#young susan grimshaw

[thedailybullshit]

RDR2 Incorrect Quotes pt. 34

Arthur: You’re acting like a child, John.

John: I AIN’T ACTING.

1886:

Dutch: I mean, small animals are way more vicious. It’s because their anger has less space to be contained.

Susan: That’s ridiculous. Give me one example of this.

Dutch: Wasps.

Bessie: Spiders.

Hosea: Terriers.

Arthur: John.

John:

After The Kiss:

Arthur: If you do that again, I will not hesitate to throw you out that windo- what are you doing?

Charles Chatenay: Checking how high the drop is to see if it’s worth it.

Sean: If tomatoes are fruits, isn’t ketchup just a tomato smoothie?

Lenny: It’s jam, I love you but I’m too tired for this shit, please go back to sleep.

Annabelle: All the haters being like, “Aren’t you wanted by the state?” It’s like, I’m wanted by a lot of people, okay? That’s the price of being pretty.

Annabelle: Anyways, I did commit a smidge of treason.

Abigail: *handing Arthur a coffee* Remember: more espresso, less depresso.

Arthur: *drinks it*

Arthur: I’m still depressed, but now I’m FAST.

Abigail: Are you ready to commit?

John: Like a crime or to a relationship?

Sean: I’m a hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, okay? Sarcasm is my only defense!

Hosea: I’m Hosea Motherfucking Matthews, I fear nothing.

Dutch: I have a plan!

Hosea: I have one fear.

Bounty Hunter: I’ll put so many bullets in your head, God won’t even recognize you.

Arthur: I’m an atheist; fire at will.

[heavenly-iulie]

he always had a soft spot for her.

right?

[excalumbras]

tilly jackson hcs bc she deserves to be talked abt too.

due to her csa trauma, she was very skittish after dutch had saved her & let her stay in the vdl gang. she wouldnt let her guard down & if she sensed any danger towards her from any of the members, she was ready to bolt.

grimshaw was never kind to her. not ever—she just put that girl straight to work & has never said a single kind word to her.

the only reason tilly turned out to be the sweetest out of all the vdl gang is bc she saw how they were & wanted to be nothing like them + her mother's last words to her were wishing her to live happy.

it took the combined (& frankly awkward) efforts of kohn & arthur to get tilly to trust not just them, but also hosea & dutch. they couldnt get her to trust or even like grimshaw, but she learned how to tune that woman's incessant insults & beratings out by the time she was 16.

arthur & john were (& still are!! idc what canon says!!!) very protective of her; if she went anywhere, even a little ways away from camp, trust & believe that one of the brothers was with her.

they also taught her to how fend for herself. hosea & dutch, for once, didnt want a child to learn how to fight... never mind the fact that tilly learned how to do kill someone at 12yo. or possibly younger than.

she absolutely loved bessie. she learned how to be feminine from her (because, again, tilly hated grimshaw growing up). she got her love for stories (especially the romance genre) from watching hosea & bessie act all lovey-dovey whenever bessie was around camp. & the only reason im mentioning this is bc dutch's books are. Not romance—that man probably had her read moby dick when it first came out or smth.

she would bicker & banter w john a whole lot more than she did with arthur; shes much closer to john's age. they lovingly & playfully bullied each other.

courtesy of being raised by dutch & hosea: hers, arthur's, & john's senses of humor are dry as the desert.

arthur gave her piggyback rides a lot.

tilly wouldnt let Anyone touch her hair, not even to wash it.

she has some memoirs of her mother that she grabbed from their home before running away again.

[marstonsboy]

had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.

[the99thfanboy]

Young Arthur going through a phase where he wants to dress fancy like Dutch.

Hosea takes him into town and Arthur comes back with new clothes and a fresh haircut, looking like a little Dutch.

Dutch has a dumb grin on his face just looking at the boy.

John says he looks stupid and Arthur’s face turns red, wanting to punch the little runt, but he’s trying to be more Dutch-like, so he just scolds his little brother.

This phase lasts for a while and after it’s passed, Arthur catches John trying on his ‘Dutch clothes’ and teases him for days. John doesn’t want to admit he was actually hoping to look more like Hosea.

Meanwhile, Tilly finds a nice dress so she can dress up like Grimshaw. The older woman doesn’t notice this because she’s so busy, but once Hosea points it out to her she does up Tilly’s hair like her own.

Somewhere in those crates there’s a picture of the Old Guard. Dutch and young man Arthur dressed just like him, Hosea and teenaged John sheepishly wearing a nice vest, and Susan with little Tilly in near matching dresses.

[marstonandson]

van der linde gang headcanons just because

- kieran sleepwalks. whoever’s keeping watch is also in charge of making sure he doesn’t die

- on many separate occasions, tilly, karen, and mary-beth have all called grimshaw “mom” by accident. while they’re dying inside, susan has a smile for the rest of the day

- sean and lenny have a secret club for young men. only jack is invited to their meetings. no one knows what they talk about

- sadie takes molly out into the woods sometimes and they just scream together

- john only knows the ‘rip van winkle’ story because jack read it to him once

- bill and javier pretend they hate each other in front of everyone else but they gossip when no one is looking

- hosea gave dutch that white and red checkered bandana as a gift

- charles is the only person arthur will show his journal to

- abigail has punched most of the gang members at some point for various reasons

- whenever josiah visits he tries to bring a trinket for jack

- everyone actually loves pearson’s cooking, they just hate to admit it because he makes a big deal out of it

- when dutch praises micah, micah turns around and sticks his tongue out at arthur whenever dutch isn’t looking

[ak319]

a nice request because we all deserve it, sadie and reader being besties/soulmates/sisters and even if people try to separate them, they somehow always come back together

When Sadie joined the gang, you were thrilled to have another woman you could truly call a sister. But when Arthur told you what she’d been through, you felt a shock settle over you and an urge to make her feel as comfortable in the gang as possible.

You didn’t do much work around camp yourself, likely second only to Molly in doing almost nothing, but Arthur’s hard work covered both of your shares. Even so, you could feel lazy at times. So when Sadie arrived and Ms. Grimshaw started scolding her for being a burden, you stepped in, doing more of the work so that Sadie could rest and cope with her trauma.

Your care and company helped her eventually open up to you, and you came to see what a remarkably strong woman she truly was. You couldn’t be prouder.

"Hey, (Y/N)." You turned to see Sadie striding over, her new gear and black jacket catching the late sun, an excited gleam in her eyes. Setting aside the dish you’d been scrubbing, you smiled. "Well, don’t you look dashing."

She winked, leaning against the basin with a smirk. "Wasn’t I always?" She tossed you a playful look, then tilted her head. "So…you know how to shoot a gun, right?"

You felt a little heat in your cheeks as you chuckled nervously. "Uh, gun? Not exactly."

Sadie blinked in disbelief, her jaw dropping. "What?! You’ve been living with outlaws all your life, and neither of ‘em thought to teach you?"

"Well…” you shrugged, glancing away. “I was young when Dad was around, and after he passed, I just never felt the need, I guess. And once we were with the gang--” You trailed off, only for Sadie to scoff and seize your arm, tugging you toward the woods without a second thought.

“HEY! Hey! Where are we going?!”

“Where do you think? I’m gonna teach you, girly!"

“Teach what?” Arthur’s shadow fell across both of you as he stepped into your path.

Sadie glanced up at him, not an ounce of her spark fading. “I’m gonna teach her to shoot, Arthur.”

“And why’s that, Ms. Adler?”

Sadie met his gaze, unflinching. “Because she’s my friend, and don’t you think the sister of the ‘best gunslinger in the West’ oughta know how to handle a weapon? She oughta learn, right, (Y/N)?” She looked at you with a fierce grin, her confidence contagious. You gave a firm nod. “Yeah…I do want to learn.” Arthur’s gaze shifted to you, a small scoff escaping him.

"Fine," he muttered, crossing his arms. "But don’t be gettin’ reckless. Be back soon. Don't got too far."

Sadie smirked, unfazed. “Can you stop orderin’ us around for one damn second, Morgan?” She nudged his shoulder as she marched you past, puffing up with satisfaction.

“Damn…” You chuckled as you walked beside her. “That was fun to watch, do that every day, please.”

She laughed with you, her stride bold as you both reached a clearing deep in the woods. There, with patient resolve, she taught you how to handle the gun, steady your aim, and shoot straight, her guiding presence turning each attempt into a small triumph.

Shooting wasn’t the only thrill that had become a staple in your friendship with Sadie. At least once a week, you both made it a point to slip into town, getting up to whatever mischief caught your fancy. It didn’t matter if it was something as innocent as shopping, where Sadie often barked down the shopkeepers during bargaining, or something as wild as crashing a wedding. You couldn’t help but smirk, you could officially check that one off your list.

When you both returned to camp, it wasn’t long before Susan caught sight of you, her face pinched in that familiar disapproving way. “Where did you two run off to today, hmm? Having fun while others do the work?”

Sadie shot back without missing a beat, her tone dripping with defiance. “Of course, we had fun. By the look of you, I’d say it’s been a while since you’ve had any.”

You nudged Sadie, stifling a laugh, though the humor didn’t last long. Susan’s voice cut through with a sharper edge. “Well, some of us do actual work around here instead of frolicking around all day in town.”

You took a deep breath, deciding to keep it civil. “I went after finishing what I could for the day, Ms. Grimshaw.”

“Oh? And by that, you mean what? Washing two pieces of clothing?” Her scoff stung, and your smile faded. That was it.

“Now, first of all, I don’t have to do any of it,” you replied, voice steady but firm, “seeing as this whole camp practically thrives off what my brother does. But I still help out, from the goodness of my heart. C’mon, Sadie.”

You grabbed Sadie’s arm, and she looked at you, a flicker of surprise in her eyes before breaking into a grin. “Well, look at that. My company’s finally having an effect on you, in a good way, I’d say.”

“I’m just sick of all the chore talk. Can’t a girl relax once in a while?”

Once you’d left Susan fuming in your wake, you and Sadie joined Abigail and the others, handing out the little gifts you’d picked up in town. The warm smiles from Abigail, Jack, and the rest made it worth it, a small reminder of what life outside the gang could feel like.

Soon enough, sneaking out became something of a habit. You and Sadie would slip out at night when Arthur was away on a job, sometimes taking the other women along. No Ms Grimshaw scolding or nagging to keep you tied down, just the freedom to be a little reckless, to feel like you had some control. And Charles? When he patrolled, he was easily convinced to keep it all a secret.

But Ms Grimshaw did have her ways of finding things...

"Well, if it isn’t our very own troublemakers," she snapped, her gaze fixed on you and Sadie, who were both just returning from a night out with the others. You’d barely managed to set down your packs when she stormed over, hands on her hips. “Thought you could sneak out and cause a ruckus without anyone noticing, did you? It’s dangerous enough out there as it is, but dragging others into your little escapades is a step too far.”

Sadie rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, and you braced yourself, knowing the real storm hadn’t even hit yet. Grimshaw shot both of you a withering look, muttering something about going straight to Dutch.

Not even fifteen minutes later, Dutch himself found you both by the campfire, his face a blend of frustration and disappointment. He folded his arms, giving you both a hard look. “Now, I heard some interesting things from Ms. Grimshaw this morning. You two think it’s wise to be sneaking around, taking half the camp along for a joyride? With Pinkertons and O’Driscolls sniffing around every corner?!”

Sadie stayed silent, her jaw set as Dutch’s gaze landed on her. "Sadie, I understand you’re your own woman, but this here’s a family. And we look out for each other’s safety. Taking the others out at night like that, it puts everyone at risk.”

You felt the weight of Dutch’s words, but Sadie huffed, arms crossed defiantly. “You call us family, Dutch, but don’t expect us to live like caged animals. We’re careful, we weren’t out in the open.”

Dutch’s frown deepened as he turned to you. “And you, (Y/N), you should know better than this. You might not be one of my gunslingers, but you still have a role to play. What if something had happened to you? Or one of the others? Arthur won't be happy if he found out...do you want that?”

Swallowing, you looked down, the reality of his worry sinking in, but not enough to make you feel you’d done something wrong. “NO! I mean--don't tell him please Dutch, and I’m sorry. But… it was just some time away from the camp, just a way to feel normal for a bit. No one got hurt. We’re still careful.”

He shook his head, looking both of you over before sighing. “Careful or not, you keep this up, and it’ll bring nothing but trouble. Next time, you both think long and hard about what’s at stake here!”

Once Dutch walked away, you looked at Sadie, both of you sharing a silent understanding. The scolding might have left a sting, but it wouldn’t change what you’d built together. She nudged your shoulder with a smirk.

“Well, at least he didn’t send us packing.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Ain’t nothing gonna change, is it? Not Dutch, not Grimshaw, and certainly not us.”

Sadie grinned. “Nope. Not one bit.”

⋆⋆⋆

Word had gotten around the camp that Dutch’s scolding hadn’t done much to break up your mischief with Sadie. The next time you found yourself alone by the fire, Charles approached, looking a little uneasy as he settled next to you.

“You know, (Y/N),” he began carefully, “I’m not trying to get in your way, but a lot of folks are worried about you and Sadie going off so often. It’s... reckless, especially with all the dangers around.”

You shot him a look, half-amused and half-defensive. “Charles, you know Sadie and I aren’t careless. And you know better than anyone that the camp needs a little... escape.”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, as if he wanted to say something more but hesitated. “Look, maybe for a bit, you should keep a low profile. Sadie’s got her hands full around here already. You know Grimshaw’s not about to let this go.”

The gentle nudge was clear, Charles was subtly trying to steer you away from Sadie, hoping it might keep the peace. You gave him a smile that you hoped would reassure him.

“I’ll think about it, Charles,” you replied, even though you had no real intention of distancing yourself from Sadie.

But the subtle hints didn’t end there. The next morning, Grimshaw handed you a mountain of chores, insisting you stay busy while Sadie got sent on an errand with Arthur, as if the camp were conspiring to keep you apart. The day felt like it dragged on forever, and by the time you were done, Sadie still hadn’t returned. You wandered back to your tent feeling restless, the quiet gnawing at you.

Finally, near dusk, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Sadie had returned, looking as annoyed as you felt, her gaze scanning the camp until it landed on you.

She sauntered over, her usual confidence edged with a slight smirk. “Heard they kept you real busy today.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You, too. They sent you out with Arthur?”

“Sure did,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Probably thought he’d keep me ‘in line.’ But if they think a few chores and errands are gonna split us up, they’re wasting their time.”

You both shared a grin, the unspoken understanding strengthening whatever they’d tried to weaken.

“Well, looks like we’ll just have to be a little smarter about sneakin’ off,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Sadie chuckled, crossing her arms. “Reckon we will. Besides, it’ll be fun to keep ‘em guessing.”

⋆⋆⋆

Life at the ranch was a new kind of quiet you hadn’t known before. After everything, this normalcy, the steady rhythm of days spent under a roof, sharing meals with Abigail, John, Arthur and little Jack, felt almost surreal. You’d never imagined feeling the weight of peace settle like this. Thank God, that blindfold of loyalty is finally off your brother. Yet, even with a good life beginning to take root, you couldn’t shake the ache from how it had all ended...or how, despite everything, you and Sadie had been separated, each of you pulled in different directions as the dust settled.

Charles had told you she was safe somewhere out there, making a name for herself in whatever way only Sadie Adler could. But there was a hint of betrayal you couldn’t shake, an edge to the thought of her that made you wonder if she’d left you behind as part of that rough world you’d survived together.

On this particular morning, you were sitting on the porch with Jack, who was excitedly yapping away about a new book he’d found. It had become your morning ritual, letting him share every detail of the story while you sip your coffee, the soft morning light casting a gentle calm over the two of you.

But the peace was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of hooves in the distance. When you looked up, your heart skipped a beat. A lone rider, the silhouette familiar even from a distance. She rode into view, her hat tipped low, and you knew before she’d even slowed her horse.

“Sadie!” you shouted, the disbelief almost louder than your voice. You jumped up and ran to her, barely giving her time to dismount before you threw yourself into her arms. She wrapped you up tight, the both of you laughing, giddy with that same energy you’d shared back in camp.

But then, as the reality of her long absence hit, you started punching her, soft jabs that held more meaning than harm. "You absolute snake! BITCH!” you muttered, hitting her shoulder, her arm, anywhere you could reach. “You just left! No word, no letter...nothing! Do you know how long I waited?”

Sadie took it, grinning like she was actually enjoying the punishment, her laughter spilling out as she grabbed your hands to stop you from flailing. “Alright, alright! I deserve that, probably more. But I didn’t forget you, y’know.” She held your shoulders firmly, her face softening as she looked you in the eyes. “I never could dumbass.”

“Then why’d you stay gone so damn long?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Her expression turned serious, the reality of it all weighing on her. “Some things I had to settle on my own. And I knew you’d be safe here, with Arthur, John and Abigail. With family.” She squeezed your shoulder. "So now, you're talkin' to a real gold-ass bounty hunter," she said, throwing her arms out like a magician who’d just pulled off the trick of a lifetime. "But I’m here now, and I’m not plannin’ on disappearing again anytime soon.”

You let out a long breath, feeling the hurt ease a bit. “You better not,” you replied, hugging her tight again.

Soon enough, the others came out, drawn by the commotion and Jack's excited voice as he kept chatting with Sadie. The day rolled on with laughter and good company, and later, you and Sadie found yourselves sitting on the porch, enjoying the quiet night as she smoked.

“(Y/N), you’re mostly free, right?” Sadie asked, an excited gleam in her eyes.

“Um… no, I do work around here… and all,” you replied, caught a bit off guard.

“What if you didn’t for a few days?” Her eyes sparked with mischief, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself.

“You mean…”

“Yep! It’s time you learned a bit of bounty hunting,” she said, voice full of excitement. “Imagine it: two women, both traumatized by men, turning into man-hunting machines. Don’t you want that?”

“But Arthur… he won’t, and we left all this life behind-”

“Shh!” Sadie swatted at your face with dramatic flair. “Excuses are the root of failure. Enjoy a little , c'mon, just like the old times.”

“But we have a ranch-”

“FUCK THE RANCH!” She laughed, shaking her head. “Look (Y/N)...I wanna a home of my own and for that...I gotta remain in this field for a while so I can get somethin' to call my own, y'know.”

"This ranch is big enough for us all, Sadie. Of course we all will welcome you with open arms if you wanna stay here."

"I know, I know, and thanks, but no. I just want something of my own, even if it’s small. I mean, I can do it alone, y'know, but I want you by my side. And seeing that everyone else has left this lifestyle behind, I know they're definitely not gonna be joining me, not even Arthur. Now that we're free from all the gang shit, I thought we could roam and enjoy the rest of this life as much as we can." Her voice softened with each word as she stared down at her lap.

You looked down, thinking about it. She did deserve that after losing everything she had. And who wouldn't want to explore with their friend endlessly? You put your arm around her shoulders and gave a firm shake. “Say less.”

⋆⋆⋆

“No. Absolutely the hell not. Are you insane?!” Arthur snapped, finally turning around from his spot.

“Arthur, please! Be a good brother right now and just say, ‘Of course, (Y/N), you can go and have a good time with your pal.’ Come on, say it.”

He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “If you think I’m just gonna say yes to you running around out there, then you are DUMB!”

Abigail, standing nearby, came to the rescue. “Arthur, they’re just going for a trip. It’s nothing big, and Sadie can more than handle it. So can (Y/N). They’ll be back before you know it.”

“No, Arthur’s right,” John chimed in.

“Shut up, John. Please,” you replied, giving him a gentle nudge as you turned back to Arthur, your voice softening. “Pleaseee, Arthur! If you don’t let me go, I’ll… I’ll seriously do something drastic--t-to to myself!” You gave him your best pleading look.

Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes at your childish blackmailing. “You’re laying it on real thick,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gave Sadie a look. “And you, I know this whole thing was your idea!”

Sadie shrugged leaning against the chair. "It's just something we both need."

“Like hell you do! My decision is final. And you-” Arthur turned to you, his eyes darkening. “Think twice before even stepping foot off this ranch.” With that, he stormed off, leaving you both in tense silence.

But you were having none of it. He still thought of you as a child, someone who couldn’t defend herself, who couldn’t even swat a fly, let alone fend off danger. You glanced over at Sadie, who was staring off into the distance, a flicker of guilt settling into her expression, as though she regretted bringing it up and getting you tangled in her plans. And you didn’t like that one bit.

This was the woman who had taught you to be confident, to speak up, to stand your ground when the world tried to tell you otherwise. She was more like a sister than a friend, the person you’d count on to get through even the worst of times. You were each other’s rocks, through every fight and every high. Sadie would bring you gifts to cheer you up when things felt bleak. And now she was just trying to carve a space for herself, a house of her own, where she could finally feel free.

A spark of determination lit inside you. If she wanted a place to call her own, then by God, you were going to make sure she got it.

That night, as everyone else drifted off to sleep, you packed a small bag with essentials, just enough to keep you going for a couple of days. You knew Arthur would be furious, but you also knew he’d forgive you eventually. He had to understand that some choices were yours to make.

Carefully, you slipped out of the house and made your way across the moonlit yard, avoiding the creaky spots on the floorboards that might wake someone. Outside, the night air was cool and still, and the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle creaking of the barn as it settled. You made your way toward the stables, saddling your horse as quickly and quietly as you could. You took a steadying breath before mounting up, heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and fear. This was your choice, and you were ready to see it through.

With a gentle nudge, you rode into the night, following the faint trail that would lead you to Sadie. You knew exactly where she was camping, she’d mentioned it enough times, and you’d memorized her directions. You just hoped she hadn’t moved.

After a few hours of riding, you spotted her fire in the distance, flickering like a beacon. You dismounted and walked up, and as you drew closer, you saw her sitting by the fire, eyes widening in surprise as she looked up.

“What in hell’s name, (Y/N)! What’re you doing here?” Sadie gasped, scrambling to her feet. Her surprise turned into a grin as she realized what you’d done.

“Arthur or no Arthur, I’m not letting you go on this adventure alone,” you replied, determination in your voice. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. Always.” Sadie’s face broke into a mischievous smile and pulled you into a quick, tight hug.

“I knew there was a reason I kept ya around.”

[verdemoun]

tilly jackson, my beloved. arthur and tilly's relationship. oldest sibling vs oldest daughter. big protective 'we all love you miss tilly' brother meets calls him out on his shit 'mary ain't worth it' sister.

of course, it wasn't always like that. like, imagine. tilly jackson, kidnapped from her mother by the foremans at age 12. held captive by them for long enough that people forget she was a victim and refer to them as a gang she ran with. only escaping by murdering the leader (which she openly states she will never feel bad for, because he was bad. treated her real bad). finding out her mother died while she was kidnapped. falling into trouble, alone, until dutch found her.

tilly jackson, the sweetest and saddest little thing they ever saw. rescuing herself from one gang only to be taken in by another. early days (early enough for dutch to have the time to teach her to read). post-marston, so arthur's well into his 20s. imagine arthur, with his stupid tough guy persona and an established role as the gang's enforcer, trying to tell young tilly that she'll be expected to work if she's going to be a member of their gang. tilly immediately shutting down with a vacant, dead-eyed stare, remembering the foremans.

miss grimshaw, the only other woman in the gang, pulling her close as she slaps arthur hard for being so goddamned dull. arthur, rubbing his arm that is definitely going to bruise, still taking far too long to understand the implication before panicking. tilly watching this six foot man built like a brick wall trip over his words as he frantically apologises because jesus christ he didn't mean that. he'll kill anyone who ever even looks at her like that, he swears, as he fidgets anxiously because susan grimshaw is glaring like she's going to kill him but also he's now painfully aware that he is a massive intimidating adult man who doesn't know how to not look scary to a traumatized teenage girl.

tilly jackson slowly breaking into a smile and giggling because not only does she realize this is this big, scary, fellow child of dutch van der linde is harmless, maybe a touch dumb at times, but 'oh no, i have to protect him'.

[primasveraas-writing]

go gentle into that good night

Hosea outlives Arthur.

word count: 2087

warnings: major character death

---

Hosea’s joints protest when he sits back down; his shoulder and back in particular ache. But he ignores it, just as he’s done for many days prior, and settles in at Arthur’s bedside.

The other man attempts a smile at him. His lips are cracked and bloodstained. It’s a sorry sight; Arthur’s face is stained purple and yellow with bruises, and worse still are the signs of sickness that have refused to fade. Under the bruises, he’s sickly white. His eyes are blackened and red-rimmed and clouded with fever. Every inhale is a wheeze and Arthur shudders with pain on every exhale.

Hosea reaches out to his boy, wiping the sweat from Arthur’s face with a handkerchief. He tries to smile back.

“You don’t hafta…” Arthur whispers, and Hosea shakes his head.

“Stop that, Arthur. I’m going to take care of you.”

Three days ago, Arthur had directed him to a veteran’s homestead, not far off from camp. At first, Hosea had protested that he should go with Arthur or stay with Tilly and Jack, but the Marstons needed to flee far and even weeks after Guarma, Hosea could only manage to travel short distances. Arthur had pleaded with him, told him that Hamish would take care of him, and said that he’d find him soon. He’d been lying, Hosea knew, about that last part. But Arthur had begged between coughs, and he couldn’t deny that their family was finally beyond saving, so he’d gone. And when night fell, Arthur still hadn’t appeared.

Hosea had left Dutch to his madness. John was said to be dead; he’d left young Tilly and Jack behind. They’d parted with words of love, but he’d abandoned them to their fates nonetheless. Maybe the gunshot wound in his shoulder prevented him from holding a rifle, maybe he’d felt sapped of strength since returning to the mainland, but knowing this made the farewell no less painful. And in the early hours of the morning, Hosea decided he would not let his goodbye to Arthur be final. 

“It’s dangerous,” Hamish had warned. “The law’s been all over the area. Not to mention your own people running amok…”

“He’s my boy,” Hosea had said. His throat was oddly tight. “If he’s out there, I have to look for him.”

So he had. He started at Beaver Hollow to find dead Pinkertons and Susan Grimshaw staring sightlessly into the surrounding woods. It was some hollow, bare consolation that he hadn’t recognized any other bodies, but the weight in his gut had only deepened. After closing Susan’s eyes and whispering a soft farewell, Hosea continued on into the night. He wandered until he found more bodies; first of lawmen, then Arthur’s horse. 

He’d known then that what he discovered next would break whatever pieces remained of his heart. He’d climbed the mountain. And although the sight of Arthur’s ruined body on the rocks had indeed shattered him, when Hosea heard the rattle of his breath, something like hope warmed in his chest.

On the fourth morning, Arthur sits, propped up by pillows with Hosea in a chair next to him. He’s been awake for almost an entire hour. He doesn’t talk much, for if he does, then coughs will tear through him, and blood will dribble from his lips, and Hosea cannot stand to see that any more times than he already has. But Arthur is awake, obediently taking sips of water until he starts to cough and retches some of it up. When that happens, Hosea wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulder and holds him while the fit passes, watching as blood and phlegm and bile spill from Arthur’s mouth. Then, when Arthur is done gasping for air, Hosea leans him back against the pillows with shaking arms. It takes several minutes for his breathing to return to its normal, trembling wheeze.

“Do you remember…” Arthur starts after Hosea has cleaned him up, and Hosea shushes him. But Arthur shakes his head and continues on, his voice a rasp. “We talked about how we wanted to be buried. D’you ‘member?”

“I remember,” Hosea says quietly. He takes Arthur’s hand in his own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. The skin is cracked and thin.

“Facin’ west,” Arthur murmurs. “Please, Hosea. Don’t want it any other way. Hamish’ll help you.”

“I’m not going to bury you, Arthur,” Hosea says, frowning at the man before him.

“Well somebody’s got to,” Arthur says, and he has the nerve to crack a smile. “I’m dyin’, Hosea. ‘s only a matter of time.”

“You’re going to get better, do you hear me?” Hosea’s voice cracks. “ I went back there to save you. And I have.”

“You have,” Arthur agrees. “But look at me.”

Hosea does. Arthur’s chest rises and falls unevenly. Each breath is shallow and pained; Hosea is sure that under the bandages wound around his chest are broken ribs, and underneath that, lungs ruined beyond repair. His right hand is broken; his face is swollen and flushed. Somehow, Hosea didn’t think it could get any worse than it had been when Arthur returned to them on the shores of Guarma. He’d been half delirious, exhausted, and gaunt. And the coughs had been awful. But now, looking down at Arthur, he knows it's far, far worse. This is not the man he knows, not even when that man had been at his hurt and sickest. This is the shell of a person who’d once been living.

“‘m sorry,” Arthur says. His eyes are still closed, but he squeezes Hosea’s hand. “Ain’t right to bury your child. I’m sorry, ‘sea.”

This is the worst pain he’s ever felt. With Bessie, it had felt like the ground had been swept out from under his feet, that he was drowning. With Arthur, it feels like the world is at an end, like even if he surfaces there will be no air to save him. With Bessie, he’d hated dawn for coming, but now Hosea cannot see a future without Arthur in which the sun still rises.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Hosea whispers, the words barely audible. Arthur doesn’t respond, lost to pain or sleep. Hosea bows his head, resting his forehead on their intertwined hands. 

Arthur slips deeper into fever that night, shivering against the cold despite the blankets covering him and the fire roaring in the hearth. It feels cruel. As if Arthur weren’t sick enough- and Hosea knows that Arthur’s body can’t take much more. There will be no fighting off this bout of illness.

Hosea tries to sleep when Arthur sleeps, although he’s afraid that Arthur will slip away without him realizing. He can’t tell which he dreads more- the prospect of holding Arthur’s hand as he breathes his last, or waking and finding him already gone. All he knows now is fear and grief as he watches Arthur die.

Moments of lucidity and consciousness are fleeting. Mostly, Arthur groans in pain or coughs. He’s no longer able to stomach the mouthfuls of broth Hosea spoons into his mouth. It’s quiet, aside from the ragged sounds of Arthur struggling to breathe, and impossibly lonely. 

Arthur is going to die.

There is nothing now that Hosea can do other than watch it happen.

He wishes they had more time. That Arthur felt just a little better, that they could have one last ride together, one last fishing trip. One more conversation that lasts more than a few minutes before Arthur falls asleep. He wishes they could talk about all that’s happened, about Dutch, about how John got away. About their hopes for the Marstons and the others who got out in time. He misses Arthur already.

In the end, he decides there are only two things worth telling. Before Arthur dies, Hosea only needs him to hear two things, and maybe then, he’ll be able to let Arthur go.

When Arthur wakes next, it’s because of a coughing fit that lasts for several minutes. As soon as it fades, Arthur slumps back, his eyes shutting. He hardly acknowledges Hosea when he wipes the blood and spit from his chin, and Hosea pauses.

“Arthur, wait,” he says suddenly, and Arthur’s eyes slowly open again. “Don’t go to sleep just yet, I need to tell you something.”

“What’s wrong?” Arthur wheezes, blinking the fatigue away. He tries to sit up, but Hosea sets his hands on his shoulders and pushes him back down. 

“Nothing’s wrong. I just-“ Hosea breathes in. “I need you to know, Arthur, that you are loved.”

“Hosea-”

“The way Dutch treated you weren’t right. It weren’t- weren’t the way a father should act. And I’m sorry if that made you feel as if you weren’t appreciated. But there’s people who care about you, son, and always will- me, John, Tilly, Abigail, Jack. I need you to know that.”

There’s a long pause. Something works its way across Arthur’s face- first, confusion, then something much different, something that reminds Hosea of when Arthur was small, still learning to trust them, still figuring out that he wouldn’t be left behind, that he was safe, that he had family. 

“I know, ‘sea,” Arthur breathes, and when his eyes close, a tear slips from under his eyelashes and runs down his cheek. 

Hosea wipes it away, and blinks back tears of his own. 

As Arthur sleeps, Hosea begins his second refrain, unsure of whether or not Arthur can actually hear him. But he speaks softly anyway, recounting each act of kindness he’d ever seen Arthur do. Rescuing John, taking Jack fishing, bringing the women coffee in the morning. The way he’d cared for his horses and for Copper. The way he’d spoken about Jack and Eliza, before it became too painful to recall. Taking Lenny under his wing, standing up for Molly before she’d died. Giving money to strangers on the street, helping anyone he came across who looked like they needed a hand.

“What’re you talkin’ about, old man?” Arthur mutters hours into it. His eyes are cracked open; he looks bleary and confused.

“You’re a good man, Arthur Morgan,” Hosea says. “And I know you don’t believe that. But I know it. I’ve seen it.”

Arthur shakes his head, but Hosea squeezes his hand, tight.

“You’re a good man,” he says again. “If you’re not going to die believing it, die knowing myself and a few others know it to be true.”

Arthur mumbles a protest, but he’s already being dragged back under by the fever and the exhaustion. Hosea doesn’t mind. He hopes that Arthur can rest.

He’s said his piece. Now, he prays that when Arthur goes, it’s gentle and quiet.

Arthur is conscious, but clearly in agony. He pants, thrashing in the bedsheets, and Hosea shushes him, smoothing the blankets down. 

“That’s alright son,” Hosea says quietly, pushing a sweaty clump of hair from Arthur’s forehead. “You’ve done good. You’ve fought long enough.”

Hosea clutches Arthur’s hand tighter. Once strong and nimble, his hand feels thin and frail in Hosea’s. His skin is clammy and cold.

“You rest now,” the older man continues. “I have you. It’s alright.”

Arthur’s eyes slowly open a minute later. He looks at Hosea, really looks at him- for the first time in days, there is no clouded confusion of the fever in his eyes. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, his breaths coming in labored wheezes, and his face is gaunt. Heavy purple bags under his eyes stand out against his pale face, and he’s so weak he can’t turn his head. But his eyes are clear. There’s just a single moment, an instant, where their eyes meet- before Arthur’s eyelids flutter closed again and Hosea is left alone.

Hosea wakes to daylight creeping in through the window, flooding the small room of the cabin. The first sounds that register are birds chirping, and then that is drowned out by Arthur’s breathing, ragged inhales shaking his unconscious frame. There’s a rattle in his chest that’s worse than ever, and each exhale stutters.

There’s a weight in the center of Hosea’s chest, a gaping pit in his stomach that threatens to swallow him. 

“I love you son,” Hosea whispers, and he hopes that at this end, Arthur can hear him, or at least he knows the words are true. 

They stay like that, father and son, as the sun rises. And when Arthur breathes his last, he is not alone, and in his final moments before oblivion, he is loved. 

[nthspecialll]

Susan's love for the girls and her insecurities

Susan Grimshaw was on her way towards a good life, a respectable life, with money (hinted at), with a fiance and a family and on top of that, she was attractive, most likely having gotten many gifts from suitors and admirers.

She was on top of the world, she was happy, but then her fiance died, she mourned him as she loved him, but it wasn't the end of her world, she was okay, she still had her beauty and as such she was able to find another suitor, Dutch. She was still loved, she was still given gifts and affection. She was okay.

But then her "youthful figor" faded and she was left with nothing. the younger girls talked about her behind her back, Dutch no longer wanted her, no respectable man did either, the only people who wanted her were an old man with an alcohol addiction and a filthy man.

That was the tipping point for her, everything she loved, being desired, it was gone, and she was watching as these young girls took their beauty for granted and made fun of her for loosing hers. She was conflicted between helping them not end up like her and being jealous of them having what she doesn't.

She was trying her best to make sure that if they get the chance at a proper life, if they get a husband, he will still want them even after they are no longer pretty by making them into good wives. She wants to save them from her fate, but sometiems her jealousy slips through and she gets angry at them, yelling or hitting them. Or sometimes she simply found them lazy, as the times of women had changed.

But her main motivation is her love for them, she does care for them, she sings with Karen as Javier plays, laughing and giggling, she is the first to notice Tilly being gone and the first to go save her, holding her when they find her, she opens up about her fiance to Mary-Beth and in chapter 6 when Tilly is worried, she tells her she is proud of her. She takes Tilly's hand and she tells her she is proud of her, that she will be okay.

(0:45)

[ignorantarmiesclashbynight]

I’m too afraid to even look at the time stamp but I did it again.

New chapter of Brothers & Sons here >>

Who’s got two thumbs and just updated her RDR2 fic that she’s been neglecting for over a year? 

(me, it’s me, Arthur)

[crimelime279]

young susan grimshaw

[notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder]

FUCK YOU

RDR2 F1 AU

FERRARI

Hosea Matthews - team principal, doing his best, very chill about most things and somehow they keep winning? Once said in an interview "I don't know why we won, it was just pure ferrari spirit." became a meme for manifestation and the power of ferrari

Arthur Morgan - ferrari number 1 driver, literally Kimi Räikkönnen, short answers in the interviews untill you ask him about his WAG Mary Linton, several times world champion, used to drive for Red Bull

Sean Macguire - ferrari number 2 driver, a meme, very young, didn't stay in f2 for long and went nearly straight to f1, rude to older drivers, the fans call him and Arthur the "Spongebob and Squidward", the ferrari budget is fucked because of his crashes, doesn't have a world champion title but was 3rd in his second season by a few points to 2nd

RED BULL

Dutch van der Linde - OF COURSE HE IS THE TEAM PRINCIPAL, questionable choices, only cares about how the drivers drive, if they have a good personality that's the bonus, he and Hosea are seen many times gossiping between the sets, used to be a driver back in the old days but stopped because of a bad crash that majorly fucked up his back, will talk about his career in interviews unpromted, "we have a plan for the next season"

John Marston - number 1 driver, suffering because his car is fucked, won world champion title once (by 1 point, Arthur came second, big drama because at the time Arthur was the 1st driver at red bull and John was second, next season Arthur we to ferrari), Abigail brings Jack around everytime they drive in the US

Javier Esquella - 2nd driver, LOVED IN MEXICO, very active fanbase, will flirt with the female interviews, but also tends to drive quite agressively, went from red bull academy to visa cashapp to redbull, unfortunately was never the number 1 driver which is FRUSTRATING, the king of media day

MCLAREN

Susan Grimshaw - team principal, worked for the team for a long time, once nearly cancelled because said that female drivers aren't agressive enough, trying to undo it by supporting the f1 academy, keeps the team running after the previous principal (Orville Swanson, do not ask) made a mess, thanks to her the team is back on top

Lenny Summers - 1st driver, came at the right time and is now fighting for his first world title, Arthur and him are best friends (a random fan on twitter: "Arthur smile when winning a title :), Arthur's smile talking with Leny :D"), agressive on the track, a sweetheart outside

Sadie Adler - 2nd driver, A WILD CARD, drove in literally EVERYTHING before coming to f1, had to fight for a spot and it was really ironic when she started driving under Grimshaw, drove for Sauber first, managed to score points in it.

[photo1030]

Stop it!! This is just the sweetest! The idea of their weird, happy little family is my favorite. ❤️

Summary: 25 winter-themed Red Dead prompt fills, featuring all of our favorite Van der Linde gang members (minus the camp rat) and set in a much happier, canon-divergent version of 1910. Happy holidays, cowpokes! Yeehaw!

(Prompts will be listed at the beginning of each chapter. Pairings and characters vary by chapter, but all of them will be connected and work toward the same central storyline by the end.)

Day 3 Prompt: Making Christmas Treats

@photo1030

[plussizedreader]

Hello all! I was inspired by the amazing @391780 and her fat reader stories to start this blog (so give her a follow!) anyways introduction post!

My name is Bo/Maul, and this blog will be dedicated to ONLY fat readers with canon characters with multiple fandoms. There will be smut, so this blog will be 18+, so any younger I will block! I will primarily write a fem reader, but will try my hardest to try male or gn readers!

Here are the fandoms and characters I’ll write for! I try to get all my smaller interest in here for those who also like it and get zero content for it!

Horror-

House of Wax (Bo, Vincent, and Lester)

Firefly trilogy (Baby, Otis, Foxy, I will write Spaulding, but fluff and anything but smut since he reminds me a lot of my grandpa lol)

31 (Doomhead)

Micheal Myers from any version of the series

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (any version of Leatherface Thomas, Bubba etc, Choptop)

Near Dark (Severen, Jesse, Diamondback)

Saw (Peter Strahm, Mark Hoffman, Amanda Young, Adam Stanheight)

Video Games-

Red Dead Redemption (Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella, Sadie Adler, Karen Jones, Abigail Roberts-Marston, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Tilly Jackson, Susan Grimshaw)

Call of Duty Modern Warfare Remake Games (John Price, Simon Riley, Soap, Gaz, Alex Keller, Farrah (I’ll write romance but no smut for Farrah!), Kate Lazwell, Phillip Graves, Vladimir Makarov.)

Last of Us (Joel Miller, Ellie Williams (I will ONLY write adult Ellie and only ever with a Fem reader) Abby Anderson, Tommy Miller)

Days Gone (Deacon St John, Boozer)

Mortal Kombat (Johnny Cage, Kenchi,Sub Zero, Scorpion, Shang Tsung, Shao Khan, Mileena, Kitana, Sindel, Kabal, Kano, Erron Black. NOTE please specify which timeline these characters are from or which movie so I know the correct characterization!)

Resident Evil series (Lady Dimitrescu, Heisenberg, Carlos Olivera, Chris Redfield.)

Movies/TV-

Star Wars (Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Maul)

Stranger Things (Hopper, Eddie Munson)

Blacklist (Raymond Reddington)

With that being said, while I will write smut, there are things I will not write, such as fat fetish and weight gain fetish bullshit, and I will continue to expand this list, also I can just simply say no I’m not gonna write it if I don’t like it lol.

This list is bound to change with my interest and I’ll add and take off things as needed! Please send in any request and I’ll start working on it shortly!

[sir-walton-goggins]

Seeking Warmth

Summary: After a rough escape from Blackwater, Kris and Arthur take refuge in Colter on a stormy night. Exhausted and shivering from the cold, they find some warmth in each other.

Rating: Mature (+18)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem oc

2.9k words

Thank you @raevennsge for being my beta reader and general counselor :3

The storm hissed violently in Kris’s ears as she pressed forward, begging her mare to resist just a little bit longer in the brutal, relentless blizzard. She neighed nervously, dragging the woman’s body as well as her own tiredly through the thick wall of snow.

“We’re almost there, girl” she reassured Cloud, weaving her fingers through the candid mane and across her long, speckled neck. Kris shivered, a breath of icy wind infiltrating down her neck through an opening in her thick scarf. She really hoped they were close: it was damn near impossible to tell, with that thick wall of fog and snow making everything disappear into a white, shapeless hellscape. Her face felt like it was being burned off, if she even had any sensation left on her skin. She curled into a ball, desperately trying to gather any remaining body heat to keep going.

Cloud pushed through the snow stubbornly, following the caravan before her. The stagecoaches carried the rest of the Van Der Linde gang in a bunch of neat little frozen packages. Kris felt like she was headed to Bethlehem to give birth to the next Messiah. If they had snow in the Middle East, that is.

‘I have my donkey’, patting on her mare’s back;

‘A cow’, she bitterly scowled at Susan Grimshaw, whom she recently had a very heated argument with;

‘Even the three wise men… each with their own unique, extravagant brand of wisdom…’

Uncle, Reverend Swanson and Simon Pearson all sat huddled together in the back of the coach, leaning against the food provisions. The cook had neglected to get most of them, so they were basically running out, and it wasn’t like food was gonna sprout up from the snow… He was gonna get an earful as soon as everybody else found out.

The baby was young Jack Marston, even though he himself had claimed that now, having reached his fourth year of age, he was ‘all grown up’ and ‘basically a man’, as Abigail liked to tease him. Still, he was the only one of them small enough to fit in a manger, so that made sense.

What about Joseph, the father? Easy: the father was her husband. Arthur Morgan, handy worker much like Joseph. And much like the surrogate father or the Lord, he went door to door to find a place for Mary to give birth… or for the gang to camp out.

He’d been gone for what seemed like hours. Kris was starting to get worried the blizzard had made him lose his direction.

Suddenly, a loud, muffled cry coming from the road up ahead.

“I found something!”

She could’ve recognized that voice everywhere.

A warmth of relief spread across Kris’s chest as she saw her husband trot closer to the first wagon, telling Dutch about the dilapidated shelter he found up ahead.

And dilapidated it surely was.

The half rotten wooden sign that greeted them read ‘Colter’. Apparently, it was an abandoned mining village, decked with empty, old wooden shacks the gang could temporarily use to wait the snowstorm out.

Kris made sure nobody was following them, staying behind in case any Pinkertons or lawmen showed up to surprise them. In the meantime, everybody got off the coaches and brought the few belongings they’d managed to snatch inside the shacks. A few fires were lit in the vacant fireplaces as the young woman hitched Cloud next to Arthur’s Boadicea, assuring they were fed and at least somewhat repaired from the sharp wind. She stood behind the two mounts, satisfied by the order of things: the married couple’s horses, resting next to each other. As it should be.

“Kris, go inside” Arthur materialized behind her, making her flinch, “They got a fire started. Go warm up, honey.” He laid a gloved hand on her shoulder.

She spun around to face him. Arthur stood in front of her as tall as ever, as broad as a wooden armoire. He was a comforting sight in times like those: he was always her rock, her buoy in the storm through all her troubles. His cheeks were particularly red, his rosacea not mixing well with the frigid cold of the Grizzlies, and his beard was overgrown from the many months on the run. He still managed to look dashing, tough.

She leapt in his arms, cringing from the initial coolness of his thick blue coat, but soon warming up against his torso. Arthur chuckled, cradling her head with his hand.

“Did’ya think you would get rid of me that easily?” he joked, taking in his wife’s warmth and secretly relieved to see her again.

Kris didn’t respond, all too focused on feeling Arthur’s body under her touch, taking in his smell, as if making sure he wouldn’t be torn from her again.

“Come with ,” she pulled him towards the shack, but Arthur had other plans.

“Sorry, Kris. Gotta deal with Dutch and Hosea first” he said, reluctant. Kris pouted and flashed him her signature doe eyes, so he rushed to add that he would join her as soon as he could.

“Fine” she conceded, letting go of his hand and striding towards the orange glow coming from the small shack.

Kris crouched next to Mary-Beth and Tilly in front of the fire, hovering her icicle fingers towards the wholesome, crackling heat. The women checked up on each other, making sure they were still in one piece.

Kris inquired about Davey Callander, the gravely injured gang member they had managed to patch up and bring over with them on the run. She couldn’t believe he had managed to survive the trip, but he laid there the whole time, hanging between life and death, resisting. He was a tough one, that Davey.

“I’m afraid Davey didn’t make it, Kris. I’m sorry.” Mary-Beth announced. Such a gentle soul to give such grim news.

“Oh god… poor Davey” Kris lamented, bowing her head, her eyes closed in mournful respect. She immediately thought of his brother, Mac, who got separated from the rest of the group back in Blackwater, after the massacre, along with that young boy Sean. He would be devastated… She really hoped that they were okay.

The departed Callander brother wasn’t known for his kindness: in fact, he made several passes at Kris before Arthur started courting her, so she fended him off fiercely. Despite that, his ego wasn’t bruised for long. He made sarcastic remarks and was always running from one job to the next. He was a great asset for the gang, a hard worker. But if Kris needed help with something, or fancied a friendly late night chat by the campfire, he was there. In those rare moments, softened up by the liquor, Davey had opened up to her about his past. Needless to say, he had a rough childhood, like most of her brothers and sisters did.

She would miss those talks with him.

Mellowed out by exhaustion and made talkative by the comfort of a heat source, the three girls reminisced about their favorite moments with the fallen man.

“Oh Tilly, remember that time you mended one of Davey’s shirts wrong, so when he wore it, he came to you with a huge hole poking through his chest?” Mary-Beth snickered.

Tilly laughed out loud at the memory. “Oh yeah, and then he joked that he should gift that shirt to Abigail, so she could breastfeed Jack easier!” the three all laughed, basking in a simpler time, when the gang had it easier and they weren’t on edge all the time.

The youngest woman smiled, staring off into the hearth. “I had just started learning how to sew,” she reminisced, an unspoken melancholy in her usually cheerful drawl, “and Davey didn’t make me feel bad about making a mistake. He was a good one.”

After that, nobody had much to add to the conversation. They simply sat next to each other, Kris laying her head on Tilly’s shoulder and Mary-Beth imitating her, the only background noise the popping and sizzling of the flames consuming the lumber.

They all instinctively turned their heads as the rickety door swung open.

Arthur walked in, wind whipping inside the room violently before he shut the door behind him.

“Sorry to intrude, ladies” he announced, still shivering from the cold, “but I gotta whisk Mrs. Morgan away to her lodgings.”

The girls snickered playfully as Kris walked to the door, wishing them a good night. The couple reached the main building of the establishment, a slightly bigger cabin with two bedrooms and a small living area with a chimney. Arthur led his wife to their room and shut the door, propping the only chair against it to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Kris shivered violently, adjusting to the room’s slightly less frigid temperature. Arthur was quick to embrace her, the warmth of his body slowly reaching her through his thick winter coat. He wiped the leftover snow off her hair, careful not to tangle his fingers in her waves, and stroked her back energically to shield Kris from the cold she had endured.

“Thank you” she sighed happily. “It feels much better already.”

Arthur hummed, satisfied. “Ready to turn in?”

Kris nodded, a big yawn emerging from her throat. She suddenly felt exhausted.

They both squeezed themselves in the tiny bed the room provided, snuggling together fully clothed. They had removed their hats and scarves and gloves, but that was the extent of what could be taken off inside an unheated room.

The young woman’s head rested on her husband’s chest, his heartbeat pumping regularly in her ears, Kris finally felt safe enough to relax and unwind. Arthur’s chest rumbled as he spoke to her.

“Today was a lot,” he inquired, “how are you feelin’?”

“Tired. And sad” Kris replied, all the day’s emotions stirring up inside her like a whirlwind. Lately, things seemed to only be falling more and more apart for the gang. She had a bad feeling she couldn’t shake off.

Arthur sighed and sniffled. “Yeah… me too.”

“Didn’t think Davey was gonna make it… but it’s still tough to accept he’s gone.”

“I know.” Kris rubbed his back, giving it a scratch here and there. She knew Arthur loved back scratches. It was her silent attempt at comforting him. “I’ll miss him too.”

They laid there in silence for some time, grieving the loss of their brother, wondering where the missing ones were now. If they had made it out of Blackwater safe.

“Man, what a mess…” Kris whispered, defeated, recounting the events that had sent them on a desperate escape through the snowy Grizzlies.

Arthur shifted, laying flat on his back with a groan. His back hurt more and more often lately, probably because of him getting older and living off the land so often. He was starting to think he wouldn’t be able to put up with that all throughout his forties. Hell, if he even lived to see his forties.

“Let’s not think of that right now,” he said, shifting the conversation elsewhere. “Let’s try to get some rest, darlin’.” The last sentence came out pained and the “darling” was distorted by a whimper.

Kris sat up, worried. She asked if his back hurt again, and Arthur nodded, sporting a new grimace on his face.

“Let me handle it” she gently maneuvered his torso towards the wall, so his back would be in front of her. Arthur gladly complied: Kris’s massages were the only thing that could soothe his back pains. He could’ve sworn her hands had some sort of miraculous healing property.

Kris rubbed her hands together, doing her best to warm them up before laying them on his exposed skin. She lifted his shirt and got to work on those sore muscles and ligaments, stirring up some moans and groans from Arthur as she worked to undo the knots and inflammation he had gathered in the last few weeks of work and travel. Eventually, the moans were replaced by sighs of relief.

“You are such a blessing” he laughed, feeling the pain ease up already.

“Yeah, a regular angel” she scoffed, urging him to roll back over so she could lean down to kiss him on the lips.

God, she had missed him.

She put all her feelings, the relief of him coming back alive, of them being still together, of finally having found shelter, in that kiss. Arthur’s chapped lips felt familiar and comforting in this new, strange environment.

He kissed her back, grateful he got to keep their little family intact amidst such troubles and death. As long as he had Kris, Arthur was content.

His beard scratched and tickled her, rough against her sensitive skin, but Kris didn’t mind. One hand on his chest, the other gently pressed against his unshaven cheek, she kissed him and everything else simply ceased to exist.

Kris pulled back just for a moment to catch her breath.

“I’m glad you weren’t swallowed up by the blizzard” she murmured on his lips. He laughed softly, looking up at Kris adoringly.

“Me too.” Arthur circled his fingers on her cheek, noticing it was quite red. He frowned, caressing it ever so gently with the back of his hand. He asked if he was hurting her, already cussing himself out internally for being so rough even when he didn’t mean to.

“I don’t mind” Kris reassured him, placing another soft peck on his lips. “I would never ask you to shave in this tremendous cold, honey.”

Arthur appeared conflicted for a second. The shaving kit was one of the many things that had gotten lost when they fled, so he couldn’t shave even if he wanted to. The cold was terrible and he despised it with all of his being, but Kris always came first to him, and he would’ve made the sacrifice.

He was torn between just trying to shave with his knife and cold water and stop kissing his wife… No. that wasn’t an option. Simply unreasonable. How could he not kiss her, when she was laying there next to him, so warm and soft and inviting...

He was seriously considering the knife, when Kris stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Don’t even think about that” as if she read his mind. The woman was something else.

“I’ll tell you when it’s too much, alright?”

“Alright.” Arthur decided he would try to be as gentle as he could. He turned her over so he was on top, and got to work with the gentlest kisses he could manage, all over her face, lips and exposed neck, watching her carefully for any sign of discomfort. She giggled, delighted, and enjoyed the ticklish, new sensation. Soon her cheeks were flushed, but not because of the cold or the irritation.

The rickety bed squeaked with their every movement, untimely reminder of what husband and wife usually do in bed together to make it that squeaky. An overwhelming warmth spread in her lower abdomen, and she bit her lip, conflicted.

If they took their clothes off, they would’ve froze their asses off. Plus, Dutch and Molly were just on the other side of the wall and, outside the door, sleeping on the floor on his bedroll, was Hosea.

Arthur recognized the look in his wife’s eye. It was familiar to him, having seen it many times when they were alone: that twinkle of desire that always made his guts turn inside out and stomach fill up with butterflies. He had an idea.

He whispered something in Kris’s ear which turned her from slightly flushed to a full tomato red in seconds. But she nodded in agreement, already suffocating a moan as Arthur pressed himself against her, rocking back and forth in a slow pace.

She instinctively lifted her hips to meet his, rutting against them, every movement sending lightning bolts and pangs of pleasure towards her pubic area. But there was an unwanted obstacle between them: their coats.

Already feeling much hotter, they got rid of them, throwing them haphazardly to the side, all the while continuing to dry hump each other, picking up the pace fast as they both got desperate, huffing and puffing and swallowing most of their moans and whimpers to avoid being heard.

The friction became even more delicious without an extra layer in between them, and they slid effortlessly on each other. A loud groan escaped Arthur’s lips without him even realizing, as he was quickly approaching his climax. He was trying to resist, but the sight of Kris all sweaty and grinding against him was making it even harder (no pun intended).

The creaks of the wood and mattress springs multiplied as they sped up, racing towards their orgasms, which swept them both off their feet quickly, taking them to a much sweeter place for a few, wonderful seconds.

They laid still and breathless, limbs weak and limp against the mattress. Arthur collapsed heavily on Kris, exhausted but content, and he wrapped her in his arms, but not before gently kissing her lips, as he always did after.

She exhaled happily, enjoying the pressure of Arthur’s weight pinning her down to the bed. It made her feel safe, and loved.

“Guess you ain’t so cold anymore” Arthur breathed shakily, making Kris laugh out loud. The ironic emphasis he always put on words never ceased to tickle her.

“Not a problem we’re gonna have, when we’re together” she joked back, patting him on the back and giving his butt a playful squeeze. He let out a surprised gasp, but didn’t protest.

Instead, he rolled over, wrapping himself around Kris’s waist, head on her back as they both drifted off into a restful slumber.