#rdr2 lore

[nashcigs]

arthur’s sa and bills reaction to it

this may be a little overzealous for a first post but who cares- one of the biggest complaints i see about bill williamson is his reaction to the stranger encounter in which arthur gets sa’d by sonny. i believe that many people misunderstand this scene and use it to pass judgement onto a complex and morally grey character- here’s why:

many people like to say that bill laughed at arthur for getting sa’d but this is just not true. based on how bill was speaking about the situation it seems like he was under the impression that what happened between sonny and arthur was consensual- i really don’t think for a second that bill wouldn’t have put a slug in sonny if he knew the full extent of the situation. bill was loyal to the gang and to arthur, i doubt he would have let something like that slide. next is his reaction to micah’s commeng about the girls in the camp being useless, micah makes a comment about forcing himself onto the women and bill responds “i’m sure you’ve tried” with obvious disdain. it just doesn’t make much sense how he’s react one way with arthur and another with micah who he is arguably closer with.

here are both clips, the first one being bill’s reaction to arthur and the second being bill’s reaction to micah.

i think a lot of bill’s mischaracterization stems from what he became in red dead redemption one. people focus on what he became rather than how he became who he was. i genuinely just get frustrated when i see people bring that up when anyone expresses any kind of fondness towards bill. then again, people usually hear something once then run with it so hopefully this can help some people understand where i’m coming from.

but yeah i hope you enjoyed reading lolol

[rockscanfly]

Cameo Prompt: How would it go if Lenny and Sean tried to talk Charles into teaching them how to use the bow and arrow?

From @noshirdalal, Charles Smith's voice actor. If you haven't checked out his cameo yet, please do! I've also got a running doc with links to and transcripts of Charles Smith-centric responses publicly available here.

Some highlights:

(On teaching Lenny to shoot)

All that to say, I think, um. Well first of all I think Charles would have patience in spades for Lenny(...) I can see Lenny asking really, really insightful questions and Charles being impressed and really enjoying teaching him. 

(on Charles and Lenny's relationship)

"Yeah, man. I don’t know why I made the decision that Charles cared so much about Lenny but even when—spoilers, for folks, if you watch this—when Lenny dies—which, because I had no lines, I did not know, I didn’t get a script so I didn’t know that that’s what happens in that moment—that really upset me. Both as Noshir the actor and as Charles(...) And, uh. I’m assuming it's still in the game—I hope it is—you’ll see Charles pause and then turn to check on Lenny before he keeps moving.  And if I’m not mistaken I actually got yelled at for it, because you know the animation team was like ‘no, the whole thing is that there’s chaos. Lenny goes down, the team has to move’. And I was told to do it again and not stop, and I did it.  I stopped again because I felt it was really important. Like Charles would never leave Lenny alone on a rooftop and not make sure he was dead.  That was really important to me. 

(on Charles' relationship with Sean)

I don’t say this often and I’m not sure I know the reason—I might explore it in just talking about it. I did not like Sean as Charles(...)Because he’s volatile. You just never know what he’s gonna do and I fucking hated that.  Because an element like that means you never know when your peace is gonna be disrupted(...) What I love about Mick Mellamphy is that Mick brought a real wild card danger to Sean. I don’t know how much of it came across in the game. He’s got an affable nature and like he’s easy to love but man when he turns he turns on a fucking dime.  And I remember in that moment as Sean kinda bared his teeth at Arthur, I reach back and just rested my hand on the butt of the shotgun, ‘cause I was gonna take Sean out. And then I think Mick has this wonderful turn where he holds attention and then he’s like ‘ah, I’m just kidding’ and kinda walks off.  And I’m like, as Charles, just like [releases breath]. And I watched Mick strut off and I just remember thinking, like, ‘I’ve gotta watch that motherfucker’.  Because Arthur was gonna give him too much grace. Just enough rope to get ‘em both hanged, you know. 

(on teaching Sean archery)

All that to say, if Charles for some insane reason decided to take Sean out into the woods and teach him how to use a bow and arrow. I think Sean would test Charles’ patience in a crazy way. ‘Cause Sean’s gonna joke and gab and you know be completely disrespectful of a thing that for Charles is not just a way of life but is hallowed, you know, is sacred. And I can totally see Charles, like giving Sean a thump and just stalking off—if he felt he could turn his back on Sean, I guess it would have to depend on how he left the situation. If Sean was laughing he’d be fine stalking away. If Sean got serious— I don’t know. Maybe only one of us walks out of there.

[fogaminghub]

🌟 Saddle up, gamers! Our newest blog post delves deep into "We Loved Once and True" from Red Dead Redemption 2! 🎮🐎 

Get all the tips you need for completing this heart-wrenching mission and securing that Gold Medal. From convincing the Chelonians to making a speedy reunion between Jamie and Mary, we’ve got you covered! 💔🌄

[burdock-root]

In a recent Reddit post, Noshir Dalal, the actor behind Charles Smith, reveals that he believes Charles is an avid reader.

He also shares some really sweet behind the scenes moments.

[dustandthought]

CHARLES’S MOTHER AND MICAH

Charles's reckless decision. Why it contradicts his own principles. Killing Micah as a way to end a years-long inner war.

We clearly see Charles trying to stop the Indians from going to war with the army in Chapter 6 — an army that will destroy what's left of Wapiti and their land either way.

We see his pacifist nature. And not just pacifism — we see a man who believes that if there’s a house full of people, and someone wants to take that house — it's better to save the people than protect the walls where no one will be left alive.

He’s thoughtful. He’s wise. He makes balanced decisions.

That’s the Charles we know in Chapter 6.

But suddenly, eight years later — when it comes to John, his family, and Micah — we see a completely different Charles.

He’s not just going to kill Micah. He’s pulling John into it.

There’s a moment when he tells him:

"We gotta do this."

If Sadie finds Micah — there’s no choice. You have to come too.

John objects:

"Abigail ain’t gonna like this."

But Charles insists:

"It’s the only way."

This is complete recklessness. And in this case? I’m completely on Abigail’s side.

Revenge is one thing. But now you have the life you fought for. Arthur gave his life so John could have a chance at something better — a quiet life with his family, away from all of this.

And even Sadie — the one obsessed with revenge — tells John:

"Your family comes first. I ain’t forcing you."

She’s reasonable, despite being the one who started the whole hunt for Micah. She’s the instigator, but she doesn’t pressure John.

But Charles does.

"It’s the only way."

So why does Charles act like this? Why does he lose his head?

He was always calm. He could restrain himself. He always chose the path of least destruction.

So why, fully aware of the risks, does he still insist on killing Micah? Without hesitation. Without doubt.

We know Charles as a balanced man. But inside him — there’s a storm. Especially when it comes to loss and personal pain.

Think of the mission with the bison. He kills a man instantly. No hesitation. Just reaction.

If you spare the second poacher — he’s angry with Arthur.

Charles is a deeply emotional person. He remembers everything. The kind to remember a kind word — or a cruel one — for decades.

I’m sure he’s the type to notice every detail, and possibly even hold grudges.

But this goes deeper.

We know Charles lost his mother at a young age. He doesn’t know what happened to her. Her fate is completely unknown.

And as players — we don’t know what happened to his father either.

Charles's voice actor — Noshir Dalal — once suggested:

"Maybe Charles killed his own father."

Maybe he knows more than we do — from scripts or background notes. But as someone who reads character psychology?

I don’t buy it.

Yes, Charles has killed. He has shown brutality. But killing his own father? That doesn’t track.

Example: Arthur brings one of the legendary animals back to camp. Charles smiles and says:

"My father said those used to be around, but he never saw one this big."

He says it smiling.

A man who killed his own father wouldn’t talk like that. Not without bitterness. Not with detachment.

He remembers his father warmly — you can tell. And that happened more than once.

Let’s be honest: A man who killed his father wouldn’t casually bring him up in a warm, friendly conversation.

We don’t learn a lot about him. But we learn enough — Charles still remembers his father with lightness, warmth, a sense of memory.

But when it comes to his mother — it’s a different story.

She vanished. He knows nothing about what happened.

I’m sure he tried to find her. Did everything he could. But he was a child. He couldn’t do anything.

Maybe he left his father and tried to search. Maybe the father didn’t help — maybe he was drunk, cruel, uncaring. Whatever happened — he was left with a wound that never healed.

A sense of loss. Powerlessness to change the past.

He would want to know who took her. He would want to get revenge. He would want any information. A clue.

But all he got was silence. Emptiness.

That’s why he’s always doing something. He’s always busy. He can’t rest.

If he’s not doing something useful —

he feels like he’s failing.

It’s not about work ethic. It’s atonement. It’s how he tries to balance the scales.

Later, he finds a kind of family in the Van der Linde gang. He sees those people as close. Arthur — a friend. John — almost a brother.

But it all falls apart.

And he suffers. For eight years. He tells Uncle he’s been drifting — and thinking.

Thinking about everything that happened.

When he came back — it was too late. Arthur was gone. The gang was gone.

He missed it all. He couldn’t change anything.

And suddenly he learns: It was all Micah’s fault.

Now he has a choice: Leave it be — or get revenge.

But it’s not just about Micah. Not just about Arthur. Not even just about John.

It’s about everything.

His mother. The emptiness. The helplessness. The years of unresolved grief.

For the first time — he knows who’s to blame. For the first time — he can fight back. He can END IT.

Yes — he puts John and Abigail’s peaceful life at risk. He risks everything they’ve built together. He risks John’s life —

That Jack loses his father, That Abigail loses her husband, That they lose everything they tried to build together.

It’s wrong. I don’t defend it.

But I understand why he did it.

Charles avenged his mother. As absurd as it may sound — deep inside, I truly believe that’s what it felt like to him.

He struck back at the silence, the loss, the endless unknown.

He finally got to direct all that pain toward something real.

Call it trauma logic — but sometimes, one wound gets pushed out by another. Sometimes, pain finds closure in the most unexpected way.

[freeasthewesternbreeze]

If people didn’t bother writing the stories and characters that were in their head down, we wouldn’t have our favorite fandoms now.

All characters were OC’s at one point. Give yourself some damn credit and write the damn thing. Draw the damn thing. CREATE THE DAMN THING.

Without the courage of being able to share and be vulnerable, we miss out on so many beautiful stories and characters. You might be the next person to create the next big fandom.

CREATE AND DON’T BE AFRAID TO SHARE THAT CREATION.

[brotheroncelost]

hehe hii so i made another rdr oc,,, this is paddy he's colm's brother

he doesn't have a lot of lore. yet.... but i figure colm had another brother and thas paddy he didn't really ever wanna be an outlaw but when colms killed annabel he was basically like "you can run with me or you can fend for yourself" so paddy made the gang wit him... im thinking he hates dutch as colm does but it's moreso for the reason that his brother was killed, instead of colms reason being he just likes fighting with the dude.. but he's silly ain't he!!!

[baleful-blurbs]

we have : more rdr oc content. I love josephine so much it's actually a clinical diagnosis. ( arthur suffers from it too. )

[wrylu]

gunslingerstuff

[rosesvineyard]

Bill and his rascal kid, Giulia-Jane.

without the speech bubble!!:

RAAHHHH she's Bill's and Javier's kid btw!! willscuella nation how do we feel??

[yandereunsolved]

What If van der Linde gang misinterpret situation

With siren reader and her kid :

"I've been waiting si long for them to come out the shell " to reader have waited for the kid to come out the womb alone

" My kid doesn't have other parent " To her baby daddy is a piece of shit need to be shot at when they see him

" I know how to take care of my child this is how we do that back in my place " To reader doesn't want to trouble other and carry the raising kid part alone

Side note : Hosea would love to teach sire reader kid's reading and stuff but just as you said kid just grow slow (kinda Klee from gi) so the gang must also think kid have disabilities too, poor kid

Oh, yes. They would misinterpret the situation. Whether out of good intentions or delusion.

Even if siren reader is very adamant about not getting help in raising their kid. They still will.

And siren child would grow slow out of the water. They would most likely be in more pain because they are young and should naturally be in the water for their formative years. Not to mention siren brains/genetics/instincts are fundamentally different than humans.

So the gang would most likely assume something is wrong with the child. Especially when they focus more on trying to attack and bite people.

Young Sirens are taught by their elders how to catch prey and siphon off souls. Young Sirens are mostly instinctually based, which is why their elders have to guide them until they are in the place in their growth process where they begin to critically think.

Human babies are defenseless. Young sirens are NOT. They are purposefully over aggressive and territorial to anything not siren-esque.

Which is kind of interesting. Because the young siren sees Jack as one of their own, despite him being a human. So as long as siren reader teaches their child to be careful with Jack. Jack is gonna have a non-bio sibling to play with.

So the yanderes best watch themselves. Young siren(s) is/are incredibly protective of their parents and elders.

Siren reader's child also likes to nom on John. Why? They like how his soul tastes. So he just wakes up in the middle of the night to find this feral gremlin of a child nom-ing on him. And then he wonders why he feels so weak the next day.

[synthwavecryptid]

We’re coming up fast on spooky month, which means I’m back on my western monster au bullshit. Have some sketchy werewolves with a shitty t pose Dutch for scale

I’ve been going off about it on the side twitter (sinningcryptid) but I’ll try to cross post the new lore bits here too. mental illness and disability are kicking my ass, sorry again for art drought 🥲

[fogaminghub]

🚀 What secrets lie within the shadows of Compson's Stead? Join us in our newest blog post as we explore the side quest The Iniquities of History from Red Dead Redemption 2! Help Jeremiah uncover his lost possessions and confront his dark past. 🌌

[burningbouquets]

gaaaahhhh rdr2 oc lore

[burdock-root]

John Marston, 1899 / 1911

[whoyacallinyellow]

Borrowed Time hurt me a lot omg- Now I offer you even more angst.

It's sad that Javier became the very thing in 1911 that he swore to destroy (working as a hitman for a tyrant government) but it would be even sadder if (as a part 2 ig of borrowed time) Javier and his love meet again but this time, he was there to arrest her and bring her to town to hang.

Borrowed Time II

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR1-2 events Content: 18+, low honor Javier, angst, betrayal, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: I-II changed to second pov (wc - 4133) / pc: pinterest a/n: i can feel this request in my veins, so here’s my mediocre yapping! live, laugh, angst 

Summary: Following the events of Beaver Hollow and your departure, Javier falls into work with Allende. After your reunion he reflects on his time with you, to only turn you in by nightfall. 

It was a warm day in New Austin, the orange rays blanketing the barren dirt landscape, and not a cloud in the sky. Javier only imagined finding himself wandering these lands again, but yet he returned on what seemed to be borrowed time.

A few years had passed since he last saw you at Beaver Hollow. The man could not bear to show his face, the embarrassment of being wrong about Dutch was an ego check it say the very least. 

Yet your note lived in the far corner of his mind, a small cabin just north of MacFarlane's Ranch from his understanding. 

It did not take the man long to find it, local cowpokes cowered at the sight of the large Mexican outlaw sitting upon an even larger steed, interrogating them about a maiden. It was almost as if the best pieces of you resembled him, immediately reminding the folk of who it was he was searching for. 

Boaz grunted against Javier’s spurs, digging deep into the loose red dirt below. The sunbeams which crept through the dry pine trees created quite the atmosphere, allowing Javier to get lost in his head, even if it were just for a few moments of bliss. 

Despite the directions given to him, Javier hoped you had moved on after all these years, fled somewhere safer, started a new life, perhaps changed your name as well. Somewhere he would never find you. 

Boaz continued to race down the winding path, feeding Javier’s anticipation against the warm breeze. As it gusted past the side of his head, loose strands from his tied hair tickled his ears, merely reminding the man how badly he needed a haircut. 

The starving grass which bordered West Elizabeth held a yellow tinge, the land rolled and waved, flourishing with birds and wildlife. Javier reckoned he has not been to the area before, but you were not lying about how appealing it was— a perfect home for you two. 

Upon whipping around the corner, abruptly revealed a small cabin with songbirds singing to him in the trees. The place was quiet, cozy, and seemingly inhabited, with small smoke stacks exhausting from the brick chimney. 

Bringing Boaz to a halt, there was no sign of you— but sure enough a big black cloud skulked in the nearby pen, following you wherever you wandered like a burden. 

Javier stiffly slid off Boaz, his knees nearly giving out from under him as his boots crunched onto the dirt. The beast was grazing on hay as he approached the fence post 

After whistling and calling your shire a few times, Javier was promptly ignored, perhaps the slow and ominous brute heard the man call him el diablo one too many times. 

He was still a strong believer the only reason the horse broke for you was out of pity— you looked like a child struggling to climb him every endeavor. Maybe the beast had a soft spot for you, just like himself. 

But now the old shire was relieved from his saddle, serenading in the New Austin sun, not bothered to obey the envious man’s command. 

Javier leaned against the corral post, admiring what he could have had with you, the thought of being a family man loomed over his shoulders and displayed no signs of leaving. 

You and Javier ran together prior to joining Dutch, less for money and more for survival. Your past crimes covered bounty boards and train stations as a permanent reminder, never forgetting the wrongs that were written. That price only increased once Mexico inevitably caught wind of all the messy jobs in neighboring lands. 

He drowned and you sank with him, the price of his sins were bricks added to your back. Being his accessory, the government saw you as a pawn, smart and knowledgeable, if caught— Javier would come for you, and they would be ready for him. 

Those days were nearly from another lifetime. 

Now under Allende’s ruling fist, he offered him a twisted plea deal of sorts; protection at the cost of something the man held more dearly than life itself—you. Your capture was not about the money nor status, but simply a test of his loyalty to Allende; if Javier did this job, he’d do anything. 

The poor man’s convoluted loyalty never got him far, proving time and time again, leading him only to dead ends and false hopes. Charismatic attributes and big promises was something Javier foolishly gave everything to with a blind eye, something you always warned him about.  

“Javier?—“ 

Your voice could have made him leap out of his own skin. As he hesitantly turned towards you, his gut twisted into something mean. You were beautiful as ever, after all these years you waited for him— just like you promised. 

“Never thought I’d see you again, especially in the west.” You spoke again in disbelief, rag wiping your hands clean of a job he should have been doing. 

Your voice only lived in his memories, hearing it again nearly whipped Javier back into shape, feeling sick for your puppy love he desperately relied on so long ago. 

“Home sweet home.” The man swallowed dryly, throwing his arms out awkwardly and gesturing towards the open lands around you both. 

Before his thoughts could catch up to the moment, you ran to embrace him, flinging yourself into his arms with a long awaited kiss. Javier grunted softly against your lips, staggering back to support you, the extra attention only reminding him how saddle sore he really was.  

Just for a moment things felt normal, a feeling he was searching for since you split. He had a place in this cruel world once again, everywhere had a price on his head, no place to retreat to besides you— you were home. 

Perhaps he could head tail between his legs back to Allende, saying you disappeared. 

Maybe he could take you to Canada, or a tropical island— oh, anywhere but Guarma. 

We must leave,

Javier’s unsaid words pricked beneath his skin, prodding relentlessly at his deepest desires for redemption. 

“Oh—amor.” 

Was all the man could choke out, the words exiting pitiful and weak, a near cry for help you assumed was just your bittersweet reunion. 

Leaning away you smiled coyly at him, admiring your lost cowboy;

Your time apart was not easy on Javier, his hardened stare and the chip on his shoulder now set in stone. 

The constant blazing sun of Mexico, along with surviving off rationed canned beans really took a toll on the man. His face was dull and lacking the usual pigment he wore so handsomely when Mr. Pearson cooked for everyone. 

Javier’s newfound demeanor only put emphasis on his sharp brows peeking from under his bowler cap brim, residing above dark cunning eyes, ready to match any cowpuncher who dared challenge him. 

Over Javier’s shoulder was where his mount rested, hoove digging into the dirt at the end of the cabin’s path. 

“—and Boaz?” You began after a shared silence, slowly approaching the overworked horse. 

“Still kickin’.” He uttered gently, a large hand scratching the back of his neck. 

Boaz never really liked you, or anyone besides Javier that is. It wasn’t until the gang hunkered down in Colter for the stubborn bastard to take a liking to you. 

The weather and unpredictable circumstances was not easy on the gang, including the horses, causing rations to be small among the mounts. 

You always carried treats in your satchel to gain Boaz’s affection, and your efforts would eventually succeed in Colter. You would secretly slip him sugar cubes every time you left the shack, he must have appreciated the extra attention. Javier barely recognized Boaz trotting up to him in the snow, you mounted on top wearing a proud grin. 

You wore a similar grin now, full of satisfaction and pride that he returned to you— with warmth flowing through him, his heart rapidly thumped in his ears, all the pent up feelings for you were reopening like floodgates. 

“What’a nice feller, huh.” You cooed to the mount after a slow approach. 

Showing no distress Boaz allowed your kind pats and rubs. Tenderly nudging you, the horse’s chops tried sneaking its way into your pockets, searching for the snacks you usually held after a long journey. 

“Ai, fácil!” 

Javier exclaimed, quickly guiding Boaz’s large snout away, the loving gestures nearly toppling you over. 

“Guess I’m glad he still remembers me.” You beamed, tipping your hat lower to shield yourself from the beating sun. 

“Or perhaps your donations, amor.” Javier quipped softly, his eyes wandering meekly. 

Something besides time passing seemed different about him, you could not quite pinpoint it. Javier was always a timid man at first when it came to his lover, maybe your time apart presented this old side of him. 

You knelt slightly, peeking under his sunken head which hung towards the ground. 

“Javier? You don’t look so good.” 

Your soft words managed to dig their way through his ringing ears, the man squinted his eyes tightly before swiping his lids with rough fingers. 

“Uh— maybe you oughta sit for a bit, I think you’re overdressed for this heat.” 

Your words broke through once again, giving a small tug on his poncho, his disoriented vision cluttered with black floating spots as you guided towards the porch. 

As his vision continued to warp, the cabin doubled and skewed while you put him in the shade. 

Javier knew you were speaking, your voice fading in and out irreguarly, piercing his ears every so often. 

The words felt like they were being consumed by the ocean, his head bobbed up and down as if he were drowning. All he could think about was Dutch’s screams over the storm and waves, as he was about to be consumed by the large void. 

But Dutch snagged him before being swept away, yanking him upon the tiny rowboat that threatened to tip from the added stress. Javier’s senses were waterlogged, rejecting the mean salty water from his lungs. As he gasped for air; the only thing he thought of was you. 

“S��alright, son, You’re not dying today!” Was the first thing he heard. He faded in and out of consciousness as Dutch beat the sea water out of him, his ribcage rattling under each and every smack. 

Javier sometimes wonders if Dutch should have just let him die, abandon him and allow the dark waters to engulf him whole, repaying his sins to his maker. Maybe his death would free you of your burdens. 

He felt like his time had withered before Dutch had saved him anyways. Being a prisoner in Guarma is what convinced him that he would never make it back to you, sealing the deal. Your previous words borrowed time scratched at his skin again, yearning to be acknowledged. 

“Ah well, I knew you’d come crawling back, you’re here for a reason.” You would always say to him after a particularly dangerous run with the gang. He would dismiss you with a mumble and a kiss, but always knew he was lucky to be alive as more of his brothers began to fall. 

Sometimes he would catch you talking to a disgruntled Arthur as he packed his horse. 

Upon inquiring about your words, Arthur being a somewhat vague man would shortly grumble; 

“Jus’ focus on the job, and returnin’ to your woman, Javier.” 

—and he always did. Javier knew you did not worry about him much, at least outwardly. But he did notice Arthur’s presence whenever trouble presented itself. 

~

“Javier— some water.” 

Your words along with a canteen dangled in front of him, the prior hallucination of a watery grave was almost enough to empty his stomach. 

Javier stared back towards your shire lounging in his corral, his mind once again wandering back to the life he could have had with you. 

In the midst of his tunneling vision, a lean coyote lingered through his gaze, stalking towards him, icy eyes sending daggers into his before diminishing. 

“Javier. Say something.” Your words were now much clearer to him, breaking through his consciousness, the ringing disappeared from his mind fog. 

“‘M alright.” He muttered, spitting out the bitter taste from his mouth. 

“I reckon you oughta take it easy, being an old man n’ all now.”

Javier frowned at you and blinked a couple times, jaw agape, processing the pun you made at his dismay. 

“Ha— so sorry, chica, ‘suppose I’m no longer the young buck you remember.” 

He replied sarcastically, his voice both bold and hoarse as he raised back to his feet, every step whining for rest. 

“Ride with me?” Javier suddenly asked as if nothing happened. It took you by surprise, he had just arrived after all. 

“Alright.” You obliged shortly after a pause. “Let me grab my belt.” You continued, motioning towards the missing holsters on your frame. 

“No need.” He cut you off quickly, his voice leaving traces of urgency. 

“Boaz is packed.” 

You eyed him up, watching the man shutter under your antagonizing gaze, how he hoped you were not suspicious of his intentions after all this time. But rightfully so, the man was yellow-bellied. 

But you had no reason not to trust him. 

You were not exactly sure where Javier was taking you, but for now his company was enough to keep you satisfied. The ride was eerily quiet, even for his standards, being a man of few words. 

After riding a little down south he brought you to a small mountain that overlooked Mexico. He perched you both on a small flat area, just in time for the sun to sink below the land. 

Javier stared over the horizon, he never really did think about how big the south was, yet how small he felt in comparison. A glimmer caught onto his peripheral, turning towards the shine was the pendent he had given you, when you both first started running with the gang. 

The feeling presented itself again, feeling so small in the world— you were the home he had been searching for since the gang's fallout. It was always you. 

He sank into his memories, a vessel of his former self was all that remained. 

You two were quite away from your newly shared camp, with all the members and leads, the moments you had alone became quite sparse. 

“What do you think, Javi?” Your sudden presence caught him off guard. 

“The gang?—“ he pondered your words, leaning against a shady oak. 

“I suppose they’re family for now, señorita. We’re much safer, and they’re good to us.” Javier replied, a hand brushing over the stubble on his jaw. You smiled gently with a nod, making your uneasiness all too obvious. 

“It’s just temporary, amor, once we have the money to get on our feet— it’ll be the two of us again.” He reassured, a polite arm sliding around your waist. 

Javier remembers the look in your eye, doubtful and full of sorrow, but you still trusted him, knowing he would never lead you astray. The same he thought about Dutch.  

Repositioning himself behind you, he dug a necklace from his pocket, draping it over your chest and clasping it. You fidgeted in surprise against his movements, gazing down at the beautiful silver pendant that glistened off the very same sun. Before you could say a word he planted a kiss on your lips, gentle and quick before mounting Boaz. 

“I promise!” 

He called out. After blowing a kiss to you, he was off to assist the gang. He didn’t have much money at the time, but Javier always knew how to make things work—

Oh how naive of him— bright eyed and lovesick, he wanted to make a woman out of you, settle down. That is, before Dutch’s plan captivated him. Which ultimately led to this mess, but who is he kidding, he never really had a chance anyways. 

Javier thought back with immense regret, wishing he was more romantic with you in a way, officially making you his chica earlier on, instead of prolonging it due to the possibility of death. He always feared that courting would further your heartbreak if something bad were to happen. 

It was his own unaddressed way to cope with the harsh reality of survival and being an outlaw, he always prioritized your safety over intimacy until joining the gang. When he looks back on it, your shared time at Horseshoe Overlook and Clemons Point were some of the best times of his life. 

Around that time of riding with the gang was when your relationship with him really began to evolve. The potential competition of other men drove Javier and his intimacy up a wall— his usual gentle lips ghosting over yours turned into small nips, and purple blotches he would mark on your neck late at night. A tight palm covering your mouth which muffled the moans of his name, words the man would kill to hear in such an uncaged manner. He entertained no confusion of who you belonged to; even if he did not make things official until that night at the lake.  

Javier had nearly forgotten the sun had already set, and he somehow had no recollection of it. He looked down at you, only in a thin shirt as you gazed longingly off the mountain side.

The final sunset you shared was simply a ticking clock for him. 

“Cold?” He whispered, words he could barely choke out. 

“A little.” You replied, big doe-like eyes staring up at him, holding so much love for the man. Love he was not sure he ever deserved. 

Forcing his gaze away quickly he arose, soles of his feet vibrating and pulsing with each step. After approaching Boaz his shaking hands freed his bedroll clasps, attention locked upon his rifle poking out of the saddle. 

His head spun, finally digging himself out of his trance. After returning to you, he draped the cloth over you coyly. 

“You okay?” You suddenly asked, your hush voice startling him, he sighed in despair. 

The words you said to him at Beaver Hollow replayed through his mind,

Leave with me. Let’s run away. 

But he could not get them out, his chest quivered under the constraint of his uneven breaths. 

“Course.” He managed to form the word, you nodded in contentment, fresh air filling your nose. 

His response would have to do for now, you decided to cut him some slack since he returned to you, after all. 

By now you knew him well enough. Some nights he would stay up and collect his thoughts before laying beside you. You always respected his space, he had his demons, like everyone else. Soon enough in your slumber  you would feel his protective arms drape around you, his steady breaths hitting the nape of your neck, tense body encapsulating yours— those were the nights you felt the safest, and knew he was going to manage just fine. 

Other nights Javier would stay up while you were by your lonesome. He always feared something would kill the both of you while asleep, reluctantly you agreed. But the man always let you rest, you needed it more, that is for putting up with him all day round. 

Your memories swam with always being coaxed to sleep, eventually giving into the soft lulls he would sing. A wordless agreement that there was no point for the both of you to be cranky and tired in the morning. 

—But there he sat, only to turn into the monster he swore to protect you from. 

“I love you, Javier.” 

Your words racked his brain, digging and clawing invasively into each one of his bones. Javier thought he imagined them until he looked over to find you staring this entire time. You knew there was something seriously wrong, but surely he would tell you within due time. 

Javier’s voice was lost, swallowing suppressed sobs down his dry throat, he nearly felt like he was drowning once again in the frame he called a body. 

Just like the days he would not say it back while pursuing a lead, with doubts he would not make it back to your arms— but he always did, it was the least he could do. It felt like lifetimes ago to him, how could the man choke out a te amo before sending you in? 

Instead, he planted a kiss on your soft lips, lingering there for a moment, knowing it would be your last. 

Looming below in the shadows, trailing to the border resided monsters he used to protect you from— two Mexican soldiers camped out by the tracks. Their lanterns flickering softly in the distance, patiently waiting for the man to arrive at the agreed meeting spot. 

Javier shivered, feeling like a young boy again. His eyes fixated on the stock of his rifle that Boaz held. 

Your breaths became shallow, harmonizing with the warm night’s breeze as you fell into a slumber. You trusted Javier’s judgment on setting up camp or heading home, you perhaps allowed yourself to get a little too comfortable. 

It all happened so fast for him, and there was no going back. Javier’s mind blurred as he rode, Boaz fussing and fighting under his control. His very own horse feared the  monster he had become, maybe poor Boaz thought he was Javier’s next victim. 

He rode fast— but not fast enough to flee from himself. 

A coyote lurked around the darkness, gazing at Javier from behind the two Mexican soldiers who taunted him, puffing on their big cigars from Uncle Sam.  

The coyote disappeared as Javier reached for his revolver, patiently waiting for the man to shoot him— but he never did. 

The soldier simply laughed, knowing Javier’s bark had no bite. While under Allende’s power, he was simply a coward a soldier would not even match out of pity.  

Soon enough the two men fled into the night, banter that could be heard a mile away through the ravines. Anyone could have mistaken them for sick hyenas. 

He could hear their stallions riding hard in triumph, with a new prize Javier held so close for many years, he watched the soldiers grow smaller and smaller over the uneven land until the darkness swallowed them whole, taking a piece of him along. 

The nighttimes ahead would find Javier in a one horse town saloon, nodding off more times than he could remember. His glass turned from full to empty until his vision doubled. 

Javier was not sure how many days had passed, the whiskey dulling his mind and senses, but the thoughts still ate him alive. 

Did you think he would come for you? Or would you be envious, spilling everything you could before meeting the gallows. 

Javier hid in his palms, knowing he got it all wrong— it should have been him. 

It did not take too long for the man to get kicked out from the saloon due to his drunken stupor, not even the bartender wanted his dirty money. 

Javier took Boaz to what he thought was east, the coyote returned to accompany him, lurking around on the monotone forest floors he traveled. 

The night breeze made Javier reminisce of the times at camp, the very same breeze that whipped through your hair as you would drag him off somewhere secluded, your mischievous grin reflecting off the summer night's moon as you snuck off into the bushes. 

You gave everything to each other— all for nothing it seems.

Javier sank lower into himself before eventually staggering off Boaz. It only took him a few unsteady steps to empty his bowels on the dirt path, elbows hoisting him up on his shaky bent knees. 

Peeking out from his jacket cuff was a scar he once wore proudly on his wrist. A scar he earned in some honky tonk town just because another man looked at you wrong. The mere thought of it worsened his nausea.  

All signs pointed to you, and you were gone because of reasons he barely understood himself— He feared he didn’t know what loyalty was anymore. Or what he stood for in fact. 

Your blind love killed you in the end, and it was his cross to bear. 

The sky was dark and dull, which was just as familiar as a bottle and a glass. Not a single star in the sky greeted him, leaving him to fester alone. 

The wind howled violently through the trees, causing the leaves to rustle and sway. A northern was quickly sneaking upon the lands of New Austin. 

His lone coyote joined him on a distant cliffside, coat black as sin, mocking the cowboy who lingered below. 

~