johnpriceslamb

[johnpriceslamb]

!!!!!!! OMGIE

kieran and his girly girlfriend headcannons 𐙚

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: possible inaccuracies from the game & time period .. hyperfem!reader .. makeup .. pretty dresses .. reader has hair long enough to style .. sweet n curious kieran .. this is written in lowercase, sorry im lazy :(

@johnpriceslamb <- i love her rdr writings please check it out!

kieran loves watching you do your makeup— he’s so entranced by your beauty regime. you’re so beautiful he could watch you for hours.

“so what does that do?” he said watches with a giddy smile, his eyes glazed over in a trance. “this is to make your skin smooth.. here, try some!” you grin, picking some up on your finger and dotting it on his face.

“what’re ya doinnn’?” he giggles, the cold cream nice against his warm skin. “now, rub it in.” and he does as instructed, his calloused hands rubbing his skin. “this tingles..” he says, eyebrows furrowed. “just means it’s working.” definitely not from the toxic chemicals!

and watching you do your hair! whether it’s pinning it up or curling it with your iron.. he just is obsessed.

“ain’t that gonna burn your hair off?” he expresses with worry. “it’s been cooling for a bit, it’ll be fine.” your finger taps against the metal that was heating up over a fire a while ago. kieran flinches as you do, worried you’ll burn yourself. but when you don’t he calms. you wrap your hair with the iron, holding it for a few seconds and pulling it out, your hair now falling into a pretty curl.

kieran was delighted, you were getting more and more magnificent. you could see his eyes light up. you smile mischievously. “how about i curl your hair?” you squeeze the clamp, making it clack. kieran leans back. “oh no thank you.” he says nervously and it makes you giggle. “you think i can use it on branwen?” he asks genuinely and you look over at him. you think for a moment. “hm.. if you wanna.” you smile sweetly.

he loves seeing you dress up. your dresses colored with spring colors and florals.

“Y/N… you look.. you look real purdy.” he stammers nervously. you blush at his sweet compliment. “why thank you, kieran.” your fan flutters with the flick of your wrist. you sure were a sight for his sore eyes. (okay i’m so sorry i did NOT mean to um.. allude to the whole… no eyes thing.. apology video coming soon)

he always gifts you things he thinks you like. from flowers to jewelry, you’re always on his mind.

“i saw this and thought you’d like it.” he still gets so flustered when talking to you, no matter how long you’ve been dating. “oh, kieran,” your heart melts and you wrap your arms around him. “thank you.” you whisper against his neck and he gets SO red and flushed.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

to kieran you were the most perfect thing on the planet. so purdy and sweet, an angel fell down from heaven and landed right in his arms.

[johnpriceslamb]

teeny hyperfem reader drabble don’t mind me >.<

Childe wud be absolutely ecstatic over a hyperfem dollie … just scratches that itch in his brain to nurture and protect such a sweet darling babie, despite if you’re capable enough to protect yourself from harm.

He adores watching you dress up in such frilly little outfits that he bought for you.. loves how it accentuates your princess-like figure — no no, you are a princess, forgive him.. Asks you to twirl so he could see the whole outfit, might flash a cheeky comment here or there. Oh oh, and how he loves the lace, frills, pearls, bows, anything dainty and nimble which accessorised your bomb of a pink outfit. Pink pink pink, it’s just everywhere. Did he mind? absolutely not.

Don’t forget that little cherry on top! your sickeningly sweet doe eyes. Flash him that look- the one were your lashes flutter slowly, glossy lips expanding, sweet eyes glistening from the light- and he’ll crumple onto his knees, the sheer thigh highs you adorned in his vision, smooching your thigh as if you were the prettiest of princess of all… which, you are!

[johnpriceslamb]

HIHIHI!! love your writing! just wondering if your agere stuff is sfw? + if it’s okay for minors to interact ♡ that’s all, thank youuu!!!

HAI !!!! yis, m agere stuff is STRICTLY sfw >.< m totally okie wif minors interacting wif da sfw works, but m super iffy when dey like m nsfw shtuff ;.; plz du not touch dat read more button if ur under 18 I BEG :’c

[johnpriceslamb]

❤︎₊ ⊹ GASP ! OH NYO ! His partner ingested some weird looking mushrooms and has turned into a bunny-girl !

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ⋆ female ! reader ⋆ hyper-feminine ! reader ⋆ bunny girl ! reader ⋆ close proximity ⋆ reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars ⋆ poorly google translates spanish >.> javi is SUPER FREAKY LOL ⋆ not proof read nor edited ⋆ wrd count/1.2k

arthur morgan . john marston . javier escuella . charles smith x fem ! reader (sep)

❤︎₊ ⊹ ARTHUR MORGAN

“..How.. How the hell did this even manage to happen?”

Your ears droop on your head at his incredulous tone, puffy bottom lip slightly jutting out as your nimble hands fiddle with the sleeve of your frilly dress. A bit of support would be nice considering the state you’re in right now. But hell, he didn’t even have much experience with rabbits other than knowing which part of their body was durable when hunting.

His frown softens immediately at your meekness. He can’t deny it, you were utterly cute with your long cotton ears and little fur-ball of a tail from behind. Not to say that you weren’t cute before, but to adorn features from a sweet animal made you look even.. more adorable.

He can’t help the audible sigh that emits out of his throat before tiredly spreading his arms out to you, “Oh c’mere, sweet thing. Come to papa.”

His vision is immediately engulfed with your pointy ears, and the urge to just pet you stands strong. The temptation grows much stronger when he looks behind your tiny shoulder and sees your teensy cottonball of a tail wiggling delightfully at his warm embrace. He lets out a breathed hitch when your cheek rubs against his chest with a needy sniff, andddd.. His hand goes right on top of your head and scratches your head before gently running his calloused fingers around those sensitive, fluffy ears of yours.

“Theres a good girl.” He drawls out with that southern tinge of his, rubbing his hand against your back in a comforting manner to ease out those nerves of yours. His eyes dart over towards a scarf of yours which was lying on the wooden oak table he had next to his cot. With a small idea in mind, he holds a firm hand on your back and grabs the scarf. Your teeny head squished between his chest.

He ties the pink fabric around your head, hiding your long ears from the vision, though he can’t help the slight disappointment.

“Oughta wear this ‘til this,” He gestures to the prominent features, “— Is gone. Know it ain’t the most comfortable, but y’gotta make do with what you have. Y’hear me, girl?”

You nod at your partners firm words, cuddling closer to him with a small sniff. You don’t notice the fondness in his hooded eyes, the slight tightness in his arms as he holds you close to him.

“…Real cute.” He mumbles lowly, toying with your tail.

“Wut?”

❤︎₊ ⊹ JOHN MARSTON

“Heh. This some sorta new getup among the younger generation?” He snorts, hands lazily fiddling with your fluffy ears as you sit next to him closely on the log, miserable.

“…Oh. Uh.” When he realises it is in fact real, his hand freezes.

“..I mean, well.. Y’know, ‘least it suits you.” He tries to reassure you, pulling you closer by draping an arm around your dainty shoulder and scooting you next to his lean figure. Your plump lip quivers, before leaning against him for comfort. His fingers still caress your lovely long ears with a low grunt. Despite his initial two seconds of shock, he’s rolling with it. You were still.. well, you. You didn’t seem sick or cursed, he’s been through enough chaos and mishaps to really.. care about it.

“You’re not helping.” You bluntly reply, only for him to snort and murmur out a sheepish apology.

You were really squishy-looking too. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but.. just the urge to.. fit you in his palm and squeeze you really blows up inside of him. He stares at you for a few seconds or so before pinching your cherub cheek.

“Hey!” You huff, trying to wiggle away. With your squirming, his arms immediately wrap around your small waist and pull you against him, not ever wanting to let you go. You settle down soon enough when you notice that he would not budge at all.

“Y’know what? I might just collar you ‘n’ feed you some lil baby carrots f’ your lil self,” He lets out a chuckle as he lets his imagination run wild, “Hell, maybe even a cage f’you to sleep in.” He lets out a raspy bark of laughter when your foot thumps the ground out of irritation from his cruel words. You’ve just turned into some helpless creature and this is the help you get?!

“You are so mean, y’know that?” You puff out your cheeks with a little hmph, crossing your arms in front of your chest before turning around and avoiding eye contact with your partner. In return, he peppers kisses on your chubby cheek, holding you oh-so tightly!

“‘m sorry, my sweets. Can’t help it, yer just so.. cute.” A right laughter escapes his lips when your foot thumps against his leg as a sign of anger. Oh, he’s gonna have a real fun time teasing and poking you.

❤︎₊ ⊹ JAVIER ESCUELLA

The smirk on his face says it all.

You almost want to smack that cheeky smile off his face, staring at him warily with beady eyes which glistened lightly from the tears you cried out when you realised your unfortunate situation. With a defiant humph, you cross your arms and look away from him. Your ears raise as a sign of anger.

He was smiling while you were in a grumpy mood!

“Awe, mi amor.” The smirk softens on his face when he realises how upset you were, gently pulling you into his warm arms before delicately rubbing your long fluffy ears, “No need to be upset. Just a.. mm.. little mishap, eh?”

“…mmm.” You could never stay that mad at him. You reluctantly cuddle against his body with a sniff, long ears drooping. His hand comes to lightly tug at your floofball of a tail, pinching and twirling the small tuff of fur potruding through the small hole you made in your lacy skirt. He lets out a low hum of thought, wondering how sensitive it was if he were to tug on it firmly. With his impulsive thoughts in mind, his calloused fingers intertwine through the soft fur and pulls it back just slightly, earning a sweet whine from your throat.

“Lo siento,” He lets out a breathy apology against your ear, watching it twitch at the sensitivity. He softly kisses the base of your rabbit features, a smile faintly etched on his face when he sees that little tuff of fur wiggling at the back in delight. Javier was a curious man, he couldn’t help but notice and explore, questioning and doing. When his question of how sensitive your features were is answered with a ‘very so’, twisted thoughts occur through his head. How would it feel to tug on her ears back, watching those doe eyes tear up from the delicacy of your furry ears, or to grab onto them like handle bars and—

He clears his throat, before a boyish smile is seen on his features. A hand comes down to clamp your behind to push you closer to his warm body.

“You know, rabbits do tend to breed all year round..” He murmurs into your ear, watching it flicker again with a little chuckle. You can see his eyes glance down below your upper-torso for a moment before looking back at you again. You’re pretty sure he was envisioning your little self swollen with kins. Your cheeks heat up at his flirty words, before puffing your cheeks out and raising your teeny hand to pinch his cheek.

He lets out a whine in response, “Ow, ow! Hey, I was just joking!”

“Your cuddling privileges are revoked.”

He lets out a gasp of offence, “How could you?”

❤︎₊ ⊹ CHARLES SMITH

“..Oh my.”

Were the words he first uttered when he saw your situation. Thankfully for you, he was probably one of the only members in the gang who knew a thing or two about rabbits and their natural instincts and habits.

He lifts a hand to his chin, rubbing it in contemplation as his dark eyes gaze down at your sweet little self multiple times to assess how serious this was.

“You’re not hurt are you?” He asks with a tone of concern. You shake your head meekly and you see his shoulders becoming less stiff at your answer. While you aren’t hurt physically, you just can’t help but feel.. embarrassed with your situation. He lets out a low hum, arms slowly crossing in front of his chest as he looks at you with a soft glare. An instinct to nurture you and take care of you.

“Hm.. Do you remember how this happened?”

“..I ate some mushrooms Pearson cut up f’ me and put in my soup,” You explained. He looks a bit taken aback when he realised just how strange it was to just magically get rabbit ears from eating mushrooms.

“…I see.” He responds, before lightly taking your hand in his to lead you somewhere to sit.

A few moments pass which indulged in traversing to a log, you watch his hand carefully peel a carrot with a knife. Your tail happily wiggles when he offers a slice to you, watching your nimble fingers take the thin peel of the carrot skin and nibble the peel with your two front teeth. A ghost of a smile is curved lightly as he watches you nibble the peel. It was really cute.

His eyes gaze at your bunny features before looking down again. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, thus pushing down the urge to pet you. He slices the long vegetable into many pieces, before offering you the circular shaped veggies. You happily take it from his hands and nibble it, not before you offered him a slice, to which he declined with a soft shake to his head.

“Not for me, dear. All for you.” He softly says, rubbing your head with a warm hand, avoiding your ears. He knew how sensitive those long pair of fluff could be. You look at him with glistening doe eyes before munching the little snacks he gave you.

He smiles fondly at his dearly beloved being fed. He has to admit, you were very cute.

[johnpriceslamb]

I LOVE UR STORIES 🫶🫶🫶

n i wuv UUUUUUUU !!! (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

[johnpriceslamb]

Happy birthday !!!! Wishing you a wonderful day and a great birthday 🎂 😘🎉🥳🎊🎈🎁 love you queen ❤️❤️💓💕💕😳😳 so glad to have met you in this community!!! 🫶

- @red-doll-face 💕💓❤️

OMGIEEE !! 💗 tank u suu much for ur pwrettiest wordz EVA! i luv u much more hehehe m soooo glad i stumbled upon ur fics they r an actual DIE FOR UGHHHH

[johnpriceslamb]

happy birfday 2 miiiii

[johnpriceslamb]

— 𝓕𝓔𝓑𝓡𝓤𝓐𝓡𝓨

Soft murmurings of gossip rises within the Van Der Linde gang about the close relationship of the enforcer and the ex-noble.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 : age gap . fem ! reader . afab ! reader . hyper feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than chars mentioned in story . reader is in early 20’s . arthur is in late 20’s - early 30’s . crybbie reader snifle . traditional gender stereotypes heavily mentioned . tis short chapter ^_____^

The sun casts is warm rays across the expanse of the campsite, shrouding the trees in a soft glow. The soft murmurs of the people amongst the camp blends with the rustling of leaves and a gentle breeze carries the scent of a strange concoction of multiple animal meat and vegetables boiled down into a stew.

It’s been a week since you’ve stayed with the Van Der Linde gang.

You heave a bucket load of laundry onto the curve of your hip before sauntering to the place with a thick line roped around two trees which conveniently is placed where sun shines the most. The luxury you experienced back in ‘Denis was something you wish you never missed but the ultimate reality comes to clunk you gently on the head. Never hardly, because you couldn’t ever do harsh. The epitome of softness, you are.

Your feet ache from the weeks load of walking and helping with chores but alas, you could not just sit down and sniffle about your incident involving the man who lead the carriage to Chicago. You ponder at the thought if your father was still waiting for you, almost bouncing on his feet once he tells the boy he found as a partner for you to get on his knee and serve that dainty little ring on your left hand.

You tighten your grip on the wet fabric your hands enclosed on before spreading out the clothing on the line and clipped the ends with it with two half-broken pegs.

You’d rather be cooped up in a gang filled with outlaws than be married off to a man who could not even wash himself properly. You remember begging Dutch a day ago or so on your knees, dirtying your sweet little dress in the process, hands clasped together tightly as you cried out for him to let you stay.

He had a soft spot for pretty girls, and an even more softer spot for girls who keened at him like a needy puppy.

His warm hand combs through your hair as you sniffled upon his lap, beady eyes coming to stare at him through glossy tears. Your long lashes fluttered at the slight irritation, and the leader of the gang watches those fat globes of tears run down your cherub-like cheek.

From then on, you’ve received the embarrassingly sweet title of ‘Princess’. Suited for you. A pretty noble. Spoiled.

You knew life which held privilege unlike most of the camp members here. You pitied the people who told stories about their experiences of living around the campfire, noting yourself to bring a handkerchief for the next campfire session. A sense of envy was evident around the girls you slept next to, understandably so. However, they loved you like a sister, teasingly taunting you with your sweetest nickname as you giggle shyly at their prodding.

You shake your head lightly, lower lip lightly poking out at your distracting thoughts before finishing up with the laundry.

A soft crunch of leaves under a pair of boots, matched with a soft jingle of spurs to pair up with the evident way the loyal enforcer of the gang creeps up to you with a lazy stance. Your smile is light as you turn yourself to face him.

“Hey, princess.” Him too? Thats… Great.

Your cheeks feel warm at that silly title, “Good morning, Arthur.”

He takes the empty basket from you and you feel your heart soften just a bit at his kind gesture. Each time you look at him, you feel a slight spark between you both.

“Grimshaw been keepin’ you busy?” He looks at the long line of clothes, before that slightly boyish grin etches on his mature face.

You sigh, fiddling with your delicate cuffs, “Undeniably so. The soles of my feet ache from the amount of chores I do.” Now you understand why the maids from your manor would lightly stretch their legs before working around the interior.

He looks at you with concern, “Y’alright? Y’need anythin’?”

You shake your head politely, walking beside him slowly. “No, but thank you for your service.”

He looks down at your petite figure. You barely reached his shoulder, “Hm. If y’need anythin’, just call f’ me.” A hand comes to gently guide the small part of your back to avoid any sticks or sharp edges on the forest grounds.

“I.. I appreciate your kindness a lot.”

And he looks at you again. A shy smile.

“Any time.”

You walk with him across camp to place the basket with the other woven stacked baskets. Then, he turns towards you with a sheepish expression.

“‘M uh, ‘m gonna be ridin’ with the guys in a few minutes. I’ll be goin’ to town..” He clears his throat, “Anythin’ you want me to get f’ you?” His eyes dart to the simple little necklace you wore. He looks at your face again quickly.

You feel your cheeks becoming warm again, before shyly looking around, “Oh! Um.. I-.. Please, don’t waste your money on me.”

“It ain’t wastin’ if its ‘bout you.” He states.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

You ponder. Perhaps a proper needle and thread to sow that stubborn little hole which keeps falling apart no matter the needle you used. It’s that damn thread you have to work with, which is probably older than Hosea himself.

“If you could just buy a small amount of thread for me, that would be lovely. If you can’t find any, I don’t mind at all.”

“Right got it. Jus’ some thread? Don—”

The bellowing voice of that lanky late teen whom you remembered his name was John comes huffing out. Wheat between his mouth, and a furrowed look on his scruffy long face, “Arthur! Stop talkin’ to your girlfriend ‘n come on! We’re all waitin’ for you.”

“Pipe down, Marston. Gimme a sec,” Arthur grumbles lowly, before his hands come to hold onto his heavy belt around his waist. You almost hiss at the sound of that new title coming out of his mouth, feeling your insides burning up from fluster.

“A-Alright. I’ll see you then?” He asks, almost shyly.

You wave at him as he backs up to leave, “Bye, please travel safely.”

He nods his head before sauntering off. You watch him saddle up on that beautiful mare of his that he proudly called Boadicea and rode off with the rest of the men to rob.. Or something. You’re not really sure what they do, turning a blind eye and kept on with the chores among the campsite.

A slight nudge is felt by your side, you yelped at the sudden appearances of the other girls when you turned your head around. Karen stands beside you with a slight smirk.

“What in the world was that?” Tilly pipes up, looking at you with a smile adorning her delicate features.

You look around and peer at a tree, glancing at the ground to see multiple footprints. With that in mind, you realised the three girls were all stalking you and Arthur’s conversation.

Stammering, you pat your hands down your dress and cross your arms in front of your chest, swaying side to side and looking away to avoid eye contact with any of them. They giggle at the fact that your cheeks turn into a darker colour, “I— What do you mean?”

“Bye, please travel safely~” Karen mimics you, her pitch much higher than before with a slight drawl of poshness added to it to make you even more flustered.

“Thats not funny!” You hiss at them, before they all erupt with laughter you’ve never been acquainted to. Warm, sweet, and most importantly..

Comforting.

Your nimble hands fiddle with the ends of your frilled-tipped dress. A week since you’ve been gone from home, and won’t return until then. A week. You’ve used up all of your delicate fabrics, picky about wearing the same clothing everyday. They may call you prissy and overly prim for it, but you would quite literally rather die than be cooped up in clothes which stick to your skin from sweat and body odour from not showering nor changing.

Thus, the frequent fussing of your laundry. You’ve ought to buy another dress or so with the pocket money you stored in one of the thin pockets of your dress. Until then, you’ll have to deal with the feeling of your palms becoming more wrinkly from the many times you’ve dipped it in water.

Your thoughts are disrupted when Marybeth sits quite close to you, a shy demeanour etched within her figure. Sheepish, almost.

“Hi, princess.” She greets you with a light smile.

You smile back, feeling comfortable around the woman. She shared similar thoughts with you upon any topic you sigh about, and the same adoration for romance novels.

“Hello, Marybeth. Can I help you with anything?” You greet back, delicate hands placed on your lap.

She lightens up immediately, softly stumbling on her words, “Oh! R-right, I was just wonderin’.. well.. er,”

“—Lemme start from the beginning.” She searches for something behind her, which was stored with the other girls stuff. She grabs a book, flipping to a few pages before showing you an illustrated picture of what seemed to be the main character in the novel she held onto.

“‘S called.. Lorna Doone by RD Blackmore! A story between two star-crossed lovers.. That woman,” She points to the picture with her thin finger, “Shes the love interest of this man here,” She flips to a page of the illustration of the man.

“The man’s father was a farmer who got murdered by this clan called the Doones. Actually, if I recall.. The Doones were actually nobles but turned to outlaws. ‘N guess what? He falls in love with her, who turns out to be in this clan!” She explains with excitement, holding the novel close to her chest with a dreamy sigh.

You flutter your precious lashes a few times, before giggling lightly at her enthusiasm, unconsciously telling her to keep going with her ramblings with a light nod.

She then adds, “Right, look.. I know this is a bit silly of me to ask but..” She shyly looks at you with an upturned smile, “Could y’ maybe.. put a bit of makeup on my face? Y’know, to match with her looks?” She gestures to the illustration of Lorna drawn onto the page.

“I reaaaally admire her, ‘n’.. You get the jist right?”

You light up. Of course, shes seen you put a light bit of makeup on your face sometimes just to feel a bit prettier and pass time. In fact, you were wearing a little bit right now!

“Hmm..” You look at the picture, before glancing back at her.

“I can do that.”

“Oh!” She cheers, pulling you into a tight hug, “Thank you, princess. You’re the best!”

You giggle again at her soft squeals, before hugging the girl back with the same intensity. You saunter away for a bit to grab your small pouch of makeup products. Once you come back, you perch yourself on your knees in front of her form and politely asks her to close her eyes.

She does so immediately, watching her lashes flutter down and meet her cheeks.

You grab your small tin of home-made cream, screwing the lid off and using your finger nail to whip a dollop and gently place it on her freckle-kissed skin with a sweet hum. Your fingers rub into her face until the cream disappears and forms a very thin barrier of blurring any pores on her face.

You peer at the illustration again for a bit. It wasn’t difficult to replicate. Lorna’s lips were so prettily placed with a red stained lipstick, and her cheeks blossom touched with blush.

Your fingers clasp onto another small container, this time filled with powder grounded from rice. You’ve heard that some cosmetic manufacturing stores sold powders with arsenic and lead which drastically reduced safety in women’s skin, but in a magazine you’ve read, some women used grounded up rice powder to hide any blemishes on their skin.

With the lightest dip of a cushion, you apply the fine-rice powder onto her skin.

She hums at the smell, peaking at your nimble hand which was encased with a little cushion, “Smells kinda nice.”

“Hm.. Kinda does,” You mumble in response, lightly smiling at her pretty complexion. Finally, you reach for a thin bottle of lipstick, rubbing the tip first to get rid of the previous use you had for it and applying it with another finger, before gently dapping it on her thin lips.

Finally, you move on to the final step. Blush!

Grabbing your last makeup product from your little pouch, you use the same cushion you used for your powder, but on the other side. You dip it into the pink substance before applying it on the apples of her cheeks.

Once you were finished and packed your supplies back into your little bag, you excitedly show her face with your little floral emblemed pocket mirror, “Tada!”

She fawns over herself, lightly touching her skin. Your little tinkering and handiworks has made her feelings for her beauty burst into stars of light.

“Not much of a difference, but I applied a bit more blush on your cheeks to emphasise it. At the end of the day, y’can just wash your face with some warm water ‘n’ a bar of clean soap.” You mention, before she nods.

“Thank you, princess! Why, I ought to show the other girls!” She happily smiles, before hitching her magenta skirt lightly and tittering off to find the other ladies her new look. Her excitement bounces off the lonesome camp, but it feels like it’s bustling with energy from the other women around. A much different place when the men were gone.

“Well I’ll be,” That southern drawl catches your attention as the man you were closest to amongst this group approaches from behind. You turn, smile drawn onto your demure features as you stand up from your spot and saunter closer.

“Looks like you ‘n Marybeth were having a good time.” He crosses his arms and relies on the soles of his feet to keep him standing, peering at you.

“When did you arrive?” You question, sizing him up and down a few times to see if he sustained any injuries.

“Just a few moments ago.” You didn’t even hear the sounds of Boadicea’s footsteps clacking on the rough grounds. Just how skilled was he when it came to horseback?

Then, he reaches to his pocket and grabs the thread you asked for. You lightly gasp and profusely thanked him.

Your hands enclasped around his and picked the string from his palm.

His heart flutters lightly at the quick touch, breath hitching in his chest as he takes a step back.

“I can finally sow that little pest of a hole in my dress now! Thank you, Arthur. I really appreciate it.”

He grunts, clearing his throat before looking away. “‘S all good.”

You place it in one of your pockets, “How can I repay you?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He gently chimes, the rim of his hat tipped lightly down. You puff your cheeks at his nonchalantness, trying to poke and prod at him to waver a bit on repaying him. But of course, he stood firm on his decision and doesn’t budge.

“..Please?” Cue your big beady eyes staring up at him.

“M-m.”

“…Why not.”

“Cuz it don’t matter. ‘S just string.”

“But.. it must’ve been a bit expensive.”

“Princess. ‘S string.”

“Please.”

“Nope.”

“Arthur!” You whine lightly.

“Princess.” He hums in response, before placing his hand on your waist and guiding you to where food is served in a large pot.

“C’mon, lets eat.” Somehow, you forget everything he’s said because of how gently he treated you.

From the other side of camp…

Tilly, Marybeth with her newly applied makeup- smudged a bit from unconsciously itching her face, and a Karen watches the two. Javier— curiously grouping with them.

“…Chicas, what are we staring at?”

“Shhh. We’re lookin’ at plot development.”

[johnpriceslamb]

guiz m tellin u da next chapter for opposite attracts s gunna make ur heart die wif FLUFF

[johnpriceslamb]

papa arthur tearing when his chubbiest of de chub bbie girl utters her first words as ‘dada’ (╥﹏╥)

[johnpriceslamb]

— 𝓙𝓐𝓝𝓤𝓐𝓡𝓨

You are to be wedded by the end of the year. Upon travelling, you’re met with a group of pesky bandits.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 : age gap . fem ! reader . afab ! reader . hyper feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than chars mentioned in story . reader is in early 20’s . arthur is in late 20’s - early 30’s . fighting scenes . gore . traditional gender stereotypes heavily mentioned .

At the end of the year, you’ll be married off to a man.

Someone strong, handsome, clever, and gentle in heart. You hope.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for a woman.”

Your corset is tightened by your nanny from behind. The tightness of it makes your breath hitch slightly, hands curling up unconsciously.

In the late winters of 1892, the rolling plains of Lemoyne were no match for nobility. You were dragged along by daddy who was on a grand tour in the west, despite not being keen on the idea. He insisted on seeing the rails and trains he invested in, so you didn’t have much of a choice other than to tag along.

She ushers you to stand up so she could fit the petticoat around your hips. The bands of the voluptuous under-skirt were stretched, allowing you to titter in the large hole and shape your figure again. You’re thankful that it’s a lightweight cotton fabric, considering that all the other layers you adorned added a bit more unnecessary weight to your small frame. Then comes the underskirt, adding another layer of volume and structure.

“If a man stares at you, avoid direct eye contact by using the fan your grandmother has gifted you.” She instructs, remembering the lessons your governess taught you. Her frail hands place the soft, silk evening bodice over your tightened corset. A beautiful little thing which accentuated your curves even more so, kissed with ribbons and flares below the piece.

The burning wood which crackled near the fireplace left a smell around the changing room which you longed for. You’ll be leaving in just a few more minutes, having to face the harsh winter storms outside. You wonder to yourself if the amount of beauty products delicately touched on your face was really worth it, considering that the weather outside will most likely dishevel it. And of course, you’ll be spending most of the day travelling by carriage.

Finally, the skirt. The main part of your outfit. Nanny brushes off the remaining particles on the skirt with her wrinkled hands. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful little thing, pleated with satin which ended with small bows. She repeats the steps like for the other underskirts, stretching the band, allowing you to step in, and lifting it up to shape your figure.

Upon the stool you sat, you squirm uncomfortably because of the amount of layers you had to wear. She notices, and kisses her tongue.

“A woman should not squirm uncontrollably in their seat.” She hisses, lightly tapping your hands with a ruler as a way to discipline you. “Repeat what I have said.”

A sigh escapes your tinted lips. You hold out your hands.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for women,” You repeat, “I must not stare back at a man and avoid direct eye contact.”

“Why must you not stare back at a man?” She asks.

You hesitate. The ruler comes down to your skin and places a stinging kiss. You hiss at the pain.

“B-because—” Another hit.

“No stuttering.”

You take a shaky breath, enduring the soft whimper which begs to escape from the bottom of your throat, “Because returning a man’s gaze could interpret as an invitation or a sign of interest.”

“What must you do if they stare?”

“Avoid eye contact by using my grandmothers’ fan.”

“Good.” She nods her head in approval. You place your hands neatly on your lap, looking down to avoid eye contact.

You’re ready to leave as soon as she ties the delicate satin bonnet on your head, ensuring that your face is covered with enough shade provided by the head piece. With the helping hands of the maids in daddy’s manor, all of your luggage was carried to the boot of the carriage. You bid your goodbyes to a few of your selected favourite maids, lightly kissing their cheeks before tittering away.

As soon as you walked outside, you knew that the cold winters of ‘92 would affect you much more than you’d expect. Suddenly, you appreciate the amount of layers you adorned. You could hardly feel the cold winds blowing even if you stuck your head outside the carriage’s openings.

The old man who drives the carriage around hops out of that tall seat in front to open the door and lend a hand for you to enter in. Upon entering in, you can see that there was a small lit candle; your only source of warmth.

You feel really glad for all of the layers.

You vaguely remember daddy boasting about all of the railroads built all over this part of America. ‘The Central Union Railroad’, a camp made up by working men who were in charge of building all railroads— daddy owned that camp. Some parts of you feel grateful for being raised in wealth and comfort, while the remaining parts felt guilty for seeing others having to slave away just to get ends meet.

You’re not convinced that all the men in that camp were capable of working. You’ve seen a good litter of youths labouring here and there. You pitied them greatly but alas: you were a woman. The most you could do was provide them more food rations and safety gear.

But as time slowly passed by, you’ve noticed the laws overseeing the amount of child labour happening in businesses. Daddy wasn’t too happy seeing a slight decline of workers in his company, nevertheless it did make your lips curl up a bit.

You’re not particularly interested in watching the railroads daddy invests and funded in, only because your thoughts immediately go back to the amount of workers that barely get payed to slave away in building these roads.

On the other hand, it was also how you’re able to sleep in a large manor everyday.

The roads slowly turned more bumpy and rough when leaving Lemoyne territory. You’re quite surprised that your carriage hasn’t been robbed considering the amount of warnings of raiders being littered across this part of territory. Your beady eyes boredly peer out of the windows of the carriage, watching the distant white-tipped evergreen trees pass by.

There wasn’t much to do other than watch nature unfold or perhaps pester the driver. You’d rather the former since you don’t even know the drivers name.

You can still feel the stings from that stupid ruler your nanny punished you with. They catch onto the fabric, which makes you twitch a bit at the abrupt pain. The more bumpier the road was, the more it caught on.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve left home. If you remembered correctly, you’d be arriving to a town somewhere in Chicago. You peak out to the driver up front, politely asking him what the time was. You left during the early hours of the morning, and you could see the sun rise much more.

His warm, honey-dew tipped voice replies back with a frail ‘9 in the morning’. Just a few more hours until they reach to Chicago. Maybe even another day is to be filled with travelling.

You can’t help but sigh, “Could we take a break and rest somewhere in a few hours time?”

The old man hums, “We may, if that is what you wish.”

You smile sweetly. Of course, being told no was quite foreign to you. “Thank you kindly.”

You rest back onto the velvety cushions, heaving out another deep sigh. You look out of the openings again, and for the first time in a few months you lay eyes upon a long stretch of natural snowy land. It’s a vast difference between the usual scenery you’d see back in Lemoyne. There was no puffs of dark grey smoke in the sky, the heavy scent of engines and oil running wasn’t to be smelt, the bellowing of officers directing a crowd, no city life around.

Sometimes you’d see a few run-down stables with a few animals. Other times you’d just see landmarks with just the never-ending cold covering in it. On one occasion around noon, you saw a dead animal with its bones protruding out. Your nose scrunches up at the sight before looking away to the other opening of the carriage. Not much of a difference in scenery.

You tinker your lashes out of boredom, now playing with the satin-tipped bows on your bodice. The travel becomes much slower and difficult because of the amount of snow which catches onto the wheels of the carriage. It’s excruciatingly difficult to be entertained in these types of situations, considering that you left your novels back at home. You scoot back to the front seat of the carriage, peaking out to the man who lead the vehicle.

“May we please take a stop over there?” You ask with a shy smile, gesturing towards the small town from afar. You wonder if there’s any pastry stores nearby. The last time you ate was a few hours ago, a bowl of porridge and a few thin slices of bread. The man acknowledges your polite request with a gruff.

There’s been a bit of a food problem because of the cold winter, more snow meant less crops being able to grow and lesser animals being produced. You’ve been stuck on porridge and bread for a while now, and you’re hoping that it’ll change.

Once the driver stopped near the town, you’re greeted with the wind yet again. You unconsciously curl inward to protect yourself from the cold, peering at the people who lived in this little area. It’s humble, isolated, quiet.

Cold. Too cold.

You take a few steps, the bottoms of your shoes caked with snow. The man beside you takes ahold of your arm in case of any danger which falls upon you. He coughs a bit when the air hits his lungs. You pity him, asking if he needed a hot cup of tea or anything of the sorts to get him to warm up again.

His old eyes light up at the mention of tea.

“You mustn’t fret over me, my lady.” He whispers lowly.

“I insist.”

He takes a slow breath before sighing. “ If you must.”

Another pause to take a deep breath, “Your attitude is nothing like your father’s.”

You quirk a brow, “Pardon?”

He grabs onto your arm for support, mindlessly dawdling. “It’s a shame that you’ll be married off soon. When you see potential candidates during this trip, take a look at his attributes rather than his looks.”

What?

You tilt your head, “I thought this trip was a tour around the West.”

He grunts slightly, flinching a bit. “Perhaps I’ve spoken too much.”

Before you utter out another word of disbelief, you’re met with a click of a gun.

“Another step from either one of ye’,” A hoarse voice from behind grumbles like a predator, “One of yer head’s gon’ be rollin’.”

You’ve never been in situations like these before. Your nerves are getting to you. A soft sob escapes from your mouth as the tip of the gun threatens to puncture the back of your head. Your hands are immediately up in defence, beady eyes staring back at the frail man who could not do anything but mimic your actions.

You croak, “Please, sir. We don’t have anything valuable for you—”

Many more of them pop up. As if a litter of ants come and pour, the man behind scoffs before kicking your knees to buckle and kneel on the floor.

“Bullshit,” He snarls, “Look at what yer wearing. Pretty lil’ thing like ye’ ought to have somethin’ hidin’ under that skirt of yers.”

“What do we do with this one, boss?” One of them knocks the nozzle of his gun into the old man’s head. An old wail of pain escapes him, and your eyes water even more as you helplessly look around.

“Get rid of ‘em.”

“Wait, please! Don’t harm him! He hasn’t done anything wrong!” You sob, trying to reach out for him— only to be held back by these bandits, “No- stop, stop!”

The man who holds you back cackles, mocking your high-pitched pleas and sobs. The old man is knocked out with another blow to the head with the end of the bandit’s gun. You could see the back of his head starting to bleed.

“I’m telling you, a pretty girl like ‘er would sell real well in the markets.”

“How much do you think we could make?”

Another tug on your bodice gets you to raggedly gasp. Before your eyes peer to the Heavens above and beg for mercy, bullets from afar ring past and alert the others. You can hear gallops of multiple horses coming your way, and a heap of other outlaws.

“Shit, ‘s the Van Der Linde Gang!” The leader of the group- who currently holds you captive in his arms, yells at his group to gun them down. A bullet zooms past and catches onto his shoulder which allows you wiggle away and squirm to hide.

With the remaining strength you had, you drag the driver’s unconscious body with you and behind a barrel. He’s cold, everything is cold, you’re cold.

He’s dead.

The impact of the gun’s end must of cracked his skull. Tears pour down your beauty-tinted face, mustering up quiet prayers for him. Bullets are the only thing you can hear, accompanied with loud bellows and curses.

You have never in your life witnessed anything like this before.

You peak from the barrel, watching the man who gunned your driver down drops dead to the floor from one bullet which hits his head. Another array of shots are fired, and soon enough the litter of bandits are all gone.

Your ears perk when you hear them converse lowly, “Who the hell were those guys?”

“I don’t know, son. John, you ‘n Bill find supplies ‘round this town. Rob, steal, or be law abiding citizens— I don’t care. Just get as much as you can.”

You stifle a soft sob at the rowdiness. The man who was recently talking hears your soft whimper, before sauntering over to where you were located and crouched down in front of you.

“Arthur,” He seems to be calling for one of his men. He looks like he was born from wealth like you were. His clothes are tinted with jewellery and his vest looked like red velvet fur, “Come over here ‘n escort this girl!”

He lends you a hand. He sees the hesitation in those eyes of yours which lead him to a more softer approach.

When his eyes focus onto your face, he squints. He sizes you up and down quickly, the clothing you adorned clearly catching his attention. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Your small hands are held firmly by his as he hoists you up. Burdened with trauma and shock, you could only hear him murmur soft words of encouragement. You see a younger man strolling towards him, only for him to blink in surprise when seeing you.

There was something about him which sparked your interest greatly.

He scratches at his light stubble, barely visible yet. His breath seemed to hitch at the first sight of you.

“Can she talk?”

The other man who holds you closely scoffs, “‘Course she can. She’s just shocked.”

“Huh. Okay. What do we do with her?”

The man looks at you, “Hm. What’s your name, miss?”

You sniffle a bit, shakily replying with a meek babble of your name.

“Lovely to meet you, my dear. Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde.” He squeezes your shoulder a bit, “Where were you last heading to before.. all of this?”

“Ch— Chicago,” You stutter, either from the cold or from the scene which unfolded beneath your very eyes.

“Damn.. That’s a long way away.” The man who eyed you with interest mumbles, not taking his kind eyes away from you.

You stare back of course.

Some sort of spark in you flared up.

He could feel it too.

“We ought to take her back to camp. She doesn’t seem like she’s in good condition.” Dutch makes you step forward out to Arthur, who grabs you and hoists you in his arms and to his horse, a soft grumble of annoyance escaping his lips, before murmuring a low ‘up you go, girl.’

“When she’s settled enough, we’ll ride ‘er to Chicago. We’re headin’ north aren’t we?”

“Indeed we are.”

“Not much of a problem, then.”

You needily paw at him before he could settle you on the large saddle of his horse, “W-wait but my luggages..”

He quirks a brow at you, “What about it?”

You meekly look around, stammering. “I need it. ‘s— ‘s important, I just—”

He cuts you off, “Where is it?”

You gesture to the carriage from afar. You watch his built figure stroll down thataway to retrieve them. You’re still surprised that the bandits from earlier didn’t manage to spot it. But nevertheless, you profusely thanked him before he left to go grab it from the boot.

You watch Dutch’s other men grab your old driver’s body and sling it on the back of their horse, probably to bury it somewhere. You deeply thank them in your mind, only for a chuckle to interrupt your thoughts.

“The boy’s smitten, Hosea! Look at ‘im,” The man who found you nudged an older looking man’s shoulder, pointing to his bulky figure which held onto your absurdly large luggages, “Never did that with any of the other men we saved. Didn’t even protest when I said that we’re bringing her back to camp.”

Dutch titters to you with that beautiful stallion of his. You couldn’t help but envy at how gorgeous that mane was. You remember back home your horses were used for training and educating rather than for show. “You’ll be staying with us for a while until we can get you on your feet again.”

You slowly nod, sniffling a bit. You rub your arms for comfort, hoping that they won’t do anything funny to you, “Th—thank you..”

Hosea— if you recalled, only looked at you with eyes as warm as the fireplace back home. He pitied you too, but in a sense that wasn’t belittling like how Dutch pitied you.

Arthur grunts as he heaves the luggages on the back of his horse, securing it with some rope to not make it fall. He mounts from the left and settles behind you, before kicking his spurs gently which makes his horse start walking in a slow pace.

A comforting hand is placed on your shoulder. He leans in a bit and murmurs, “You’re safe with us.”

You wonder if your family would condemn you for riding with a man you're not acquainted with.

You also wonder if they'd punish you by ostracism if they caught you riding with a group of outlaws.

The loud thunks of the horse's feet galloping through the snow was a sound you've heard before but not from this close. Usually, you're situated in a carriage with a dim light and windows, and then the horse at the front. You could listen to the soft tittering of the horses from inside. When you're walking down the street with your brother, you could also hear the horses gaits on carriages pass by.

The thick, southern drawl of an accent is also another thing you can hear. A vast difference between the usual whisper of educated, middle class accents within the streets. The men who rescued you are quietly conversing between one another. You're curious, but you feel as though your eyes will close as soon as you try to bother.

The young outlaw behind you catches onto your sleepy behaviour, a low wisp of that southern drawl is heard yet again but far more closely.

"Y'alright, miss?"

You stiffen a quiet sniffle. You want to go back home. But then again, you're glad that you aren't back home. You miss the feeling of comfort, the soft yet creaky beds, the dim chandelier which radiated such a warm light. A rush of emotion comes over your demure figure, and you can't help that sniffle which is emits through the cold air.

You don't answer. The silence is what confirmed his question. Your sniffles, more-so.

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder, before gently pulling your form back to his broad chest. A quiet sign that you were welcome to take a little rest on him for the rest of the ride.

You sniffle once more, before a murmur of a little 'thank you' is etched out of your dry throat. You flutter those long lashes of yours shut, before taking a snooze on him.

[johnpriceslamb]

ummm gaiz rdr2 men wif a bunny girl or kitty girl CHOOSE

[johnpriceslamb]

nikto n his kitty girl >>_< ur tail wraps around his throat n squeezes it as he makes u bounce on his throbbing cock, a groaning mess as u choke him which make his cock harder inside ur teeny kitty insides ^.^

[johnpriceslamb]

hai if arthur morgan owned a puppy girl hybrid he’d buy a pink collar with the words “ property of arthur morgan “ inscribed into it >_<

[johnpriceslamb]

if u have time u shud totally do a hyperfem reader n arthur thing where reader asks to dance wit him !! (pretty please ฅ^·ﻌ·^ฅ!!)

“Arthur?”

“Mhm?” Night time. The stars blanket the sky like an earthy wave of light. The stars light up the atmosphere of the camp, but the bustling thrive of the people among the gang lighten it up more. A party has been held for the arrival of Sean. You seek out the man you fawned over who sits upon a crate far from the celebration.

You’re shy. Of course you are. A brooding man, the biggest of them all who tears his enemies alive with his bare hands. You’ve heard of the recent saloon fight he’d gotten into, leaving the man who towered over him with brain damage.

Yet here he was, talking to you as if you were his baby.

You shyly fidget with your hands, the sleeves of your simple frilled dress covering your knuckles. You feel yourself swoon when he stares down at you. Despite being situated on a crate, he still towered over you like it was nothing.

You take a soft breath, long lashes tinkering at the sight of him before exhaling a deep breath.

“Will.. Will you dance with me..?” You ask, tone tainted with the sweetest taste of sugar and the most softest of them all.

His eyes almost droop at the sound of your voice, softening his gaze at your appearance. The bottle in his hand is placed down onto the grass below, as he puts a hand on his knee and pushes himself up with a low grunt, before taking one step forward to you.

“Ain’t the most.. graceful, darlin’.” He takes your hand in his. He seems quite pleased at how soft your skin was compared to his, and he squeezes it lightly.

You almost burst when he pulls you closer, “‘S okay, I’m still learning too.”

“Mhm?” He curls his lips slightly, before placing a hand on the side of your waist and taking a few step to the side with you.

“Lookit chu.” He softly mumbles, admiring your appearance from above as he raises his hand and watches you twirl so prettily. Like a ballerina in the ‘Denis theatres.

“How pretty m’ girl is,” He compliments so smoothly, you croon at his touch. You giggle loudly when he accidentally steps on your pink leather soles. He coughs out an awkward laugh before pulling you even more closer than before.

Love is seen in the air, and among the two who dance under the moonlit sky.

[johnpriceslamb]

are u still continuing opposites attract ? 🥹🥹🥹

YA !!!! second chapter in da making, i was just takin a lil break from writing bc of work n ofher irl stuff :’c m soooo sorri for makin u guys wait like months for one chapter HELPPPP

[johnpriceslamb]

GUY S !!! URGENT !!!!! m trynna look for dis fic n it was a tartaglia x reader rite n it was based in snezhnaya n at the srart they were like two kiddies n childe was FISHING OR SUMTING N THEN THEY GREW UP N THE READER WAS LIKE .. AN ORPHAN CARETAKER ?!!!! I BEGGG SOMEONE FIND IT F MEEEEEE