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trappers-cloak · 4 months ago

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The Buck and the Fox - Chapter 3 - Men in Sheep’s Clothing

Diana Wegner

Diana hadn’t expected to see Arthur at the ranch, but it was a welcome surprise. She was also sorry not to have said hello, but it would’ve been too much of a risk with Eugene home early anyway. Still, the thought of Arthur kept her through the evening's chores.

Eugene, having arrived drunk with his new, unnecessary stallion, put Diana and Seamus to the task of stabling the horse and feeding him. The whole time, she thought of Arthur, knowing that such thoughts were folly anyway. For Christ sakes, she’d only met the man once, yet here she was giggling and blushing about him like a schoolgirl. She couldn’t place her fascination with him, besides the small fact that he was a dangerously attractive cowboy who quite literally had saved her life. It was something out of a storybook from her youth. Even Eugene’s new horse reminded her of Arthur - this new, frivolous purchase was the same color and pattern as the man’s war horse.

“Missus Diana?” a question from Seamus broke her from her thoughts.

“Oh, um…yes?” she asked Seamus, hoping he hadn’t seen her in her thoughts. His smirk told her he had.

“I just said that I’ve got the rest of this. You best get on inside. Mister Eugene said he…wants you tonight,” he mumbled. He knew better than to tease her after saying such a thing.

Diana’s heart sank. Here she was, fantasizing like she was Miriam’s age, and she had to go do her wifely duties with a man she near despised. She sighed, and handed Seamus the reins.

“Gimme some of that moonshine. The strong stuff, this time,” she said to Seamus. He handed over his own flask, a stolen engraved hip flask.

“This stuff’s got some poppy in it, if you catch my meaning. Absinthe, too,” Seamus said. Diana took a sip, and winced. She tried to give it back to Seamus, but he didn’t take it, and nodded towards her.

“Another sip. You’ve…well, you’ve earned it,” he said. He was gentler than usual. These nights brought out the kindness in him. Diana obliged, with a big sip. This moonshine, whatever special stuff Seamus kept, had a way of numbing the senses, more so than other moonshine.

The world seemed to float, and Diana's brain slowed its thinking. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead, and she giggled. It took more of her effort to walk, one step in front of the other.

Eugene was waiting for her outside his bedchamber. Months ago, it had been theirs.

“C’mon, darlin,” he murmured, drunk as a skunk himself. He clapped her shoulder and not-so-gently ushered her towards the bed. His “loving” demeanor was gone, and as she turned towards him, his eyes were dark. At the sight, he shoved her towards the bed.

“Now get undressed,” he snarled.

Normally, Diana would’ve slapped him. The moonshine and the memories of Eugene’s rage stopped her. That, and she’d forgotten her knife. So instead, she did as he asked, and laid on the bed. Prepared now, physically and mentally, she laid there. Bare. Vulnerable.

She fucking hated it.

But she had never been more grateful for the poppy-laced moonshine. It dulled the sensations, kept her calm. Instead of the task being a misery, it was more of a nuisance. Something she had learned to tolerate, even if she couldn't imagine doing it sober.

She looked down halfway through the deed. Her dear lord husband’s gut was swinging, and obscured any view she might’ve had. It wasn’t stopping him. She allowed her mind to wander.

It wandered where one might think it did. Towards the figure on the hill from earlier. She supposed Arthur could be her if she’d been born a man, but that wasn’t really why she thought of him so frequently. She conjured scenes from a dime novel, and put Arthur's face to them. It made her feel almost good, especially if she closed her eyes.

As Eugene moaned, her eyes snapped open again, startled. He moaned again, and she relaxed. Until it happened again.

“Oh,” he groaned. “Oh, Miriam!”

Diana froze. Not a single muscle moved. Her husband was finished, now, which haunted her even more. His face, inches away from hers, gave no inclination that he’d known what he’d said. She turned over as he laid down beside her, and stayed staring at the wall until morning.

When morning came and the roosters called, Diana was up and dressed in the same clothing from the previous day. Eugene still snored on his side of the bed, and she prepared herself for the early departure. Her husband was a monster of a man on a good day, and a hangover did nothing to improve the matter.

As she crept downstairs, she headed straight for the kitchen, nursing a hangover of her own. The smell of tea coaxed her like a siren song, and she wandered towards the edge of the ship until she came face to face with Miriam. The pair started in tandem, and froze. A moment passed, and Miriam rushed forward and embraced Diana in a hug so tight it took her breath away.

“Oh, Diana!” Miriam whisper-cried. “What are you doing out in the open?!”

“Your father was kind enough to take me to bed last night,” Diana replied, sighing as she said it. Nevertheless, she hugged Miriam with a similar enthusiasm.

“O-oh,” Miriam said. She wasn’t shocked, per se, but such a thing is never comfortable to hear. “Was it…” she probed. She didn’t truly want to know, Diana could tell.

“It was…normal,” Diana replied, still in a soft voice. “But-”

She was interrupted when a maid came in. It was Miriam’s governess, though she hardly needed one.

“I think that will be all, Diana,” she said, a cold woman with an equally icy delivery. “Now go on. Mister Wegner will be downstairs any minute now, and you wouldn’t want any trouble, would you?”

Diana and Miriam froze once again.

“No. I wouldn't want that. But I would like to say good morning to my stepdaughter and eat a meal with little interruption,” Diana replied, trying her hardest to emulate the same frigidity.

“Mister Cripps has prepared a morning meal, has he not?”

“At this hour, likely not. And that does not preclude me from saying hello-”

“Miss Miriam does not need such tidings. There is no reason for you to confuse her further with your…habits. Habits and ideas,” the governess said. Her face was unmoving. She was winning, goddamn it. Miriam remained silent, a type of silence that Diana recognized. Fear.

“Now, Miriam,” the governess said, turning towards the petrified girl. “Our lessons begin at nine. Go get yourself ready,” she commanded.

“Yes, Missus Carmichael,” Miriam answered in a voice quieter than a church mouse. She squeezed Diana’s hand once before leaving, and was ushered up the stairs to her glorified cage. Diana was alone. She took another sip of tea, still coming down from her fear of Missus Carmichael when the true reality of her situation slammed into her chest.

Eugene, her husband of years gone by, lusted for his own goddamn daughter. Not his stepdaughter, not his goddaughter, his own daughter, by blood.

Diana rushed out of the kitchen and ran to the barn, hoping to catch Seamus before his work had started. She was lucky enough to find him alone in the barn, where the only prying ears belonged to the cows.

“What in the-” he started, before Diana slammed the door behind her.

“You’ll want more of that Poppy-shine before I start,” she said, grabbing her metal mess cup from her belt. “Now pour.”

He poured, but stopped her before she could take a sip.

“I’m out of that good stuff - I gave the last of it to you last night. This is still strong,” he said. Diana rolled her eyes, and again went to take a sip. This time, Seamus let her, and the burn of the moonshine slid down her throat like nectar. The taste was rich, like a sweet plum.

Seamus took a sip as well, and grabbed a piece of paper from his coat.

“Look, Diana, there’s no easy way to say this, but-”

“Eugene wants to fuck Miriam,” Diana said quickly. She couldn’t bear holding it in another second. Seamus paused, his mouth agape.

“What?”

“He said her name last night. At first I couldn’t believe it, but he said it again.” the gravity hit her again, and dread along with it. For once, Seamus looked surprised.

“Well…shit,” he said, taking another sip.

“That's your reaction? Seamus, we have to do something!” Diana was close to shouting. Seamus moved again to get the piece of paper. Diana couldn’t believe him.

“Goddamn it, we need to do something-” she continued, and he slapped the paper down on the table.

“Look,” he said. “Just look at it.”

Diana unfolded the paper and unveiled a bounty poster. On the poster was a picture of the man who’d saved her. In big letters at the top read:

ARTHUR MORGAN.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

$5000 REWARD

BY THE STATE OF WEST ELIZABETH, AND THE COMMONWEALTH OF BLACKWATER.

IF FOUND, DO NOT APPROACH. ARMED AND DANGEROUS. CONTACT THE PINKERTON DETECTIVE AGENCY.

After a beat, she spoke.

“Where did you find this?”

“Cripps saw it at the station this morning. Poster just went up.” Seamus tried to gauge the expression on her face, to no avail. The gears behind her eyes turned and turned and turned.

Seamus spoke up again, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence. Even the cows had stopped mooing. “Now, I knew there was something up with this feller when his old man came and started spouting nonsense about so-called ‘lost goods’. I’d guessed the pair were thieves, until I saw this.”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“Well, I thought you’d just want to know–”

“That I’d had a savior delivered right to my door?”

“Wait, what?” Seamus looked confused. “I was gonna warn you–”

“That there are bad men out there? Seamus, you do business with bad men everyday. I’m married to perhaps the worst man in New Hanover,” she replied.

Seamus sighed.

“Listen Missus Wegner, I don’t think you’re thinking this through. I also don’t even know what you’re thinking of doing!”

This gave Diana pause - he was right. She knew for a fact that she was angry, that Miriam was a caged bird, and that her husband had said his own daughter's name as he found his completion the night before. She knew that she loved Miriam like something between a sister and a daughter, and that she had never felt something like that for anyone else. She also knew that the man who’d saved her, Arthur, was a good man. All her silly fantasies laid aside, he had saved her life at his own peril, without the expectation of money, sex or goods, or any combination thereof.

She sighed for what must have been the umpteenth time.

“You’re right. I-I just need rest, time to think,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes felt like they’d been attached to lead weights. The sleeplessness of the night sunk in.

“Climb up to the hayloft and sleep there. I’ll tell you if something goes down,” Seamus said, and Diana whistled for Pluto. Diana climbed up as instructed to find a bedroll amidst the hay. Her sheepdog bound up the rafters to join her, and snuggled up against her instantly. Before Diana fell asleep, she was startled by Seamus climbing up to pass her waterskin.

“Here, Missus Wegner. Oh,” he said, reaching behind him. He pulled out the bounty poster, along with two others. “I think these fellers are all working together. If you have some harebrained plan hatched involving that Arthur fella, you’ll probably encounter these guys too.”

“Thank you,” Diana responded, sleep beginning to overtake her. Seamus nodded, and started down the stairs. She opened the other two bounty posters, revealing the faces of two other men. One, a dark-haired mustachioed man named Dutch Van der Linde, and the other, a gray-haired older man named Hosea Matthews. She pondered the posters, and turned again.

“Seamus?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to save her. I will save her - even If it’s the last thing I do.”

Arthur Morgan

The gift box proved harder to balance on Ares’ back than expected. Ares was a stocky horse, but impatient, and loath to slow to balance a parcel on his back, and Arthur had had to slow the horse to a trot the whole journey back to the Overlook. By the time he had entered the forested trail back to camp, the steed was still restless.

Suddenly, another surprise- an unexpected voice came from the trees.

“Who’s there?”

The voice asking that question usually belonged to Bill or Javier- sometimes even Charles. This time, the voice was a different one- harsher.

“Micah?”

“That’s right, cowpoke, I’m back!” Micah came into view, his gigantic blonde mustache dripping with what must have been whiskey.

“And here I thought they were gonna hang you in Strawberry,” Arthur said. He tried to hide his disappointment at his comrades' safe return.

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easily! I don’t go down without a fight,” Micah retorted.

“Certainly had us fooled. You damn near gave Lenny a heart attack- the poor kid was panicking when he came back with the news!” Arthur said. The memory was a vivid one - Lenny had interrupted a meeting with himself and Dutch in a frenzy, panting and saying Micah was in jail in some ‘vacation’ town west of the Dakota River.

“Ehh, he’ll be fine. One day you’ll have to learn to loosen up a little, Morgan,” Micah said.

Arthur rolled his eyes and rode into camp, hitching his horse and grabbing the box from its back. He tried to hide his impatience to moderate success, but inside he was itching to know its contents. As he plopped on his cot, he did his best to open the box without tearing into it like some wild animal.

The cloak he pulled out was thick and the color of snow and soot. Sheep’s wool, by the feel of it. It had the recognizable smell of leatherworking material and livestock, plus a slight floral - or was it blackcurrant? - scent. He almost got so caught up in it, running his hands over the woolen decadence, that he missed the note at the bottom of the box. The green ribbon on the note gave it away, and he gently set the cloak down beside him to read.

Dearest Arthur,

Please accept this gift as a token of gratitude for saving my life just one week ago. Not a day goes by where I do not think of you and the kindness extended towards me. I am sorry that I had to cut our meeting short that day, and would love to speak with you - or share a drink with you - another time in the near future. Mister Cripps informed me of how delightful you were to have as company. I hope to see you again soon at Emerald Ranch. If you and your compatriots are still in need of money to get back on your feet, there is ample work to be found at the ranch, and Mister Cripps will happily buy any hides, if you continue your career as a hunter.

Warm regards,

Diana Wegner.

On the other side of the paper was a small addition.

P.S., if you should be in need of other business opportunities, feel free to visit and ask after myself or our foreman Seamus. I hope to hear from or see you soon.

Diana.

“Arthur?” Mary-Beth’s voice, like Tilly’s, carried itself on the air like birdsong. Arthur cleared his throat and looked to her, hoping she hadn’t been calling his name for the past few minutes.

“Sorry, Mary-Beth, I- well I was miles away, I’m afraid,” he said. The girl giggled, and responded.

“Aren’t we all! I understand. What’re you reading?”

“Just a letter, someone at the ranch southeast of here, offering some work. That and…well, they sent me something as a thank-you for helping ‘em out a few days ago,” he said, sheepishly. Mary-Beth noticed his expression, and visibly took note of the delicate cursive on the page he was reading, the packaging surrounding Arthur’s bed.

“A new girl, huh?”

“Nah - well, yes but…” Arthur trailed off. “Not in the way you’re thinking, so no need to get all excited,” he said.

“Okay,” Mary-Beth said, with a smirk. Like Tilly, Mary-Beth was like a kid-sister, barely eighteen years old.

Arthur folded the letter neatly, placing it in a spare satchel hanging by his bed, and picked up the cloak, spreading it out before him. It was large and surprisingly light- when slung over his shoulders, it felt almost like a blanket. Its comfort, combined with the slowly encroaching nightfall, looked to lull him to sleep. He was just getting to lay down, the cloak still on his shoulder, when a voice emerged.

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch’s voice boomed over the ambient sounds of camp.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Dutch,” he said, “How are we doing? Money-wise?”

“Not so great yet. Have you managed to find a score? Have you done any collecting for Strauss?”

Arthur had to hold back a groan at the mention of Strauss. Even Dutch agreed that it seemed more dignified to be a bandit than to do work for the Austrian loan shark, yet Strauss still remained with the gang for reasons unknown.

“Not yet,” he said, “nor have I found a score. You know me, I’m better at carrying out the robbin’ than I am finding the people to do it.”

“I know, I’ve already asked others if they’ve found anything,” Dutch replied. “I’m sending some of the boys out to sniff around Valentine,” he said, turning towards the main campfire. “Bill, Lenny, you two head into town tomorrow. Take some of the ladies with you, and start scoping some stuff out. Micah, John, you two head to that ranch and see what you can rustle up…take Uncle with you, put him to work,” Dutch trailed off, looking around the camp to see who else he could delegate.

Arthur cleared his throat, which had become oddly tight at the mention of the ranch. Dutch had to mean Emerald Ranch. He spoke before he could think.

“Maybe we should just try to find jobs, Dutch. I thought we were lying low. I’ve already run into O’Driscolls, Hosea showed me some good hunting around here, and maybe we can just hide until Blackwater blows over,” he said. Dutch responded by staring at him, wordless. He remained quiet, an unreadable expression on his face, until Hosea spoke up, lifting his face from the book it was buried in.

“He’s right, you know,” he said. “And it’s only what I’ve been telling you this entire time. We have a good contact at the ranch, both for selling our goods and he’s the foreman there. Townsfolk will buy our stories more if we start looking for work too - we can’t milk the “laid-off worker” angle for long if we don’t start working around here,” he continued.

Arthur could see the gears turning in Dutch’s head. The need for fast money, a way to escape from all of this, was the first thing on the older man’s mind - but so was not getting shot to swiss cheese by the Pinkertons.

Dutch’s voice went to a higher pitch, like it always did when he was stressed. “Fine,” he said. “Everyone gather round! Guards too, get over here!” he shouted to no one in particular.

The camp denizens, sober or not, began to gather in a semicircle around the front of Dutch’s tent. His lover, the redheaded Molly O’Shea, peeked out from behind the front curtain - Dutch turned to her and took her hand before addressing the lackluster crowd.

“My boy Arthur here…” Dutch began, gesturing to Arthur with his free hand, “has, along with Hosea, convinced me that what we need now is not only money, but honest money. Good honest work. So that…” he paused again. Arthur had once found the words “pause for effect” in Dutch’s speech notes, and had to stifle a laugh to himself. Dutch continued. “That…is what we shall do. Tomorrow I want all those able to start looking for good, honest work. There’s plenty of ranchers, drivers, railway men looking for hands, and we shall supply it. Keep an eye out for scores, but do not do anything unless you bring it to Hosea and I first!”

“We failed in Blackwater because we tried to do too much too fast, and didn’t coordinate,” Hosea continued off Dutch. “We will save lives with this - ours and the lives of others.” it looked like Dutch was going to keep on strategizing to the gang, but a member towards the back, cleared his throat. Karen and Abigail turned to reveal Micah, raising his arm. Where he was trying to make the gesture seem tough, Arthur conjured an image of schoolchildren.

“While honest work seems a good plan for the rest of you…” he started, “some of us haven’t the uh.. temperament for such things, right boss?” he looked towards Dutch, trying to appeal to him. Dutch looked firmly back.

“It’s like Hosea said, Micah,” he started, but a quick look exchanged between himself and Micah prompted a change in Dutch’s expression. Arthur watched their faces, trying to channel his inner Hosea - read them, their thoughts, their intentions. He came up with nothing. Dutch continued.

“Any of you have any trouble, see me, Miss Grimshaw or Mister Pearson. We always need people at the camp and hunting if they don’t find a job,” he said. The gang gathered still, grumbled their assent, and stood there for a moment. The silence was heavy until Miss Grimshaw spoke up, with an authority befitting the de facto camp mother.

“Well don’t just stand around, y’all, get back to whatever it was you were doing!” This spurred the camp back into motion, as if they’d frozen in time beforehand. Most of the men made a beeline back to the campfire, with a convenient box of whiskey bottles beside it. Abigail took the arm of the woman from the Grizzlies they’d rescued - Adler, was it? - who was crying softly. Little Jack, the resident 5 year old of the gang, took the woman’s other hand, and the pair led the crying woman to their tent, tucked behind the chuckwagon. For about an hour, the entire camp resumed it’s normal activities; singing around the fire, chopping firewood, playing poker, and, of course, drinking.

After three beers and four of Uncle’s outrageous stories later, Arthur grabbed a bowl of venison stew and took the steaming bowl of Pearson’s cuisine back to his tent. Sitting down, he could hear Dutch’s voice faintly behind him, speaking in whispers. He took a bite, and wished that he’d had the stew Cripps had offered earlier. That had smelled like apricots and berries - in fact, it smelled like the cloak, spread out on the bed. Blackcurrant. It must grow near the ranch.

Dutch emerged from the small wooded area behind Arthur’s tent-wagon, his whispered speech ending in a “we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Arthur turned, expecting to see Dutch walking with Molly. The pair often rendezvoused in the evenings away from camp, considering Dutch’s tent - and bed - were smack dab in the middle of camp. But, instead of seeing Molly with a messy red braid replacing her neat plait, Arthur saw Dutch emerge…with Micah. Micah instantly walked towards the chuckwagon, not even giving Arthur a second glance.

“Thanks, boss,” was all the cowboy said. Dutch nodded, and turned to Arthur.

“Goodnight, Arthur. Let me know how you make out tomorrow,” he said, and ducked into his tent without another word.

That night Arthur had a dream; a red fox wandered the plains, and disappeared into a forest.

Only once did the creature glimpse back at him.

#rdr2 community #the buck and the fox #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 oc #rdr2

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trappers-cloak · 4 months ago

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The Buck and the Fox - Chapter 2 - The Jewel of the Heartlands

Diana Wegner

It had been several days since Diana had her life given back to her, albeit by the skin of her teeth. To her, it may have seemed like months since she had seen the man - Arthur - yet she found herself thinking of him often. Each time she did, she pinched herself, remembering the vows she choked through in the chapel, five years prior.

Not that she had to pinch herself often. Where she grew up with ample time on her hands to think and read and embroider and mull over the state of the world, she now had a ranch to take charge of. Cows to milk, sheep to shear in the summer, chickens to feed.

A typical day began in her tent. This was the first abnormality of her would-be married life. The tent behind the store that Arthur had seen had a companion tent for three quarters of every month. Each morning in the tent had its reason for starting there, but this morning was defined by cold water, a pail, and a set of bloody undergarments.

Diana grunted as she scrubbed them clean. She had grown used to this particular part of womanhood in recent years - before, her parents would never have dreamt she’d be put to such a task. Then again, they would be appalled if they saw her in any capacity today.

After the underclothes were scrubbed beyond recognition - with only a light brown stain, where a deep cherry red had been - she got herself dressed for the morning. For ranch work, she opted for her pants, a loose pair, with a black unbuttoned shirt. She pulled out a pleasant sage green hat - a round thing that had a sturdy, ornamental rope spiraling around its trim.

The hat provided some good protection from the beating May sun, an especially useful trait given the lack of shade beside the big green barn. The various chores took Diana the better part of the day - feed the chickens, help Cripps set up the stew pot. Finally, she would reward herself with her favorites: the cattle. The great cows, Juno and Bessie, all but ran to the sight of Diana. They were some of her only friends of late - it was too hard for Eugene to forbid her from speaking to animals.

“Hey, girls,” she cooed, petting both of them before picking up some hay. The cows mooed in response, nudging each other’s faces out of the way for the first bite. “There ya go,” Diana said again, feeling their hot breath on her hands. The great big bull stood nearby, waiting his turn. He had just been branded - the scar, and the pain from it, made the beast a bit shy of farmhands. The scar on his rump reminded Diana of her other purpose.

“Seamus?” she called, grabbing another handful of hay. She called the name again as she walked over to the bull, beginning to feed it. “Thereeee, Vulcan, there ya go. I’m sorry, buddy,” she said. She knew better than to try petting him. “I’ll pick you something for that later.”

“Seamus?” she called again. I swear, if he’s drunk again… “Seamus? Where are you, you lazy sod!”

The grunting from behind the workbench told her all she needed to know.

“You been on the moonshine again, then?”

Seamus bumped his head, and swore. “No,” he replied. “I’ve just been organizing the goods all day and magically collapsed!” The moonshine bottles clinked together under the bench. Diana sighed.

“Anything of use come by, then?” she asked, hoping for a hit.

“Just these earrings - oh, and a silver bracelet. Nothing of much-”

“I’ll decide that, thank you very much.”

A small bag and a few coins exchanged hands. Seamus and Diana had formed an understanding three years ago, when Diana had caught him buying stolen goods from the brigands found around the county. She gained his allegiance when she’d promised not to tell Eugene, who would not only have thrown a fit, but would have demanded a hefty sum of the profits. Her husband was not only a hard-handed owner, but a ruthless capitalist with a nose for cash like a bloodhound.

In exchange for some money, Seamus gave Diana the fine pieces of jewelry he came across. Paired with the feathers of pheasants, ducks and geese, Diana had grown skilled at creating small trinkets - a skill she had truly perfected as a child. The cowboys who frequented the store often liked to adorn their hats with her handiwork.

The bag secured on her gunbelt, Diana turned again to Seamus. “Any new carts?” Seamus also dealt in stolen buggies, which were few and far between.

“Only one - a little two seater buggy. Romantic, fancy little thing,” he answered, and before Diana could ask, he said “Mister Wegner took it out already. Went to Valentine. Something about a horse?”

Diana raised her eyebrows. “How long do you think he’ll be there?”

“He brought a money clip with him. And a flask.”

So, it was an all night excursion. Eugene had a gambling habit, a drinking habit, and, when it suited him, a spending habit. Horses were his vice. He always had to have the fastest steed in the Heartlands, or else it became everyone else’s problem. Before her banishment to the tents, such a thing had been her burden to bear. Diana shuddered at the thought.

But today, a blessing. The house was open. The maids were easy bribes, and the greenhorns who guarded the house were already out with the sheep.

“Thank you, Seamus. That’ll be all.”

“Yes ma’am,” the Irishman replied, and he hightailed his way into the barn looking for something to do. Diana, a spring in her step, walked over to the big green house, the crown of Emerald Ranch. She supposed she should call it her house, but it wasn’t. This house was a place she frequented, sure, but it wasn’t hers.

The maid moved to stop her at the bottom of the steps, but Diana quickly silenced her with a flash of the silver earrings Seamus had given her. It was enough to buy silence for today, but the best bet for future visits was a platinum pair. Diana walked up the stairs, confident, secure in the fact that she didn’t need to hide her steps from her husband. Valentine was a half day trip away - she wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed there overnight.

“Miriam?” she called, hoping not to scare the girl.

“Diana?!” The response came from down the hall, and Diana took out the key, a secret copy Cripps had made for her. The click of the lock was music to her ears, and she opened the door to find her stepdaughter adorned in a simple black nightgown.

Miriam pulled Diana into a bearhug before she was given a chance to say hello.

“My God, I’ve missed you. Father’s been a terror these last few nights,” the girl sighed, face buried in Diana’s hair.

“I’ve missed you too,” Diana said, and she pulled away to notice tears in Miriam’s eyes. This was almost enough to bring tears to her own as well - she blinked them away, trying to focus on every detail of Miriam’s face.

Beautiful as both the women were, they bore little resemblance. Miriam was a blonde, her hair in a permanent updo, her legs perpetually hidden behind a skirt. She was a skinny woman, all skin and bones, a new development since the incident of the saloon. Her face, picturesque as always, was contorted with tears and another emotion Diana recognized well. Anger.

“What has he been doing? Talking about?” Diana asked. How strange it was, for a wife to ask that of her husband.

“Mostly blather about the ranch. Farmhands never do enough, blasted maids, you know. But yesterday and today he was on about some horse up in Valentine,” Miriam reported, transformed. This was business now.

“I heard about that, from Seamus. Did he say anything more about the sheep?”

“Why?” Miriam looked puzzled at the question. “What’s wrong with the sheep?”

Diana couldn’t believe it. She knew Eugene kept Miriam in a proverbial ivory tower, but she could scarce believe how much he kept from his own daughter. Miriam was practically a grown woman, at 16 years old, but Eugene sheltered her like a 6 year old princess.

“You didn’t hear the gunshots a few days ago?”

“When?”

“About two hours before I came to dinner that day. It was mutton that night. Ring any bells?”

Miriam paled - she looked sick at the mention. “I do. But I didn’t hear, because…”

Diana’s heart pounded. What the hell happened while she was out?!

“We were in the basement before dinner. He…was having me try on mother’s old dresses. Claimed he wanted to sell some, but he didn’t want to get rid of anything that fit me,” Miriam said, her eyes downcast. “That’s why I was so quiet at dinner.”

Diana recoiled. She hadn’t been surprised that a family dinner was quiet - they either devolved into a den of snakes snapping at each other, or remained silent as a grave. Eugene was a firm believer in being the man of the house, and asserted this often at the dinner table.

She was more concerned about the basement.

“Did he…do anything else?” she probed.

“No,” Miriam replied, quickly. Assertively. “He just said I looked nice in the dresses, then went back upstairs. I…imbibed that night.” Miriam blushed at the confession.

“So did I,” Diana said, the memory of the moonshine sliding down her throat like berry-flavored kerosene. She was surprised that Miriam didn’t imbibe more often, given her seclusion.

“I did meet someone,” Diana added, an involuntary blush rising to her cheeks. “Two days ago, some O’Driscoll’s tried to come after the sheep. I thought I was a goner, until some cowboy shot them both in the head. It was like he shot at the speed of light, and twice as accurate. They didn’t know what hit them!” Diana was gushing now, and she couldn't stop. “Had a nice southern accent too.”

Miriam giggled, but there was a caution to her. “So…are you…”

Diana started. “Heavens, no!” she yelped. “No…I was talking about him…for you! If Eugene knew you could get a suitor, and if it was some strong cowboy like this man, then maybe-”

Miriam’s eyes, at their spilling point, gave Diana pause. She turned towards the window, looking down the center of the ranch.

“I know you love me like I’m your own…but please. You need to know me, too. You need to know that I’m not ready yet,” she choked.

“Miriam, I-” Diana stuttered. “I’m so sorry, I just thought…” she trailed off, and steadied herself, walking towards her stepdaughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open up old wounds.”

“It’s not that old. Maybe to you it is, with your ranching and your sheep, but up here? Time moves like molasses, and grief twice as slow.”

Miriam was three times the reader Diana would ever be, and for good reason. It showed in these moments, where she seemed more the ghost of a poet than an imprisoned prairie nymph. Diana was almost unstung by her words.

“I…well, I can’t say I know, but I understand. Time will resume soon.”

“How?”

“Because I’ll kill Eugene if he keeps you here beyond your 18th birthday.”

“Good luck with that,” Miriam said, scoffing. “More likely he’ll just marry me off and you’ll never see me again. Send me off in the night…”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Diana said, setting herself up for a joke. “In fact, if he even tries-”

The pair were cut off by Pluto’s barking, right below the window. The dog was in earnest. All Diana knew was that Pluto only barked like this as an alarm. A warning.

“Damn,” she muttered. “It’s Pluto.” Miriam knew what she meant instantly.

“Father’s not supposed to be back this early! He wouldn’t even be halfway to Valentine yet!”

“Either way, it’s something. Pluto doesn’t mess around.” Diana moved to leave, before pausing. She reached into the small bag Seamus gave her, and pulled out the silver bracelet. She held out the pretty thing to Miriam. “Here,” she said, unhooking the clasp.

Miriam kept her wrist at her side, to Diana’s confusion. It wasn’t like Miriam to deny such a gift - it was something that kept her sanity, handling the trinkets from the wider world.

“Keep it. Give it to Josh,” she whispered, moving to her desk. She pulled out an envelope. “I know it's a waste of paper, too, but…” she handed the envelope to Diana. It said, in bold letters on the front, Dear Mother. “Burn these two and spread the ashes over both of them. They’re both in the envelope,” she said.

Diana knew immediately what she meant, and nodded. “I will,” she said, and paused. “I love you, Miriam,” she added.

“I love you too,” Miriam replied. “Now go. You know what could happen.” Diana hesitated, to which Miriam laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

“So will I,” Diana said, grinning. “What else could he do, anyway?”

Arthur Morgan

There was still sleep in Arthur’s eyes when he heard Tilly’s voice float over to him. A welcome wake-up, compared to something like Bill’s grumbling or the drunken singing of Reverend Swanson. Arthur had slept most of the day away after being on guard duty the night before.

“Hey, Arthur- oh, sorry. Want me to come back another time?” Tilly asked, concern showing on her face.

“Nah,” Arthur grunted as he rose. His neck popped as he turned his head to the side. “D’you need something?”

“I just got a message from Hosea - he said to ask if you could meet him at some place called Emerald Ranch. Said he found something, struck a deal with the foreman near there?”

Emerald Ranch. Arthur was glad for the excuse to go back there. He could check on his bear hide, swindle the tanner for some more stew or whiskey.

He could even get a look at that shepard again.

He cleared his throat, and responded. “Thanks, Tilly. I’ll head over now. Save me some stew, will ya?”

“Even if Pearson messes it up?”

“Even if he overcooks it. That's what whiskey is for.”

Tilly laughed, and walked away. Arthur moved to put on his old hat, but caught a glance of himself in his tiny mirror. His beard had grown bushy - Dutch had kept him busy these last few days. Hosea could wait a few minutes for a man to shave, right? Plus, arthur wanted to look presentable for a new client, or partner in crime, or whoever this foreman was. Nothing else to it.

Nothing at all.

Ares was chomping at the bit when Arthur got to him. The war horse, he had learned, was an impatient one, wanting to run amok at nearly all hours of the day. This was a bit of a nuisance, but good for the ride ahead. It was quite some distance to the ranch, over flat plains. Ares would have the time of his life galloping there - and he did. The ride was a good deal shorter thanks to the horse’s restlessness.

By the time Arthur arrived, it was evening, a golden light bathing the Heartlands. Hosea was perched and waiting by the big barn on the south end, talking to some crusty ranch hand who looked more like a criminal than most of the Van der Linde crew. Hitching his horse, Arthur could hear some of Hosea’s nonsense - the man was spinning some yarn about the supposed “layoffs” the gang had endured up north, a part of their grand cover story.

“Now, being short on money, many of us are forced to sell some of our most precious belongings, and if you tell me you have a market for such things, then we would be much obliged-”

“I buy and sell ‘lost’ things, mister. How they got lost is none of my concern, and I pride myself on my…discretion. I hope I can depend on yours,” the man replied.

Hosea seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly. Noticing Arthur, he waved, and brought him towards the ranch hand.

“Arthur, my boy, this kind man is Seamus, he’s the foreman here at Emerald Ranch. He has promised to turn our treasures that we find around here into gold, isn’t that right, Seamus?”

The foreman nodded curtly, and set a box down on the small counter he had built up.

“Jewelry, watches, even teeth, if you gottem,” he said. “Your old man here has given me quite a few things already.”

“That I have,” Hosea gloated. “And he paid a good price. I’d love to stay around and chat, but I have some affairs to attend to back at home. The wife must be furious by now!” he patted Arthur on the back, a shit-eating grin on his face as he turned. He was off, kicking dust in the air on horseback within the minute.

Turning to the foreman- Seamus - again, Arthur took some of his findings out of his bag. A few pocket watches, one gold tooth, nothing much to show.

“Well, these are fine materials - platinum too? Hefty profit. A shame these bastards lost these things,” Seamus remarked.

“Shut up, you know what this is about,” Arthur replied.

“You sure you don’t wanna buy anything from me? I have a nice assortment - moonshine too. Rings, necklaces, some nice things to bring back to a lady…”

“Boss man know you’re doing this?” Arthur asked.

“Jesus, no, he’d skin me alive. Or worse,” Seamus whispered, “take a cut of the profit. Now that we can’t abide. The missus doesn’t mind though.”

Arthur paused. Did this slime of a man mean…Diana? The shepard?

“Oh, so you’ve seen her?” Seamus asked, smirking. Arthur was acutely aware of his freshly shaved face. Should he have left some stubble on?

“...Yeah. saved her a few days ago from some of them O’Driscoll’s," Arthur replied.

“Oh, well at least you ain’t lookin for Miriam,” Seamus said. This was confusing, now - was Arthur supposed to know this other name?

“I shouldn’t ask, but….who’s that?”

“You're not from around here, so I’ll answer - for a price. Normally we keep this sort of thing on lock. For just a few dollars for a poor, poor underpaid foreman, you too can know-”

“For God’s sake, just tell me about this place so I can move along with my business,” Arthur said, close to snapping. He put on his best performance of a beast he could muster, and moved toward Seamus. “I’m beginning to get bored of you,” he said as he brushed his hand against his revolver.

“I’ll throw in some moonshine too…” Seamus grabbed a bottle, taking the hint.

“Gimme that, ya clown. Now spill, like two men talking over drinks ought to.” Arthur said, grabbing the bottle and taking a sip. The shine was flavored - something sweet, like apple cider. Arthur had tasted stronger beer.

“And the money-ugh never mind,” Seamus looked dejected. Good. Arthur was long past the point of annoyance.

“So, Miriam is the daughter of Mister Eugene Wegner. She’s Missus Diana’s stepdaughter, and a fine, pretty girl. She had suitors from allllll over the Heartlands, and some from Rhodes too. One even came from Saint Denis. But she decided to shack it up with one of the farm boys in that old abandoned saloon. Now, Mister Eugene? He was never the same after that. Man went on a rampage like no other. He was never like to marry off Miss Miriam, and shot that farmhand dead when he caught them...copulating.”

Arthur hadn’t anticipated this much of a story. But then, he hadn’t expected to save a woman who turned out to be the missus of the ranch. He had to hide how invested he was - he felt like Mary-Beth must feel, everytime she read one of her novels.

“...okay? And then?”

Seamus snickered. “Take another sip, this here’s a doozy.”

“Fine,” Arthur said. The moonshine’s sweetness exploded in his mouth. It was still weaker than an old drunk taking a swing.

“Now, Missus Diana came back from some hunting trip to find the carnage, and threw a goddamn fit. Pulled some new fancy bow and arrow and aimed at Mister Eugene. Half the ranch drew on her before she put the bow down. Now, I don’t know the rest of the specifics, but after that day? Miriam’s been locked in that big ol’ house, and Missus Diana doesn’t sleep in the house except for one week, every month. Mister Eugene shouted something to the effect of ‘you wanna act like a savage, sleep outside like one!’ to her, last time she tried to go in,” he continued.

“Now, I ain’t no gossip, or a snitch, but seeing as you seem interested, i’ll tell you myself; stay on Mister Eugene’s good side. Whatever kinda bandits you and your old man are, don’t steal from here. The man is a mean old bastard, sure, but he…there’s other stuff too. He’s a time bomb.”

Arthur nodded again, though he was left with plenty more questions. Before he could ask any of them, a big black lab came bounding down the lane, barking up a storm. Pluto.

A small buggy came barreling down the lane, almost running over the dog, who whimpered and spirited away. Behind the buggy, tethered to its back, was a magnificent horse, the same blue roan color as Ares.

“Woah!” the driver shouted. He was an old man, mutton-chopped. His face was a sour one, despite the steed he had in tow.

“Mister Wegner! New horse?” Seamus shouted back.

Wait. Was this man…

“That’s Mister Eugene. Be polite, man,” Seamus whispered to Arthur. “And put that damn moonshine away!”

“Meet my newest stallion, a horse - hic - fit for a king!” Eugene said. He was clearly drunk - it was a wonder he’d gotten back from Valentine in one piece. The stallion whinnied behind him. He didn’t look too thrilled with his new rider.

“Anwho’sthisfeller?” Eugene slurred, glancing briefly between Arthur and Seamus.

“This here’s a man lookin’ for goods, Mister Wegner. I was just about to send him over to Cripps to see if he wants any,” Seamus replied. Quick thinking, even though that wasn’t technically a lie.

“Great! Terrific! Have a good gander, sir! Now where’s my wife?”

The moonshine burned Arthur's throat at the question.

“W-what about her, Mister Wegner?” Seamus asked. Even he seemed nervous at the question.

“I’m gonna,” Eugene began, hiccuping as he spoke. “I’m gonna have her tonight, a time for celebrating!” he leered.

A few things sunk in for Arthur. While he’d known the woman - Diana - was married to this fool, it hadn’t dawned on him how much older Eugene was. The man must be at least 60 - and Diana was a young woman. She must be John’s age - and must’ve been even younger when she married the man. His stomach roiled, and he knew it wasn’t the damn moonshine.

Desperate to get out of the conversation, Arthur murmured a goodbye to Seamus and rode down the lane to the store. Cripps was in the back, stirring the stew that was left.

“Hey, mister,” Arthur said, strolling up to the old man.

“Mister Morgan! The savior of sheep! Welcome back!” Cripps exclaimed. He too was clearly drunk, but a jolly one.

Before Arthur could respond, Cripps got a bit excited. “And have I got news for you, my friend!”

“Oh? About…”

“About your pelts! I’ve made some fine things, you’ll love ‘em!”

Arthur tried to hide his disappointment, semi-successfully. The stew in the pot smelled delicious, but his stomach still churned with the thought of Diana and Eugene. He would’ve drank it away, if not for the fear of throwing it up. Damned moonshine.

He sighed, and gestured to Cripps.

“Let’s see ‘em then,” he said.

Some time later - it had to be an hour or more - Arthur sat atop Ares on a hill, east of the ranch. It really was a pretty spot, a glen - a good spot for hunting, if he had space on his horse. On the back of Ares sat a parcel. The old man Cripps had given Arthur a grand tour of his tanning setup - complete with his plans on what to do with the gargantuan bear pelt Arthur had given him.

“This thing is big enough to make 3 coats,” Cripps had said, “but I’d hate to cut it all up like that! Maybe I could make it a wall-hanger for ya’!”

“I’d have to have a wall, first,” Arthur replied.

“Well, then…how about a blanket then? In case you and your comrades get stuck up in the Grizzlies again.”

Normally, Arthur would have rejected such a thing - a blanket seemed like a luxury, given the shit that the gang had been up to lately. But feeling the heavy softness of the pelt, he caved. After all, Dutch was the one who’d said things were looking up for the gang, on the first day they settled onto their new camp. Who knew how long they’d be stuck here - may as well make Horseshoe Overlook feel like home.

“Sure,” he’d said. “Anything else you got for me, mister?”

“Well, I’ve got two gifts for ya. One’s from me, the other from the missus.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat as Cripps gave him the parcel that now adorned Are’s back.

“Don’t open them until you’re home. We like surprises, here mister Morgan. Hope you’re alright with that.”

And so Arthur sat atop the hill, a parcel at his back and a small moonshine bottle in his hand. As he took one final sip of the sweet stuff, he spotted a figure in the distance. It stood in a skirt and blouse before a gravestone, towards the train station.

He watched as the figure lit a small paper aflame, and let it burn on top of the gravestone.

Suddenly, she looked towards him, and appeared to squint, before waving. As the sun caught her hair, he knew instantly that the woman was Diana. He gave a small wave back, a sheepish one, and turned his horse. He would not even allow the setting sun to see his blush as he broke Ares back into a gallop.

#rdr2 #rdr2 oc #arthur morgan rdr2 #the buck and the fox #rdr2 community

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trappers-cloak · 4 months ago

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me listening to any song that slaps:

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trappers-cloak · 4 months ago

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I have a headcanon that seems so real and it's that Arthur has an absolute stomach of steel.

Heartburn who? Nausea where? Naw, mister, ain't nothin' makin' that man's stomach turn. Well, unless he's majorly stressed.

Someone burns the coffee one morning and everyone is disgusted yet Arthur just smacks his lips at the charred bitterness, "What, you lettin' it go to waste? Coffee's coffee, ain't it."

He and Charles help some old lady one time and she rewards them with the freakiest, lumpiest porridge Charles has ever seen. Arthur is already spooning it into his mouth and wiping his beard with the back of his hand. Charles just stares, blinking. "Do you even think before you eat what's put in front of you?" "S'got little sweet bits in it, it's nice... What? What're you starin' for? You got your own."

Although, that doesn't mean he lacks opinions on food. I feel as though the fancier the food gets and looks, the more bewildered he becomes.

Tiny portion sizes? "What's even the point in that?" "I don't recall askin' for a child's portion." But it'll be gone in mere mouthfuls.

Oddly presented ingredients that look more like abtract art than food? He's picking at it with narrowed eyes (as he eats it, of course, food is still food). "You're tellin' me this is a carrot? Why's it..." He dangles thinly sliced pieces of carrot in front of his eyes, scrutinising. "What do you mean it's 'supposed to look like a rose'? It's a damn vegetable."

And if it's slop that's verging on unidentifiable? No problem, that's familiar to him both through camp cooking and his own self-catering experiences. He'll smell it, deem it suitable if it smells salty and hot, and shove it in his mouth.

I feel like he's a foodie that eats anything. And if he had a partner who cooks and bakes really well, he'd be in heaven.

#I imagine him getting a little chubby once he settles down #perchance w my oc

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trappers-cloak · 4 months ago

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trappers-cloak · 4 months ago

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Late night bath (Arthur Morgan x fem!reader)

This is inspired by my fic 'Set in Sand' where the reader washes herself off at the river and Arthur tags along to keep an eye on her. Though in here it takes a more intimate turn.

You also don't have to read 'Set in Sand' in order to read this one! <3

Word count: 3k

Tags: 18+ MDNI, semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, Arthur pulls out, she/her pronouns, Chapter 6, no TB Arthur Morgan, High Honor Arthur Morgan

As the sun slowly begins to set and drowning the camp in a deep orange hue, you pick up a fresh pair of clothes to take with you. There's still dried dirt stuck to your skin and hair and you don't feel like riding all the way to Annesburg just for a bath. So you take a bar of soap and make your way to the nearby river.

"And where do you think you're goin'?", a male voice calls out to you and you turn around on your heels, slightly startled by the sudden appearance.

Arthur has his thumbs hooked into his belt and strolls over to where you're standing. At the sight of him, all tension immediately leaves your muscles and you let out a relieved sigh.

"Thought I could head to the river and wash off properly.", you answer, pointing with your thumb behind you. Much to your surprise, he shakes his head and takes the stuff you're carrying from you.

"You ain't goin' there alone.", he says, his tone making it clear that he won't tolerate any protest. Not that you care though.

"I think I'm pretty capable of washing off by myself.", you argue and follow him down the small path, that leads away from camp.

"I ain't doubtin' your skills, sweetheart." There is a heavy pause. "It's just...lately you've been gettin' shot at everytime I look away."

His concern warms your heart and you reach out to touch his arm. You can't blame him for feeling that way. If the roles were reversed, you also wouldn't be comfortable letting him go out by himself. Even if it's just a few minutes walk away.

"And here I thought you were just trying to catch me naked.", you tease with a mischievous smirk beginning to take form on your face.

He let's out barking laughter and shakes his head with an amused huff.

"That ain't the case."

"Sure. Whatever excuse makes you feel better."

Once you arrive at the river, you sit down on the shore and start to take your boots off. As much as your remark was only meant to be a joke, the prospect of being completely exposed to him still makes you nervous. Maybe you could ask him to turn away or something? While you contemplate, you come up with an even better idea.

With the speed the sun is setting at, it will be dark by the time you're undressed and then he won't be able to see much of you anyways. Besides, he did say that he doesn't want to leave you alone, right?

"Do you wanna join me?", you hear yourself ask, before you can even properly process the thought.

Arthur's head snaps in your direction and he awkwardly clears his throat.

"Why? Do I smell?"

His reply makes you groan in feigned annoyance. As you go to open up the first couple of buttons on your blouse, he quickly looks the other way. Respectful as always.

"That's not what I meant and you know it.", you answer, letting your blouse slide off your shoulders. It falls to the ground without producing any sound.

Once you've removed every piece of clothing you were wearing, you tiptoe over to the outlaw and intertwine your fingers with his. You don't want to push him to do something he doesn't feel comfortable with, but you're also aware that he's just holding back.

It's both kind of silly and endearing to see a man like him this bashful about seeing you naked. Though when you think about it, it makes sense. From what you've found out, Arthur hasn't really had what you'd call a wild love life. He only rarely shows his vulnerable side to others.

As you stand up on your toes to plant a soft kiss on his jawline, you hear his breath getting caught up in his throat.

"I won't force you into the river, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.", you say in a hushed voice and make your way into the water.

At first it doesn't look like he's planning on moving from his spot at all, but then he begins to unbuckle his belt. It takes everything within you not to stare at him, so you distract yourself with brushing the dirt out of your hair.

When Arthur finally enters the cool water, he creates small waves around himself and you notice how nervous you're becoming again. The outlaw keeps a respectable distance between the two of you and you turn to face him entirely. It's impossible to fight off the excited grin on your face.

"Hey.", is all you're able to muster up and he clears his throat again.

The awkward silence between you two hangs heavy in the air, until he takes the brush out of your hands and runs it through your hair. You can't imagine that he's doing any progress with how gentle he is, but you don't complain. It feels too nice for it.

There is still a 'safe' distance between the two of you, but every now and then you feel his naked skin brush over yours. As much as you try to keep a clear head, this is quite a loaded situation and it does things to you. His fingers gently brush over your temple as Arthur moves some of your hair to the side.

Once he's done and puts the hairbrush aside, you turn around to face him. Most of the moon's light is unable to break through the dense treetops, but it's enough for you to see his outlines. His broad shoulders, his wide arms and those rough features in his face that have been marked by time and countless of fights.

His light brown hair is wet and slicked back, curling slightly around his ears. The tips of your fingers dance across the side of his face and his eyes flutter shut. This must be quite the struggle for him. Exposing himself to someone else that way again. It makes you happy, seeing how much he trusts you.

In one swift motion, you find yourself scooped up in his arms and his forehead pressed against yours. His eyes are fluttered shut as if he's aching and he whispers your name like a plea. It's so sweet and tender, but at the same time you feel like a sharp blade is piercing your heart, when you hear it.

Arthur's fingers trace your collarbone and run down the curve of your back. His touch leaves a hot trail, having you long for more. Your hands cup his cheeks and you quickly pull him closer for a kiss.

As your lips move in sync together, you press your chest flush against his. It feels like your bodies fit perfectly into each other like two puzzle pieces would. One of his hands is nestled in the crook of your neck, while the other is holding onto your hips as if you're his lifeline.

Gasps and pants fill the peaceful quiet around you, mixed together with the rustling of leaves and the rushing of water. He kisses you more, until your lips are red and your face is burning. A familiar heat pools between your legs and you rub your thighs together.

While moving your legs, you feel something else brush your skin and your mind goes blank for a brief moment. Something snaps within you and you run your tongue over the outlaw's chapped lips. He groans in response, dipping his head deeper so you would have better access.

You feel his hardened dick twitch in response when you grab a fistful of his hair and tug. The way his body reacts to your touch fills you with pride, pleased to have a tough criminal like him melt in the palm of your hands. Though you can tell that he's still somewhat holding back.

Of course he's devoting himself entirely to you and your lips, but it's as if he's not quite in it either. With a worried crease between your eyebrows you pull away and study his expression. It's a mix between lust, desperation and something else, that you can't place.

"What's wrong?", you ask, not wanting to push him. There is a long pause until he answers.

"I don't deserve to have you like this."

Hearing this from him isn't anything new. He has distanced himself from you before, because of this belief and you wish you could change his mind, make him see how wonderful he is. Gently, you cup his cheeks and watch him lean into your palms like a moth drawn to a flame.

"Don't think that way now, Arthur.", you tell him, your voice sweet like honey to his ears. "Just focus on me, okay?"

"I-"

"Don't. I want this. I want you."

For the longest time he simply stares at you, an unreadable mask on his face and you fear that he might back off anyways. But then his lips crash against yours with more vigor than before, catching you completely off guard. His hands roam all over your body as he pulls you close.

A deep groan escapes your throat, but he muffles it with his tongue. His dick is pressed against your stomach, flooding your mind with all sorts of dirty scenarios and next thing you know, you're being lifted.

"Arthur, what-"

"I don't want you here.", he interrupts you in a low voice. "Wanna hear those noises you make better."

Heat shoots up into your face and you let him carry you back on land. There he picks up some of his clothes and leads you further away from the river. You can still hear the rushing water in the background, but it's not dominating as much anymore.

At the new spot, he spreads his clothes over the grass and moss and signals for you to lay down on them. His large body follows you, towering over you like a shield. There he attacks your lips again, sliding his wet tongue over yours and nibbling at your lower lip. All this is driving you crazy and if you don't get any friction between your legs soon, you might cry out into the nightsky from frustration.

As if he had read your mind, his calloused hand travels down your body. It stops every now and then to cup your breast and have his thumb circle over your nipple. Other times he's just squeezing your waist, tummy and hip, appreciating every inch of your exposed body.

When he finally reaches your thigh, you feel like you could burst into a round of applause and cheers. Instinctively, you spread your legs for him and you feel his lips curl up into a smile in between the kisses. You don't have to look at him to know about that smug grin on his face.

Arthur runs a finger over your wet folds and every single muscle of yours trembles. This is the moment you have been dreaming of ever since the two of you got stuck in that closet during the Mayor's garden party. The thought of having his hands on you like this have haunted you nearly every night and now you finally get to live it.

That brilliant thumb of his finds it's way to your clit which is almost aching by now from all the anticipation. He rubs it in a agonizingly slow way and you claw at his shoulders, silently begging for more. His hot breath hits your face and he speeds up, unable to deny you the pleasure you're oh so desperately seeking.

Next thing you know, he slides a finger inside, searching for that sweet spot. Once he finds it and you arch your back in response, he adds another one. The way he massages your clit and curls his fingers up inside you, has you seeing stars.

"I'm so close.", you gasp out and hold onto his arms like a lifeline.

Arthur let's out a satisfied hum, keeping a steady pace. He makes sure not to slow down or to speed up, not wanting to throw you off this path to sweet release. When you pull him in for a kiss, it's to muffle the cry that tears from your lips when that knot in your stomach opens.

Your thighs shake and your back arches in an almost painful way, as the orgasm hits you like a slap to the face. Arthur continues moving his fingers, letting you ride out your high until he pulls away. An outraged gasp escapes you when he licks off that wet slick from his fingers and you half-heartedly slap his shoulder.

"What? Can't a man enjoy his meal?", he drawls with a smirk and you laugh.

"Mr. Morgan!", you squeal in feigned embarrassment.

That look of adoration and arousal on his face would have made you shy away on any other day, but not now. Now you only want to keep this going until you're both exhausted and unable to catch your breaths.

Once again it's as if he's reading your mind. He lifts your leg, propping it over his shoulder and the feeling of his thick cock on your pussy has you moaning. It flips a switch in your head and you shamelessly grind yourself against him.

Arthur furrows his eyebrows and his eyes flutter shut, as a beautiful groan leaves his mouth. The outlaw straightens his back, kneeling now and staring down at you. He looks like a dream this way.

Wet hair sticking to his forehead, his lips parted, all red and swollen from your rough kisses. Your eyes take in every detail of his. From the tan lines where he rolls up the sleeves of his button up shirts to the trail of thick, dark hair that travels down from his belly button to his bush.

"You sure 'bout this, sweetheart?", he asks, ripping you out of your thoughts and you nod hastily.

"I want this, Arthur."

The way you speak his name does something to him. Next thing you know, he slides his tip in and your eyes roll back. Slowly he pushes in the rest of his length, giving you the time to adjust. Aside from his fingers, you have also dreamed about his dick being burried inside you, but you never expected for him to make you feel this full.

He stretches your walls and sharp pain shoots through your veins from the sensation, but it disappears quickly. With one of your legs still on his shoulder, he starts to pull out and rolls his hips back forward. Every single motion is careful, gentle. His goal is not to hurt you, but to make you feel good, unaware that this slow pace of his is actually torture for you. Though it's not for the reasons he's afraid of.

"Arthur.", you breathe out his name and he immediately halts. "I need more. Please."

The worry in his face vanishes the moment he processes your words and he leans down until he's towering over you again. His elbows are planted on either side of your head to keep him up and you wrap your legs around his waist.

With one swift motion, you pull him closer, deeper inside you and he dips his head into the crook of your neck. Hot breath hits your skin, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up and he begins to thrust into you again. This time his hips move with more confidence and you moan his name over and over like a prayer.

His cock pounds into you, the slight curve of his shaft making it possible for his tip to hit your sweet spot. It makes you see stars behind your eyes and you feel another orgasm build up. The sound of both your moans and the wet slapping of skin on skin fills the air and you hope that the river is drowning it all out.

Arthur fucks you relentlessly, taking your hand in his and intertwining his fingers with yours. He whispers soft praises into your ear, pushing you more and more towards the edge.

"You feel so good. You're takin' me so good, sweetheart.", he murmurs in a raspy voice. "Goddamn, so tight."

His thrusts grow sloppier and messier, indicating that he's close as well. Then his hand leaves yours and he puts his thumb back to work on your swollen clit. It feels so good, that you barely even get the chance to warn him. Your orgasm washes over you only a few seconds later, still sensitive from the previous one and you let out a sound that makes Arthur's knees buckle.

Your walls clench around him tightly, too tight for him to hold back his own release. As much as he would love to fill you up with his cum, he forces himself to pull out and gives his dick a few pumps before spilling all over your stomach.

The water from his hair drips down onto your nose and the guttural moan leaving his lips is like music to your ears. Both your chests are rising and falling in sync with your heavy panting and he rolls over to the side. With a strong arm around your waist, Arthur pulls you closer and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"You're too good to me.", he murmurs while tracing patterns over your skin with his fingers and you give him a puzzled look.

"I didn't really do much."

"You did more for me than you can imagine."

Your muscles feel heavy and sore as you relax against his side and breathe in his scent. If you could you'd stay like this forever, but you have to get back to the camp soon.

Together you sneak to Arthur's tent, where he drapes a thick blanket of your shoulders and pulls you down to lay next to him. Your fingers are tracing the outlines of his face and you watch him drift off into a deep slumber.

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trappers-cloak · 4 months ago

Text

The Buck and the Fox - Chapter 1 - The Shepherd and the Angel

Diana Wegner

The sun was high enough - and hot enough - that Diana had ditched her coat. The great green thing hung over the rump of Althea, bouncing as the pair trotted along. Pluto let out a small bark below, nipping at the heels of a dozen sheep along the hillside. The wind billowing through the trees wasn’t nearly enough to stave off the heat, but it swept the sweat from her brow. The surrounding grass was a bright green, peppered with reds and pinks and oranges, all the herbs dotting the Heartlands. Diana could hear no sound besides sheep bleating. That sound was a welcome one, and she sent a silent thanks to God that no human voices polluted her ears.

A voracious reader as a child, Diana recalled poetry about hillsides like this. Emerson, Dickinson, even Shakespeare…she doubted they could imagine a moment this perfect. Something this devoid of a past.

The gunshot was, as one would guess, unwelcome.

All she had on hand was a repeater, a simple thing, slung across her shoulder. It would have to do as she took aim for the origin of the shot, somewhere up on the hill. Sure enough, two bandits rode above, aiming lower than she expected. She turned, and realized; they were here for the sheep.

With a blast, she narrowly missed the closer of the two, a large man on an even larger horse.

“Shit,” she muttered, reloading. What was the point of learning to shoot if she didn’t live long enough to use her skills?

She fired again. This time, the shot grazed the fat man’s arm, and he cried out in pain. His stallion shrieked and began bucking him off, with limited success.

Before Diana could load again, Althea stood and reared, kicking her front legs wildly. A gunshot sounded from the ground, and before she could blink, Diana was in the air. The impact of her back on the hill knocked the wind out of her, and before she could even collect herself, the other bandit was upon her.

It’s amazing how time slows down in the heat of the moment. Even with her death imminent, Diana could make out the green kerchief around his neck. Green eyes, a scraggly beard. She knew this man, or this type of man, anywhere.

The Irish accent gave him away. An O’Driscoll.

“Well, miss, think the boss man will reconsider-”

His words were cut off by a snarl as Pluto tackled him, barking and growling up a storm.

Good boy. Diana was free from the O’Driscoll’s grasp, but her gun was out of reach. She fumbled around for a revolver, to no success. Pluto was still laying into the skinny Irishman, but the big one had regained his senses and had started towards her again. She was outnumbered, and had no choice.

She took a deep breath, and screamed.

The sound of galloping filled the air. She was done for.

She screamed again.

“HELP ME!”

Two gunshots fired, calculated, separated. Pow! Pow! But the galloping didn’t stop. And the sound was getting closer by the millisecond. She began to scramble to her feet, pulling out her last resort - a small switchblade that Cripps had given her the day he taught her how to hunt. She flicked the blade open and readied her hand, turning to her assailant. She wondered who she’d face first - the big one or the skinny one.

It was neither.

“Woah… miss calm down, I ain’t gonna hurt’cha,” the man said, putting his hands up as he hopped down from his horse.

“Then drop your gun,” Diana said. It was all she could think of.

He tossed it to the side without a thought, and inched closer. She held out her lance knife, just the way Cripps taught her to. Her face was fixed in a snarl.

“Ma’am, I ain’t gonna-”

“Did you shoot them?”

“What?”

“Did you shoot them?”

“Well, yeah-”

“Why?”

“Well shit, I guess I was tryna save you, but if you’d rather be in a casket, who am I to judge?” he answered, slyly. He had a deep accent, a country one. She couldn’t place it.

Diana faltered for a moment, then said;

“You didn’t have to save me.”

“Well, it sure didn’t look like you were gonna do it yourself,” he countered.

She shot him a glare, readying a comeback, but instead? Instead she burst out laughing.

“Well, yes,” she said, between breaths, “I guess you’re right.” after a pause, she added,

“well? Is a lady going to have to help herself to her feet?”

The man started, and extended his hand down. She grabbed it, noting the sheer number and strength of the callouses coating it, and together the pair lifted Diana to her feet. For a very brief moment, Diana was chest to chest with the cowboy - well, head to chest, given that he stood nearly a head above her in height. Two parts of Diana burned - her cheeks with a blush, and her ring finger with shame and a grim reminder. The moment was over as soon as it began.

“Ahem…uh, thank you, sir,” she started, and sighed. “You saved my life. I owe you something for that at least.”

“Now, I don’t need anything, I was just bein-”

“Well at least a meal or a drink is in order!”

The man started again. “Ma’am, really, I-”

Diana sighed. “Please, mister, it's the least I can do. Plus,” she began, nodding over a few yards west, “I need your help. Those bandits must’ve gotten one of the sheep - look.'' Sure enough, a mound of white wool lay in the grass, the only sheep that had been lost in the raid.

“Help me get that poor soul back to Cripps, and you’ll be paid for your time.”

The man sighed, knowing he’d lost the exchange. “Fine,” he said, dejected. As the pair lifted the wayward sheep onto Althea, Diana spoke up once more.

“Thank you mister…”

“Morgan,” he paused. It looked like he was trying to remember what his name was. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Thank you, mister Morgan,” Diana said, and turned. “PLUTO!” she whistled. “ROUND ‘EM UP!”

Arthur Morgan

Dutch had told them in no uncertain terms to lie low. Besides making money, lying low was the top priority. So the O’Driscoll’s over on the hill should not have been his concern, and they weren’t until the bloodcurdling scream Arthur had heard from the middle of the herd of sheep. He may be trying to keep a low profile, but he wasn’t about to let some innocent shepard get herself killed. He imagined there would be some divine retribution for that, or some symbolism - something in his surrogate fathers’ books that would have damned him.

Now this same shepherd was leading him to some reward he felt he couldn’t accept. He had given his full name, his real name, to this woman, and he felt like he was 13 again. Breaking all the rules. He didn’t lie low, he didn’t mind his business, he didn’t keep himself a secret. And what would he have to show for it?

The smell of the stew pot hit him before he could see it.

“Sit down, mister Morgan, stay as long as you’d like,” the woman said, hanging her coat on a hook attached to a beautiful cherry tree. She had taken him behind what must be the trading post at Emerald Ranch - a small building bedecked with animal heads, hides and antlers. The camp spot was a cozy one, with the campfire and a great bronze stew pot as its centerpiece.

“Mr. Cripps is still working on the stew - the rest of the ranch hands are still tending to the sheep and the cows, but you can have the first bowl once he’s done. He’ll be out any second.”

“Ma’am, I really don’t need any fo-” Arthur’s stomach growled mid sentence. He flushed, and the woman turned, and gave a slight chuckle.

“Right.”

“Well,” Arthur continued, taking a seat, “then thank you for your hospitality, Miss…”

She finished for him.

“Missus Diana Wegner. My husband owns this ranch. Forgive me for being blunt, Mister Morgan, but are you new around these parts?” She stuck out her hand, boldly. With purpose. A silver ring adorned it.

He took it, shook it, and responded.

“Yeah, well, my crew and I were workers in the north, and our factory got shut down, so we’re living in a camp near uh… Valentine?” he recited the story Hosea had told him. It was, to the old man’s credit, a great cover.

“I’m sorry to hear. Were you stuck up in the Grizzlies when that storm hit?”

Arthur chuckled, despite the memory being, at best, an unpleasant one. “Yeah, we just got out of it a few weeks ago. Lot of folk are still trying to get back on their feet,” he said.

“Well its a good thing you made it down here,” Diana replied. “I take it you’re doing the hunting then?” she gestured to the pelt on the back of Ares. “How much shot did that thing take?”

Arthur chuckled. “Not as much as you’d think. Damn thing nearly killed me. Apparently it’s some legendary bear - uncommon size.”

“You’ve got that right. Do you know how much that would be worth?”

Arthur shifted, uncomfortable. It would be just his luck to get robbed by the woman he saved.

“Not sure…”

“Well, me neither, but Mr. Cripps would have a field day tanning that thing. If you’d be interested in selling it here, I’m sure you could work out a deal.”

Arthur paused, wondering if this was a good chance to strike up some work - legitimate work, for once.

“If Mister…”

“Cripps,”

“Right. If Mr. Cripps buys this, would he buy other skins too, or…”

“Looking for employment, are we? And I thought men were all after something else!” Diana exclaimed. Arthur’s face felt hotter than hell itself. He could only imagine the shade of red it turned.

“Well, I- maybe,” he admitted. “I don’t know. As long as it pays.”

“That we do. In money, food, goods, or any combination.”

The backdoor of the store burst open, and an old man with a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard stepped out, holding a basket of herbs and corn.

“And we have the best of all three!” he exclaimed, sauntering over to the pair. “I couldn’t help but overhear the entire conversation, and your hunting skills would make an excellent contribution to Cripps-Wegner Trading Co!”

Diana sighed, and gestured towards the man. “Mister Cripps, Arthur Morgan. Arthur Morgan, Mister Cripps.” Before she could finish, Cripps was shaking Arthur’s hand with an enthusiasm he had only seen a few times before - and most of those times involved Sean and Karen, back before Sean got captured.

Before she could make any more introductions, a bell sounded, and Diana’s head whipped towards the big green house across the road.

“Shit,” she muttered. “That’s dinner bell.” she turned again to Arthur, and held out her hand. He took it, not knowing whether to shake it or not. Dutch had taught him to kiss a woman’s hand when they gave it this way, but the wedding ring gave him considerable pause.

“Thank you, Arthur, again. I owe you more than I can describe. Enjoy the stew, and let Cripps know if you have any availability.” as she spoke, she transformed - she did up her hair, tossed her hat aside, washed her hands and changed into ladies shoes seemingly before Arthur could blink. She went from a rancher to a society lady in less than a minute. He hoped she didn’t notice his stare.

“Come back to Emerald Ranch soon, mister Morgan. Our saloon is closed and it mostly smells of sheep shit, but I’m sure you’ll find something here to your liking.” she turned, and after a few steps, shouted over her shoulder. “Mister Cripps! Save that sheep hide. I have a plan for it.” And she was off.

There was a pregnant silence between her departure and the voice of Mr. Cripps.

“So, mister Morgan,” he began, “are you gonna continue to make googly eyes at Missus Wegner or are you going to have some mutton?”

#rdr2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 community #the buck and the fox #rdr2 oc

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