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jellyfishstephi · 1 year

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Obsessed

a lil micah bell x Sky (female OC) story i started, working on the next chapter2 and will eventually upload

Chapter 1: The Beginning

summary: Sky was hired to take down the Van Der Linde gang but gets caught before she could take anyone down. With being taken and her life on the line, she does anything to save her own head, even on turning on those who hired her.

Words: 1,496

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The sweat dripped off her forehead as the woman was laid up on the cliff on the opposite side of where the camp was at. There was a fancy price on Dutch Van Der Linde's head, dead or alive. Sure, there were others in the camp but she would hope they would scatter. Or she would have to put a bullet in them too. It's not like any of them didn't have a price so it would simply mean more money in her pocket. It had taken some weeks to find out where they were hiding but with money slipped under the table, one could get anything they wanted. Anyone would speak for just a little bit of money that was for sure.

A deep sigh left her as she took a look through the scope one more time to see what was going on but as she did that, the sound of a branch snapping caused her to reach for the pistol beside her. Though she clearly was not fast enough with the way the barrel of the strangers gun was pressed to the back of her head. " Don't you dare. " The voice was a males, a little deeper and had a bit of an accent. Hand slowly moved away from the pistol. " Check her for any other weapons. " The voice spoke out and another pair of hands started to pat her down, grabbing another gun off her and her knives which were tossed to the side. " That's it. " Another man, this time a Spanish accent. Sky remained quiet, knowing it was either surrender or get shot in the head. " Tie her up. Dutch'll want a word. " The gun was lifted off the back of her head as her hands were yanked behind her back, tied rather tightly showing that they clearly were not happy about nearly getting popped off one by one.

Being pulled to her feet, she watches as the man gathered her things, going through the satchel too, which only held about $13, ammo, and a pack of cigarettes with a cigarette card she picked up. Still they took it and finally led her off the cliff and back to the camp. Approaching the camp, the men all stared her down and gathered around just by some trees. Pushing her down to sit she let out a small grunt. " Well done boys. Knew we had some sneaking around here. " Dutch let out as he approached. Brown eyes focused right onto him as he knelt down. " Look what we have here. Some want to be cowgirl princess. " Silence was met with his comments. " We just want to know who hired you. We already know you were here to kill us or maybe just me. You work with us, well go easy on you. " Still, he was met with a simple glare. The man stood back up, motioning over to one of the bigger built men and whispered something in his ear. Turning back to look at her, he spoke up. " Bill here is going to keep you company. " A clear way that he was going to try and make her talk.

---

It had been three days since she had been taken and been poked and tortured for information. All they had got out of her was her name, laughter and words on Russian no one knew what she was saying. The sun was shining bright and sweat dripped off her as she remained tied to the tree. One of the ladies at the camp had come over and given her some food and water hours ago and it seemed like water was doing absolutely nothing to her system. Footsteps approached once more. It was around the time they would be asking for information but before the man could come close the older looking man was riding into camp catching everyone's attention. The man walked off, meeting with Dutch to Hosea who spoke and looked at her. " She's with the Pinkertons, or was hired by them since she's good with a gun. " She heard him say and the looks upon their faces didn't look to please. There were other things said but she couldn't hear what else was being said.

Finally, they headed towards her and she looked a little worried then. " We should kill her Dutch. We let her go and she'll just tell them where we're at. " The blonde hair man with a mustache said, clearly too eager to take a life. She had also noticed him staring at her throughout her very lovely stay. So she knew he was very eager to cut her open.

" You know what? Maybe we should. She's been useless to us. " Dutch spoke rather confidently. " Take her out of camp so Jack don't see. " Sky panicked a bit as one named John moved to get her untied from the tree and to her feet. " W-Wait. Wait! " She let out. " They are not worth dying for. I'll tell you what you need to know. " Hell, she was willing to even tell them where. " They've got a small camp at some cabin north or Valentine. They even got a lock box filled with money to pay off bounties. " Dutch had stopped, looking at her to decide if she was telling the truth or not. *" How do we know it's not a trap? "* Micah spoke up, speaking for the boss. Gaze looked at him before speaking once more *" Guards change shifts around 10 at night. They'll be a window to sneak in or take them out on the west side of the area. B-But there will be a sniper on the cliff side with two others. "* The place was of course heavily guarded but with who they were, it only made sense. Of course like other places, there was always a way to slip inside.

*" Sounds like a trap boss. " Micah spoke up. " It would just easier to send her body to them as a warning. " Sky shook her head a bit. " Let me bring one of you in then. We can go from the inside out. " " Now that's just stupid to even consider. " Dutch put his hand up as he remained silent for a moment more but he didn't speak in front of her as he walked away with Micah. It seemed the two didn't agree but Dutch was putting his foot down in whatever the plan had come down to. They had decided to go with sneaking in and killing off whoever got in their way.

Hours had passed and Sky was left tied up by the tree, anxiously waiting for the return of the men that left. She hoped they would be okay and nothing would happen to them. Hopefully they'll get their money and she'll be on her way out of there. She could get a train out of there perhaps. Unless they wanted to keep her. Hell, that didn't sound too bad of a plan. These folk weren't too bad even if she had been tortured by them and threatened to be killed. Hosea was kind to her and so was Tilly and Pearson who made sure she had something to eat and drink.

It wasn't until sometime in the morning hours that some of the members that had gone out came back. Those including Dutch and Arthur, the other three men hadn't returned. She watched as Hosea approached them , exchanging some words before motioning to her. He had a bag slung over his shoulder so she assumed it went well. It wasn't until Hosea made his way over to her. " You got lucky. Everyone of ours survived and we got the money but Dutch would like to speak with you in his tent. " The woman nodded, grateful to finally be let go. Once the ropes were cut she sighed with relief as she stood on her own two feet and rubbed at her wrists that were red. " I'll walk with you. " Hosea spoke, slipping the knife back on his hip, already leading the way.

Following the older gentleman to the tent, she gave a nod and soft thanks before slipping into the tent. Dutch was already sitting on his bed, counting the money they had stolen. " We had a bit of conversation with one of the Pinkertons about you. " He began. Great. "You're a new hire of theirs. It took a lot to get you to join them as they told us so kindly. most expensive hire but they had confidence you'd get my head and everyone in this gang. "

" So you want my pay from them? "

" I Won't say no to money but that's not why I wanted to speak with you. You're the closest person to nearly killing me. I'm rather impressed. "* A pause, and she knew where this was going. " We will need things to calm down but I believe Micah and Javier are planning a home robbery. I want you to join them. Talk to Micah when he returns. "

#fics #mine #rdr2 fanfic #fanfiction #micah bell #micah bell x oc #micah bell fanfic #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #dutch van der linde

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meeks-just-wants-to-scroll · 17 days

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Most of these are mindless drawings. 3rd drawing is a scene from a fan fic I’m writing.

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moeitsu · 17 days

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: A blissful sunny day after a long hard night. Ao3 Wattpad Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.9 Ch.10 AN: Longer chapter, ~7k words Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 8 - Or Down Affections Cloudless Sky

Kate woke the next morning to the quiet serenade of songbirds and the soft caress of a gentle breeze through the leaves. The day embraced her with warmth, a welcome comfort after a long exhausting night. Sitting up, she found herself on Arthur’s cot, but he was nowhere in sight. A twinge of guilt tugged at her for taking his bed. Her waist was bound in cloth, the pain from her wound lingered but it was nothing she was not used to by now.

Her gaze drifted to the shoreline, where Belle and Lorena nibbled on cattails, exactly where they had been the night before. She sighed in relief, sensing that calm had returned and a semblance of normalcy had settled over the camp. The smell of eggs and pork filled the air, and her stomach made its hunger known.

Heading towards the chuck wagon, Kate noted the camp was now organized, a silent testament to the efficiency of her companions. However, Micah was nowhere to be seen. She made a mental note to have a friendly discussion with him later. Seizing a plate, she settled at the wooden table to eat, only to be joined by Abigail moments later.

“Mind if I sit with you?” She asked politely.

Kate shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Not at all,” she replied, gesturing for Abigail to join her.

Abigail smiled warmly as she settled onto a wooden crate, pulling Kate’s revolver from the pocket of her dress and sliding it across the table. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she admitted, her gratitude shining in her eyes, “for what you did for us last night.”

Kate accepted the revolver and holstered it, waving off Abigail’s thanks. “No thanks needed, Abigail. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Abigail sighed, her gaze drifting towards Jack in the distance, skipping rocks across the water. John was nearby, unloading the wagon while keeping a watchful eye on their son.

“I keep prayin’ for this all to end,” Abigail confessed, her voice tinged with weariness. “My boy deserves a better life than this.”

Kate empathized deeply with Abigail’s longing for a different life for her son. This was no environment to raise a child, but it was the hand they were dealt for survival. During her time here, however fleeting, Kate vowed to find a way to help them break free from this cycle of violence. They deserved a chance at a peaceful life, far removed from the shadows of death.

“I’m not a religious woman Abigail,” Kate began thoughtfully, “but in my life I’ve found that a prayer always has one of three answers; yes, not yet, and I have something else planned for you. I have faith that your boy will turn out just fine.” After all, he had the entire camp as his protectors, willing to sacrifice everything for his safety.

Abigail’s expression softened into a solemn smile. “I know that bravery is found in living,” she replied earnestly, “but sometimes I don’t feel very brave. I felt useless back there. If you hadn’t come along and given that rifle to John, I don’t know what would have happened.” She shuddered at the memories.

“That’s nonsense,” Kate retorted, squeezing Abigail's hand reassuringly, “you’re the bravest woman I know. There’s nothing more courageous than a mother willing to lay down her life for her son. And last night, I saw a strong woman fiercely protecting her child. I knew you would stop at nothing to defend your boy.”

Abigail’s smile deepened at Kate’s words, and she looked down bashfully as she placed her hand over Kate’s. “I hope that’s true.”

“I know that's true,” she interjected with conviction.

With a quiet laugh, Abigail stood to depart. “I think you would make a great mother, Kate,” she said, her words carrying genuine warmth. It meant a lot to Kate to hear such kindness, especially after everything she had been through. Her thoughts drifted back to Arthur and their conversation from the night before.

“Thank you,” Kate said sincerely. Before Abigail could leave, she added, “Have you seen Arthur this morning?”

“I think he’s sleeping against a tree over by the water,” Abigail pointed in his direction, and Kate could see the outline of his legs stretched out beneath a shady tree.

With an extra plate of breakfast and a cup of fresh coffee in hand, Kate made her way over to Arthur to express her gratitude for his service the previous night. As she approached, she was a little surprised to see that he was already awake, writing something in his journal. He closed it with a thunk when he noticed Kate’s figure approaching.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Arthur greeted with a warm smile.

Kate couldn't help but smile back. “Good morning, Arthur,” she said, bending down to hand him his food and drink.

“That for me?” Arthur exclaimed with surprise. She nodded as their hands met to pass the plate. His hunger was palpable. “Aw shucks, Kate, ya didn’t have to bring me breakfast,” he said bashfully, taking a grateful sip of coffee.

Kate settled into the sandy grass beneath the tree next to him, “it’s the least I can do, for patching me up last night,” she explained, “and for letting me steal your cot.” She added with a hint of embarrassment. She didn’t remember when she had fallen asleep.

Arthur chuckled, taking a bite of his eggs, “don’t mention it. How ya feeling anyways?” He inquired about the bullet wound in her side.

“I’ve been through worse,” she admitted with a bitter laugh, her hand grazing the side of her hip where he had squeezed the bullet through her flesh.

Arthur sighed, and gave her a sympathetic look, “I’m so sorry Kate, that is a hard life,” he said sincerely, recalling her recount of her past. “No one deserves to go through that.”

Kate waved off his apology. “I’ve made my peace with it,” she professed, her eyes meeting his own, “but I owe you an apology for how I acted at the ranch.” Arthur wanted to speak up and tell her he was the one who should be apologizing, but he let her continue.

“For what it’s worth. I know what it’s like to hate yourself just as much as you hate the world. And whatever darkness your past carries, I do not think less of you for it.”

His face softened, and his heart pulsed. Arthur felt like he was looking into a reflection of himself, or what he could have been. He concluded last night that Kate is the bravest woman he had ever met, braver than he could ever be. And he greatly admired her for it. Darkness and damnation was nothing new to him, but he believed in his heart that he was already too damned to be brought back to the light. He is a person who has caused so much suffering, he believed he didn’t deserve happiness. He had fully convinced himself of his own cruelty.

“Kate, I think I’m the one who owes you an apology. I -” he began. Suddenly, Arthur’s name was called from within the camp. His duties never ceased; even on quiet mornings. “Damnit,” he muttered. With a grunt he chugged the last of his coffee before standing. Turning to her he promised, “I’ll come find you later.”

Kate smiled sympathetically with a nod, offering him a parting reminder, “don’t keep hidden what matters Arthur, even from yourself.”

He placed his hat on his head and tipped it to her in a warm gesture before taking off back into the camp. Kate settled against the tree and was about to close her eyes just as her loyal mare Lorena came trotting over to her side of the beach. Eager for attention. She chuckled at the sight, “how ya doin’ pretty girl.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

After valentine, we fled the country and headed even further south and east, camping by a lake. This is pretty much new country for me. If only we had fled west out of Blackwater, we could be free now, out where we belong beyond civilization with the savages and the animals. Here, we won’t ever be at home.

By some miracle, my mean nasty ugly self has yet to scare Kate away. Even after that debt collecting mess. That kinda work is revolting, and it shames me, and I think she is the first woman to ever see me and set me straight. Mary saw this side of me too, but she knew I would never change, so she left me. I could not offer her the life she deserved. Oh Mary, what a couple of fools we were.

Kate said she came back for Abigail and her boy, from one mother to another. She wants peace for them too, away from this nonsense and lies. Ain’t that what we’re all seeking? Not sure I know myself anymore. Dutch don’t seem too worried that the law keeps finding us, I’m beginnin’ to doubt his wisdom.

I had never seen a woman fight so brutally as Kate, and now I know why. I can handle the unkindness of existence. But to hear it from the lips of a good honest woman, it damn near broke my heart. I don’t know how she does it. After everything that life handed her, goodness comes naturally to her. Like she does not oppose GOOD vs EVIL as it rages within me. I’ve seen her rage and bloodlust and it frightens me, but she is ashamed of that part of herself. Perhaps we have more in common than I thought.

Arthur made his way through camp in search of Dutch, a slight annoyance lingering from his interrupted conversations with Kate. Yet Kate seemed understanding; she knew he was a busy man and showed sympathy towards him. Last night, as he tenderly stitched her back together, he saw a different side of her—she had bared her heart and soul. He realized why it was important for him to know this side of her; she saw someone she could relate to. But Arthur believed he was beyond saving.

Unlike Kate, Arthur was born into the flame. Blood and violence had been his companions since childhood; he never experienced the loving embrace of a mother or father. A child born in the flame loves the fire and becomes its fuel, perpetuating its rage.

Kate, on the other hand, was burned by the flame. She had a loving family, a proper and honest life with her husband and child—all stripped away. Then, the fire engulfed her. She had to become the flame to ensure it would never burn her again.

Arthur found Dutch by the lakeshore on the opposite side of camp. "How are you doing, old friend?" Dutch asked, calling out to him.

"Fine," Arthur retorted, his frustration evident. Last night's events and Micah's actions toward Kate weighed heavily on him, and he felt Dutch bore some responsibility. Since arriving at the new hideout, Dutch hadn't even acknowledged Kate, let alone thanked her for her help.

"It's funny... us ending up down here," Dutch continued, his voice reflective. "My daddy died in a field in Pennsylvania fighting this lot. Did I ever tell you that?"

Arthur nodded wearily. "Many times, Dutch."

Dutch noticed his disinterest. "I see I'm boring you, Arthur."

He blew out a breath, his frustration simmering. "No, you're worrying me. We could've lost people last night. Why didn't you send some men back to help us?"

"We have lofty goals, Arthur," Dutch replied, his tone rehearsed. "Our primary objective was to escape the law."

“Our primary objective is to keep everyone safe!” Arthur's voice rose with anger. “Kate took a bullet for the Marston’s, that's more than I can say about you Dutch.”

"Society is reforming, son," Dutch said, sounding like he was delivering a sermon. "We're trying to make it better, kinder, and truer. There will be casualties..."

"The world don’t want us no more. Why aren't we heading back west? What are we even doing here?" Arthur pressed.

Dutch sighed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We are dreamers in a world of facts, Arthur. But come on, let me make it up to you, son."

Typical Dutch, always deflecting when he didn't have a direct answer. Everything was a strategic move in his mind, and he always had to be the one in control. Arthur followed as Dutch led him further down the beach, where a large rowboat was waiting ashore with Hosea and John standing nearby.

"We've got the day, and it's beautiful out. Thought it'd be nice to take my boys out fishin' like the good old times," Dutch said with a smile. "Hosea says there's a creek around here, probably full of fish."

Arthur tipped his hat to his father and brother as they approached. John looked just as perplexed as Arthur. They weren't kids anymore, and it had been ages since they did anything together that didn't involve something illegal.

"You don't look too rosy, old friend. I thought this warmer weather would—" Dutch began, turning to Hosea.

"My days of looking good are long over, Dutch," Hosea admitted with a chuckle, then turned to Arthur. "How's the young lady? Heard she got shot last night."

Arthur sighed. "She'll be alright. Nothing too bad. But I'm gonna have some words with that sack of shit Micah," he added bitterly.

"I'll do you one better and put a bullet between his eyes," John quipped, earning a chuckle from Arthur. "I owe Kate that much. She seriously did me a solid by lending me her rifle."

"Nobody's shootin’ nobody," Dutch's gravelly voice cut through. "Now c'mon, help an old man get this in the water." He gestured toward the wooden boat.

Arthur and John exchanged a look. Hosea rolled his eyes. "Always bursting the bubble, you. C'mon, boys, let's go catch some fish." He joined Dutch in pushing the boat into the water.

Together, they climbed aboard the wooden craft. John took up the oars and rowed toward the supposed creek Hosea had mentioned. As he rowed, Arthur took in the surrounding scenery. It was a beautiful, cloudless day, the sun beating down warmly. It had been a while since he could relax and enjoy himself, so he set aside his grievances with Dutch, if only for the afternoon.

Dutch was the first to break the silence, as usual. "You know, before any of them back there," he began, gesturing toward the other gang members, "it was just us. The curious couple and their two unruly sons." He chuckled with a grateful sigh. "This feels good, thanks for doing this with me, boys," Dutch added, his expression full of pride and gratitude as he looked at his two sons.

He continued, "I feel like we can really breathe here. As thick and soupy as this air is, it might even do your whistling pipes some good, Hosea."

Hearing Dutch comment on Hosea's health worried Arthur. Since they left Colter, Hosea's health had been declining. The harsh cold had taken its toll, and he feared his father figure was nearing his end. Hosea had a rattling cough that struck fear into Arthur's heart every time he heard it, imagining the worst as Hosea struggled for air.

"I was once in this country with Bessie," Hosea ignored Dutch's comment, lost in his memories of his late wife. "Oh, it feels like a lifetime ago."

“It was a lifetime ago,” Dutch chimed, “what a life we have lived. How well we have fought, especially you two.” His gaze finding Arthur and John’s. “With just a little more money, we’ll be out of here in no time. We just need to stay hidden.”

Hosea raised a brow, “oh, is that so?”

“I have a plan Hosea, I’ve got ideas hatching I just,” he hesitated a moment, “I need you with me, not against me. All of you.”

Arthur nodded, “ ‘course Dutch.”

“We’re always with you Dutch,” John piped in from the back of the boat.

The unlikely family rowed the rest of the way in comfortable silence. They listened to the lapping of the water, the song of the seabirds, and felt the gentle breeze tickle their hair. It truly was a beautiful day for fishing. Arthur tilted his face to the sun and relaxed his shoulders. Moments like this made him believe that maybe things would turn out okay for them in the end.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate spent the morning tending to her mare, staying close to the shoreline, brushing and washing the blood from Lorena's coat. She hummed a quiet tune, feeling Lorena's affectionate sniffs on her face. Guilt gnawed at Kate for pushing Lorena too hard the previous night, though the horse seemed unfazed. Memories flooded back of when they first met.

Lorena was found in an abandoned barn, where she and River had chased down horse thieves. Just a frightened filly, barely a year old, she had been left tied up after the thieves fled in a hurry. It took Kate months to earn her trust, enduring every buck and bite. But the bond they forged was unbreakable—Lorena would stop at nothing for her rider, just as Kate would gladly lay down her life for her baby girl.

As Kate combed Lorena's dark mane, she noticed the mare's ears flickering back and forth, as if sensing something. Kate was about to ask her what was wrong when Sadie's voice erupted from within the camp.

“Say whatever you damn well please, but I tell you, if you ask me to chop one more vegetable I’m going to kill you!” She shouted, her frustration evident.

Mr. Pearson answered her in equal anger, “and if you don’t stop hissing at me, I’m going to kill you!” He retorted.

Kate spun on her heel and sprinted back into camp toward the chuck wagon. There, she found Sadie and Pearson squabbling, with Sadie brandishing a knife and Pearson looking ready to explode.

“Can’t somebody else help you cook for once? I ain’t your damn housewife!” Sadie shouted, pointing the tip of the knife at Pearson.

“You put that knife down or you’re going to be missing a hand, young lady!” Pearson roared back.

Kate approached the wagon, hands on her hips in disappointment. “What the hell is wrong with you two?” she shouted over them.

“I ain’t chopping vegetables for a living,” Sadie answered, slamming the knife down on the cutting board. She threw her hands up in frustration. “And I ain’t being lazy neither. I can work, but not like this!”

Kate sympathetically tilted her head. Despite their differences, she could understand Sadie's frustration. She'd gladly handle the simple duties and stay out of trouble, but Sadie thrived on adventure. You couldn’t keep a woman like her cooped up for long.

Sadie moved to the other side of the wagon, taking a deep breath before turning back to Pearson and Kate. “My husband and I shared the work, all of it,” she explained. “I tended to the fields, hunted, carried a gun, and used a knife.” Her voice rose in anger. “If you keep me here, I’ll skin this old coot and serve him for dinner!”

“Watch your damn mouth, you crazy goddamn fishwife!” Pearson retorted, pointing an accusing finger. Sadie looked ready to pounce.

It was about time Kate stepped between the two, “that’s enough!” She yelled, using her hands to distance the two feral cats from scrapping, she placed a hand on Sadies shoulder to hold her back. She turned her gaze to Pearson, “that includes you too.”

The old man raised his hands in defeat with a grunt. Kate turned to Sadie. “Why don’t we ride into town today? See what we can stir up,” she suggested. “Need anything while we’re out, Pearson?”

The cook reached into his wagon and handed over two pieces of paper. “Here’s my list. Could you also post this letter for me?” Kate nodded, tucking the items into her satchel. With a tip of her hat, she let Pearson get back to work.

The two widows climbed into the empty supply wagon, Kate taking up the reins. Together, they departed from camp and made their way toward Rhodes.

“I guess I’m back to bein’ the mailwoman,” Sadie grumbled. “At least we get to go shoppin’.”

Kate chuckled, nudging her knee against Sadie's. “Oh, come on. It ain’t so bad. We just earned ourselves the entire afternoon to do as we please,” she said with a playful wink. Sadie met her gaze and grinned.

Once they were away from camp, Kate broached the conversation again. “You cooled down now?” she asked, her voice gentle and concerned.

“I guess,” Sadie sighed. “I just hate taking orders from that sweaty half-wit. Hey, what did you do with that letter?” she inquired.

Kate chortled, “oh so the mail woman is also reading people’s letters now?” She asked with a laugh, slightly concerned that she may have snooped in Arthur’s personal letter from Mary.

“Not particularly, I just wanna see who that old bastards writin’ too.”

Kate shook her head, sighing as Sadie eagerly took the letter. In a mockingly low voice, Sadie began to read aloud. “Dear Aunt Cathy,” she started, “I haven’t heard from you in some time, so I pray to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further…” Her mocking trailed off as she read the first half of the letter.

Kate sucked in an awkward breath. “Maybe you should, uh, stop there, Sadie.”

The woman pressed on, her eyes scanning over the pages. “Blah blah blah, it’s boring. Oh! Wait a sec, listen to this; since we last corresponded I have traveled widely, making no small name for myself. Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife but I can assure you it’s not for lack of suitors…”

Kate snorted and quickly covered her mouth, unable to contain her laughter. Sadie’s infectious chuckles mixed with her own amusement. “You think he ever talked to a woman he didn’t pay for?” Sadie managed to say between laughs.

“I guess we’re all hiding behind something,” Kate replied, meeting Sadie’s amused gaze. The laughter bubbled up again, and soon they were both hysterical. The wagon veered off track as Kate was distracted, but she quickly yanked on the reins to right themselves.

“Oh, you are something else Sadie Adler,” Kate gasped, trying to compose herself.

Sadie chuckled and affectionately slapped Kate’s knee. “I think we’re running with a bunch of idiots dressed up like outlaws.” She handed the letter back to Kate as the wagon pulled into town. They guided the horses over to the general store and hopped down.

“I’ll mail this while you do the shopping,” Kate stated, nodding as they parted ways.

After all these years, Kate still held out hope that her aunt would someday write back to her. In every town she passed through, she asked the post office to mail a letter for her. She continued to write to her aunt, but she stopped receiving word back almost a decade ago. She could only assume her aunt was no longer living, but she enjoyed writing her letters nonetheless.

It didn’t take long for them to finish their assigned errands; the post office was a short walk from the general store. As Kate walked back, she saw Sadie and the store clerk finishing up loading the wagon. Sadie had purchased a new outfit, her old worn-out jeans and top replaced by a nice pair of black dukes and a fresh yellow button-down. She looked more at ease after getting out of camp, but Kate suspected the fun wasn’t over yet.

"Alright, anything else we need to do here?" Sadie inquired, dusting her hands and placing them on her hips.

Kate smiled, “Care to join me for a drink?” She nodded towards the saloon up the street.

Sadie followed her gaze and turned back with a grin, “After you, Miss McCanon.”

The two widows settled on the porch of the saloon facing the sun, each with a chilled glass of spiked sweet tea. It wasn’t enough to get them drunk, just enough to take the edge off. It was a beautiful day, so why waste it running errands? Kate’s cheeks were flushed, both from the beating sun and her drink, but her heart felt light. After the hell they all went through last night, she felt she deserved this.

Sadie, equally deep in her glass, ran an idle finger around the rim. “You know, my Jake would’ve loved it here. He was always complaining ‘bout the cold, but I told him a hundred times we could move south and he refused,” she said, lost in the memory of her husband.

Kate nodded somberly, “My husband would’ve liked it here too. He was from Kentucky but moved to Boston when he was a kid. I know he missed the country dearly.”

After a moment, Kate asked a question that had been on her mind, “How come you and Jake never had children?” Despite rarely having time together, they enjoyed sharing pieces of their lives with one another. Kate had told Sadie about her husband and daughter over one of their many late-night poker games. It brought them closer, and they had more in common than she realized.

“We thought about it, but where we lived up in the Grizzlies, it was no place to raise a child,” Sadie explained, scanning the town and its bustling people. “Although, I think this country would’ve been great for us. The owner at the general store said they were building a school here.”

“Can’t say putting kids in school won’t make the world better,” Kate said with a somber sigh.

“At least it’s progress,” Sadie added.

“I’m not even sure I know what that word means anymore,” Kate retorted, taking a sip from her glass.

Sadie leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “This town is full of drunks, Kate. I’m not sure anybody here knows what that word means.” Kate looked over at Sadie and couldn't help but let out a laugh. The two girls chuckled as their laughter fed one another.

After an hour, they decided it was time to head back. Sadie took up the reins this time; she was a little tipsy, as were they both at this point. But it was nothing they couldn’t handle. After a few minutes of riding, they left the town perimeter and entered the plains again, when a few men on horses approached them.

"Hey there," one of the men called out, "what you ladies up to?"

“Just headin’ home,” Kate answered politely.

One of the men maneuvered his horse in front of the wagon, causing Sadie to pull the reins to a halt. “You’re in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here,” the man declared.

Lemoyne Raiders? Kate's mind raced as she connected the pieces from last night; these people must be from the same group that attacked them. Her demeanor shifted, and she gazed at the two men before her from under the brim of her hat.

“Oh, is that so?” she began coolly, “I don’t think I’ve heard of you.”

“We’re gonna need you to pull over this wagon right now,” the man on Sadie's side of the wagon demanded. Kate caught the flash of iron from his gun as it glinted in the sun. Sadie noticed it too; she turned her head to meet Kate’s gaze. They shared a moment of unspoken understanding, nodding ever so slightly. With a wink, Sadie signaled to make their move.

“Here’s your toll you son of a bitch!” Kate shouted. In unison the two women upholstered their revolvers and shot the men dead, on either side of the wagon.

The raiders tumbled out of their saddles as Sadie cracked the reins, sending the wagon careening forward at a relentless pace. More men appeared from behind, closing in on them along the dry, dusty road.

“Let’s keep this little squabble between us,” Kate chuckled to Sadie, preparing to deal with the raiders. She aimed her pistol and fired, missing her target. With a frustrated grunt, she took another shot, hitting a man in the shoulder this time. She made a mental note to retrieve her rifle from John when they returned.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Laughter echoed through the secluded creek, startling birds from the trees. Four fishing lines bobbed idly in the water as the two older gentlemen reminisced about embarrassing tales from their boys' younger days. Despite catching only a few perch and bass, the fish weren’t biting much, perhaps due to their wooden watercraft rocking from their rowdy chuckles. But they couldn’t care less; nothing could spoil such a pleasant afternoon.

"Remember when little John got so spooked holding a fish that he fell right out of the boat? Thank God Arthur was with us or the kid would've drowned!" Dutch chuckled heartily, slapping his knee.

John shook his head, laughing at the memory. "Yeah, well, at least I didn't go to the market, buy the three biggest bass, and try to pass them off like I caught 'em," he teased, nodding towards Arthur. "Dumbass didn't think we'd run into the guy who sold it to him!"

“Oh, not this again,” Arthur grinned, feigning annoyance. "Maybe I should toss you overboard right now, Marston. Let's see how fast you can swim to shore," he playfully threatened. "Oh, that's right, you still can't swim!" He chuckled heartily.

The four men shared another round of laughter. As their giggles died down, Hosea noted the time, “We’ve been out here a while, boys. What do you say we head back and get this cooked for dinner?”

The group nodded in agreement, and Hosea picked up the oars. He was about to lower them into the water when Arthur playfully tapped his arm. “Let me row, you two are getting too old for real labor,” he said with a grin. Remembering how weak Hosea was getting, Arthur wasn’t about to let him do the work. He wanted Hosea to enjoy the evening without tiring himself out.

“And you’re too dumb for anything else,” Hosea quipped back with a smile.

Arthur let out a hearty laugh as he took his seat and lowered the oars. “You’re still too quick for me, old man!”

Hosea playfully bopped him on the top of his head. “I just enjoy picking on children,” he winked. Their banter flowed effortlessly; Arthur always enjoyed spending time with Hosea. He loved Dutch too, but he saw Hosea more as a father figure. Hosea was his role model, and Arthur was his biggest fan.

“Well, I guess we didn’t have much luck fishing,” Dutch remarked after a moment, looking at their small haul.

“Bad luck and stupid fish,” John mused.

“Or maybe the fish had good luck and we’re just stupid,” Arthur added with a snicker.

As Arthur rowed steadily, following the shoreline back to camp, Hosea let out a sigh and gazed out at the water. After a moment, he spoke up. “How do you boys feel about a song?”

The boys launched into a hearty old sea chanty led by Hosea, with Arthur and John joining in on the chorus. As they neared camp, laughter escaped them, a shared contentment settling in. Dutch and Hosea took the fish, signaling they would bring them to Pearson, while Arthur and John guided the boat to a secluded spot on the other side of camp to safeguard it from prying eyes.

Pushing the boat through the shallow waters, John broke the quiet. “I had fun today. Wasn’t sure what Hosea was up to dragging me out of bed this morning, but I actually enjoyed it.”

Arthur chuckled, a hint of playful jab in his voice. “Maybe now you’ll remember to take your own son fishing sometime.”

“Maybe, if someone wasn’t already taking him,” John shot back, irritation creeping into his tone.

Arthur straightened, his expression serious. “Don’t give me that shit, Marston,” he spat,” If you’re not stepping up, what’s the difference? You’ll just run off again.”

“Why are you so interested in my life? Don’t you have your own?” John retorted.

Arthur sighed, his tone softer, “just figure yourself out John, you can’t be two people at once.”

John scoffed, a touch of bitterness coloring his voice. “You’re one to talk, Morgan! At least my kid is alive. Can’t say the same about yours.” He immediately regretted his words as Arthur’s eyes darkened, and he moved closer through the water.

“I am one to talk Marston,” Arthur replied, his conviction mixed with regret. “You left that boy, your family, for nearly a whole damn year!”

John grimaced, avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “You know it ain’t that simple. I wasn’t—” He paused, then continued with a lower voice. “I wasn’t ready to be a father.”

Arthur softened, sympathy in his tone. “And you think I was? Look how that turned out.”

“See? You and I are the same,” John remarked.

“No, we’re not,” Arthur countered with gravity. “You have a family, John. For the love of God, don’t abandon them.”

The boat finally rounded the bend, hidden from strangers’ view. Arthur said nothing more as he left John and headed into camp, his mind heavy with old memories and lingering regrets.

As Arthur made his way toward the fire, ready to settle in for the evening with a cold beer and fresh fish for dinner, rowdy laughter near the chuck wagon caught his attention. To his surprise, Kate and Sadie were busy unloading supplies for Pearson.

"What’s got you girls laughing like a couple of hyenas on caffeine?" Arthur asked with a smile, relieved to hear Kate’s laughter lifting his spirits. He found himself thinking of her more and more, even wishing to be the reason behind her smile.

Sadie chortled and exchanged a look with Kate. "Don’t worry ‘bout it, cowboy," she replied with a laugh. Pearson waved off the girls, and Sadie bid them farewell, mentioning she was off to freshen up before dinner. Kate turned back to Arthur with a smile, and the two of them made their way to the fire to catch up on their day's adventures.

"Heard you caught us some fish for dinner," Kate noted.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, it ain’t much, but it'll do. What were you up to today?"

Kate leaned back against the log, stretching her legs toward the fire. "Posted some mail, did a little shopping, got some drinks with Sadie…" She trailed off, then added, "and, uh, may have run into those raiders again." Arthur sat up, shooting her a worried look.

"Easy there, cowpoke," Kate reassured him, giggling. "Sadie and I took care of it. Just a couple of dumbasses trying to make a quick buck." She shook her head with annoyance.

As the rest of the gang members gathered around the fire with the setting sun, Arthur and Kate continued to chat about their day. The smell of fried fish filled the air, and everyone eagerly awaited dinner. Bottles of beer were passed around, and Kate accepted hers with gratitude. It felt like the perfect way to end the day—crisp drink, good food, and great company.

Javier settled in with his guitar, but before he could strum a tune, he turned his attention to Kate. "Why don’t you play us something tonight?" He offered her his guitar with both hands. Surprised by the gesture, Kate shook her head bashfully. "Oh c’mon, cariño, don’t be shy! Arthur told me you used to play."

Kate shot Arthur a teasing glance, and he held up his hands defensively. "Alright, I’ll give it a go," she caved.

As Kate tuned the wooden instrument to her liking, she caught sight of a familiar face entering camp—Micah. Arthur noticed him too and started to rise, but Kate gestured for him to stay put. "If you do all the talkin’ for me, Morgan, I’m gonna forget how to talk," she said with a reassuring grin. She slipped a small bone knife from her satchel, concealing it from the others. "Be right back," she said as she got up to intercept Micah before he could find Dutch.

With purposeful steps, Kate approached Micah. Threatening him in front of the entire camp wouldn’t work, and brute force had already been attempted—she needed a new approach.

"Micah!" Kate called out in a bogus friendly tone, drawing the attention of everyone around. She saw the confusion in his eyes, tinged with arrogance. "Well, looks like you’re still here. Guess I should apologize for my aberration," he said, his voice like a hissing snake.

Kate chuckled as she closed the distance between them. "No apology needed, Mr. Bell. It was just a misunderstanding," she said loud enough for the others to hear.

To his surprise, Kate draped her arm over his shoulder in a seemingly affectionate gesture, their heights nearly matching. Before Micah could react, he felt the sharp tip of something against his neck.

"Walk with me," Kate said in a low voice, her grip firm on his neck. She led them away from the camp, speaking directly into his ear, much like he had done to her when she first joined the gang.

"I’m not here to hand out gold stars for your sudden epiphany, Micah. Try me again, and I promise you, I will return the favor tenfold," she spat, the knife pressing dangerously against his jugular. One false move and he would be bleeding out in the dry grass.

Micah chuckled, his demeanor shifting. "Is that an invitation?" he retorted dryly.

Kate brushed off his insinuation with a steely gaze. "I assure you, I've dealt with far scarier men than you. You're nothing but a coward hiding behind your pawns. I've faced men like you, tortured men like you. You relish in others' suffering, but you haven't known suffering yourself. And I won't show you mercy."

With that, she withdrew her hand, flicking it upwards in a swift but gentle motion that left a shallow cut on his chin, drawing blood. "Consider this your one and only warning."

With a dismissive flick of her boot, Kate pivoted on her heel and strode back toward the welcoming glow of the campfire, leaving Micah to nurse his wounded pride. As she moved away, she caught a glimpse of him rubbing his chin thoughtfully, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips, ““you and I would make a good team Kate.” She rolled her eyes and continued her walk.

Seating herself beside the crackling flames, Kate casually picked up Javier's guitar, her movements deliberate yet nonchalant. The instrument felt familiar in her hands, providing a comforting distraction from the lingering tension.

Arthur leaned in close, his voice a low murmur against her ear. "How'd it go?" he inquired, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

Kate couldn't help but laugh, her confidence unwavering despite the encounter with Micah. "Oh, you know," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eye, "the usual threats and warnings. I might have mentioned something about plucking his eyeballs out and serving them for dinner... but I was only half serious." She shot Arthur a playful wink before turning her attention to the rest of the gang.

Seated comfortably around the fire, the gang members welcomed Kate's return with warm smiles and eager anticipation. She glanced around at her companions, a sense of camaraderie settling over the group.

"So, what'll it be tonight?" Kate asked, her fingers beginning to pluck at the guitar strings.

As the flames danced and shadows flickered, memories of her father's cheerful tunes filled Kate's mind. She recalled a particular song he used to sing on balmy summer evenings, a lighthearted melody that brought joy even after the toughest of days. Adjusting her grip on the guitar, Kate launched into the familiar tune, her voice carrying over the crackling fire with a warmth that echoed the affection she felt for her makeshift family.

I dream in the morning, that she brings me water,

And I dream in the evening that she brings me wine.

Just a poor man’s daughter, from Puerto Peñasco.

South of the border, in old Mexico.

There’s a great hot desert, south of Mexicali.

And if you dont got water, you’d better not go.

Tequila won’t get you across that desert,

To Evangelina, in old Mexico.

The fire I feel for the woman I love, is drivin’ me insane.

Knowing she’s waitin’, and I can’t get there.

God only knows that I wracked my brain, to try to find a way,

To reach that woman, in old Mexico.

Evangelina, I miss you so.

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asexualkieranduffy · 1 month

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I fight for the oc x canon thing and no one is gonna change me

I got these pens a few days ago so I'm learning how to paint with them (honestly painting has never been my strong point, but I want to change), anyway there's my trans oc and Micah

#my art #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 oc #micah bell #oc x canon #i'm probably going to post more about those two cuz it got me rolling on the floor #idk they look cute together in my head #sorry for being cringe 😔✊

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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 4 months

Text

Cover art by @/crazycookiemaniac

Summary: The strings of Fate continue to twist and turn and wind in a rather odd manner. It's almost like the fate of the world would be dependent on just a few of the threads. Is there a chance to affect the way they are woven together? And how about the formerly so happy couple? All they carry of the other as of now, is the tender, but bittersweet emotions in their hearts, along with the rings on their fingers. Rings, which held a spell.

Pairing: Fuegoleon (CC) x Solara (OC) Fanfic type: Book/long fic Warnings: Mostly canon typical content, the battle/war themes are there, angst, Fue's fear manifests as anger (he's only human, after all), Solara is still pregnant so themes of pregnancy

Tag list: @succulentsunrise @loosesodamarble

A/N: Three months later... I wanted to see where canon progresses, but decided to make some decisions of my own in the end anyhow. Hope you like them (nyehehhee).

Word count: ~3.6k

Chapter 6: The Rings

‘Tis curious... It’s as if the Seer is no more. The string is awfully thin... Like all else. So, I wonder... I wonder if ... I wonder what’s in that room, beyond the mirror. The passage. She’s always looking at me through it, but I think there’s something behind her. Not that she ever spends more time there. But I think... there is something in there.

I wonder what it is... for ever since I was... how old was I? When I came here? Decided that it’s best to observe. To be an observer, rather than a Seer. Which, perhaps... Perhaps it’s what the researchers of Old Micah were supposed to be. To watch, but not tinker and toil.

Though the bells are awfully annoying.

Maybe they could hear the bells too and just wanted them to shut up.

Though sister... sister says that she can’t hear anything wrong with them. That some hear the bells, but hear nothing wrong about how they play. If you call that as playing. The blasted bells. They drill into my very soul. At times.

Maybe they drilled into the souls of the scientists too. And that’s why they drew the strings, and ventured too close. Trying to tinker with them. Temper with the threads that shouldn’t be tempered with.

And thus were no more... Nothing but a whisper. A distant memory for only those who are able to remember them. Their lair being nothing but ruins, hidden behind forcefields in fear of it taking place again. Another one breaking through because someone played an off note with the strings.

She half scoffed; half chuckled.

Or weaved them the wrong way. Since ... though I... perhaps it’d be better to call them as weavers. I’m not one, despite being like a spider caught in a web. Or... at least feeling like one. Though maybe spiders don’t feel trapped inside their own creations.

And since this isn’t my creation, I think that a spider isn’t a fitting description after all.

But... then... what does it make me? What am I?

I’m not a Seer, Weaver or ... Or... anything that there are supposed to be. I just exist.

Just exist and watch as the threads turn and twist, helpless as ever. Though. What would it affect me? If they’d cease to turn. If they’d... become tangled in a way like never before? What would it affect me? I am here, without a burden on my consciousness. For if I ever do nothing, then how could I be guilty of doing anything wrong?

Though sister is adamant that I do something, because choosing to do nothing is as bad as doing something wrong. While she also agrees that sometimes it’s best to mind one’s own business. Take care of her queendom and let others do as they will. Because others existing as they do, while not bothering us is... they might exist differently than we do, but it’s not inherently wrong in any way.

However... the twisting and the turning that’s taking place... Never did I think that so many threads could be affected by one path... two paths... Or maybe... It’s hard to tell.

The threads are awfully small and wound together where I can see them.

But still. They’re tied to awfully many places, and the web seems like it’s crumbling. Falling apart.

So maybe... but I couldn’t.

No one is to touch the threads. That is a Law.

One that the researchers of Old Micah learned the hard way.

No mortal hands are to touch the threads as they are.

But that makes me wonder... how would one then affect the twisting and the turning? Perhaps with a tool? That is how the scientists made it possible to weave into the net. With a set of tools that allowed them to touch threads that weren’t meant to be touched.

However... that doesn’t mean that there wouldn’t be a tool that wouldn’t allow for it. To take a hold and play the bells, attached to the threads. Or even... maybe if you connect something to the threads, and touch those instead of touching the threads themselves?

I wonder...

Her head turned towards the mirror, the pathway and the thin sheet of something she couldn’t name, which existed between that place and another. A place from where her sister gazed to her every once in a while. And for reasons that were lost even from herself, she couldn’t turn her eyes away.

I wonder what’s in that room...

---

The art of crafting a wedding band is delicate and precise work. After all, the piece of jewellery is meant to be worn around one’s finger for the rest of the days they have on this earth. And thus, it should be both durable and stylish; something that fits the person carrying the ring itself.

Designing such a piece takes time, let alone execute the craftmanship. Especially while working with a fragile material such as a leaf from the Tree of Binding Fates.

It was long, long time ago discovered that the material, which becomes hardened after falling off, could be used in jewellery or other memorabilia. But considering the significance of the ritual, it seemed only logical to incorporate such a fine material, add a fine detail, to a piece of jewellery as important as a wedding band. It in itself would already make the pair of rings unique, because no one else would have the same leaf, the same pattern, of the same shape and size and weight, as the one that The Tree served the couple. Perhaps one might find similar ones. Even hauntingly similar, while looking at older rings, preserved and kept intact for future generations to see and admire. Because surely love is something to admire. To read about the joys and sorrows the couple held, while looking at the rings, which were still there, as if to prove that the couple had existed, once upon a time.

The old man, in Thea, working for the [Lil’ Old Jeweller] had been doing what he knows best for 55 years already, in that very same shop, which was founded by his great-grandfather with no greater aspirations than to simply do a good job. It had been his wish to do an honest day’s work, in a manner that he could be proud of.

The old man could remember his grandfather having told how his father had felt rather silly while putting the word ‘old’ into the sign while opening, but he had felt that it added a certain charisma to the name. However, the word had grown true to itself, as the shop had gained popularity.

The old man could remember when his grandfather had gotten his first job with a request to add a leaf from The Tree, and how nervous he had been. Because it wasn’t just any material, it was something that couldn’t be replaced. So, he had started by chipping off only a portion of the leaf in hopes of being able to chip off another piece if he failed on the first try. And the method had proved to be successful. There had even been only a handful of occasions when a new piece had needed to be chipped off the leaf, because as the old man, his father, and grandfather, had all noticed, the work took shape around the leaf piece.

There was always a hint of a kind, along with having spoken to the couple, most of them easy to talk to, and some seeming more like they’d be the end of each other than the love of each other’s lives, about how the rings should look like. One had to work with the ring, instead of having to make the ring work for oneself. That was one of the things he had hoped to have gotten across to his daughter, who had taken an interest in adding leaves, actual leaves and flowers into the rings as well. Encase them in resin or alike material, along with the leaf from The Tree. And she seemed to do good job. Her customers seemed happy. Which was enough for him. He might not have understood the fascination, because when he thought about a ring, he thought of silver and gold, fine elements of the earth, along with gems and the leaf.

But he was already an old man. And he supposed that it was alright. Time went on, and his daughter also had the skill of listening. The old man had thought himself to have held the gift of seeing too, but upon watching the pieces his daughter made, he thought himself to have only a narrow view of seeing.

Though the daughter said their ways of seeing to simply have been different. There was no right or wrong, as long as you work with the couple, and do a good, honest day’s work.

The old man had been pleased with this answer. Perhaps that was all there was to it.

And so, the old man would continue doing his work, with the couples, the leaves and the pieces of metal, embedding the magic of the leaves of The Tree into a piece of jewellery that was worn on the ring finger of the left hand, from where there was a straight path to the heart.

Sometimes he would think how many utilize the magic that was embedded into the ring. Perhaps not quite many, because it could be used only once, and it wasn’t that often one held such a desperate need to get to one and another instantly. Especially if it was only once. Though he could always make a new ring, with the remainders of the leaf. None just seemed to think of it. Or then it wouldn’t be the same, because you only, really, get married to one person once in your life. At least... in most cases.

It was also possible that many simply... forgot about it. Put if off as just some ol’ wives tales and went on with their lives.

He also went on as to speculate that some might have thought the spell, or the mana, to activate to have needed something grand. A specific set of words that would wind into a sentence that would bring one to their loved one, or vice versa, for after all, the door swung both ways. But in reality, what was required, was rather simple.

Another thing he thought that many forgot, because more didn’t use it. And those that, perhaps, remembered it, deemed it invasive to simply yank one’s beloved to them away from whatever it was. Especially, again, since the spell could be used only once. And would give away to this one little ace in one’s sleeve. Not that it was so special that other nations couldn’t have come up with it and used it for themselves.

But, during times of trouble, he also found himself thinking if people, who once upon a time had sat there, in the small seating area of his shop, talking to him about their wishes for the rings, eyes full of love and hope for the future, had found themselves falling out of love. After all, it was not always love that bound people’s fates together. So, it was possible, that somewhere down the road, what had brought the couple together, drove them apart. And thus, the magic that existed in the rings was left unused.

Luckily, those thoughts, those moments, were scarce. And more often than not, he found himself smiling while thinking back to all of the encounters he had with the brides and grooms to be. Every story different from the other. But the smiles and the gazes, the tender, subtle displays of affection, they he could recognize. Even if they all harboured a special flare of their own, no matter how similar one might have thought them to be based on a glance. And the similarities, he had found, stretched far beyond the borders of nations.

For a while he had nearly forgotten it. During the years that it had been only Thean couples that came to see him. But one of the latest couple he found himself thinking more than any other for a while. Perhaps because of how much they had been talked about. Because of what was achieved, essentially because they had been the driving force for the borders opening and new alliance forming.

He had thought that maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised to find them, sitting across the table from him. But. He had been.

However, the surprise and the wonder had faded away as he looked at them smile. As he smiled because they smiled, and because the smile was contagious.

He hoped that the couple would never need to use the magic of the rings. He hoped that they could be happy and content; spend the days of their lives, together.

---

The smooth surface of his wedding band, which hid a pattern, as if flames, on the inner surface of it. He let his thumb grace the piece of metal, which spoke of a promise. A shared vow between two lovers, during a time that had been filled with... hope... More hope. A time that had been joyous and had made his flutter in the best of ways.

And he could remember... how it had been her fingers gracing over that surface of his wedding band. He could remember, how her fingers had trailed up his arm to play with his hair. How she whispered gentle nothings to his ears, or how she’d giggle, burst into a laugh because of something silly that he couldn’t even remember anymore. He just remembered the laugh.

He remembered how beautiful she had been.

He wondered how he had been blessed. Even for such a short while. A passing moment. A breath.

That’s how it felt, even if they had been together for years. Despite having been the best years of his life, they had been over in a blink of an eye. Too soon. Too quick.

Though he wasn’t sure if even a lifetime had been long enough of a time. But that was all the time he had; all the time she had. A lifetime.

It was just a shame that his lifetime would end up being shorter than hers. Not that he would have willed it any other way; for hers to be shorter than his.

And for a moment, he had to wonder if it had been only a dream. Something his mind had concocted during his coma, which he wished to believe with his entire being.

But... it hurt too much for it to have been a mere dream. The golden threads of fate, spun into ropes, were wound tightly around his still beating heart, which he hoped would carry his affection to her. He hoped that she could hear him, feel him, there, until he wouldn’t be. And perhaps, even after that.

He wished that she knew his last thoughts to be of her. Even when the battle was raging around him. Even as the end was nearing.

Something seemed to have caught the angels’ interest, perhaps a squad, or another captain. He wasn’t sure. But he had seen Yuno upon a glimpse, battling Lucius. He almost sure that he had seen Noelle too, which meant that the Bulls had returned. Perhaps that was why the angels seemed to have found something else of interest than the civilians, for the most part. Which allowed him to look around. Gaze around the area that surrounded him, rather than fire spells haphazardly at the enemy all around.

And what he saw, did anything but shed hope into him. If there had been much to begin with.

But the thing was, as a knight, he couldn’t give in; give up, turn his back on the sacrifices of his knights. He owed it to them. He owed it to the citizens of Clover. And, he felt that he owed it to his family. To stand his ground and be the man that he had tried to be, all his life.

He didn’t think himself to be afraid. Not anymore. He didn’t think himself to be angry, or sad... He didn’t know what he thought himself to be. If he was anything but a pawn in a game that seemed fixed. He knew that he had preached about the dangers of hesitating, freezing up; doing anything but steeling oneself.

He had learned that the hard way.

And yet, he found himself placing, again, his thumb over his wedding band, and thinking of her.

I wish... that we could have been together. This was our choice, and it was... the right ... choice. But still... I wish that... you’d be here.

However... as his mind formulated the thought, the words, the gentle, genuine confessions of his heart into a manifestation, he didn’t think the gilded string of fate, bound into ropes, to be listening. He didn’t remember the little spell, not in the pendant around his neck, but in the ring around his finger.

The little spell where the door swings both ways.

And the magic, the first spark of mana was so faint that he almost missed it. Almost, but not quite.

It was just enough for his gaze to fall onto the small piece of precious metal, which now glowed a gilded, reddish glow, which reminded him of the leaf from The Tree, the rest of which was still in their room.

The glow was followed by a flash of light. Golden threads coiling around what looked like a small, tender, summer sun.

Perhaps, in another time, in another place, he would have thought it to be beautiful. Perhaps, but now, it chilled him right down to his very bone, because it meant something he didn’t wish to comprehend. Something he didn’t want to understand; believe.

He couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t want to believe it.

Never would he have thought that seeing her, would have equalled his worst nightmare. But now, as it did, all he could do, was stare at her. Eyes wide open, pupils constricted and locked onto her.

This… can’t be…

“Are you hurt?” She asked, as if that had been a reasonable question. The first thing she asked, as her eyes met his, her arm moving to her other, to do... something... but he didn’t register half of it. He could only think about the question.

As if it had been a reasonable question…

As if…

She was wearing an armour, and though it wasn’t… one that he could recall, it still… wasn’t enough. The thick plate around her stomach seemed only as a thin veil over what was more than a target to an enemy.

“Honey?” She asked, eyes full of worry, sorrow, but still with a soft fondness in them that was far too gentle for a place like this.

Place that was worse than the Underworld, worse than hell. Because even in hell are only those worthy of the punishment cast upon them. And here, it was mostly those … who were not.

“What… are you doing here…?” He could hear himself asking from her, through the haze and the deliria.

For a moment he had to consider that he had died, and this was but a fever dream. A horrid, twisted concoction of his mind during his final breath.

“I... was drawn to you,” she replied, looking at her ring. Yet another horrid statement.

Though… perhaps… in another life, another time, he would have deemed it soft and sweet, a promise fulfilled and so sacred that he couldn’t comprehend… But now, in its gentle caress lied thorns.

Oh how he wished they would have been mere thorns, instead of the soul carving, hollowing, burning, flooding sensation that sought to take over him.

A primal emotion. The primal emotion of fear, fluttered in him. But it came out as rage.

“What, are, you doing here?!” He shouted as his face twisted; teeth bared as if canines to ravage flesh.

“I-, came to-”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” He yelled again, jaw clenched and overtaken by a flood from within him.

“I… You...” she managed, before his right hand grabbed his left, fingers twisting onto his wedding ring.

“GET. OUT!” He yelled, slamming the ring, embedded with a leaf from the Tree of Binding Fate, onto the pavement of the Capitol. It clicked against the stones under them as the only sound she heard.

It might have been but a small, ringing sound of metal against stone, but the faint sound, was the loudest thing she could conceive.

And with it, she could feel her heart sinking in her chest. As if punched, her organs pushed all the way to her back.

As if a slap in the face.

And all she could do, was stare at that ring, as it rolled away from her.

But she didn’t want to see it go, so, she reached forward with a motion that was heavy; trembling. And cast Gravity of the Sun with minimal effort in hopes that it’d come back as tears rolled down her cheeks in the middle of the Capitol where she sat, alone, on the cold harsh ground.

No choice that she could have made, was good. But somehow, this, felt the worst one she could have taken out of the options provided. To sit there, unsure of what to do.

And… what made it worse, was the fact that she could feel the little ones kicking in her stomach.

They’re so feisty… she smiled to herself despite the tears. Just like their father…

#black clover fanfiction #the vows we made #fuegoleon x solara #fuelara #oc x canon

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shenzi-town · 4 months

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Warning: censored NSFW content in spoiler!

A quick sketch of mutual satisfaction~

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#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #micah bell #micahbell #rdr2 fanart #reddeadredemption2 #micah bell x oc

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bleachcakes · 5 days

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My self Indulgence Writing 👍 uh Karen Jones X Oc

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, really. It was simple work, robbing desperate, drunk men. They see a pretty young woman, such as Karen, and they fall head over heels with a bit of eyelash batting. Stupid fools. Feed ‘em some whiskey and suggest, “why don’t we go get a room somewhere…” and they’ll fall right into your hands. Honestly, it was like taking candy from a baby. It almost made her feel bad sometimes. Almost. Until she remembered they only ever follow her because she’s pretty. Because she promises them sex and good times.

Townsmen would never spare her a glance if she couldn't flaunt her ‘feminine wiles’, which must be why Grimshaws such a hag, Karen mused. That woman never got much attention now that she was out of her prime. Karen supposed it suited her, always making them do the menial chores. She and the other girls had to sneak around the woman just so they could pester Uncle to take them into Valentine for a bit of fun. Arthur hitched a ride too, which was nice. He always made Karen feel a little more seen in camp. Arthur was a good man. Not like those slobs, Bill or Micah, the sleazy bastards.

Robbing drunk men looking to get their dick wet wasn’t much of ‘real’ outlaw work in Karen’s mind, but it was the job she could do, and she did it well. One day she’d like to be more out there. Robbing stagecoaches, jumping on trains, killing O’Driscoll’s like she was a woman outta hell. One day. Today was another day of snaking cash out of stupid men.

This one was a little different. He didn’t want a room. He wanted something ‘interesting and rugged’. This drunk freak wanted to get laid out in the woods like he was hiding from disapproving parents. It took a lot in her for Karen not to laugh right in his face at the notion. Instead, she grinned and tilted her body forward so her chest was on full display to the man’s unsubtle ogling. “Sure honey, that sounds like fun,” she said.

Woodland robbery might even be easier than hotel robbery. In a hotel, you have to worry about others hearing the ruckus and calling the lawman. It’s not good to get caught stealing in the middle of town, with too many people, too many eyes, and far too many guns that could stick you up with. It was a rush, knowing the danger. However, considering Karen and the rest of the camp were supposed to be trying to keep a low profile, it might be better to take a less ‘guns blazing’ approach. As long as they steered somewhere secluded, there would be no trouble. It was the wild, after all. Plenty of people could have come by and robbed the man of everything but his knickers. Even if someone saw her leaving with the man, she could fabricate a story that she was also robbed.

It was an extra risk not having her own horse to ride out on. It would be harder to get away if something went south. She figured she could nab the man’s horse easily, at least. She was a real gentle beast, probably used to being ridden under the influence of all the drink the man took. Maybe she’d even take it back to camp once she was done with it. Kieran would take good care of her, a nice Turkoman. She could give some company to Old Belle.

Karen absentmindedly ran her fingers softly over the horse’s side. It whinnied softly and Karen frowned. Maybe she would let the girl go instead. Give her a chance to run free for a while, maybe get back to the roots of those wild horses roaming the plains. Karen wished she could do the same. Damn ‘low profile’.

“There,” Karen said. The man, whose name Karen couldn’t be bothered to remember, pulled the horse to a stop on the trail and followed Karen’s point with his eyes. Carefully, he led them into the pointed-out spot, navigating his horse through the thicket and into the woods. The trees cut them off from the view of the trail, a nice covering for the planned deed.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, really. Karen wasn’t a damsel in distress, she could handle herself. It just so happened that sometimes other people could handle her better.

“Fuck!” Karen grunted as she tumbled to the ground. The force of the man’s punch had completely knocked her from her feet, pain and shock briefly short-circuiting her brain. Her gun flew from her hands, hiding itself away among the shrubbery.

“Tryna rob me?” The man snarled. “Are you trying to rob me?” The man snarled but dressed down to his Long John’s, he wasn’t quite as intimidating as he could have been.

“Not tryna’, am,” Karen shot back, her busted lip curling into a sneer that dripped blood onto her teeth and settled an iron tang over her tongue. She picked herself up from the ground and charged the man. She knew he didn’t have his weapon, and now that she didn’t either, things were going to end in a tussle.

Karen rammed her body against the man, her shoulder jutting up to knock his chin. Karen’s shoulder jutted up and knocked the man’s chin, causing his teeth to rattle and clack together as his head was thrown back. He swayed on his feet and Karen returned the favor of a punch, planting her fist into his stomach. The man doubled over with pain, Karen smirking in triumph. She kicked at his knees, dropping him to the ground. “Dumb bastard, yer gonna pay.”

She reached toward his head, poised to render him unconscious with a single blow. The man still had some fight left in him, however. His adrenaline kicked up, and he shot forward. The man’s hands grasped for a hold on Karen to steady himself, but his momentum was too much. His weight throws them both back, and the man lands on top of Karen. Karen’s lungs spasm from the force and she feels the wind get knocked from her. She wheezes for a moment, struggling to breathe.

The man, realizing his newfound advantage, acts on his rage. He strikes Karen again, his knuckles digging into her cheek. Karen winced, bringing her hands to try to push the man off. Pain was blossoming over her face and she knew she’d have a mighty bruise the next day. If she lived to the next day.

“Get off- get off!” A slight gurgle cut the rest of Karen’s shouts off as the man’s hands circled Karen’s neck. His thumbs pressed against the side of her throat, pushing the veins in with a painful sensation. Karen’s eyes bugged out as her oxygen depleted. All she could see above her was the filthy dog panting in her face. Karen clawed at the hands around her neck, but they didn’t let up. She was going to die. Karen Jones, scammer extraordinaire, the outlaw firecracker, was going to die to a damn dog in his skivvy’s. What a way to go, Karen thought bitterly, hacking another wet gasp as she tried to fill her lungs with air.

BLAM.

Karen blinked, wet, hot blood splattered her face. Karen’s mouth dropped wide, taking in as much air as possible. She sat up, staring at the slumped-over man whose head now more closely resembled a melon a horse had stomped on. She gazed at it momentarily, the familiar view almost a fond memory, before finding the source of her saving grace bullet.

She noticed the horse first. A grand beast, a shire likely given its massive size. Its coat was dark and shiny, and its white main fell into neatly done braids. Safe to say it was beautiful, unlike anything she had ever seen. The rider matched the magnificence of her horse.

Her horse, Karen realized instantly with a blink.

The woman slowly lowered her rifle, apparently satisfied that the man she had shot wasn’t going to get back up. The woman turned it up, holding it in one hand as she looked down at Karen. She sported a cropped hairdo, shorter than anything Karen had ever seen on a woman. It gave attention to the woman’s face, a patchwork of freckles and scars. The red frown of the woman’s lips gently curled upwards, bringing a shine to her eyes as the woman carefully dismounted her horse.

She carried her rifle in one hand, pulling off her hat with the other as she approached Karen like a wounded animal. “You okay, Miss?” The woman greeted pleasantly, her eyebrows raising.

Karen swallowed thickly, getting to her feet, quick to brush off what dirt she could from her clothes and skin. “Ah- y-yes. Thank you,” Karen added, nodding to the woman. “You really saved me there.”

“ ‘course,” the woman responded nonchalantly. Now that she was closer, Karen could see the woman’s eyes were green. Green like the surrounding leaves, like she had sprung from the ground just to be Karen’s personal angel.

“Miss?” the woman said, tilting her head to give Karen an odd look.

Karen blinked, realizing the woman must have been speaking. “Sorry, uhm, still a little shaken up. My mind wandered for a moment.”

The woman nodded, offering up another kindhearted smile. Karen watched as the woman retrieved a handkerchief from her coat, drawing a pristine-looking white cloth from it. “I thought you’d might like to wipe yer face. Unless you like the blood smearing yer lip,” the woman chuckled gently, offering up the handkerchief, “I’m sure you look just as pretty, with or without.”

Karen giggled but caught herself quickly and cut off the laughter as she took the offered cloth. “Thank you, ma’am.” Upon closer inspection, Karen noticed the cloth wasn’t as clean as she thought. Spots of dried blood speckled the cloth like grime that refused to leave even after a stubborn cleaning. Karen added her own blood to the fabric, carefully wiping her bloody lip clean.

While she cleaned herself up, Karen watched the woman survey the crime scene. She walked around the dead man, kicking his body lightly to turn him over on his back. The soft sound of squelching made Karen cringe as Jessie lightly moved the blown-open head. Karen decided rather to keep her eyes on the woman who stood over the body. She had put her hat back on and now crouched over the body. Without ceremony, she snatched the man’s jewelry from him, breaking the necklace off his horse and pocketing two rings. She stuck her pockets in the man’s clothes, scouring the pockets. When those came up empty, she bent to pick up the man’s discarded clothing, digging through those. She retrieved some money and chewing tobacco, which she discarded. Most of the man’s belongings had likely disappeared along with his horse who had bolted earlier, its satchel bouncing against its flank.

Karen was surprised by how brazenly the woman robbed the man after shooting him. It was followed quickly by the irateness that she had lost out on her score. “You’re just going to rob him?”

The woman smirked, approaching Karen, and to her surprise, handed over most of the valuables and money. “He’s already dead, ain’t he? What are the squirrels going to do with his cash?”

Karen glanced at the valuables offered to her. Well, she didn’t need much convincing. Karen pocketed the belongings, her fingertips brushing the woman’s palm as she delicately scooped them up. “I like your sensibility,” Karen said, returning the woman’s handkerchief. The woman glanced briefly over the blood now decorating the white cloth, folding it over and putting it away. A different pocket, Karen noted.

“What’s your name?” Karen asked.

The woman seemed to consider her answer for a moment, eyes roaming over Karen. Unlike the usual pair of eyes that would look her up and down, however, Karen didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable under the gaze. The usual slime was nowhere to be found in the woman’s eyes, and Karen almost felt the need to angle herself to present better, unlike her usual desire to turn away.

The woman finally answered, which was accompanied by a dramatic, sweeping bow, the woman holding her hat to her chest while her other hand went out, head bowing and feet crossing. “Jessie at your service, ma’am.”

“Jessie,” Karen repeated, mulling the name over and rolling it around on her tongue before cracking a grin. “My horseback angel.”

“The only angel is the one before me,” Jessie said, locking eyes as she delivered the compliment.

Heat rose in Karen’s cheeks, and her head turned away to avoid facing the flirtatious woman. “You talk silly.”

“Apologies, Miss, I guess I’m not right in the head,” Jessie said. Karen thought she heard disappointment tinting her words.

“It’s S’okay,” Karen said, feeling bad for her dismissal, “I’m only kidd’n.”

That seemed to lighten Jessie’s mood back up. She turned towards her horse, gesturing to it as she plopped her white hat back on her head. Her hair was ginger like Sean’s, Karen thought in the back of her head. “Would you care for a ride home? I doubt you’d like to walk out all alone after what happened.”

Karen glanced at the horse, then nodded. “Thank you, Miss Jessie. I would appreciate it if you could just bring me back to Valentine.” Hopefully, the others would be waiting for her, and hopefully without a lecture attached to the welcome committee.

Jessie nodded, stepping towards her horse and giving it a gentle pat on the neck as she took the reins. “This here’s, Baby. She looks like a brute, but she’s a kitten, really. Ain’tcha Baby?” Jessie cooed, rubbing her face into the horse’s neck, speaking to her horse like it really was a baby. “Yeah, you’re a good girl,” Jessie patted the horse once more before stepping back. She reached up to put a hand on the horse’s back, then held her other out to Karen. “She’s a big girl. Would you like some assistance up?”

Karen’s first instinct was to decline. She was sure she could manage mounting a horse quite fine, even with its size. Then she reconsidered, glancing at Jessie’s strong-looking outstretched hand. “If it ain’t much trouble.”

Turning towards the horse, Karen stretched her hands up to hold it’s back. She felt Jessie’s hands gently close around her waist, pushing with Karen’s pull. She could feel the warmth of Jessie’s hands seeping into her skin even over her skirt, and Karen’s face grew hot. Mounting the horse, Karen flipped over as she sat, her legs dangling off the side of Baby. She watched Jessie use the stirrups to get herself up, swinging a practiced leg over the gigantic horse. Few women wore pants, but it certainly seemed to make it easier for Jessie to ride. Karen leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Jessie with more contact than was necessary. Jessie grinned, taking up Baby’s reins with one more quick pat to the horse’s neck.

“I’ll deliver you quickly.”

“Oh, no need to rush on my account,” Karen said with a quick dismissal. “I’ve been stuck inside for ages,” Karen exclaimed. This is the most adventure I’ve had in a long time.” Karen empathized her words with a dramatic sigh, to which Jessie laughed.

“I couldn’t imagine, I’d go stir crazy being forced not to wander.” Then, as if testing the waters, Jessie added, “your husband keeps you in the house?”

Now it was Karen’s turn to laugh. “Who said anything about a husband? God forbid I ever get tied to a man.” Karen sighed, and without thought, her head came to rest against Jessie’s back. The woman’s leather jacket felt nice and cool against Karen’s bruised cheek. “Men only want your sex and for you to cook and clean for them…can’t tell if they’ll kiss you or hit you when drunk.

A long silence passed, the only noise being the gentle clip-clopping of Baby's hooves on the trail.

“Sounds like you’ve been hurt real bad before,” Jessie finally said. Quiet. Mournful.

“Life of a woman,” Karen said.

“Life of a woman,” Jessie agreed. Jessie’s hands tightened their grip on Baby’s reins, her knuckles turning white. “That’s why I became an outlaw. They throw you in jail for stand’n up for yourself. If the law won’t let me hold justice's weapon, then the law ain’t something I wanna follow.” Her voice was hard, and Karen pulled back, startled.

“You tell just anyone you’re an outlaw?”

Jessie glanced over her shoulder at Karen, a mischievous glint in her eyes and a smile. “I trust you.”

“You hardly know me.”

“The heart knows what the mind does not.”

Karen raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “Maybe you should become a poet instead of a gunslinger.

“I think most poets might find my usual speak’n a little too crude for their taste.”

Karen was silent. An Outlaw, huh? Karen leaned back, careful to keep her balance, as she looked past Jessie. No one was on the trail in front of her, and a glance back confirmed no one behind them either. Leaving just one hand on Jessie for balance, Karen pulled up her skirt. Jessie glanced back to see what was happening, but quickly averted her eyes when she saw the women digging her hand into her stockings.

Karen felt for the handle of the small knife she kept tucked away, then pulled it out. With a swift movement, she had the knife pressed to Jessie’s throat and her chest to her back. Jessie’s only reaction was a blink, as she continued to slowly ride Baby on the trail. “I think you trust too easy,” Karen murmured, tilting the knife so the sharp edge brushed Jessie’s skin. “I was robbing that man before he got the jump on me. Now i’m gonna rob you. Pull over.”

Baby kept trotting forward as if nothing was happening, and Jessie made no moves to pull up the reins or reach for her own weapon. Karen grit her teeth, pressing the knife harder to Jessie’s throat until it drew a thin scrape of blood that beaded on the glinting edge. “I said git to the side.”

The slow monument of Jessie’s hand caught Karen’s eye and her grip on the knife tightened. She made no move, however, even as Jessie’s hand closed around her own. She expected Jessie to take the knife from her, or maybe even throw her off the horse.

Jessie turned back to look at Karen. Karen swallowed a lump, staring into those grassy eyes, and wondering how they could be so inviting. Jessie didn’t do anything to her. She just held her hands over Karen’s until it became too uncomfortable for Karen to keep looking. She tried to pull her hand away, to take away the knife, but Jessie’s firm grip kept her pinned, kept the knife against her own throat.

“What are you doing?” Karen demanded to know, trying again to pull the knife away.

“Slit my throat. I trust you,” Jessie said simply. No trickery could be heard in her voice. No malice or even amusement. Just a simple ask.

Karen shook her head, averting her eyes. “I didn’t mean it.”

Jessie lifted Karen’s hand, licking the beads of blood off the knife before she finally released the other woman. “Why don’t you?”

“I just wanted to see what you would do.”

“You satisfied with the answer?”

Karen didn’t answer. She just replaced the knife into her skirts and lay her head back against Jessie.

“What’s your name?” Jessie asked.

“Karen.”

The rest of the ride back to Valentine was silent. As they trotted into town, Jessie jiggled her shoulder, making Karen lift her head. “Anywhere specific you want me to drop you off? The Hotel? Or Saloon?” Jessie asked.

Karen glanced around, noticing they were passing the train station. “Take me to the general store.” Hopefully, she could find the others still there. Jessie threaded them through the town, giving nods to people as she passed. Most didn’t give them more than a glance, but Karen could see the way a couple regarded them suspiciously. Or more so, Jessie, looking her clothes up and down. Jessie either didn’t notice or, more likely, just didn’t care. They neared the general store, Jessie getting closer to the side.

“Karen!” The named looked up, glancing around until she spotted Tilly flagging her down. Jessie pulled Baby to a stop as Tilly ran up to them, Karen sitting straight as she looked down at the other woman. “Where have you been? We were looking everywhere for you!” Tilly stopped, looking at Jessie. “Who’s this?”

Jessie lowered herself from Baby, nodding to Tilly. “I go by Kelly.”

Karen glanced at Jessie–Kelly?--as she turned to help Karen down. Jessie winked at Karen, and Karen decided she was still Jessie. As Karen’s feet got back on the ground, she noticed Mary-Beth joining the group. The two girls fawned over Karen as Jessie stood at her side, pointedly refusing to move out of the way and be subtly pushed out. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Karen said, shaking off the hands, patting her back, and settling on her arms. They seemed to take a great interest in the bruise on her face and Karne didn’t much like the way her lip stung when Mary-Beth dared to set her fingers on the cut.

Tilly pulled away, glancing around before calling, “Arthur! We found’er!”

Karen looked to see Arthur walking over, Uncle in tow. He stopped up short as he saw Jessie, shaking his head before walking the rest of the way. “I thought you were going to the Hotel?” Arthur said to Karen as he regarded her and her companion, his eyes snaking up to Baby behind them. “What happened to yer face?”

Karen shrugged. “I went succeeding in the trees for a change of pace.” She didn’t exactly want to devolve the entire story in the middle of town, and neither really would she like to tell it on the wagon ride home. “Kelly,” Karen said pointedly, glancing at the woman, “was generous enough to take me back.”

Jessie nodded, “Happy to help, Ma’am.”

“Well,” Arthur said, “thanks for bringing her back. We were worried about her.”

Jessie nodded once more before stepping into her stirrups, and mounting her horse. She leaned down, gesturing for Karen to get closer. Karen shuffled forward, looking up at Jessie whose body blocked the sun behind her, leaving a soft light that gave her edges an ethereal glow. Jessie outstretched her hand, which Karen took, expecting a handshake. Instead, Jessie drew her hand closer, leaning down to plant a kiss on the back of her hand, lingering there before looking at Karen. Karen felt her cheeks grow hot as she focused on the feeling of Jessie’s callouses brushing her skin.

“If you ever want to talk again, just leave a message at the post for me.”

Karen nodded in acknowledgment, and let her hand slip from Jessie’s as much as she didn’t want to.

Taking up the reins, Jessie steered Baby around the gathered group. “Oh, and I know a good bank that needs robb’n. If you’re interested,” Jessie added with a wink before tapping her spurs into Baby’s flank and trotting down the road.

“Bank robbing?” Mary-Beth said incredulously, looking at Karen.

“What did you tell that woman?” Tilly interjected, her hands going to her hips.

Karen rolled her eyes. “You’re sure being judgemental for a lot that claims to like the Outlaw life. God, I’ll tell you about it later, let's just get back to camp.”

#rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #red dead fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #writers #ao3 writer #original character #oc #oc x canon #karen jones

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