m hardly anything of that nature.”

“On the contrary, my dear, you can pull a yarn out of hat, weaving it into anything believable.”

By the look in his eye, you can’t help but suspect there is a reason for this compliment. “That wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with what you have planned for me, is it?”

That’s when he grins broadly and taps his hat. “See? Quick as a whip.” After a moment, he gestures to the barbershop. “Why don’t we go in and see how the oil magnate is doing?”

You nod and follow Trelawny back inside. Once your foot steps into the building you see Arthur rise from his chair. You can already tell by the clean cut of the back of his head, he is going to make your heart nearly stop.

Then he turns around.

A soft “oh” escapes your lips and it almost sounds too suggestive, for the barber quickly whips around to stare at you, eyes wide. You cover your mouth and cough, apologizing with little save for your dignity.

Paired with the opulent blue patterned vest with ivory buttons, accented by a blue neckerchief, Arthur’s eyes are strikingly more marine than they’ve ever been. His gray coat with a black turned-out collar and black pants could make you drool ravenously if you were behind closed doors.

And his hair, slicked back and trimmed, shines with pomade and your eyes stare at the cleanest shaven face you’ve ever seen. You want to touch those cheeks of his, and perhaps kiss him all over, but you must retrain yourself and snuff out the flame in your body that burns like the heat of a thousand Julys.

“You truly are a magician, Josiah Trelawny,” you say softly, and the barber quickly looks away to busy himself, his ears turning pink.

Arthur is also turning bashful, avoiding your eyes and immediately heading for the door.

Josiah laughs and follows you out as you remain under your husband’s unintentional spell. And once back into the open air Trelawny raises his cane as though leading a march. “Follow me, lady and gentleman, we are going to ride in style.”

You hardly feel stylish, wearing a simple black gown that makes you look like a maid. Maybe calm and unassuming is what Trelawny is going for, but you follow them nonetheless.

But not before passing a remark to your husband. “I do have to say, Mr. Callahan, your wife is a lucky woman.”

Arthur only snorts, still ruffled by his earlier bashfulness. So you leave it at that.

As soon as you step out, you behold a fancy open coach, with a well-dressed driver in attendance. “Right on time!” he calls out and the driver tips his hat.

Turning to you both, Josiah opens the carriage door. “Well, hop in! Those cards aren’t going to play themselves!”

You and Arthur glance at each other, still in the dark about what is going on. But you shrug your shoulders and are the first to get in. You turn to watch Josiah and Arthur come in and before Josiah gets the chance to sit, Arthur slips in right beside you. Josiah chortles at this but doesn’t say anything.

Settling in, Josiah turns to look at the driver. “George, to the Grand Korrigan, please!” And the coach lurches forward. As you three ride down the streets of Saint Denis, you watch the bustle go by. “Well!” Josiah exclaims looking at Arthur. “Look at you. From frog…to prince.”

Arthur waves him off, leaning into you as though for moral support. “This is a bit much, ain’t it? The coach?”

You grin and pat Arthur’s leg, making him jump. “Of course, not! What says wealth like riding in style, Mr. Callahan?” you ask, a playful grin on your lips.

“Exactly!” Josiah agrees. “You’re a brash oil man with money to burn! Which reminds me…” and he waggles a finger in Arthur’s direction. “No shuffling or mumbling. Kit won’t be there to coach you on decorum, you just put on your best behavior.”

You lift your brow and blink. And speak at the same time as Arthur. “I’m not?”

“She ain’t?”

Josiah shakes his head. “Nope. So puff out your chest—”

You try to cut him off to voice a concern. “Josiah—”

But you’re unsuccessful. “—Get outside yourself!”

Arthur grumbles. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. This ain’t no Hamlet. So, who’s the mark?”

Josiah goes on to describe the hosiery king Desmond Blythe, after reassuring you both that you all can speak freely in front of George. Apparently, there’s a lot of money on this boat, with gambling tournaments that last throughout the night on the Lennehechee River.

And the one thing that you are picking up on, is that it is exclusive to only men.

How does that work for you?

“—your chips will be waiting for you—”

“Josiah,” you state and finally he looks at you.

“Yes, Miss Petrova?”

You try not to sound sharp with your tone, but since the coach just stopped at the docks, you’d like to know what your task is. “What am I doing?”

He pauses a moment, then clicks his tongue. “Oh! Of course!” Then he studies you for a second or two. “Can…all of your dark tresses tuck under…say…a guard’s cap?”

You think about it for a minute. “Maybe, if I had some hairpins and braided it really tight.”

Hold on.

You look at Josiah and blink several times and as you see the grin on his face, you begin to piece it together. “Wait, what?”

***

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

You complain as you wait just outside, your body hugging the exterior of the main deck to the Grand Korrigan. You’re waiting for Javier, who is supposed to provide you with your new costume. You finish coiling your long braid atop your head, pinning it in place so it won’t fall. Of all of the performances you have done, you’ve never pulled a stunt like this.

You exhale slowly. The last thing you need is to get worked up over this. This is for money. And money is what you need to get you, Arthur, and the Marstons out.

“I think I heard something over here…”

That’s him. That’s Javier.

And he’s coming.

You remain in the shadows and hold your breath as you hear several pairs of footsteps draw closer.

“Are you sure someone fell overboard?” a man asks.

“I can’t swim, Jeremy,” a younger man says.

“We ain’t gonna jump into the river even if there was. There’s a procedure for that.”

“All I know,” Javier says calmly. “Was that I heard a scream. Now, please…”

Javier draws them closer and it isn’t long before you see them come around the corner, their darkened silhouettes from the evening sky easily marked by their guard caps and guns.

Javier stops and the men follow suit, scanning around. “I don’t see anything,” the young one says, almost relieved.

But the older one, Jeremy, holds out an arm. “Wait…” and he sniffs the air. “Do you smell that? Smells like…flowers…”

It’s the oils you use in your hair. You look to see Javier glance in your direction, nodding towards the smaller man. He wants you to take that one.

You nod and begin to move carefully.

The young man sniffs the air and sighs. “It reminds me of my mother, God rest her—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’ve already pounced on him just as Javier wrings the rifle out of Jeremy’s hands and knocks him out with the brunt of it.

“You got it?” Javier asks you, just as you dispatch the young guard with a hard swing of your arm into his Adam’s apple, he tumbles beneath you and you catch your footing before going to the ground.

“Yes,” you pant. “I hope that wasn’t too loud.”

Javier nods. “I think we’re good.” Then he points to the young guard. “Think he’s about your size?”

You look down at the unconscious guard. You’re impressed with Javier’s sense of measurement. Well, you really aren’t surprised. Javier is well-versed in the anatomy that is woman. He could probably list off your measurements just by looking at a photograph of you.

You nod. “Yes. It should do fine.”

He combs back his hair with his fingers then pulls down his suit jacket. He walks over to a wooden door that reads, “employees only” and picks it open with a throwing knife he had tucked away. After quietly opening the door he makes a gesture towards the darkness of the supply closet. “Ladies first. I’ll keep watch.”

You nod. Grabbing a hold of the guard, you carefully drag him into the closet and Javier closes the door.

You make quick of the exchange. While the young man will be out cold for several hours, you aren’t about to have him wake up unexpectedly while you are changing into his clothes. Using some bandages to wrap your bust, you are able to disguise the shape of your figure, though, given that your breasts aren’t as large as, say, that of Karen or Mary Beth, it isn’t too difficult of a task.

Once adorned in the guard’s uniform, the fit is surprisingly good—not too tight, not too loose. You take a moment to adjust the belt and ensure the cap sits properly on your head, tucking your hair underneath. Satisfied with the disguise, you roll the young man onto his side in a recovery position, leaving him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, and out of the way so that Javier can change into his disguise.

And so, with all that you can do, you open the door. Javier turns around to look at you and freezes. “Dios mio, Kitka!” he grins. “You look like a friend of mine I used to play with as un niño.”

You let out a soft chuckle, bending down to pick up the rifle the guard had dropped. “What was his name?”

“Romualdo.”

You nod. “Then Romualdo I shall be.” Then standing tall, ready for guard duty, you nod dutifully to Javier. “Your turn.”

Javier nods enthusiastically and after picking up the older guard, disappears into the closet you just vacated. The minutes trickle by, each second stretching longer than the last, as you guard the door. Staying alert, you keep an eye out for any passersby who might question why a guard is standing sentry outside a supply closet. Luckily, the action of the gambling tournament is distracting enough to keep all passengers indoors, and Javier soon comes out in his own disguise. He picks up the rifle he had propped beside the door and takes an aborted step before turning back around to face you.

“Oh, I forgot,” he says as he reaches into his pocket. “Trelawny wanted you to use this.” And he hands you a small box.

Your brow pinches and after swinging the rifle over your shoulder, you take the box and open it.

And you only have six words.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

***

You can’t help but touch it. And you can hear Javier try to get your attention to get you to stop. This has to be the way you’re paying back the debt you owe Trelawny for finding that information on your mysterious attack during the massacre. Wearing a man’s uniform? Fine. Not being around Arthur, but you can at least see him? Okay.

But this…wearing a fake mustache?

You feel ridiculous.

You know that if you keep messing with it, the glue will wear off and that will be it. But while you are irritated, it’s sort of interesting. To have some sort of inner perspective on what it is like to have a handlebar mustache. You could be Trelawny’s twin brother. A smaller, younger twin, but a twin, nonetheless.

A sudden movement from the corner of your eye gathers your attention and you let your mustache go for just a moment to watch three men rise from a gambling table, clearly disgruntled and they storm off.

All that remains at the table are Arthur and Desmond Blythe, the man you are all collectively trying to rob.

He’s definitely the type that fits the bill, with slicked-back hair and a haughty expression that makes your skin crawl every time you glance in his direction. Perhaps it is best that you are disguised as a man.

You have a feeling that despite his arrogance, it seems tempered by the intense focus he places on the cards in his hand and the towering pile of chips in front of him.

Arthur sits opposite of him, on your side of the room, and just across the way sits Strauss, giving Arthur subtle nods or shakes of his head every now and again. Given your own personal feelings, you were quickly apprehensive to have him come along, but given his knowledge of numbers and calculating, he’s proven to be a good asset. Especially now that it is just down to the oil magnate and hosiery king.

You can see the cool expression in Arthur’s profile, his piercing blue eyes looking at the cocky Mr. Blythe as they have a conversation that you can’t quite make out. You are simply here to guard the door until you’re needed, nothing more.

Yet, your thoughts keep drifting to Arthur. Despite the distance and the guise of nonchalance, every minor gesture, the way his brow furrows in concentration or how he occasionally runs a hand through his fawn-colored hair, pulls at something deep within you. It's almost torturous, being this close yet so far from him, his body like a tether pulling at the very marrow of your bones.

Each moment ticks by painfully slow, encased in the thick, smoke-filled air of the room. The clink of glasses and the jangle of coins serve as a constant reminder of the world bustling around you, yet all you can focus on is him.

The game continues. You don’t know much about poker, but you can read faces. You can see the effort on Desmond’s part to keep a straight face, but you can see the twitch in his brow, the tighter grip on his cards. He must think that he has a good hand.

And Arthur, well, he’s as cold as stone. Unreadable.

Maybe that’s one of the things you liked most about him in the beginning. Arthur never lets his guard down, for anything or anyone, and yet, somehow, you’ve had the pleasure to see his vulnerabilities, the ragged edges that he rarely shows to anyone else. The duality that is Arthur Morgan is what makes him able to be a brute one minute and a gentleman the next.

Their voices get louder for a brief moment, and you are able to catch a snippet of their conversation as cards are dealt. “I would stick to oil, Mr. Callahan, I don’t think you have a future on the stage.”

Arthur chortles. “You sound just like my wife…!”

And you bite your lower lip. Looking up, you see a waitress with a tray of drinks and she’s staring at you. You don’t know why, but you nod politely to her.

And she winks at you. Uh oh.

You feel the color flush out of your face and you avoid her gaze, looking over at your husband while he tries to charm his way through the poker game.

Desmond suddenly shouts, cursing loudly. He lost the hand.

Arthur leans forward, grinning, saying something that you can’t hear. He starts to get up and that’s when Desmond holds out his hand, demanding that Arthur sit back down.

They start to speak in hushed tones, almost conspiringly and you see Arthur nod his head.

The dealer begins shuffling the cards again. Another round is beginning.

The cards get passed out one more time, and you and Javier watch from where you stand as the two men review their cards.

"Care to wager a guess who will win this hand, Romualdo?" Javier whispers to you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. You can't help but smile a little as you watch Arthur study his cards, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

"I'd bet on Arthur," you murmur back, being careful to speak in a lower and raspy tone, you don’t want anyone to suspect you aren’t a male guard.

Javier nods. “I think those are good odds…”

You turn to look back at the table and that’s when you see Desmond lean forward, putting in all of his chips as you hear him say, “All in.”

Arthur leans back in his chair, eyeing his hand of cards closely. Is he going to fold, as they say? You don’t know if he has a good hand or not.

Then, in a calm gesture, Arthur pushes all of his chips forward.

All in.

The moment of truth. The men flip their cards over, and Desmond still seems confident.

Until the dealer reveals the remaining community cards.

That’s when Desmond’s smile turns upside down and he curses Arthur for winning.

But you can’t help but smile.

Desmond slams the table, turning in his chair. Arthur, on the other hand, simply collects his winnings with that same half-smile, his eyes flickering briefly towards you in silent triumph.

Arthur says something to Mr. Blythe. An attendant appears behind him and starts a conversation with Arthur.

“It’s just upstairs,” he says. “Shall we go and have a look?”

“Why not?”

And with the attendant leading the way, he and Arthur head in your direction. Arthur lingers, to hand his chips to an employee.

But the attendant approaches you and Javier, eyeing you suspiciously.

“When did you start workin’ here?” he asks you.

You haven’t really mastered the art of masculine voices, as you’ve never really had need of it, and so you struggle to find it again.

That’s when Javier cuts in. “He can’t speak English,” he explains. “I’m his mentor.”

The attendant turns to Javier. “You?” You can tell by his tone that it isn’t out of genuine curiosity. It is no different than how people have spoken to you. With bigotry and prejudice.

The attendant's gaze lingers a moment longer, suspicion wrinkling his brow. Javier holds his stare, unflinching, until the man shrugs and turns away, dismissing the perceived threat you pose. “I don’t have time to look for someone else. Both of you, come with me.”

By now, Arthur has joined you both and when he glances at you, he needs to do a double-take. He leans in close, almost in disbelief that it really is you behind that mustache. “My god…” he breathes, almost grinning.

“I know,” the attendant says smugly. “They’ll give anyone a gun these days.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow at the attendant's remark, but he doesn’t say anything. And follows behind the attendant as Javier escorts them at the front and you linger in the back, rifles in your hands. “Follow me, gentlemen,” Javier says politely.

As you all walk immediately up a flight of stairs, the attendant continues on with his racist speech about not trusting certain people with guns, meaning Mexicans and “whatever that young fellow is supposed to be,” though his word choice is more abysmal. You try to tune it out, focusing your attention on Arthur and looking out for any subtle signals that Javier might give.

He also makes the point to flash a handgun that he bequeaths his “lawgiver” before tucking it back away in his coat. Idiot.

You all continue down an opulent hallway, passing by women sitting in some sort of lounge. They glance up at you, offering soft smiles, but given the exchange with the waitress, you aren’t too quick to be cordial. You focus ahead and watch Javier and the attendant go through another door that leads to the outside of the ship and yet another set of stairs. You all walk up to the Upper-class Deck and to a cabin with many windows. This makes you nervous. Anyone coming up here could see you all trying to rob this man.

But then again, there’s three of you versus himself and the measly little “lawgiver.”

Walking around to the side of the cabin, the attendant stops in front of the door.

“In here,” he says and he turns to Javier. “Wait out here, would you? It always does good to have extra security.”

You catch a look from Javier before he nods to the attendant. “Of course.”

Arthur and you enter the room, the attendant leading with a set of keys jangling loudly in his hand as he unlocks what appears to be a private office. The room smells of bourbon and leather, an aroma that immediately makes you wary - it's too familiar, too reminiscent of the places where plans were made and secrets kept within.

And there is another guard in here.

Arthur seems to have a similar concern, for the look in his eye adds a question of, “How do you think we should get rid of him?”

The attendant turns to Arthur. “Give me just a second, sir.”

Arthur smiles. “‘Course, take your time.”

The man goes to the large safe in the center of the wall and begins to go turn the dial. You watch him carefully. Though he is trying to block Arthur from viewing the safe, he hasn’t taken into account your perceptive eyes. You try to memorize the combination, in the event that you might need it.

But in the corner of your eye, you see the other guard watching you suspiciously. You feel it odd that he’s staring at you like that and nervously you go to touch your face.

That’s when you feel the asymmetrical mustache.

You shouldn’t have touched it! The sudden realization marks shock on your face and you lock eyes with the other guard.

His brow furrows and he readies his rifle. “Hey…!”

You and Arthur have but a split second to react. He sucker punches the guard in the face, knocking him unconscious instantly, and you point your rifle at the attendant.

Things just got a little intense.

“Don’t you reach for that gun!” Arthur warns the attendant with a menacing growl.

The attendant raises his hands in surrender and looks at you, quickly noticing your wardrobe malfunction. “What? You’re…you’re…”

Ripping off your fake mustache, you resume your normal tone of voice when you talk to Arthur. “Check his pockets, darling.” And you relish in the man’s utter shock that you are a woman. “Take his lawgiver.”

Arthur swiftly obliges, pulling back the startled attendant’s coat. His fingers find the weight of a revolver tucked into the man’s belt, which he promptly secures in his own grip and tucks away. “I guess they will hire anyone these days,” he says with sarcasm, and you chuckle softly at that. Finished, Arthur shoves the man away from the safe. “Not so tough are we, now?”

But you see something in the attendant’s eyes and as his hand lowers you almost see it in slow motion.

He’s got another gun.

“Arthur…!” you shout, fear and panic coursing through your veins as you only have seconds to act. Instinct takes over as you react with lightning speed, using your leg to deliver a powerful kick that sends the gun flying out of his hand before he can even pull it from his jacket. The rush of adrenaline fuels your movements as you lunge forward, determined to take down this threat with all your strength and agility. You drop your rifle in the process, but your impact makes the attendant fall to the floor with a hard whomp, knocking the wind out of him. He struggles to move, and deciding to dispatch him, you deliver a blow to his Adam's apple, rendering him unconscious.

You catch your breath and climb off of the man.

You turn to meet Arthur’s eyes, and he is just about as shocked as you are, his face a mix of admiration and concern. He rushes over to you, his hands hovering as if unsure whether to embrace you or check for injuries.

"Kit, you alright?" His voice is tense, the edge of worry not quite hidden.

You nod, still catching your breath. "Yes. I just hope nobody heard that.”

He nods. “We should get the others and get off this boat.”

“Maybe before it docks?”

“Yeah.” He backs away, turning to the safe. In a quick rush, he takes all that he can and shoves cash, a watch, and other valuables in his pockets. “Let’s go.”

You both hurry out of the cabin and find Javier still waiting for you. “I saw through the window.”

“Then you know we need to get the hell outta here…” Arthur growls.

“I don’t think we should all go back in, it might draw attention,” you say, your expertise in these matters coming out. “Plus, I don’t think my disguise is as effective anymore.” You reach up to touch your cupid’s bow, peeling some of the glue off your skin.

Javier nods. “There are some lifeboats just down those steps. You two should get one and I will bring Trelawny and Strauss back. Act like it’s official business.”

“Not a bad idea,” Arthur says, and claps Javier on the back. “Best get goin’.”

And with that, you split up. Arthur takes your hand, leading you toward the narrow steps that descend to the deck below. His grip is firm, and reassuring, as if he could squeeze away the danger with his calloused fingers. The ship's wooden planks creak under your hurried steps, a somber reminder of the precarious situation.

As you both reach the lower level, you hear voices. Arthur quickly pulls you back, pressing your body against the shadowed wall. Your heart races as you peek around the corner, spotting two shipmates idly chatting by the lifeboats.

"We've got to get past ‘em," Arthur whispers, his breath warm against your ear. His gaze is fixed on the men, calculating the next move.

You nod, your mind racing through options. If you were wearing a skirt or other clothing, it might be easier to lure them away. But maybe you just need enough time to catch them off guard.

“Give me a few seconds,” you start to say, removing your gloves. “While I have them distracted, sneak behind them and take them out.”

Arthur looks hesitant, his eyes narrowing as he assesses the risk. “Just…be careful.”

You hand him your gloves and peck his cheek. “When am I not?” And leaving him with a cheeky grin, you walk toward the shipmates.

You make it about halfway toward them, when you take off your cap and emit a loud sigh. “Oh, my…!” They quickly whip around, their conversation cut short and their eyes go wide as they see you. You start to uncoil your long braid and let your hair down, almost tantalizingly. “Isn’t the Lennehechee River so beautiful at night?” Their eyes are still on you and you slowly begin to unbutton the shirt of your uniform. “I think…” you say slowly, looking at them with half-lidded eyes, “I might go for a swim…”

The two men glance at each other, the temptation obviously tugging at their curiosity. One of them, a burly fellow with a thick beard, steps closer, his gaze lingering on your loosening buttons. "Now, miss, that ain't safe at all," he begins, his voice a mix of concern and intrigue.

“Oh?” And leaving your shirt partly unbuttoned, you go to remove your boots. “But wouldn’t one of you nice, strong men come and save me?” You see Arthur quietly make his way over, crouching low and coming up behind them as their eyes follow your every move. “Or perhaps accompany me?” You cast another glance over at Arthur, giving him a subtle signal. He nods slightly, readying himself.

The other shipmate, younger and sprightlier with a mess of freckles across his nose, looks both excited and nervous. “Well, I reckon we could…”

Then Arthur standing right behind them, delivers a single line. “Not with my wife, you ain’t.”

Then just as they turn, he takes their heads and smashes them against each other, effectively knocking them out cold. They crumple to the wooden deck with a thud that echoes into the night.

Arthur quickly drags their unconscious bodies behind a stack of crates, ensuring they remain unseen. You hastily button up your shirt while rushing over to him, feeling a mix of adrenaline and relief.

“I really didn’t want to test my ability to swim just yet,” you say softly.

“I would’ve gone after you, Kit,” Arthur grins.

You smile at him with half-lidded eyes. “My hero.” He walks over to you, looking at you for a moment and you tilt your head. “What?”

He looks down at your chest and gestures to it by pointing at his own. “Your…” He lets his voice trail off and he shakes his head. “Never mind.” And without waiting for a reply, he makes his way over to the lifeboats. “Let’s see if we can set it up. Javier and the rest of them should be over here soon.”

“I hope so.”

Arthur's footsteps recede towards the lifeboats, his figure blending into the dark like a specter of the night. The air is thick with tension and the distant calls of seagulls that seem to mock the seriousness of your escape. You follow him, the old wooden planks creaking under your feet as you move.

After helping him rig the boat for departure, you hear more footsteps coming. Arthur immediately puts you behind him, shielding you from who might be coming.

“Excellent work, dear boy!”

You relax and you see Arthur visibly relax as well. It’s Trelawny.

“And you have an escape for us! Good work, Mr. Morgan,” Strauss praises.

“We ain’t out of the woods yet,” Arthur grumbles and he steps over the edge of the riverboat and into the lifeboat. “We gotta get this in the water.” He looks at you and offers his hand. “C’mon, darlin’.”

You hesitate, your hand hovering over Arthur's, the weight of your old life anchoring you momentarily to the deck. But then, with a resolve born from all those nights spent dreaming of freedom beneath starlit skies, you place your hand in his. The warmth of his grasp is reassuring, a silent promise that he will keep you safe.

But you never doubted.

You lift your leg up and over the edge and step into the lifeboat, and his hands go to your waist to stabilize you.

“Alright,” Arthur sighs. “Next?”

***

Arthur, ever the strong one, rowed the boat to shore. You all are farther down the river than you had anticipated and end up just shy of Copperhead Landing.

You and Javier help Arthur pull the boat onto the sandy beach and once there is enough dry land, Josiah and Strauss step out. The moon hangs high in the sky and there is a foggy haze coupled with sounds of crickets and other nightly critters that remind you of the marshlands that you can’t seem to avoid.

“Well!” Josiah exclaims. “We made out with some goodies, nobody was shot, and we all remain unscathed…” He looks at the rest of you with a satisfied nod. “I’d say that was a success!”

Strauss approaches Arthur, pushing up his spectacles. “What did you make out with, Mr. Morgan?”

Knowing that is his cue to divide up the spoils, he pulls out the cash, splits it amongst them, and hands Javier the camp’s share. “Get this back to Hosea, will you?”

Javier studies Arthur with an arched brow. “You not comin’ back with us?”

Taking a quick glance at you, he looks back at Javier and shakes his head. “No. I wanna see if I can bring in some more cash. Kit and I are gonna explore a little bit.” And seeing the look on Javier’s face, Arthur raises a palm. “Hosea knows about it. Don’t worry, we will be back before Dutch really has need of us.”

Javier nods, though the skepticism in his eyes doesn't quite fade. He trusts Arthur, sure, but your presence has always been a wildcard.

“Come with me, gentlemen,” Josiah says. “I will arrange some transportation for you so you may get home in one piece!” Turning, Strauss and Javier follow Trelawny as they traipse through the sandy marsh and make their way toward the city, leaving you and Arthur standing there in the moonlight, the ghostly tendrils of fog curling around your legs.

Arthur turns to you, running his fingers through your now loose, long hair. “Never thought I’d see you lookin’ like that,” he comments.

You snort. “Neither did I. Next time Trelawny has a job, don’t let me agree to it.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, safe to be loud in the vast openness of the marsh, without a boat or carriage in sight. “You did good though, proved that you could pass for almost anybody.”

You arch your brow. “And that I don’t look good in a mustache.”

Arthur chuckles, his eyes twinkling under the silver disk of the moon hanging in the sky. “Maybe, but I prefer it when you wear nothin’ at all,” he teases with a roguish grin, his voice dropping to a more intimate timbre.

You shake your head, trying to suppress a smile that threatens to break through your composed exterior. "You're impossible," you retort, though the warmth in your tone belies your mock annoyance.

Arthur's smile softens, and he reaches out to cup your cheek gently. "Maybe so," he agrees, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. "But I'm only impossible 'bout things that truly matter. Like keepin’ you safe—and makin’ sure you know how much you mean to me.”

The touch of his skin against yours sends a familiar shiver down your spine, bringing back flashes of those stolen moments that only the two of you shared, hidden from the prying eyes of the gang.

You let your eyes cast southward, toward the city. “I don’t suppose we can return to the hotel, we already checked out and packed our things.”

Arthur nods. “Ain’t a bad thing. Was gettin’ kinda tired of the city, anyway.” He looks toward the city and lets his hand caress the back of your neck.

You pat his chest. “How do you feel about getting the horses?”

Arthur looks down at you. “You don’t mind waitin’?”

You shake your head, offering a tired smile. “No. I can find a dry spot and we can make camp.”

He shakes his head. “Let’s find camp first, then I will go for the horses.”

You don’t mind. It is dark, and you would feel safer if he were there to make sure that the area you both plan to sleep in is safe. You consent with a soft nod. “Alright.”

Together, you both walk hand in hand, heading west into Lemoyne, Arthur attentive and careful as you walk into the woods. Eventually, after walking a ways into Bluewater Marsh, you eventually come across an abandoned houseboat on the river. After checking it out, You build a fire in the boat’s metal fire pit and wait for Arthur to return with the horses.

Without the sound of the phonograph, it is deathly quiet. You have heard some of the people in Saint Denis talk about a band of people called the night folk, who raid the marshes and bayous at night, in silence, taking victims without warning. You’re grateful for the fire to illuminate the space about the houseboat, but that doesn’t strengthen the illusion of safety.

Giving you the revolver that Arthur had taken from the attendant, you clutch it tightly, watching, listening, waiting.

The fire crackles, casting eerie shadows along the deteriorating wooden walls of the houseboat. You sit closer to the warmth, the revolver heavy in your hand, its chill metal a small comfort against the uncertainty of the marshes. Occasionally, a frog croaks nearby, or an owl hoots from a distance, and while those sounds normally act as a lullaby, you are having little to no trouble fighting sleep. You’re exhausted, the achiness in your joints becoming more prominent, but you can’t sleep now.

You don’t know how long time has passed. An hour, maybe more, but it has been silent up until you hear a twig snap nearby.

You sit straight up, your heart hammering in your chest as you strain your ears into the darkness. The revolver feels slippery in your sweaty palm, and you tighten your grip, ready to defend yourself if need be. Your eyes try to pierce the inky blackness that surrounds the flickering circle of firelight.

Another snap, closer this time. You hold out the revolver, pointing it in the direction of the sound.

Then you hear a heavy snort and a swishing sound.

Not man. Beast.

Taking a risk, you whistle a special tune.

Then you hear a soft whinny.

It’s Odliv!

And into the light comes Arthur leading your two horses as he rides Montana.

You exhale and lower your gun. “Why didn’t you call out?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, the tension still evident.

Arthur dismounts with a grace that belies his size, tethering the horses before he steps into the firelight. His blue eyes catch the flicker of the flames, reflecting a flicker of relief when he sees you safe. "Didn't want to alert anyone that we’re here. Not knowin’ what could be out there…”

You nod, understanding his caution, but your body still trembles from the adrenaline. The marshlands are no place for the faint-hearted at night. “Could have shot you, you know…”

Arthur notices your shaken posture once he turns from removing the bridles from all the horses. He takes your pack and his and walks across the wooden plank that leads up the boat and you go down the steps that lead to the roof to meet him.

Setting everything down, he takes you by the waist, his hands reassuring and his presence like a mountain to protect you against the wind.

“I’m sorry, Kitten.”

You shrug. “It’s alright.”

He nods towards the cabin. “You ready for bed?” You yawn and lean into him and he wraps his arms around you. “I guess I didn’t need to ask.” Letting you go, he goes to pick up your things again and he follows you into the sleeping quarters.

It is tight but cozy, and it will make do for now. Lighting the lantern that hangs, you are able to navigate your way around and sit yourself on the bed. Arthur closes the small curtain to the entrance and after setting your pack on the bed beside you, he begins to remove his clothes, his back turned to you.

You waste no time in taking off your shirt, glad to be rid of the ridiculous uniform. You tuck your chin as you undo each button, not realizing that Arthur has turned around and is watching you.

“What’s that?” he asks.

You look up to see him staring at you. He has managed to remove his jacket, vest, neckerchief, and shirt, exposing his chest hair and rippling pectorals.

You shrug. “What’s what?”

He then points a forefinger at you, towards the bandage around your chest. “That.”

You look down then back up. “It was…to make sure no one knew I was a woman.”

“I knew somethin’ was different when you were in all that get-up.” He stares at it for a moment, then shakes his head. “I’m just glad it weren’t because you got hurt.”

You smile. “No. Just all part of the disguise. I think it worked.” You look down and chuckle. “Not that it was too hard to do given what little I have to work with.”

He walks toward you, his shoes soft on the wooden floorboards. "Don’t be sayin’ things like that." He stops in front of you, his hands gently touching the edge of the bandage. "You need help takin' this off?"

You shrug your shoulders, feeling the tightness around your chest release as Arthur carefully unwinds the bandage. Your breath catches slightly from the relief of pressure, and the cool air of the houseboat’s cabin brushes against your skin, soothing the lines left by the tight fabric. "Thank you," you murmur, allowing yourself a moment to revel in the tender yet firm touch of his fingers.

He doesn’t speak, his gaze focused on the task at hand until your breasts are free from the confines of the bandaging. You watch him as he gathers the bandage and sets it aside. His eyes meet yours, an unreadable expression on his face. It’s a look that mixes wonder with a hint of sadness, the kind you’ve seen before when he’s lost in thought about the past. “It ain't true you know,” he says softly.

“What isn’t?”

“You—your—” he stammers, then shakes his head, not finishing his thought. “Better?” he asks, his voice deep and smooth like the rolling hills of the Heartlands.

You just sit there, chest bare and eyes intensely watching him as his eyes roam your body. He eyes your breasts, then quickly shifts his gaze back to your eyes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“You’re adorable,” you say. “Blushing like that…” He looks down, avoiding your gaze and you reach over and take him by the wrist. “Don’t you know you get me blushing, too?”

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, a tentative smile forming on his lips. "Suppose we're a pair then," he says, voice low with a teasing lilt.

You let his wrist go and taking your nightgown, you begin to put it over your head.

“No—” you hear Arthur say, but he stops himself.

You lower the nightgown and meet his eyes. “What?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Nevermind…it’s…”

“What is it, Arthur?”

“It’s somethin’ we’ve…” You can see he’s struggling to say what’s on his mind, either for fear of upsetting you or something else.

“Tell me.”

He turns his gaze back to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and longing. Your heart sinks at the sight, knowing that what he is about to say will be a sadder part of your past. "The last day, before everything went wrong in Blackwater, we snuck away for one last moment alone," he begins, his voice laced with nostalgia and regret.

Your mind reels through memories, trying to remember that day and anticipate what comes next. His cheeks flush pink with embarrassment as he struggles to find the words. You steady yourself, bracing for whatever revelation may come.

"We didn't...you know...do what we usually did. You wanted to try somethin’ different," he admits, his gaze shifting away from yours.

Your heart skips a beat, unsure of what this could mean. But you remain still and patient, waiting for him to continue.

"We were both…wearin’ nothin’ and just...held each other," he finally confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.

A wave of relief washes over you as you realize it was nothing more than innocent affection shared between two lovers. Yet, the bittersweet revelation lingers in your mind, knowing that it was your final intimate moment before everything changed.

You smile, tilting your head. “That sounds…nice.”

You see the look on his face and the relief in his eyes. “I just…sometimes when I look at you, it’s like I’d just stolen one of Michaelangelo’s sculptures.” His voice grows softer, as he becomes more comfortable saying these things to you. “I love how you make me feel…the way you feel…but sometimes…sometimes I just wanna look at you for as long as I can before you…” Then he stops.

You feel your heart catch in your chest. You know what he means. What he still fears. You so badly want to reassure him you aren’t going anywhere. That you both really will make it out this time. Together.

You rise to your feet and silently remove your pants. Shaking them off and setting down your pack on the floor, you climb back on the bed. Laying on your back you look at your husband, who still has his eyes cast to the floor.

“Mr. Morgan…” you say softly and you wait for him to meet your eyes. When he finally lifts his head to look at you, you hold out your hand. “Come lie with me.”

He smiles softly at your tenderness and as he makes his way over to you, removing his dress shoes and pants on the way. He douses the lantern’s light and after climbing onto the bed with you, he fits himself in the contours of your shape and rests his head in between your breasts. You feel his steady breath on them as he nuzzles up close.

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the coarseness mixed with the softness, just like the man himself. The room is filled with a peaceful quiet, a rare luxury in the precarious lives you lead. His arm wraps firmly around your waist as if to ensure you can't just vanish into thin air, even though you both won’t ever have the desire to let that happen.

“You used to complain then, too…” he speaks, his lips tickling your flesh.

“Complain?”

“About your figure. Too wide hips and too small of a chest.”

You can see that. You remember those Italian women and the looks they gave you. “Sounds like me.”

“Well, I thought I oughta tell you what I told you then, so you won’t forget this time.”

And you chuckle softly. “What would that be?”

“That it ain’t true. That you’re as perfect as the sunrise on a clear mornin’.” He pauses, lifting his head just enough to kiss the skin just above your heart. “And every bit as necessary.”

A small laugh escapes you, and you feel the warmth from his kiss and his words fill your very soul.

He rests his head back in his favorite place and nuzzles into you once more. “Don’t forget that,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky with raw honesty. “Okay?”

“Alright, Arthur,” you answer and you feel his breath slow into restfulness. “I won’t.”

Thank you so much for reading!

Tag Requests*:

@photo1030 @eternalsams

*If you want to be removed or added to this tag list, please let me know! :)

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead fandom #fanfiction #ao3 writer #rdr2 #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x fem! reader #mc is master of disguise #josiah trelawny #javier and reader become friends #javier escuella

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dreamdaddydutch · 2 years ago

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✒️All writing - Master list ✮

🖤 I finally decided to not only update my Masterlist, but to re-do it completely. Below are the current 57 pieces of writing I’ve done for the RDR2 fandom, split into four categories; Headcanons, Long fics - all 18+ explicit so minors DNI, Explicit fics (just shorter or headcanons) and Drabbles. I’ve tagged the characters I write about most frequently, but have written about others/included others in headcanons. Over time I will update this list to include better summaries, word count, clearer pairings etc. But for now I’ve left a rough idea next to each one. 🖤

Headcanons ★

Time of the Month - How the gang reacts - Headcanons for Charles, Arthur, Javier and Sadie - how they look after you when you’re on your period. Warning for blood/a little smut.

Sleep Paralysis - How the Gang react - Headcanons for Javier, Tilly, Hosea, Lenny & Kieran. Little thoughts on how these members of the gang would help if you awoke from experiencing night terrors/sleep paralysis and the things they’d do for you.

Time Travel head canons - Self-explanatory - A collection of thoughts regarding the gang and if they time-traveled to our time - some of it involves the reader.

Lenny - Guard Duty Headcanons - Pretty self-explanatory, just a collection of thoughts on what it would be like to be on guard duty with Lenny.

Pottery Date Headcanon - Javier x gender neutral reader. Short head canon imagining going on a date with Javier - it’s basically imagining ‘that’ scene in the film Ghost.

Van Der Linde Gang time travel karaoke head canons - Does what it says on the tin.

Headcanons - Dutch reacting to their s/o being teased - Request. does wha it says on the tin. Pretty fluffy really and with gender neutral s/o.

Sean Looking after you headcanons - :) Gotta give Sean some love and he clearly likes looking after others!

Javier Teaching you how to play 5-finger fillet. Long head canon regarding Javier’s teaching methods (he’d be the best and sweetest teacher)

Taking Mary-Beth to a book store Headcanons - Time travel, it’s short and sweet but I love Mary-Beth and she deserves the world.

Headcanons - reader sleeping on Dutch. Request. Honestly one of my favourite things I’ve written, it’s cute and fluffy!

Drawing Headcanons - Request. Fluff. Hosea/Arthur/Dutch and how they react to a reader who loves to draw members of the gang/the camp.

Javier/Charles/Arthur in an argument with reader - Request. CW relating to heated arguments/flinching in case of violence (of which there is none).

Going for drinks with Lenny Fluffy & Fun. Does what it says on the tin.

Trelawny ‘s favourite plants - fluffy, thoughts on what plants Trelawny loves and why - kind of linked to my piece ‘Everyday Magic’

Christmas/Yule with Javier

Arthur being jealous & possessive

🔞 Long Fics - All 18+ Minors DNI ★

The Fairytale She Wove Pairing: Dutch x ofc (his s/o) - It’s over 17k words long, it’s easily my favourite thing that I’ve written for this fandom. There’s smut/angst/some violence and a warning for miscarriage. Essentially I wanted to write about what it would be like to be Dutch’s s/o through the years, the good and the bad. I may revisit this and add at some point.

Damned from the start. Request. Quite a bit of Angst. Pairing - Javier x f! s/o. Javier falls in love with Bronte’s daughter without knowing her true identity. Naturally when things go down, it gets awkward and Javier questions his feelings/loyalty.

Absolution at the base of your Altar - Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four. Pairing - Javier x afab reader. The reader was at Blackwater and thus carries around a lot of anxiety/survivors guilt over what happened. She thinks of something that may help her process the grief and guilt, but it will take Javier’s help. A lot of content warnings apply aside from the smut/explicit material, there are references to survivors guilt, anxiety, mental health, degradation, religion/theology, spitting during sex, reader being triggered by certain words during sex, hair pulling, choking.

When It Rains - Hurt/Comfort/Angst . Javier choses Dutch over the one he loves, only later to return to them and beg for forgiveness.

🔞 18+ only/explicit ★

Ride of a Life time Part 1 - The Ride of a lifetime Part 2 Dutch x female reader - smut - Whilst the gang escapes in the middle of the night, Dutch and the reader ‘get dirty’ whilst riding the Count. Dutch has a new toy he wants to introduce to her…

First Times - Wax Play - Javier x gender neutral reader - smut - Headcanons (though a lot of bullet points, I got carried away) for the first time Javier and his s/o experiment with wax in the bedroom.

I See You - Charles x gender neutral reader. Smut & Angst/Hurt/Comfort. This broke my heart writing it… The reader was Arthur’s s/o, Charles promises to look after them, after Arthur’s death the reader and Charles process the pain by sleeping together.

Javier (slow, romantic sex) Headcanon - This is just fluff and smut really. Thoughts on Javier being super tender and romantic during love making.

What Do we have Here? - Molly O’Shea x female reader - Smut & some fluff - The reader comforts Molly after a particularly bad argument with Dutch, manages to soothe her by ‘getting into bed’. Of course there’s a chance they get caught.

Coming undone - Javier x John - Smut (a little fluff) To escape a storm, John and Javier decide to stay in a hotel, there’s only one room with one bed left, but that’s okay. After a bath, Javier heads back into the bedroom to find John, naked, in front of a mirror watching his reflection as he gets himself off. Javier intervenes.

Torturous - Dom Dutch x f! reader - (Prompt) - Smut (includes bondage and edging) Dutch is punishing the reader by fucking them incredibly slowly and teasing them a lot, no matter how much the reader begs/whines for more.

Punishment - Dutch x f! s/o reader - (Prompt) Smut (a little fluff) The reader hasn’t been pulling their weight in camp so Dutch decides it’s time to punish them with a good spanking. Also contains a little over-stimulation and squirting.

A lesson in intimacy - Javier x Reader - Reader wakes to find they got their period during the night, Javier awakens to wonder what’s up. A lot of fluff/comfort and Javier being a sweetheart. Also contains Menstruation sex so please read with caution.

Charles gives a spanking - Request. 18+. Gender neutral reader. The reader opens up to Charles regarding the benefits of a good and loving spanking.

Dutch Face-sitting head canons Request. Dutch x f! reader. 18+ Does what it says on the tin.

HomeComing - 18+ Dutch x gender neutral reader. Imagine what it would be like returning to the gang after several weeks away, especially if you were Dutch’s s/o...

Punishment befits jealousy - Request. 18+ Spanking. Dutch x gender neutral reader. The reader lashes out at Mary-Beth with jealously, Dutch gives them punishment in the form of spanking.

The Lawman’s Uniform - Request. 18+ Dutch x f! reader. The reader (Dutch’s s/o) gets turned on by seeing Dutch in the lawman’s uniform, but is too nervous to say anything. Dutch takes matters into his own hands.

The Lawman - Request. 18+ Dutch x male reader. Dutch’s life is basically saved by a lawman, they’ve seen each other several times, started to get a feel for one another and realise there’s a connection. They decide to commit to this connection.

Take me to church - 18 + Request. Dutch x f! reader. Dutch robs the reader at gunpoint, the reader is in to it....

In A Cave - Request. Javier x gender neutral reader. Fluff. Things are pretty tough in Beaver Hollow, Javier knows that so he joins his love who is sat in the cave escaping the rain to comfort and reassure them.

Snow Request. Charles x gender neutral reader. 18+ In Colter the reader and Charles manage to get a moment away from the others to connect and return to their primal states while escaping the snow.

Pleasant Encounters - 18+ Dutch x f! reader. Based on a dream I had about Dutch. The reader meets Dutch at one of the mayor’s parties and gets to know him really well.

Thigh Riding with the gang - Featuring Javier, Charles, Lenny, Dutch & Mary-Beth. Does what it says on the tin.

Together - Javier x Gender neutral reader. When things get difficult, sometimes the best medicine is just being close to the one you love.

First time - Dutch x afab reader. Just some thoughts on the first time the reader has anal sex with Dutch, how he prepares them/looks after them etc.

Caught off Guard. Request. Dutch x afab reader. Set during Guarma, reader should be on guard duty but Dutch catches her pleasuring herself instead. He takes things into his own hands, quite literally.

Drabbles ★

What am I to you? - Arthur x gender neutral reader. Fluff & some angst/low self esteem. Based on a prompt I got sent, the reader and Arthur go fishing, Arthur asks a question that’s been playing on his mind. Longer pieces of fiction

I can’t believe you believed me? Dutch and Hosea (being dads) - No warnings - a little fluffy. Based on another prompt that was sent to me, Dutch decides to try and get Hosea back for all his years of pranks and show the conman he isn’t always on the ball.

Just Breathe - Javier x Charles - gender neutral reader (Platonic) Hurt/Comfort/Fluff. The reader has a pretty awful panic attack and leaves the camp as they don’t wish the others to see. Javier and Charles find them and comfort them and help to coach them through it and calm down. Written in a way that can be taken as platonic, but also potential relationship.

Everyday Magic. Trelawny x gender neutral reader. Fluff. Trelawny and the reader are out on a mission for the Gang, they enter a greenhouse where the reader’s mind is opened to the beauty of plants. They and Trelawny share a heartfelt conversation over lunch which leads to a little more than was expected.

A Prophecy - Fluff/angst/comfort. Arthur & Mary-Beth talk about their future and Mary-Beth’s writing.

The Opera Singer. Request. Arthur is at one of the Mayor’s parties, there’s a female opera singer and he just cannot take his eyes of her. Of course Dutch has to intervene to make it awkward.

The Bird - Javier x gender neutral reader. Fluff/romance. This started off as something that was meant to be a short paragraph but ended up being a mini fic. The reader and javier are in love, they find an injured, young bird and look after it. The bird represents other parts of their relationship.

Singing while Javier plays guitar - Request. Pure fluff. The reader loves hearing Javier play guitar and sing in the evenings, it helps them sleep. Occasionally they join in.

Molly reading Arthur’s diary - Request. One day Molly finds Arthur’s diary when he drops it, before returning it she has a quick read and within finds his thoughts about her.

Everything will be okay in the end Pairing: Javier x reader. Fluff, a little angst. Javier comforting the reader when things get tough. Written during the covid days.

Autumn Haze - Lots of fluff, a little angst. Plenty of Javier providing comfort.

Kissing You - Fluff. Javier x gender neutral reader. The reader dreams of kissing Javier under the mistletoe, this fics shows that occasionally dreams can come true.

#My writing #Masterlist #Javier Escuella #Dutch Van Der Linde #Charles Smith #Arthur Morgan #Lenny Summers #mary-beth gaskill #Sadie Adler #hosea matthews #josiah trelawny #rdr2 x reader

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fawnwilde · 16 days ago

Text

Taboo I gratitude .𖥔 ݁ ˖

dutch van der linde x reader

◃◃ [chapters] ▹▹

rating: explicit (18+)

You wake up in a camp surrounded by outlaws. but they're really not as bad as you feared.

Especially the gangs leader, dutch van der linde, who inspires new desires in you...

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, inexperienced reader, older man younger woman, v fingering, cowgirl position, this is filthy and my ancestors r frowning up at me

word count: 6.5k

You wake up in an unfamiliar place.

Canvas walls surround you, objects littered around as if this was someone's home, crammed into a small space. A blanket covers you, warmer and softer than anything you’ve ever owned.

You move feebly, trying to wake up properly, when a twinge of pain erupts in your shoulder and bicep.

Gasping, you sit up, further aggravating your wound and panicking you further.

You're not tied up, but you could still be a prisoner. For all you know, outside this tent is an army of O'driscolls.

Fear engulfs you, and you frantically search your person for your blade.

“You're awake!”

Startled, you flinch and look up at the source of the voice.

A young woman sits across the room, a closed book in her hands. She’s pretty, and her face glows as she smiles warmly, rising and crossing the small space swiftly to sit at your side.

“How are you feeling?” She asks, looking over you but not touching, noticing your shaky breaths and wide eyed stare.

You go to speak, but your throat feels like it is coated with sand, and you wheeze out a breath. The woman grabs a tin cup and brings it to your lips, smiling reassuringly when you give her a questioning look.

“It's water, don't worry.” She takes a sip herself, proving it to be fine.

She holds it to your mouth, which you’re grateful for, as your arm burns with even the slightest movement. When the cup is drained, she puts it down, and turns back to you with her kind smile.

“I'm Mary-Beth.” She introduces herself, “What's your name?”

You shrug, “Ain't got one.”

“Oh.” Mary-Beth says sadly, “You haven't got any people, do you? You’re alone?”

“Yeah. Have been for a while.”

Mary-Beth nods understandingly, “Can I check your bandage? I think you may have pulled a stitch.”

You hesitate, but nod, deciding the woman has not given you any reason to see her as a threat. Her voice is calming, gentle like a breeze, and her eyes hold no malice.

But you’ve fallen for honeyed traps before, and there's a quill on the table beside you that you could use as a weapon if she tries anything.

As Mary-Beth begins to deftly remove your bandage, you mentally take stock of the room.

Books and papers are littered about, an unlit lantern sits on top of one of the many crates, a few bullets discarded around it. A strange object is in the centre of the room, which you stare at warily.

You’re startled when you hear voices outside the tent. They’re deep and masculine, talking too lowly to make out their words.

Mary-Beth notices, laying a comforting hand over your clenched one, “It's okay. Just Arthur and Dutch, they’re not gonna hurt you.”

You eye her sceptically, as the canvas walls shift and a man enters.

He's tall and broad, sandy hair below a weathered cowboy hat. His eyes are the colour of spring water, blue with hints of green. He's got a handsome face, that softens when he sees you.

“You’re awake.” He says.

You recognise his voice, and you realise now he is one of the men you helped in the O'driscoll camp.

“It's you.” You murmur, feeling relieved at a slightly familiar face, but confused as to why he's here. And where here is.

“Yeah, it's me.” Arthur sighs, his face stormy as his eyes shift to the bloody bandage Mary-Beth removes from your arm.

You look down at your wound, bile rising as you survey the reddened flesh surrounding a deep wound. Though it's bleeding, it's clean, and a few stitches hold the flesh together

“I'm sorry about that.” Arthur mumbles, avoiding your eyes.

You furrow your brows, “You’re sorry about what?”

“You’re hurt. And it's because you took a bullet meant for me.”

Nodding, you remember such events. An O'driscoll had sprung from the shadows, gun aimed at the man you know now as Arthur. You hadn't thought before you jumped forward, shielding him as you raised your own gun.

It was pure luck that you were only shot in the arm, and in your non-dominant one at that. You didn't even notice it at first, focused on killing the O'driscoll.

But it was agony once the man was down. You fled like a deer, no destination in mind, just needing to get Bo and get the hell out of dodge.

Your memories run out at that point.

“You got a name?” Arthur asks.

“She doesn't.” Mary-Beth explains to him, noticing your far away look.

You itch with the desire to ask questions. Who are these people? How did you get here? Where’s Bo? The last question makes you agitated, and as soon as Mary-Beth ties off your bandage you are rising out of the bed.

“Where's Bo?” You demand, rising from the bed on shaky legs. Arthur immediately grabs your uninjured arm, balancing you.

“Where's what?”

“Bo! My horse.” You sob, growing shaky with the fear that something's happened to him.

The last thing you remember is holding onto him for dear life as he gets you away from danger, falling in and out of consciousness as you grip onto his mane.

What if Bo is still out there? What if he got injured? You don't know these people, what if they hurt him?

“He's fine, he's fine, don't worry.” Arthur comforts, and you relax slightly.

“Can I see him?”

“Of course you can.” He says, voice soft in what you can assume is empathy, “Lemme bring you to him. Mary-Beth, can you grab the Miss some more morphine from Strauss?”

“Of course.” Mary-Beth says, patting your arm gently as she leaves.

“Morphine? What's that?” You ask, confused and scared. But Arthur soothes his hand over your uninjured arm, awkwardly but it's comforting nonetheless.

“Just something' to help with the pain.” He explains, “Now let's go see to yer horse.”

Arthur leads you out of the tent. You’re taken aback by the camp you’re in. It's tidy and lively, a nice atmosphere permeating from the people and nature.

A few people look over at you, and you shrink. But they’re expressions aren't unkind, some pitying but some offering smiles. A slender, dark skinned man goes as far as to offer you a good morning, which you return weakly.

Arthur stops just outside the main area of camp, releasing your arm.

“I need to talk to our cook about getting you something to eat, would you mind staying here a second while I grab him?” Arthur asks apologetically, “I wouldn't leave ya if it weren't necessary, but he's already got a bottle open and he won't be conscious next time I see him.”

You nod weakly as you lean against a tree stump, bracing your weight against it.

Arthur thanks you, walking over to a stout man taking a swig from a bottle. He grows annoyed as Arthur calls out to him, and you avert your eyes.

Across camp, you spot a few horses mingling about amongst some sparse trees.

You beam when you see a familiar stallion.

“Bo!” You call out, stumbling forwards a little to get to him.

Bo’s head snaps to the side, and he starts neighing and huffing when he sees you.

The man cleaning the horses manages to jump out of the way just in time before Bo takes off running, sprinting over to you. The camp goers watch with wide eyes as the horse that dwarfed Arthur and Charles sprints to the injured girl, before stopping and nuzzling her gently.

He noses at your injured arm, and you pat his neck affectionately. His snorts and your shushes act as nonverbal communication between you and your bonded steed, comforting each other in this strange and uncertain situation.

You rub at Bo’s nose as the man walks over from the horses. He watches in amazement, looking between you and the horse. He does not seem threatening, but you look at him in your peripheral vision, unnerved by his staring.

Noticing you eyeing him, he flushes, stammering out an apology, “Sorry. M-mighty fine horse you've got there, miss!”

“Thanks.” You smile as you look up at the horse in question, running your fingers through his mane, “Hope he hadn't been too much trouble for you, he's not used to being in one place for too long.”

“Oh he's, uh, he's been fine. He's a bit rowdy, wouldn't let me brush him or nothin, but he ain't gone nowhere or caused a ruckus. He eats hay like it's no one's business.”

“Yeah, he's a greedy boy.” You laugh.

The man joins you, though quietly. “Oh! I’m Kieran, by the way!” He introduces himself.

“Hi, Kieran.” You smile.

“They didn't tell me your name.”

“Ain't got one.”

“Oh.” Kieran frowns, but you’re surprised to see him looking sympathetic rather than confused.

You rub Bo’s neck, “But this guy is Bo. So you can call me Bo’s human, if you want.”

“Oh, that isn't a nice enough way of referring to a lady, miss. Especially not such a pretty one.” Kieran laughs, blushing slightly and clearing his throat, “And I don't think Bo would take too kindly to that. I'm already on thin ice after trying to brush him this morning.”

Bo huffs, like he was agreeing, and you chuckle.

Someone groans nearby.

“You annoying the nice lady, O’driscoll?” A voice drawls.

Kieran stiffens, his face dropping, “I told you, ain't no O'driscoll, mister.”

You narrow your eyes, looking from Kieran to the new man, who wanders over from where he was leaning against a tree. He's greasy looking, with beady eyes and a handlebar moustache.

He's one of the other men you helped, but he isn't as welcoming as Arthur.

You look back at Kieran, “O'driscoll, huh? O’driscolls took my home and tried to kill me years ago. They’re why I don't have a home.”

Kieran swallows, face dropping further, a frown appearing on his lips.

But you shrug.

“I wouldn't have thought you were one.” You say, “I've been around them long enough to know an O’driscoll from a mile away. Nothing about you seems like one to me, I ain't got a problem with you.”

Kieran visibly relaxes, smiling brightly, “Well, I'm real glad about that.”

Micah groans, agitating you both further.

“She ain't gonna fuck you, O’driscoll, so stop slobberin.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the mustached man, as Kieran goes bright red, “I ain't- I'm not- I'm just tryna be nice!”

“What the hell is going on here?” Arthur calls, appearing at your side, “I leave her alone for five minutes and you two creeps swarm her like flees to a cat.”

“Mr Morgan, I swear I was just tryna talk to her about her horse.” Kieran sighs.

“Kieran ain't done nothing.” You say to Arthur, before nudging Bo, “Bo, go with Kieran.”

Bo huffs, and you push his side. He's three times your size, but he lets you manoeuvre him in Kieran's direction. The ex-O’driscoll watches with wide eyes, before Bo nudges him with his nose, pushing him in the direction of the hay bales.

The two of them leave, leaving you, Arthur and Micah.

“So what's your excuse, Micah?” Arthur asks, crossing his arms.

“I'm just tryna be friendly to the woman who saved us.” Micah smirks, looking you up and down, “And what a woman she is.”

“Alright, enough of that.” Arthur takes your uninjured arm, leading you away from the other man, ignoring his annoyed huff.

“C’mon, Dutch’s been wanting to meet you.”

Arthur leads you through the camp, to a table where two older men sit, talking quietly amongst themselves, sipping coffee while they observe the camp around them.

They look like opposites of each other. One is dressed in dark, luxurious clothes, with raven coloured hair and a perfectly maintained moustache. His golden rings glint against the evening sun as he gestures around him. The other has silver hair, wearing lighter, more worn clothes. His eyes are dark and warm, especially when they lock on you.

He says something to his companion, and the two stand as you arrive at the table.

“Miss.” The dark haired man greets.

A steaming bowl of stew waits for you at the table, and Arthur keeps his hand on your arm as you sit. You feel awkward at all the coddling you’re receiving from everyone, feeling like a bird with a broken wing.

The three men sit as you look over the table, eying the food.

“That's yours, you can eat.” Arthur encourages, pushing the bowl closer to you.

The other men nod as you look between them. Hesitantly, you pick up the spoon and begin eating. After the first unsure spoonful, you dig in, your hunger overtaking your insecurity.

The silver haired man smiles warmly at your eagerness, while Arthur chuckles gently, “I think this is the first time someone has eaten Pearson stew so happily.”

You hear the other men laugh, but you’re too focused on eating to pay attention to it.

When the bowl is empty, you clear your throat and wipe your mouth, “Thank you.”

“Such nice manners for a wild woman.” The dark haired man comments, “You’re welcome, miss.”

Arthur takes the empty bowl away, and you fidget with your nails, blinking down at the table.

“Now, I think introductions are in order.” The dark haired man says, “My name is Dutch Van Der Linde, my friend here is Hosea Matthews.”

“We’re glad you’re up and moving, dear.” Hosea says softly, “You gave us quite a scare.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You've got nothing to apologise for, miss…”

“I don't know my name.” You shrug, growing tired of having to explain this. You haven't spoken with anyone who wanted to know your name in months. You‘re half tempted to just make one up at this point.

Arthur returns, bringing with him a shawl that he offers you. You reach for it, and he helps you place it on your shoulders.

“Is there something we can call you? Perhaps a nickname?” Hosea asks, “What is it people refer to you as?”

“‘Girl’. Or ‘woman’. ‘Freak’, ‘you there’, 'bitch’...” You list off.

“Well we won't be calling you any of those, angel.” Dutch chuckles.

“You don't need to call me nothing, mister. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as you want me to.” You murmur, wanting to shrink into the floor.

You feel uneasy at the attention. Arthur looks at you with a guarded expression, Hosea looks at you with pity, and Dutch eyes you with a look you’re unused to.

“Do you have somewhere to go? A home, a family?” Hosea asks.

“No.”

“Then why are you so eager to leave?” Dutch asks, tilting his head to try to catch your eye. You look at him, and he looks at you, focused.

Once you stare into Dutch’s eyes, you find it impossible to look away. They’re dark, filled with an intensity you had only ever seen in predators in nature.

Yet you’re unafraid of him.

The intensity seems to come from a place of intelligence, from experience. He searches your soul for evidence of malintent. He's a black bear defending his territory, not one looking for a fight.

Dutch blinks, and the spell is broken. Whatever threat he was looking for, he did not find. His eyes became warm, and a smile appears on his face, surrounding his eyes with crinkles.

“You can stay as long as you want.” Dutch says, “Afterall, you helped our people out of a very bad situation. You’ve got friends here, angel.”

Hosea nods, offering you a smile. You return it, though not entirely convinced of the group's intentions yet. Arthur watches you from the wide, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Now, those clothes of yours have seen better days.” Dutch chuckles, rising from his chair, “Let’s find you something more warm.”

He offers you his arm, leading you back through the camp towards the large tent again.

“Who's tent is this? I feel bad taking it from them.” You murmur, fingers tapping nervously against the fine material of his shirt.

“Well you shouldn't. The man who’s letting you use it likes to think of himself as generous.” Dutch winks, and you huff out a laugh.

“Thank you, Mr Van Der Linde.”

“You’re very welcome.” He leads you inside, turning to call out to an older woman, asking her to find you some new clothes. You stand awkwardly, looking around the tent again.

“What is that thing?” You ask, nodding to the strange object.

“Ah!” Dutch exclaims, a beaming smile on his lips as he walks over to the contraption, “This, my dear, is a phonograph. It plays music, listen.”

With a couple swift movements, the phonograph comes to life. Just as Dutch said, music starts playing, slightly scratchy yet clearly melodic.

It puts a small smile on your lips, and Dutch puffs out his chest in pride at your reaction. He walks back over to your side, his hand finding your wait. Opening his mouth so say something, he hesitates as he looks into your eyes.

Your heart rate picks up, tilting your head curiously at him.

Someone enters the tent, and Dutch looks away. He nods at Mary-Beth, who comes over to your side with a sunny smile and a bundle of clothes in her arms.

“I'll leave you in Miss Gaskill’s care.” Dutch murmurs, his hand lingering on your waist before he steps back, “I’ll see you later, angel.”

He leaves you confused, but Mary-Beth steals your attention away. She’s very eager to dress you up, and you smile as her kind energy lights up the room.

As the sun begins to set, the camp settles down with food and beers, chatting around the campfire or retiring for the night.

You have washed and changed your clothes. Mary-Beth styled an old skirt and blouse for you. The skirt was a bit short and the blouse was too large, but you were grateful to be in something other than your raggedy dress you'd been wearing for just under a week.

Another girl named Tilly brought you water to wash, and helped you clean the dirt off of your skin and out of your hair. She talked to you the whole time, complaining about a woman named Miss Grimshaw. While you didn't respond, she was content with your hums of acknowledgment, and it was nice getting clean and being treated like a normal person.

Once clean and warm in your new, borrowed clothes, you felt ten pounds lighter, and followed the women as they led you to the campfire. A few others mingle about, but you sigh in relief seeing that there were far fewer about now that the sun had set.

You slightly wish you could be left alone to lick your wounds, disappearing back into the woods with Bo at your side.

Not that these people aren't nice. In fact, they happen to be the kindest people you have interacted with in months. You’re just unused to being surrounded by so many people, especially by people who actually see you. You've spent your days wandering the world like a spectre, far more comfortable in the presence of animals than people.

Maybe you could get used to being around other people. But you wanted the option to leave, in case the other shoe drops and these people turn out to be just another cruel gang of outlaws.

Mary-Beth sits you at the fire, leaving you to grab you both some supper. Nearby, a man sits in the ground with a guitar in his lap, his eyes closed as he strums a simple tune.

The soft notes he plays transfix you, and you find yourself hypnotised by the music, the world falling away around you. The man looks at you, a smile on his lips at the sight of you enjoying his music. For a moment, you’re completely entranced.

New voices startle you, and you look up to find an older man with a bushy beard settling down around the fire.

“Evening, miss.” He says.

“Hello.” You greet in return.

“Glad to see you're alright. Old Dutch was mighty concerned about ya.” He rambles, opening a beer and nodding at you with a grin, “The name’s Uncle by the way.”

“Uncle?”

“Yup. At least, that's what everyone knows me as. I reckon we're alike, you and me, both got names that are no-one's business.”

You don't bother correcting him that you don't know your name, or asking you how he knew you didn't know your name, so instead you smile and nod.

Mary-Beth returns alongside a blonde woman, who raises an eyebrow at Uncle’s statement, “You ain't even got a name?” She comments as she takes a swig from her beer.

“Karen, be nice.” Mary-Beth chides as she sits beside you, handing you a bowl of familiar stew, “She doesn't remember it, poor thing.”

“What are we supposed to call you, then?” Karen inquires.

You shrug, “Whatever you like. People call me whatever they want, don't matter much to me. Dutch seems to like calling me angel, for some reason.”

Karen's eyes widen at that, as the guitarist hums contemplatively, “Mm, you are an angel. A guardian angel, saving the men like that. Muy valiente, cariño.”

Though his words are lost on you, they sound as melodic as the music he plays, and you nod in thanks, tapping your fingers on the rim of the bowl in your hands.

“How long are you planning on staying with us?” Uncle asks.

“I don't know, as long as it takes for my arm to heal, I guess.”

“Dutch seems real keen on keeping ya.” Karen says around her bottle, before promptly being elbowed by Mary-Beth.

“Well it's not every day an outlaw gets to save a damsel in distress.” Uncle chuckles.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“He was the one who found you in the woods.” Uncle explains, “You were in a real bad state, saw it myself. Dutch came in like one of those fancy knights from Mary-Beth’s books, carrying you through camp all bloodied. I was real surprised he was willing to get blood on his fancy clothes.”

You stare at him, surprised to find out it was Dutch who rescued you. He hadn't mentioned it, which you thought he would, being the proud and enigmatic man he was. Surely he would boast about it,

Feeling eyes on you, you turn your head to find Dutch watching you from afar. He’s sat beside Hosea, who talks to him not residing his friends attention is elsewhere.

Dutch has that look in his eyes again. Dark and pensive, and though you feel you should be fearful, different emotions plague your system. Pleasant emotions, your heart rate increasing and your stomach fluttering.

But he turns away as Hosea asks him a question, and the spell is broken.

You excuse yourself from the conversation, taking your bowl to Pearson before heading back to Dutch’s tent. Sleep should help quell the sudden desires you feel.

But sleep does not come easily.

You can see Dutch’s eyes in your imagination, watching from the dark corners of dormant spaces. Thoughts spiral around your mind,

Huffing, you run your hands over your face, your bandage tightening before snapping. You sigh further as you sit up, looking down at the loose wrappings.

You try to retie your bandage, your frustration building when it unravels again. So much for being independent.

Someone clears their throat, and you turn your head to see Dutch standing at the entrance, offering you a smile as he gestures to your attempts, “Would you like some help?”

You hesitate, but nod.

He moves to sit beside you on the bed, looking over your work before turning you around, your back to him as he expertly winds the bandage around your upper arm, tying it at the back and tucking the edge away.

“There you go.” Dutch murmurs.

Why is his voice so entrancing?

His close proximity makes goosebumps erupt along your exposed flesh. But it's not unpleasant. In fact, you seek out his warmth, leaning against him as he works. You briefly worry that he can feel your racing heart through your ribs.

Dutch smooths his hands over your arm, ensuring the bandage is secure. His touch sends shivers through you, bolts of lightning with every brush of his warm, calloused skin against yours.

You lean into it, humming appreciatively.

Dutch hums too, his fingers travelling from your upper arm to your wrist, rubbing his thumb over your pulse point. He watches your profile, looking for any sign of discomfort.

Finding none, he brings your wrist upwards, pressing his lips to your skin. You gasp, unsure but intrigued by his action, melting against his front.

“My apologies if this is forward…” Dutch murmurs, though there's no real apology in his tone, “I've been finding myself thinking of you far too often since finding you in the woods. My strange treasure.”

He presses a kiss to your palm, “It's not every day a beauty like yours falls into my lap, please forgive my desire to indulge.”

You look at him over your shoulder, biting your lip as you look over his face. His eyes move from your hand to your eyes, his gaze appraising like he was looking at something magnificent.

“Such a pretty thing.” Dutch drawls, his other hand circling around your waist, making you jolt, “Hmm… you ain't done nothing like this before, have you, angel?”

“No…” You whisper.

You vaguely understood this attention, even though you have never experienced something like this before. In your years in the wild, you had stumbled upon enough passionate lovers in isolated fields, and found the odd O’driscoll having his way with a working girl. You had seen enough to not be completely clueless.

But you'd never been touched.

Even in your wildest dreams did you imagine the first man to do so, and to do so so reverently, would be a powerful gang leader. What had you gotten yourself into.

Dutch hums at your revelation, softening his movements, caressing your arms and waist in slow movements.

“Would you like me to make you feel good?” He asks, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, “Show how much I appreciate your selfless act of saving my men from certain death?”

“I feel like I should be the one showing gratitude.” You mutter, “You saved my life.”

Dutch hums, kissing the skin below your ear, “We can find ways to thank one another.”

Deftly, his fingers begin travelling along your body, caressing your bare and clothed skin. You squirm against him, unsure if you are trying to escape his attention or encourage him.

A gasp escapes you as you feel one of his large hands slip below your skirt, the cold of his rings cooling the heated flesh of your thighs. and you keen as they come in contact with your most intimate place.

His rough fingers drag through your slit, and you hold your breath for fear of making a noise that will surely wake the entire camp. Dutch groans, pressing his face against your hair as he feels how wet you've become.

His fingers move upwards until they find your clit, a small bundle of heaven you had only explored by yourself in moments of desperation. He plays with it expertly, skilled fingertips circling and rubbing at it until you feel yourself shaking.

You turn your head to look at him, seeking out comfort in his dark eyes. He hushes you, pressing his lips to yours.

It's clumsy on your end. You've never been kissed, and your lips are hesitant against his confident ones. Dutch brings a hand up, cupping your jaw as he urges you on with his lips. You begin to move your own, moaning against him as his tongue requests

You really like kissing, you soon discover, finding yourself quickly becoming addicted. You turn in his arms, pressing yourself against him as you indulge in his lips.

The two of you manoeuvre yourselves until you sit on Dutch's lap, thighs bracketing his own as your hands wind into his hair, holding his head still to have your fill of his kisses.

Dutch groans against you, enjoying the feeling of you taking control, his hands rubbing up and down your back.

He sinks back into the cot, body relaxing as he surrenders to your exploration.

You’re uncomfortably wet, the early caress of his fingers combined with your kissing making you drench his waist below you. Squirming against him, you gasp when you feel something hard below you.

Separating from his lips, you take in the sight of the powerful man below you.

Dutch reclines against the cot, looking up at you with hungry eyes.

His hands move from your lower back to your hips, then upwards. His deft fingers play with the ties of your shirt, and he looks up at you with a raise eyebrow, “May I?”

“Yes.” You say confidently, though unsure as to what he wants.

Dutch unties the knots that keep your shirt closed. It's far too big for you, and when loose, it drops and exposes your breasts to the air.

Your hands twitch against his chest, fighting the urge to cover your skin from his eyes. Dutch groans, pupils dilating as he admires the slopes of your breasts and raised nipples.

His hands travel gently over the soft skin of your breasts, to the skirt bunched up at your waist, to the meat of your thighs, groping and caressing greedily.

Your own fingers move to the buttons of his vest, and he grins up at you, eager. Opening his vest and shirt, you eye him with flushing cheeks. His torso is firm from years of gunslinging and lawless labour, skin slightly tan from the summer sun. Taut muscles and dark thatches of hair you desire to run your fingers through.

He urges you to do so, taking your smaller hands in his to place them on his sides, Copying his own actions, you run your own hands over his exposed chest, exploring the firm skin and the dark wiry hair. Your fingers follow the hair's natural line as it travels down until it disappears into his slacks.

A bulge has formed there, pressing against the fabric aggressively. You know from the horrid O'driscolls and the drunken farmers you often stole from that this meant that he was aroused, but what lay below is a mystery to you.

“Are you alright, angel?”

You look up and meet Dutch’s eyes, finding them soft yet still hungry.

“I’ve never…”

“That's alright, darling. Take your time.” He soothes, caressing your sides, “But, we also don't have to go any further than this. You hold the cards here, my beautiful girl.”

You smile a little bit, feeling some of the tension in your body dissipate.

And you shock him when you cup his solid bulge.

Dutch groans and his hips buck, surprised by your action and quick to apologise for his initial reaction. You bite your lip, rubbing your palm over it. The action makes Dutch sigh softly, his fingers clenching against your waist as he looks down at your fingers.

You play with the edge of his trousers, “Can I…?”

“Of course.”

Slowly, you undo his pants, revealing his lack of underwear. You raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles.

“It's real warm this time of year.” Dutch explains, “Makes this easier, too.”

“Were you planning this?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I only hoped… I'm only human, sweet thing.”

You blush, moving your eyes back to his lower half. Tugging his slacks down, his uncovered erection springs free. Your eyes widen, taking in the solid length of it.

It’s as long as your hand, and reasonably wide. Having nothing to reference to it, you find it quite nice. Whether it's bigger than average you can only guess, but it’s certainly not disappointing to your virgin eyes.

“Do I please you, my lady?” Dutch smirks, his hands moving back down to your bare thighs, pinching you as you stare for too long.

You huff, leaning forward to kiss him again, far too obsessed with doing it. He doesn't complain, sighing happily against your lips and wrapping his large hand in your hair.

As you lean over him, you can feel him poke against your stomach. Sitting up a bit, you look down at it, shuffling forward until it presses against your clothed stomach.

Seeing how much of it could go inside you, your eyes widen.

“That thing’s never gonna fit in me.”

Dutch laughs, shaking his head slightly, running his hand over your cheek, “Don't worry, angel. It will. But we’re not gonna force it. I'm gonna make sure you feel good.”

You hum, leaning into his palm. He soothes your flushed skin, tracing his fingers over the apple of your cheeks down to your jaw. You adjust yourself on top of him, trying to figure out how best to do this.

Dutch notices your fumbling, “Need help?”

You smile, nodding.

“Show me.”

He obliges, moving his hands to your hips firmly and lifting you up. You follow his guidance, moving forward to hover over his lap.

A gasp escaped you when you feel his tip against you. It's hot, incredibly hard and slightly damp. Dutch moves you gently, rocking you over it. When it catches your clit, you shudder, keening and moving automatically as you search out more of that delicious feeling.

“Such a good girl.” Dutch breathes, “That’s it sweetheart, take it easy. We ain’t in no rush.”

You rock against him, letting the rip catch your entrance. You squirm as you feel the first two inches slide in and out of you, easily due to how you’re practically dripping.

The sensations are unusual, but far from unpleasant.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you sink further, stifling a moan as more pleasure emerges the longer you girate.

Soon enough, you’re taking enough of him to feel him pressing against something sensitive inside you. It shocks you at first, but then you begin searching for it, releasing sharp moans every time you drop and feel the ecstasy rise, your whole body riding waves of pleasure.

You can hear Dutch's breath quickening, and you open your eyes. You didn't even realise you shut them, but when you blink away the bleariness and look down at Mr Van Der Linde, you moan at the sight of him.

Dutch’s skin glistens in the low light, his chest and neck flushed. His chest heaves as he groans and grunts, releasing praises with every breath. “So tight.” “Keep going, baby, you’re doing so well.” “Good fucking girl.” His head is thrown back, neck exposed and eyes fluttering closed.

You keep rocking, trying to keep pace while you lean forward and kiss his throat.

Dutch groans loudly at that, his arms wrap around you to keep you in place. His hips buck, his restraint fraying. His need for release is growing too strong for him to handle.

“I need fuck you now, baby, would you let me?” He bites out.

You murmur out an ‘mhm’ into his neck, head too gone to really respond, but knowing that you want him to have his way with you now.

At your affirmation, Dutch grips you to his chest, feet planting on the bed as he begins thrusting upwards. You release a series of moans and whines as he fucks up into you, hips slapping against yours.

He’s strong, fucking with short and hard thrusts that shake you. You grasp onto him for dear life, surrendering fully to the feeling.

Your body tightens, a feeling deep in your abdomen grows, like a string pulled too taut and ready to snap.

“D-dutch, feels weird…” You gasp out, burying your face in his neck.

“That's it, cum for me, angel. Give it to me.” Dutch commands, huffing into your ear as he grips onto your hips and slams you down on him as he thrusts up even harder than before. He tip of him repeatedly bullies the sweet spot inside of you, and you see stars.

The string snaps inside you, and you're blinded by pleasure. You cum with a cry of his name, tears swimming in your vision as you shake and leak all over him.

Dutch’s pace stutters, murmuring continuous “fuck, fuck, fuck”s into your ear.

Swiftly, he turns you over, lying you both on your sides as he pulls out. He fists himself fast in between your bodies, exclaiming as he jolts and warm spurts of his release hit your stomach.

“Fuck, so good…” Dutch sighs, nosing at your face as he pumps himself lazily, staining both of you with every drop of his seed.

You breathe heavily, coming down from the high. You lie boneless beside him, his eyes half closed as he watches your face with parted lips.

Sleep creeps up on you, and you almost get pulled under until you hear Dutch shift. His presence leaves the bed and you wonder if he's leaving you all alone.

But he returns after a second, a cool rag caressing your belly and cleaning you of his spend, before cleaning over your sensitive cunt. You shiver and he chuckles, wiping the rag over your sweaty skin before putting it away.

He wraps his arms around you, moving you to lie on his chest.

Sighing contentedly, you relax against his solid warmth, and fall into the most peaceful sleep of your life.

As the morning birds wake you, you stretch out on the soft bed.

You search blindly for Dutch, eyebrows furrowing when you come up empty handed.

Opening your eyes, you look around the room. It's unchanged. You don't know what you expected, but you thought the world would be different after the new sensations you experienced last night.

But alas, the world is still the same.

Standing, you fix your clothes, smiling when you see that Dutch buttoned your shirt to protect your modesty and put your socks back on your feet to keep you warm. For a man who seemed so strong, capable of immeasurable violence, he seemed insistent on treating you with the kindness you had never dreamed of receiving.

Dutch's phonograph plays gentle music, and you can see his silhouette, standing outside the canvas door. You exit, finding him smoking a cigar as he watches over camp. He's less put together than you were used to seeing him, and your chest flutters knowing you're the cause of that.

Coming to his side, you awkwardly hover next to him, wondering what you do now. Do you greet him casually? Do you take his hand in yours?

Noticing you beside him, Dutch smiles, answering your unspoken questions by swiftly taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Some of the others look over, curious but not a bit shocked.

Smiling, hold onto his hand, leaning into him as the two of you watch over camp.

Maybe you will stick around, just for a little while.

AN/ need that crazy moustache man ugh. hope you enjoyed this! also thank u for 100 followers that's crazy xoxo

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn @pumpkin-toffee @littlebirdgot @ripvanwinkleee

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agyraty · 10 months ago

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Requests!

ׂ╰┈➤ I’m taking requests for Oneshots about Red Dead Redemption, Tlou and Call of duty!

Rules?

ׂI’ll Write just about anything!

ׂ╰┈➤ I will write Fluff, Angst, etc.

ׂ╰┈➤ if requested I could try Yandere.

ׂ╰┈➤ I might do smut? Idk though

ׂ╰┈➤ NO incest, for obvious reasons 💀

ׂ╰┈➤ I only do Male characters x Reader

ׂ╰┈➤ just like smut, I’m not to sure I’ll write about abusive relationships unless it’s like, good for the story? Idk 😭

—

Please give me any requests! I NEED something to write because I enjoy it 🙏🙏 so if you got any ideas message me!

Please don’t rush me though, I promise I’ll finish it as soon as possible. ❥

#arthur morgan #john marston #x reader #fluff #angst #javier escuella #charles smith #jack marston #dutch van der linde #kieran duffy #josiah trelawny #micah bell #sadie adler #red dead redemption 2 #rdr1 #colm o'driscoll #request #fanfic

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saturnxlust · 11 months ago

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Links❤️

TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY? Unheard of

Masterlist

Rules

Johnnie Guilbert

Pretty girl

Arthur Morgan

Nsfw alphabet

Age gap

Josh Hutcherson

Paparazzi

Chris Hemsworth

Meeting him in a movie 🍿

Brahms Heelshire

Backgrounds hurt

Bo Sinclair

Buff girl

Vincent Sinclair

Buff girl

Will Grahm

Buff girl

Thomas Hewitt

Buff girl

Jasper Hale

Darling

Jake Webber

Hispanic!Reader

Tim Wright

Doctors in the house!

Brian Thomas

Doctors in the house!

Toby Rogers

Doctors in the house!

Benjamin Lawman

Doctors in the house!

Eyeless jack

Doctors in the house!

Jeffery Hodek

Doctors in the house!

Jacob Black

Gettaway

Dutch Van Der Linde

Age gap

Hosea Matthews

Age gap

Sean MacGuire

Age gap

Javier Escuella

Age Gap

Chales Smith

Age Gap

Josiah Trelawny

Age Gap

John Marston

Age Gap

Smut😝

Habit

Hyper reader

General hcs

Atticus Fitch

Late night love ❤️

Noah Maxwell

Fair time🤡

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #josiah trelawny #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #charles smith #javier escuella x reader

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orphicrose · 1 year ago

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Fish out of water

(Arthur x OCPirate!Fem!Reader)

My art, don't steal please.

Prologue

Summary : Orphia has to leave her destined life as a pirate behind when she is marooned in America. Losing everything, and having to rediscover how to survive on the earth. Living a new life with little help. Till she falls in with a gang, not being able to bring herself to rejoin the sea and leaving those who she cares for.

! ! This is going to have a decent amount of chapters. I understand that it being long is intimidating for some to read, but despite if no one is interested i will be continuing this as its a passion project of mine. Skip the prologue if you want to! But it is important for the story. I do love a slow burn story with a lot of backstory so I apologise.

Warnings !! Guns, violence, swearing, slight g0re

Words : 3k

-----------------------

The mistress of the Atlantic was a old wives tale, told to children to petrify them into desired behavior. A name whispered in hushed tones across every tavern along the coast. Her true reputation proceeding her, striking justified fear into sailors and merchants alike. Eyes that gleamed with the cold fury of a storm-tossed sea, the embodiment of terror on the high seas. Not because she was a ruthless killer. Because she was a calculated woman, not afraid to teach those a lesson who under estimate her. She was feared for her sudden appearances, and her story. No woman during this time had ever accomplished such control over her men as she had managed, and in the eyes of those who had heard the stories they thought she was a witch. A witch who casted a spell on her crew.

Her uncanny ability to outmaneuver and outsmart her enemies struck a interest in the men she now called her crew. Never a boring day at sea with her. Respect being earnt, and not expected. That's one of the reasons they never left her side, her leadership was like no other. She pulled her weight and ensured the safety in return for their service. Till disaster finally stuck. Her luck sailing to an end.

It was 1890, Orphia had been a pirate captain for almost a decade. Learning from her experiences and growing as a leader. But even when the brightest minds are caught off guard, they can be overthrown.

A freeing breeze whipped through the sails as normal, waves crashing against the solid wood of the black pearl. Blue stretching for miles as the horizon curved at the edge of the earth. "Captain!" a voice hurried from behind her followed by a herd of footsteps. Orphia turned to find her brother, her first hand man. Stood in front of the audience of her crew. "They caught up with us, and they have friends" he pointed to the armed force of army ships a few miles away. The English army had been chasing them for years, they had grown too smart and advanced with their knowledge on Orphias crew.

The battle was short, but it seemed the dawn had caught up with them as the darkening sky came upon them as the deafening raw of dozens of cannons terrified the night. Ships closed in around the black pearl, suffocating it's structure. Orphia had to say goodbye to her life that day. The ship began taking on water fast as the four rival ships battered it beyond repair. Fires not being given the mercy by the salt water, bringing down the sails as they crashed into the deck. Cries for their captains help haunt her mind to this day.

If her brother hadn't pulled her from the burning pits of the crumbling platform, she wouldn't be here. Jumping into the pits of the dark blue below them with nothing but survival in their minds.

She had woken up on a muddy shore, a pistol still tangled in her hands. Sunburnt and covered in seaweed. The crew was scattered on the sea bed along with their former vessel. Determination to reclaim her lost glory was lost along with everything else, except for one other survivor. Enzo had been awake for a lot longer than her, pulling himself along the coast with bruised hands. Looking for his sister. She ran to the body on the floor, looking like a burnt corpse.

His shrapnel wound shifted her priorities to a pure motif of survival. "Am i going to die? Orphia?" his voice was desperate, digging his nails into the dirt next to him.

"Hush. I made a promise to our father that i wouldn't let that happen" she tightened the cloth ,that she ripped from her own shirt, around the bloody mess on the young boys leg. He gritted his teeth together in agony, refusing to let out a noise. "Right..." The pirate pulled the hat off her head, twisting it in her hands to ring out the water. "We need shelter, think you could stand"

The boy looked at her as if she was an idiot, motioning to the blood stained dirt surrounding his limb. "Think for a second. What do you think the answer to that question is?"

Orphia scoffed, her hat landing atop her hair once again. She hoisted the boy up, leaning his full body weight on hers as his arm clutched around her shoulder like a walking stick. "Don't be a smart ass, or I'll leave it here"

Dragging the harmed man through the deep swamps of mud was no easy task, but she managed. The morning sun setting over the Lemoyne landscape gave a nice feeling of their drenched clothes drying off.

A house stood, hidden behind bushes and a large forest along the coast. A miracle, she thought. The mansion itself is a grand, yet dilapidated structure. The surrounding marshland serving as an efficient barrier from unwelcomed guests. Though the atmosphere was eerie and foreboding, it was the perfect place to hide.

Enzo rested as best he could, tossing and turning as soon as night rolled around. Orphia spent the next week hunting with a small knife, not having much luck considering she had never done it before. Managing to steal a chicken from a farmers stead in the night was her best bet at survival. "My leg" The boy whimpered, gripping at his leg with both hands. His head was covered in blankets of sweat and his body burned to the touch. "Its not gone gangrene, you'll be fine" Orphia mumbled, peeling away the rotting dressing that covered it.

"Tell that to the metal in my leg" He hissed in pain.

She made attempts at stealing medicine from a small town, but their guns were intimidating enough to make her turn the other way. The gun powder in her pistol soaked, not having the right tools to fix it she was effectively weaponless. Defenseless. Back to being the damsel in distress, not being able to help herself or her brother. She was no one on land. A fish out of water.

"Use your knife" "against a whole town of fully armed Americans?" She scoffed "I don't think so, kid"

"So, steal a gun."

"You aren't very smart are you?" the two bickered around the fire they had made outside the home. Sharing an old tin of beans they found in an old wagon. Orphia spent the night pondering. Her next task was to find some sort of weapon. Perhaps she could trade for it. Or sell something. But what.

Society scared her, the unnatural order of it all. The stillness of the land made her feel ill. But she had to somewhat conform if they were going to survive. Then it hit her, that farmer she stole chickens from had a nasty shotgun on him. She'd nearly fallen victim to him countless times. She knew he was a drunk, a drunk who passed out when consumed to much. She can use that to her advantage.

The next night, she waited. Watched him from afar. The man was sat on his porch, polishing said shotgun funnily enough. A bottle of beer sat next to his chair. Not long passed before the old farmer fell asleep, rocking on his chair and spilling the contents of his drink all over the wooden floor.

Orphia suck up to him, a cloth tied round her face as to not reveal her identity. It was too easy to be true. She snatched the gun from the floor next to him and ran like she was being chased by it. Snatching a chicken on the way put because why not. The alarm calls from its friends woke the man, he stood abruptely to the sight of the figure running away like a fox. Even more alarmed when he went to reach for his shot gun and finding his hands empty.

"I'll catch you, little maggot!"

Orphia laughed with relief as her legs carried her further and further away, holding both the chicken and the gun.

"You did it? You beautiful bastard" Enzo cheered at her as she entered the home. "Who's not very smart now" He prodded at her, pulling himself to his feet using the table in front of his chair. His sister moved round the table and pushed him back onto the chair. Causing a painful sigh to escape him.

"Now i just need to somehow steal medicine" She threw the now deceased animal onto the table alongside with her newly obtained wespon.

"Going at night would be easier, no?" The boy began to pluch the feathers from the chicken.

"That's a idea, but the sheriffs is right next door. and I'd have to cause a lot of noise to get in." Her hands were rested on the table as she leaned on them. pondering once again. "I'm going to wait till morning, when it first opens. The sheriff on morning duty is another drunk so there's a high possibility he will be hung over or passed out"

"Look at you go, cowboy" Enzo threw a feather at her playfully, Orphia lightly whacking his head in return.

"Dirty pirate" She laughed back. "someone has to get us out of this"

Early the next morning, before the sun even had a chance to unveil itself, Orphia threw on her jacket riddled with holes. The shotgun was thrown over her shoulder, and fabric was tied around her face to once again hide herself.

The town was close to the farm she had been robbing for, the citizens calling it Rhodes. It had everything you'd need. So she didn't want to cause to many issues, as it was the closest civilisation to her apart from the big city. Saint denis. But she would be avoiding that sespit at all costs.

The sun peaked over the horizon as the doctor unlocked the door into his establishment. The rest of the town quiet of people. Orphia snuck through the door as he was settling into the desk in front of her. Pointing the gun at him to see when he turned around. A frightened 'Oh!' left his lips, immediately raising his hands as if he had done this before.

"I don't want to hurt you" was her first words, pushing forward towards him. "Keep quiet, and give me something to treat a wound, and you keep your head"

The pharmacist began sweating profusely, his poor mustache twitching above his lip. His hands still in the air, a finger stretched and pointed at the shelf on the far end of the shop. Bandages and tonics sitting idly, rising sun shining through the glass bottles and reflecting on the wood of the floor.

Her gun never left his site, keeping a keen eye for any sudden movements as she walked sideways to the cabinet. Using a free hand to stash anything she could find into her satchel, and backing away into the door behind her. When she was out, she ran. As fast as she knew how to.

It wasn't long till she could hear the Clerk shouting for help, the sluggish sheriff flying through the doors to see the commotion. But it was too late. She was already out of site.

Enzos wounds were tended to properly, disinfected and bandaged. A wave of relief hit the two, hope for a better tomorrow. "You know, you could have just casually stole this shit without pointing a gun at the poor man" Orphia tightened the fabric around his leg, causing him to wince in pain.

"Yeah well, I haven't exactly been cowboying for that long" she tapped his leg, again, causing him to hiss. "Maybe you can give me some lessons when you get up off your ass"

"Hey, it's not my fault i can't walk" He fell silent after the sentence left his mouth. Neither of them having a chance to grieve, to really think about what happened. Their whole life was on sea, they barely remember anything before that. That ship had been their home since they were children, baring victim to its cellar for a large portion of their childhoods.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" Enzo mumbled, looking up to his sister from his resting place by the fire. She shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about, our luck ran out and they got us."

"We lost our friends. Are we just going to ignore that?"

"What do you want me to say? Want me to throw a funeral for all 22 of them without their bodies?" She bit back rather quickly, pulling the hat from her head and playing with the feather. "If we think too deep about it, we wont be able to move on. The army believe we are all gone, so we have the chance to start over. Lets take it" Orphia's tone shifting to a more desperate one, turning to see him. "You're only 19, brother, you still have so much ahead of you"

His face solemn, looking deep into the pits of the fiery blaze in front of him. "Where do we go from here?"

She thought for a second, sharing his view. Then looking over at the house behind her. "We already have shelter, lets focus on food for now. Maybe i'll look into getting us some money."

"What? You want to join this shit hole?"

"If we are going to stay here, we need to play the part. I don't like it either"

Enzo made quick progress over the next week, on the third day he managed to catch a rabbit. Orphia will never know how it happened but she was grateful to have a proper meal that night. They made acquaintances with some of the locals, Enzo sweet talking some strangers into lending him a bow. Which massively improved their diet. Adapting rather fast to their new life style.

In means of money, they kept to a piratey rout. Setting up small heists and jobs around towns to get some simple cash flow.

These jobs consisted of simple robberies, stealing carriages and selling them. Things like that. But with the new rise in crime, they also had competition with rival gangs. The lemoyne raiders being especially a pain in the arse, more so than Sherrif grey.

"Hey, check this out!" Enzo was heard, shouting from outside the gates of shady bell. His figure not visible. Orphia stood from her seat on the porch, looking around for the source of the sound.

His head bopping over the hedges around him, finally revealing a large black and red horse he had found. His legs flung around as his arms wrapped around the neck of the beast for dear life. "I don't know how to control it!" He yelped, turning to a worried mess as the horse attempted to buck him off its back. Orphia sat back down, agreeing that this was his well earned Karma.

"Orphia! Help! Please, i'm going to die up he-" His back his the floor with an 'oof'. Leaving the horse to roam freely around the edge of the swamp, still visibly disturbed. "She was fine earlier, maybe she saw you and was spooked" He clutched at his winded abdomen. His sister stifling a laugh as she shook her head.

"You're going to have such a stupid death one day." she laughed between words, resuming to polish her gun. Her idiotic brother climbing to his feet and attempting to win over the horse once again.

"Lets call her Pearl. She will be our new vessle" He shouted over, now standing a meter from the rearing horse with his hands out ready.

"No, you cant just use the same name again"

"Okay, you think of something."

Orphia looked up at the horse. "Hmm" she readjusted in her seat.

"What about Atlantic. No. Atlantis"

"Atlantis" He repeated. "Makes sense, she was lost before i found her."

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