dead_saito
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In 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers is at an end. After the premature death of your husband, you find your place in John Price's gang, navigating grief, desire and revenge.
or the rdr2!au.
Bookmarked by dead_saito
18 May 2026
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Johnny’s hand rakes through his hair like he can’t find words fast enough. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“You shouldn’t be here. You—” He gestures to the door, to the base, to you. “You said you wouldn’t. You made me a promise.”
You scoff. “Ten years ago.”
“I don’t care if it was twenty.” His voice is rising now. His finger is pointing at you accusingly. “You promised me you’d stay out of this shite. Get a job. A house. A dog—fuckin’ something normal. Safe. Something good.”
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You and Johnny grew up like gravity. Pulled together, always just close enough to hurt. Everyone saw what you two never said aloud. He left for the military and shattered your heart on the way out. Ten years later, you’re standing in the same room, staring at the same eyes you swore you’d never see again. And still, he’s the first person your heart recognises before your mind does.
Series
- Part 1 of Soap Stories
Bookmarked by dead_saito
08 May 2026
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Every time one of the Task Force 141 dies, you wake up in your cot again, the day before you were shipped off to join them on their hunt for Hassan and eventually Makarov.
You knew exactly how each day would go from here on out until you got to your last ‘checkpoint.’ Your mind was barely able to understand what exactly was happening to you, and why it only happened to you.
In your second iteration, you had assumed it was all some long, bad dream, but it had always felt too real, that was, until you made it back to the bomb again. Soap died every time, sometimes sooner, sometimes after the fact. In some iterations. You would make such a fuss about the mission that they would leave you behind at base, only for you to restart again once Soap died on the mission.
After catching your breath and wiping your forehead free of sweat, you looked down at the number you had tattooed into your arm. After every reset, you would stick and poke a new number into your wrist to keep track of how many times you had been sent back to the past.
‘1337.’
Bookmarked by dead_saito
05 May 2026
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For two years, you and Duncan orbit each other inside the same circle of friends, each mistaking the other’s awkwardness for disinterest. Then, one reckless night changes the terms entirely. A story about bad timing, good longing, and leaving the hardest thing until last.
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He starts forward. You put both hands to his chest and stop him, smiling like this is all very funny. “I can manage,” you say. “It’s not far. And I feel a bit better.”“No, you’re not walkin’ alone.”
“Yes I am,” you say. “Stop this.”
You are standing right in his way. Duncan breathes out hard through his nose. “Don’t push me, girl,” he mutters, and bends. Then, his arms go round the backs of your thighs and he swings you over his shoulder.
“Duncan!” you yelp. Bat your funny little fists against his back and kick one foot so hard your slipper falls off. “Dunk, my shoe! Bloody hell, put me down!”
“That’s what y’get for bein’ stubborn,” he says, giving the backs of your thighs one firm settling pat as he walks on.
You keep fighting him, but you laugh all the way through it, bent over his shoulder and kicking your remaining slippered foot at the air. “What has got into you?”
“You. Apparently.”
Bookmarked by dead_saito
05 May 2026
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While escaping your dreadful northern fate, serving and thirsty, you're rescued by an unlikely squire and an even more unlikely knight. You travel to Ashford in hopes of Dunk participating in the tourney and you getting back on your feet while escape a cruel man with ice shards for eyes, but he's sent men on your tail, men who want your head.
But you and Ser Duncan are friends, he'll protect you, right?
Building bonds is easy when everything you say is a lie.Bookmarked by dead_saito
04 May 2026