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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

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Micah Bell - Partners in Crime and in Love Pt.2

hell yeahhhh the part 2 i’ve been dying to write. this is more angsty than i thought i’d be but there’s fluff and a smut scene (with a fem reader) so a warning that this contains adult content.

part one is here otherwise this makes no sense

side note: i don’t know how to write anything remotely sexual so i’m sorry it’s bad and poorly written ima just 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️

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The shock of what had happened at the bank still hadn’t settled with you the next morning after Charles had returned. Apart of you kept thinking that Micah would stroll through the front gates of Shady Belle or come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist with a coffee in hand like he does every morning. But that didn’t happen. He was really gone, what’s worse is you didn’t know how bad gone was. Was Micah stuck on some ship? Did he get captured by the Pinkertons? Or was he dead? Charles said he never actually saw them make it to the ship, only parted with them at the docks.

Fuck. The unknown was the worst part. His death you could handle (that’s a lie you’ll keep telling yourself) but not knowing whether he was okay was tormenting.

The gang, or what was left of them was in shambles ever since the bank. When Charles returned and delivered the news that young Lenny didn’t make it, everyone was left feeling heavy with despair and grief. Despite his rather sour relationship with Micah, you had a soft spot for him and more often than not took him under your wing to show him the ropes robbing coaches and being an experienced outlaw. Needless to say the gang won’t be what it was without him, but you did your best to not let it unsettle you too much.

That night while sitting by the campfire, your mind drifts to the night of the Mayor’s party. Originally, you were due to go with Micah as the latest young couple of the oiling industry and were looking to ingratiate yourselves with potential new investors. That all went out the door when Micah got himself into a bar fight over the last bottle of whiskey and there was no way Dutch was going to allow him to the party looking like some scruffy outlaw. You were both slightly upset that you didn’t get to go so instead you put on Dutch’s gramophone (he won’t miss it for one night) and slow danced together on the balcony.

His hand was placed gently on the small of your back, his other holding yours out to the side as you swayed together to the music. It was a pitiful attempt at dancing, lacking any of the real technique or proper movements but it was perfect for a couple o outlaws like yourselves. Your head was resting on his chest, taking in a deep breath and letting yourself completely relax into his embrace. It was one of the few times that you could forget about being an outlaw, about being on the run. That soft peaceful moment with your head tucked under Micah’s chin is the closest thing you’ll ever get to a redemption, and to you, that was all you could want…

You stayed by the campfire for the remaining hours of the night, replaying over and over the scene at the bank, thinking of everything that you could have done right. That night you let the guilt claw at your mind until the sun emerged from the horizon and Miss Grimshaw started ordering everyone to begin packing up the camp.

“Chin up now! I don’t need anyone slacking while we’re short of hands, help pack up the last of the boxes.”

Nodding defeatedly at Susan’s demand, you made your way over to the last remaining stack of crates carrying ammunition. Any other day you probably would have argued with her if only to cause some mischief but today you simply did not have it in you. Your body was exhausted and struggled to carry the weight of the crate until Charles came over and took the other side.

“Thank you, Charles.”

In return, Charles gave you an affirming nod, the two of you working together to help move the remaining supplies. When the final box was moved and secured, he placed a comforting hand was placed on your shoulder.

“They’re going to be fine, if they survived Blackwater then this surely won’t. Besides they have Dutch leading em the whole way.”

Charles has always been a friend to you, been there for you during the worst of it and certainly didn’t judge you for who you were. It was the same for him and the two of you would often go out hunting to get away and relax from the stress of the gang.

“He’ll be fine…”

Charles didn’t need to name him to know you were primarily concerned about one more so than the rest and while Charles certainly did not like Micah, he was a friend of yours no matter what.

If Micah thought the bank job couldn’t have gone any worse he’d be called a fool because boy was he wrong. Most definitely wrong.

The boat fucking sunk.

Of all the things that could have happened, something ended up catching fire and in the chaos of it all ended up on some island beach with Dutch and Bill, god knows where Arthur is in all of this. There was sand scratching his already burnt skin and the heat was sweltering, it wasn’t even midday yet and he’d already made the choice that he hated this Island.

After three days on the Island, his opinion had not changed one bit. If anything he’d say he hated it even more. The amount of wildlife was unbearable, with the disgusting insects that were everywhere and the vines which were snakes hidden in plain sight. Not to mention he’d already been in too many shootouts to count, Javier was shot and captured and Dutch was slowly slipping into insanity while running around caves and ruins running errands for people that he didn’t know.

For once, Micah was glad to take guard duty. Sure the heat was enough to give him a headache and he had to listen to Morgan cough up half his lungs each night but it was better than getting involved in some civil war between rich businessmen and the locals. All he wants is to leave this Island and be back with you.

In the dead quiet of the night, Micah is leaning against a stone pillar keeping guard. His eyes wander to the moonlight that bounces off the water and how it reminds him of your new revolver. Sure most revolvers were same bright colour but yours was black with white engravings. He had it made especially for you as a gift and when he saw your face light up with joy, it made paying for the damn thing worth every cent.

God he misses you, he hates to admit it but he so desperately wants to see you. He thinks about finally seeing you again, how you’ll probably break his nose for taking so long but he’d expect nothing less from an outlaw like you. The thought makes him chuckle to himself softly at how much he’s head over heels for you.

The next few days are a haze, he doesn’t even know who he’s fighting but there’s no time to stop and think about it as bullets whizz past him in every direction from his place on the beach. There’s a ship and a canon that leaves the building rattling with each fire of the canon ball and there’s boats of guards that chase them up the beach.

Miraculously everyone survives and Micah doesn’t stop to look at the damage left on the beach. The thought of being back with you makes the shootout worth it and he can’t wait to put that shitty Island behind him.

When you finally see Micah stroll into the new camp, you’re already half way over to him before he’s even off his horse. The whole way you’re rambling, borderline yelling as you practically lecture him for leaving.

“How could you be so irresponsible, running off like that! I don’t believe it! Micah do you know how fucking worried I wa-“

Micah cuts you short by wrapping your arm under you and pulls you into a long kiss. He lets out a sigh against your lips at how badly he’s missed it, how badly he’s missed you. You mirror his desperation and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer by his hair as you’re terrified to let him go.

Neither of you care that the gang is watching you two, all that matters is he’s back and you can finally stop worrying.

“Don’t you dare run off like that again…”

There’s no venom in your lecture this time and he smiles against your lips, kissing you again.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.”

Later, when things had calmed down and everyone was waiting for Bill and Arthur to return, you snuck away with Micah to ‘scout for a potential lead’. Dutch had protested but you simply stated that there was mouth’s to feed and money to be made which seemed to do the job with only the slight warning of not causing too much trouble.

That of course would all have to wait as you made your way into the Hotel in Annesburg, slinging your coat over the door handle before making your way over to Micah who sat on the edge of the bed. You seated yourself onto his lap and brought him in for another kiss, this one much more passionate but no less gentle. His hands came up to roam over your back, finally getting to feel you after so long. He took off your gun belt and brought you closer, desperately trying to untuck your shirt from your pants as he tried to undress you without letting you go.

“S’alright Micah, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

You chuckle at he impatient gruff he throws at you and kiss his cheek adoringly. Micah will admit to hating how sappy and loved you made him feel but deep down you both know he loves every second of it.

You stand up, moving away from him slightly to undress properly and you notice how Micah doesn’t take his eyes off you. It makes removing his own shirt rather clumsy, getting stuck on the buttons but he can’t get over how lucky he that you like him.

When all you’re both finally undressed all the way, Micah lays back down on the middle of the bed with you straddled on top of him. Usually he’s adamant on being in charge but tonight he’s happy to let you call the shots.

After what feels like hours of gentle teasing and light kisses, you finally line yourself up as he slides into you. A soft moan bubbles from your lips when Micah’s hip thrusts up reflexively, causing a wave of pleasure to wash over you.

Eventually as you both find a rhythm your gentle and soft touches become more heated and demanding. Micah’s hands are grabbing your hips in the best kind of way, meeting your thrusts half way. A cocky smirk is on his face as he makes more moans and whimpers leave you.

At one point you lean down and use his hair to pull him into a bruising kiss, full of teeth and tongue. The change of angle has you moaning much louder into his mouth as his cock hits that spot that makes your stomach flare with pleasure, brining you closer to the edge. You can tell he’s not too far behind you from the way his thrusts falter slightly and are much more irregular. Not to mention the moans of his own that now accompany his groans.

“Mm Fuck Micah… Don’t you ever leave like that again.”

Micah chuckles at your attempt to lecture him again, but he can hear the serious undertone, how worried you were over him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it sweetheart…”

One, two, three more thrusts later and you’re pushed over the edge. Your face is pressed into his neck as you moan his name, biting into his neck which is sure to leave a mark at such an intense orgasm. You tightening around him is enough to send him over as a soft pretty moan leaves him. It was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over your own panting breath, but you did and its only reserved for you.

Once you’ve both cleaned up, you’re looking down at him with a sheet wrapped over the two of you. You’re gently brushing his hair from your face and you can’t help but smile. His soft blue eyes glow in the golden candle light, his cheeks have a slight stain of pink from the sunburn that hasn’t quite healed yet and you think he looks absolutely perfect in that moment.

“Whatcha staring at sweetheart?”

Your smile grows at the lost puppy look he has on his face and you can’t help but trace the scar that runs from his chin to his lip with your thumb.

“You… I’m staring at you dummy, because I love you.”

Micah’s eyes widen before he flips you so you’re the one underneath him, his forearms on either side of your face. He leans down and gives you a tender kiss, humming in agreement.

“Love you too.”

Micah kisses his way down your lips to your collarbone where he rests his head on your chest. Your hand comes to gently play with his hair again, something you can’t get enough of, until you both begin to fall asleep. You drift off with a small smile on your face, contempt and at peace for the first time in a long time knowing that if the two of you could survive that horrid bank job then you could survive anything else that was thrown your way.

#micah bell #micah bell imagine #micah bell x reader #micah bell hc’s #soft and angsty rat #soft micah hours #you can tell i love his hair too much #it just looks fun to play with #it’s like kinda sub micah? i can’t tell #either way it’s self indulgent af #rdr2 headcanons #rdr2 writing #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #nsft post

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scarfacemarston · 4 years

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RDR 1 FAQ for RDR 2 fans

Okay, I’ve been seeing a lot of misconceptions and actually some abuse towards the developers so I’m really pissed about this. Don’t be entitled and do your research. Most importantly - do not harass a developer. Warning: I may have to edit this when I’m feeling better. I have trouble thinking straight and more calmly after my seizures- which is when I’m writing this. Trigger warning for Sucid*l talk. Let me know if I should add more.

1. Why isn’t Arthur in the game? Because the game is ten years old. Production of the game started around 2005 if I remember correctly. It was Rockstar’s last hurrah because the company was nearly bankrupt. RDR 1 had to be delayed multiple times because they kept running out of money. The game came out in 2010. Rdr 2 came out in 2018. Why would Arthur appear in a game where he hasn’t even been created yet? A lot of people complain that they won’t play the game because the graphics are so old - but doesn’t that show people that the game is older and therefore can’t be called a prequel to rdr 2?

John Marston is the only reason we have Arthur. Roger Clark himself has said that people need to give the game more credit. Plus, Arthur’s ending is in rdr 2. Why would John hunt him down if he didn’t exist yet? If people are referring to John commenting on him - again. It didn’t exist yet. In canon, John can’t mentally handle talking about Arthur. I will say, it would have been interesting to see what would have happened if Arthur survived, but many rdr 1 fans knew Arthur was a goner before even playing RDR 2 because he wasn’t mentioned. This entitlement is the biggest qualm with the fandom on this subject because I see people getting damn nasty with the developers over this. It’s really not that hard to figure out, people. 2. Why isn’t Charles in the game? See above. Plus, Charles went to Canada to settle down. He’s not a threat. No one even knows he was and he wouldn't have been deemed a threat because he retired.

3. Why isn’t Sadie in the game? See Arthur's answer. Also deemed not a threat because she joined the gang so recently and the Pinkerton didn’t know her identity. Just like Charles. She also went to South America. The Pinkertons didn’t have the jurisdiction to go there or to Canada. They cheated and used John to give the corpses over the border. Sadly, If John went to Canada - he probably would have been fine.

4. Why are the graphics so bad? Because the game is from 2010. They hold up surprisingly well though.

5. Why are the controls so weird? See above.

6. the game is so lonely compared to rdr 2! Yeah, I agree. It’s supposed to be though. Arthur says the “Wild West” is nearly extinct in 1899. By 1911, there are only tiny pockets of it. John, Dutch, Javier, and Bill are the last true outlaws and even then, John is retired. John has had everything taken from him. He has no friends. They are all dead or moved on. His family has been kidnapped. He has no one. This is how it was at the end of RDR 2′s epilogue too.

7. John is dumb. He got shot talking to Bill by himself. No. John knows this was meant to be a suicide mission. The Pinkertons explicitly said they never expected John to last so long. On top of that, John was suicd*l. His ranch was destroyed. He was in jail where they may have physically and emotionally broken him so he’d be compliant. He has no idea Jack and Abigail are alive. He’s lost everything. He says himself that he’s sucid*l to Bonnie.

8. I don’t like John as much as Arthur. That’s okay! You don’t have to like him as much! No problem. I will point out that John is very different from Arthur and did not benefit from the same attention that Arthur received in development. John was considered revolutionary at his time and constantly voted as one of the top ten most beloved video game characters of all time. Arthur was given a lot more time. They gave Arthur a journal to see his inner thoughts. Arthur had a family that loved him. John did not at this point. John didn’t have anyone. John doesn’t even have anyone to talk to. He’s meant to be mysterious and people comment on this all the time. He holds his emotions to his chest, but he is shown to have them. He’s shown to have a soft side and a sense of humor. But again, rdr 2 is FULL of people supporting Arthur. John doesn’t have that so people struggle to feel as close to him because John isn’t given the luxury of showing his softer side until the end of chapter 3.

9. Where is the Marston daughter? John explicitly says she’s died on several occasions. It’s also implied that Dutch and the others kept tabs on John because he and Javier know about her. No, I don’t understand why there isn’t a gravestone except for the fact that maybe John and Abigail wanted to have her buried properly in a graveyard.

7. Where was John before the game? Good question! He is implied to have been in Siska and then taken to Blackwater before being sent to New Austin. Note: John is NOT supposed to be in New Austin in the epilogue. This breaks canon because John needs to hire a guide.

5. John knew they were after him, right? Probably. I think he did know in the back of his mind. He was shown to literally always be looking behind his shoulder. However, I think he was more concerned about the law than the Pinkertons in general? I struggle with this because Agent Milton came into camp and had no idea who John was. John never said his name. Edgar Ross did not know his name either. However, they figured out he was involved somehow later on. They found John due to the descriptions of his face. They then put together descriptions of face to the name John Marston and that is how I think he was found.

6. John is selfish. How? Wanting to save your family is selfish? He’s also been seen helping tons of people to the point that people come up to him to thank him, praise him or give him money. He helps Bonnie even after his debt has been repaid....numerous times. He became friends with the Marshall. He helped Seth because he had to, yes. He had no choice, but he also felt great sympathy towards him. He was semi-okay with McDougal but hated his racism. He respected and liked Nastas. He helped Maria when it was extremely detrimental to him. But seriously, look at Seth, Dickens, McDougal, and the way De Santa and Reyes treated him. They jerked John around like a puppet. Same with the Pinkertons. He was literally forced to fight in a Mexican revolution because people kept lying and betraying him. He explicitly said that as an American, he had no right to be involved in their politics and desperately stayed out of it. He lamented multiple times that he had to commit the atrocities he did in a war he wanted nothing to do with. After John did all of their dirty work, they told John that Abigail and Jack were killed. John nearly killed the Pinkertons then and there and honestly? I think John would have turned the gun on himself.

Editing because I’m bitter.

7. Dutch: “We all had her.” See, she’s a whore! So, working girls are a HUGE part of movie westerns and were very respected. In real life, we only have the state of Wyoming because a prostitute was able to get the town started. The men refused to become a state ebcause that meant the women lost the right to vote. Working girls were also shown to be the most charitable out of all the demographics to the point that the church ladies would visit the brothels first. Some were basically legends. However, many more had miserable lives. Many were beat, r*ped, murdered, suicid*al? So How is any of this funny?

So you’re taking something out of complete context and repeating information that is plain old wrong? Most people who say this think they’re funny or haven’t even played the game. It’s sad that it’s became a meme in this fandom because it’s wrong and hurtful. Even if she did, Abigail deserves more respect than this.Dutch is wrong about saying Abigail slept with everyone. This is literally impossible because she quit her working girl days the minute she met John. Each and every member have been debunked save for Uncle. Evidence here.

8. Is John blind in one eye? In my opinion, yes. There is very strong evidence like Dutch and his enemies being able to surprise him one side and not the other. He protects that side more. He makes many coments about it. His protective gear cover his bad eye. Evidence here.

#john marston #arthur morgan #charles smith #javier escuella #Bonnie MacFarlane #abigail marston #jack marston #rdr2 #rdr #rdr 1 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 1 #sadie adler

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galadrieljones · 5 years

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 29 (Arthur x Mary Beth)

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: Arthur’s salvation begins with a funeral to the north: a simple hunting trip with Mary Beth as a means of processing the death of Sean McGuire. On their journey, they confide in one another, finding love in the feral wilderness, and during this exit to a dream, they begin to fantasize about their romantic escape from the outlaw life. But once they return to Shady Belle, reality comes down around them in hard pieces. Arthur must navigate his new beginnings with Mary Beth while also facing down the past, as well as contending with Dutch’s many mental and emotional deteriorations. As sons and daughters of a dying world, the entire van der Linde gang is at an impasse. Arthur and Mary Beth must help their friends while also navigating their loving road to the future, and the task is not as simple as it once seemed.

The Lily Farm is a canon divergent fix-it that begins as a retelling of Chapter 4. It will (probably) be completed in three parts.

Chapter 29: Amethyst

That night, Hosea just had a feeling. Dutch had been gone now, almost five days past the rest of them, and it was very early morning—pre-dawn, the sky purple, and there was a chill on the breeze, like something coming down from the north. Sadie and Charles were still in St. Denis. Arthur and Mary Beth were in Valentine. The swamps were full of moaning all around.

Hosea got up and put on his boots and his hat. He went outside to where the wind was coming through. It felt like thunderstorms, even as the sky was clear. Bill was passed out drunk behind the fountain, snoring like an idiot, his face black and blue from a tussle with Micah the night before. Micah irritated Hosea. He did not respect animals, nor did he respect women. He was full of venom and hubris. He deserved to die.

Hosea went out to the perimeter. He looked around. He found Karen leaning against a tree with her shotgun, smoking a cigarette.

“Hello, Karen,” he said.

She straightened up off that tree, offered him a smoke. He declined. “It’s been quieter than death out here,” she said. “Maybe too quiet.”

“How are you doing?” he said, fussing with his sleeves. He rolled them up past his forearms.

“Can’t complain,” she said. “Bored as hell.”

“All that grisly business with Sean,” said Hosea. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I got the sense the two of you were somewhat close.”

She sighed. “You’re just like all them others,” she said, smoking, looking off into the trees. “You, Arthur, Mary Beth. Always with the concern.”

“It’s good to know that people care about you,” he said. “Isn’t it? Even if we are a little annoying.”

She found this amusing, dropped the cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of her boot. “You got me there, old man.”

Hosea laughed. “Any visitors of late?” he said. “I’ve been a little cooped up. All this humidity, the swamp air. It makes me tired.”

“Just that god awful Mary Linton,” said Karen.

“Mary?” said Hosea. “That’s rich. I thought Arthur ended all that nonsense for good, months ago.”

“He did,” said Karen. “But apparently she heard he was getting on with somebody else, came here to piss on her territory or…something. Who fuckin knows with that feline.”

“Well, I’m sure everything’s fine,” said Hosea. “Mary was always a little like that. With the drama and so forth. I think as a younger man, Arthur found himself sort of lost to the cycle. The push and pull, it can be like an addiction.”

“Yeah well, men are masochistic morons if you ask me.”

“That as well,” said Hosea, smiling. He sighed. He surveyed the woods. The tupelos grew so tall, they were like great, undead arms reaching out of the earth.

“Everything okay?” said Karen.

“Everything’s fine,” said Hosea. “I’m gonna go, walk a little further, toward the road.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No bother,” he said. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Okay.”

He went ahead, picking through the swamps. The grass was wet and and spongy. His lungs felt the same. He tried to think back to a time that he had not been sick. He could no longer remember what it was like. In a way, that was better. He hacked into his sleeve, wiped his mouth, looked around. It was right on the edge of light. He had a feeling. It was not a bad feeling. It was just a feeling. He’d felt it before. But not in many years.

When he got to the road, he saw the thing he had been expecting, the object, the feeling. It was Dutch, idling out near the fence, asleep facedown on his horse. The scene was picturesque. The morning light was came in hazy, glittering off the metals on his jacket, on the Count’s saddle and his bit. The horse shuffled around as if it knew instinctively not to move. Dutch was very still aside from his breathing.

“Dutch,” said Hosea. He approached, shook Dutch hard by the shoulders. “Jesus Christ. Dutch. Wake up, son.”

Dutch came to. He sat straight up and shook out his head. He looked around as if he had no idea where he was. He was dirty and unkempt and dressed in somebody else’s clothes. He looked as if he’d been living on the streets. He’d been sweating, too, and the hair over his ears was starting to curl. “Hosea?” he said, confused. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes, you moron,” said Hosea. “Bring that thing into camp.”

“I thought—” He looked around. “I thought I might’ve been followed.”

“Well I don’t see anybody. Let’s go.”

“Is Arthur here?”

“Arthur is in Valentine, with Mary Beth. On your orders.”

Dutch cleared his throat, nodded. “Oh,” he said, a little lost. “Okay, good.” He picked up the reins. He moved at a slow trot, toward Shady Belle, Hosea at his side.

He hitched up his horse. He stumbled a little. He seemed not to have eaten in at least a day. It was near morning by now, the sun cracking into the sky bit by bit, the roosters awake. Hosea made Dutch a cup of coffee, pumped some water from the well. Some of the women had started to stir—like Tilly and Abigail. Mr. Pearson was already awake, stretching and tanning an old Pronghorn hide and making it a suitable rug or table cover. Hosea and Dutch went and sat in the gazebo where it was they could be incredibly alone.

“Where have you been, Dutch?” said Hosea, lighting a cigarette. The smoke couldn’t have been good for him, but it seemed to dry things out, which felt good. “How much trouble you been causing out there?”

Dutch shook his head. He was hunched over with his elbows on his knees, peering into his cup of coffee but not drinking. “Colm is dead.”

“I heard,” said Hosea. “I saw.”

“I think—I think I did a bad thing, Hosea. A real bad thing.”

"Tell me what you did,” said Hosea, smoking. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Dutch sat back, ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. “I hit Hanging Dog Ranch, with dynamite. There may have been survivors.”

“Why would you do that, Dutch?”

“I—I don’t know,” he said, losing his grip. “I was just so. Angry.” He clenched one of his fists, unclenched and studied his knuckles. “Colm threatened Mary Beth. He tried to—he would have violated and killed her if I had not been there.”

“So you killed Colm,” said Hosea. “Good. I’m proud of you. But why Hanging Dog, Dutch? We've already got enough bad blood brewing. You're bringing down more?”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Colm wasn’t enough?”

“No.”

Hosea sighed. He flicked the cigarette. Somewhere nearby, Cane barked and tipped over a bucket. Abigail swore and threw an frying pan at the dog, but she missed him by several inches. John laughed. "Nice try, babe." She told him to shut the fuck up.

“Dutch,” said Hosea, leaning in. They'd both been distracted by the interaction. “Dutch." He snapped his fingers.

Dutch blinked. "What?"

"You don’t seem well," said Hosea. "What's the matter?”

“I am not well,” said Dutch, straightening his sleeves. “I keep—having these dreams. Nightmares. I can’t fucking sleep.”

“Nightmares about what?”

“About her,” he said. “All about her. Hanging from that goddam tree. Buried in Cheyenne. Coming back from the dead. This place is—it’s…pressing me, Hosea.”

“Annabelle’s been dead for over ten years, Dutch,” said Hosea. “Her and the baby. I know it destroyed you for a long time, but what’s bringing this on again?”

“I don’t know,” said Dutch, shaking his head over and over. He took a sip of his coffee, finally. “I just do not know.”

“What do you know?”

“I know that seeing Mary Beth in danger, that kicked something over inside me.”

“Because she reminds you of Annabelle?" said Hosea. "She reminds me of Annabelle. Something about the freckles, the speed.”

Dutch studied him, angrily, but he became very quickly defeated and hung his head. “We need to get the hell out of here,” he said, nodding aggressively to himself. “This place is not safe no more.”

“It never really was,” said Hosea. “We’ve survived scarier places.”

“Have we?” said Dutch, looking him in the eye.

The question shook Hosea. There was no good answer. “Where would you like to go?” said Hosea. “Keep pushing east?”

“I don’t know.”

“I thought the plan was to head back west after all this nonsense died down with Blackwater,” said Hosea. “Or are we still fixated on Tahiti?”

“The plan?” said Dutch. “My plan—my plans have changed.”

“I think we’re getting closer, Dutch,” said Hosea. “I think—if we head up north of the Cumberland Forest, maybe get into the mountains for a while, up near the Indian Reservation in Ambarino—we can survive there, all of us, hunting and foraging, sending the occasional carriage down to Valentine or Emerald Station for supplies. Not enough civilization to draw the law. We could send a couple good men back to Blackwater for the money—Charles, perhaps. With Sadie. Nobody knows her there. They bring back the money, and we get the hell outta here.”

“You think we’d be safer up in the mountains?” said Dutch. “All of us—this entire brood?”

“Yes, I do,” said Hosea. “It'd be pretty boring for a while, but there ain’t no Pinkertons in the mountains. Once we get the money back, we can head north. Actually head north--to Canada maybe.”

Dutch squeezed his eyes shut like he had a headache. “It sounds goddam crazy.”

“Crazier than holing up in a haunted house in the dregs of Lemoyne while our fearless leader slowly loses his mind?” said Hosea. “I don’t think so. I think Arthur would agree.”

Dutch gave him a long, lazy look. He seemed unwilling to argue. “How is Kieran.”

“Kieran is fine,” said Hosea. “A little beat up, but he’s healing.”

“Has anyone been to St. Denis since we left, other than Sadie and Charles? Trelawny is waiting on my cue.”

“Is that the poker game on the river boat?”

“It is.”

“I thought we could send Arthur on that job,” said Hosea, lighting a match off his boot. He lit another cigarette and smoked, casually. “It seems his sort of gig. Gambling, play-acting. He looks the role. He could bring Mary Beth again. I hear she’s a pretty good honey pot.”

"Should you be smoking so goddam much, considering your...condition?" said Dutch, staring at him.

Hosea smiled. "I think you've got enough to worry about, Dutch. I can handle myself."

Dutch leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Arthur will never bring Mary Beth on a river boat full of armed guards," he said. “Not if there’s robbing involved. Too much uncertainty. You know that, Hosea.”

“Hmm,” said Hosea. “I suppose you’re probably right. We can…renegotiate perhaps. No need for robbing if we win the pot. I'll talk to Strauss, see if he has any ideas.”

“What’s the word on that bank job?” said Dutch.

“Nothing good yet. I’ll let you know.”

Dutch leaned back, hung his head off the back of the chair and made a loud noise of exasperation. “What have I done?”

“You mean with the O’Driscolls?”

“The O’Driscolls,” said Dutch. “The goddam money, in Blackwater.”

“If this is about the money, then I'll tell you what you've done. You listened to Micah, when you should have been listening to me.”

“Shut up, Hosea.”

Hosea ignored this. “You should have been listening to me, and you should have been listening to Arthur. Micah, he's a goddam derelict. He has no code, no honor, no goddam smarts for this work. We should've cut him loose after he got Arthur mixed up in that god awful massacre in Strawberry, and you know it."

"That was a fluke, Hosea."

"It was part of a pattern," said Hosea. "You need to see things clearly, Dutch. Me and Arthur, we're not doubting you. We’re trying to help you. We love you. Micah, he's just--he's just a dog." He smoked.

Dutch squeezed his eyes shut. “Fucking Arthur,” he whispered.

“What about Arthur.”

“I asked him to give me a month, Hosea. A month has now nearly passed. He will hold me to it.”

“Then you gotta let him go.”

Flexing his jaw, Dutch poured the coffee out of the mug, onto the dirty floor. He stood up, dusted off his pants, ran a hand over his thickening beard. “I need a wash,” he said. “And I need to sleep in a goddam bed. We can reconvene in a few hours. When will Arthur and fair Mary Beth be returning to us here at Shady Belle?”

“Another week, at least,” said Hosea. “Now get out of here, and go to sleep. When you wake up I wanna go to St. Denis.”

“St. Denis?” said Dutch. “Whatever for?”

"To scope a couple things out, talk to Trelawny, and to get some respite at the saloon. You need to clear your head, Dutch.”

Dutch groaned. “Fine.” Then he waved him off and disappeared from the gazebo. Hosea heard Molly fussing over him somewhere on the way to the house. Dutch would hardly even humor her anymore.

Arthur and Mary Beth spent four days with Hamish up at O’Creagh’s Run. He went out fishing in the mornings and Mary Beth said she felt like being indoors. She made dinner each night and also two berry pies that she fired in the stove and let cool on the windowsill. She told him she felt cleansed by this—these wholesome activities, and Arthur would go out in the evenings to hunt with Hamish and then he would come back, and the house would smell very good and it would be very warm, and he was thankful.

It seemed she was getting more tired every day now. It worried him, but she reassured him that mostly she felt okay—she just was running out of steam a little faster than usual. Arthur felt compelled to take care of her in big ways, and it was existential to the point where he’d be out on those hunting excursions with Hamish, and he’d sit quietly and smoke and stare through the scope on his rifle, and he would agonize over how to handle the future, and it would make him forget where he was. A big part of him wanted to scoop her up and ride them as far north as he could, never look back. Going back to Shady Belle now felt like a sentence to his death, and her death by proxy. It felt like he was stifling them both. Arthur had made a very hard choice and he could no longer go back to the way it was before. You gotta be loyal to what matters—that was what he had decided and the wisdom upon which he had advised John. Even still, they had made a promise to return, as they both found themselves tangled in the muck of their van der Linde roots. It was not so easy, for either of them. It was so many loved ones they’d be leaving behind in the swamps, and the swamps were so full of their tragic hypothetical fates.

Even still, Arthur craved action.

After Eliza, Arthur grew deeply conscious of his proximity to forging a bloodline—children of his own to keep moving through the world after he was dead. He practiced extreme discipline with Mary, even as he loved her desperately. She had wanted his children, and she made that clear, but he wanted marriage first. He had been through all that other nonsense. He had made a mistake that ruined lives, and now, he wanted to make a promise, and for her to make him a promise in return, so that they could start something real, something good. But Mary was fickle and afraid of initiating a future with him. She loved him, but she was noncommittal. She seemed to like that he was this ne’er do well, as it directly interfered with her controlling father’s wishes, but simply marrying Arthur for love would not do.

Arthur now realized that part of why she wanted to get pregnant so badly was because it would have made the decision for her. If she were to get pregnant with his child, she’d have no choice but to marry him, and her shit daddy would have no choice but to accept. But Arthur didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be a consequence. He wouldn’t give her a child out of wedlock and at some point, this became the beginning of the end. Because she wouldn’t say yes. She would choose his baby, but she would not choose him. He was glad it was over. He couldn’t see anything good having come from such a fucked up arrangement as that.

Loving Mary Beth was a surprise, he thought. After Mary, he had all but stopped pursuing women. He rarely entertained their advances, as he assumed that as long as he was who he was, it would always be the same. But Mary Beth wasn’t looking for somebody to save her or to remove her from one bad situation and into another. Like him, she was just bored and lonely, and they found themselves thrown together under tough times. Talking to one another revealed that they both cared about things like books and art, and even if Arthur did not show off this part of himself, she knew it existed, and it enchanted her. He had played dumb a long time, but whenever he was hanging out with Mary Beth, dumb was not an option anymore. He had to be himself simply to keep up, and he appreciated this. He appreciated her and how she loved him despite who he was, where he came from. It helped they had some in common. Two busted umbrellas. But they managed. They were managing.

Their last night at Hamish Sinclair’s, they had a lively dinner of venison with a very nice blueberry sauce, and afterward, they had huckleberry pie and Mary Beth made her delicious whiskey tea. She took only a little, become woozy and tired from it, and her head drooped. She rested her chin in her hands as she sat, trying to listen to the men talk about…whatever it was they were saying. Something about the politics of civilization—a conversation she would have otherwise enjoyed. Arthur noticed her losing her grip and put his hand on her knee. This brightened her up a little, but she yawned and her eyes were glassy.

“You look about ready to hit the hay,” he said to her. He smiled. “Come on, let’s go.”

“It’s okay,” said Mary Beth. She patted his hand and smoothed out her skirt. “You boys stay up and chat. It ain’t even that late. I can get to sleep all on my lonesome.”

“You sure?” said Arthur.

“Of course,” she said. “I been getting to sleep on my lonesome since I was a kid.” She got up. She kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll feel better in the morning.”

“We’ll try to keep it down, my lady,” said Hamish

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m used to noise when I’m sleeping. Once I’m out, I’m like a log.”

Hamish laughed.

Arthur said goodnight to her then and let his hand drag to the edge of her skirt as she walked away. She disappeared up the ladder, and before long the lantern was dark, and she was most certainly asleep.

Once she was gone, Hamish gave Arthur a sort of long and thoughtful look. He took a big drink of his tea. “She ain’t really been much of her lively self in the evenings, has she?” he said. “Is she pregnant or something?”

Arthur stopped in the middle of drinking and coughed.

“You okay?” said Hamish.

“Not really,” said Arthur. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He’d dropped a little tea on his shirt, swore, tried shaking it out a little. “I’m just a little on edge.”

“You been like that for four days.”

“I have not.”

“She is pregnant, isn’t she?”

Arthur put away the handkerchief and gave him a look. “Yes.”

Hamish smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, quickly overjoyed. “Why didn’t you say so?” he said. “That’s wonderful news.”

Arthur sighed and felt himself get a little warm. He said, “Thank you,” and then he took another drink and Hamish held his glass up for a toast.

“How are you feeling?” said Hamish.

“How am I feeling?” said Arthur. “Well. I’m not sure, but I find myself rightly terrified most moments in the day.”

Hamish found this amusing. “Yes, well I’m sure that’s to be expected. But there’s nothing to fear, son. That’s just life. Don’t be afraid.”

Arthur cleared his throat. He set the cup down. It was small. His hands were big. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

”Is there something specific that’s putting you in edge? To do with Mary Beth? Is everything okay?”

”Everything's okay,” said Arthur, scrubbing his chin. “It’s just—things ain't real copacetic right now, in our lives."

"How so?"

Arthur cleared his throat. He took a long drink. The dregs from the tea were floating around in the water. "Do you remember, Hamish, when we first met you? We said we was wanderers?”

“I do," said Hamish.

"Well,” said Arthur, taking a deep breath, turning the cup in his hands. “We lied about that.”

”You lied about what?”

”About being wanderers. Well, we didn’t outright lie. We is wanderers, of a sort. We're outlaws, Hamish. We came from out west.”

“Outlaws?”

“That’s right,” said Arthur. “Or, it’s mostly right. I’m the outlaw. Mary Beth, she—well she’s just been running with my gang. Fell in with us back in Kansas City a few years go, mostly for protection. Anyway, when we first met you, we wasn’t married. We still ain’t married. I mean, we’re engaged to be married now, and she’s pregnant, but at the time, we was just friends. We went on that hunting trip, because one of our comrades died, and we was sad, and we was craving respite. We got caught in that storm, and we just thought—we knew that being married would make us appear more upstanding than we was. So we lied.”

Hamish sighed, watching Arthur closely. He got up to refill the whiskey and the tea from the kettle. He topped Arthur off as well. Then he sat back down and took a drink. “Thank you for telling me the truth, son,” he said.

"I’m sorry,” said Arthur. “But it really was just the material things. Everything else, our intentions. It’s all been honest. We ain’t…well, she ain’t bad people. That much is for sure.”

“I get it,” said Hamish. “You don’t need to explain anymore. But now, I need to be honest.”

Arthur blinked. “Sure.”

“I knew right away that you wasn’t being entirely forthcoming on your enterprise, Mr. Morgan—It is Mr. Morgan, correct?”

"Yes,” said Arthur. “My name is Arthur Morgan. And what are you talking about?”

Hamish nodded. “I mean, you gotta know, Arthur Morgan, you don’t got no…typical look about you. You’re easy to spot to the discerning eye. You’re big, you’re rough and tough as hell around the edges.”

Real conscious of his own damn body then, Arthur shifted in his chair. “And?”

“And it’s not a bad thing, but it is…fairly clear. That you’re a sort of...a rugged type. An outlaw, sure, whatever you wanna call it. And I must say, the fact you’re all trussed up with such fine and expensive artillery ain’t doing you no favors either. Only a gunslinger slings such beautiful guns, son.”

“So, you know,” said Arthur. “Yet you accommodate us anyway.”

“Bah.” Hamish waved him off, settled back in his chair. “You and Mary Beth, you were in a bad spot. And like I said that night, I know a good man when I meet one. You may not think you're a good man, but it really ain't for you to decide.”

Arthur shrugged. “I been hearing that sort of thing a lot lately.”

“One thing though,” said Hamish, sipping his tea.

“Yeah?”

"It does surprise me that the two of you ain’t really married.”

“What?”

“You seem married,” said Hamish. “You seemed married when I first met you. I believed that you was a married couple. You’re telling me now you was just friends?”

“Yes, sir,” said Arthur. “Good friends. But it’s funny you say that. The first time she kissed me was actually…it was right up there. In your loft. That night, you gave me some advice. It really stuck. I think it might be the reason I was able to…open up to her eventually. Let her in, for real.”

Hamish smiled in a self-satisfied sort of way. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“I got—I got a lot of skeletons. In my closet, Hamish,” he said, nervous. “Mary Beth, she knows them well. But they haunt me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this ain’t my first go at fatherhood.” He took a drink. “I had a child with another woman years ago, a son, when I was pretty young. It was an accident, and I tried to do right by her, but in the end, my lifestyle got in the way, and I wasn’t there, and she and the boy was robbed, and they was killed. I lost them both. I never thought I’d recover from that.”

“Jesus, Arthur,” said Hamish. He put down his cup and put his hand on Arthur’s forearm. Arthur studied it there. He was still not terribly used to casual touch. “That’s a terrible hand to be dealt. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “It’s okay. Mary Beth, she’s helped me a lot, in terms of working through it. But even if I say I’m getting past it, I’m still full of fear. Fear that I will fail her. And now she’s pregnant. I need to be strong for her, but I don’t know what to do, and I suppose—I suppose that’s why I’m so on edge.”

Hamish took a deep breath. He removed his hand and took another long drink. He stopped to glance out the window where the night was clear and full of crickets and coyotes, bird noises. “You want my honest to goodness advice?” said Hamish. “On what I think you should do?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Yes, I do.”

“You said you was engaged. Why ain’t you married?”

Arthur was staring at the table, getting lost in the wood grain but the question was on point and caught him off guard. “I don’t know.”

“Well there’s your answer,” said Hamish.

“What answer?”

“Marry her,” he said. “She’s pregnant. Put a ring on her finger, and marry her as soon as possible. Make a promise to her, Mr. Morgan, and make a promise to yourself. I think that’ll really clarify some things for you. It’ll help you feel like you’re putting her first. It’ll make things real.”

Arthur glanced up at to the loft as if expecting Mary Beth might be listening in. Of course, she was not. She was not the type. She couldn’t eavesdrop on him. She would have said something by now. He looked down at his hands. He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t got a ring,” he said, feeling defeated. “I keep meaning to get ahold of one, but we ain’t had a lot time to get to the city. And I want it to be something proper. I don’t wanna buy her something from a fence, something that’s been sullied, something stolen or looted.”

“Is that it?” said Hamish. “Just because you ain’t got a ring? What about a church, or a minister? You got one of those?”

Arthur nodded. “Sort of. I ain’t got no church, but I do got a…wayward minister. He’s a bit of a reprobate, ironically, but he’s got good in his heart. It’s just that he’s back in Lemoyne. I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna marry her down there. It don’t feel right. That’s part of my hesitance. It's where we live for now, but it ain’t us. It ain’t a home.”

“Then send for him,” said Hamish. “Ride out to Annesburg, post a letter, or pay extra for a messenger, have them travel by train. It’d be a lot faster. Didn’t you say you was headed down to Emerald Station next? That you got friends there who own a nice hotel?”

“Yes,” said Arthur.

“Have him meet you. Do it there, right deep in the pretty green hills of the Heartlands.”

Arthur was just staring at him. “Marry her in Emerald Station.”

“Why not?” said Hamish. “She’ll be over the moon. I’ll even come along, if you ask nicely.”

Arthur thought this was funny, but then he leaned back in his chair, and he peered down into his cup, which was almost empty, and he felt something intensify inside him. He thought about John and Abigail and Jack, how they’d already be there. He wondered how long it would take for a messenger to get down to Shady Belle. “Well, I don’t got a ring," he said, "but I suppose—it’s okay. We don’t need rings. Rings is just metal. That can wait.”

Hamish thought on this for a second. He polished off his tea and got up off his chair, very slowly. Arthur stood to help him to his feet and asked him what he was doing, but Hamish would not answer. He reached down to steady his prosthetic, and then he whisked Arthur aside and hobbled by himself over to the hope chest at the foot of his bed. “I think I can help you out,” he said. He got down on knee, searched until he found a little blue velvet box, and then he came back to the kitchen and sat down, and then he set the velvet box down in the center of the table.

Arthur sat, speechless. “Hamish, I don’t know—”

“Take a look,” said Hamish. “Tell me if you think it’s something she’d like. If not, I won’t be offended, I swear.”

Arthur eyeballed him, closely. He hesitated, but then he picked up the little box like Hamish told him and opened it up. Inside was a pretty little gold ring with a purple stone. He felt overcome. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

“It was my wife's,” said Hamish. “I want to give it you, and you can give it to Mary Beth.”

Arthur closed the little box and set it back down on the table right away. “No,” he said. “I can’t accept it. Thank you, sir, but no.”

“Why not?” said Hamish.

“Because, it’s—it’s too important. I ain't worthy. That there’s a piece of your history, your life.”

“I got all I need right here,” he said, pointing to his chest. “That ring ain’t doing any good stashed away in a hope chest at the end of my bedroll. I’m an old man, Arthur. I only got so much time left on this earth. You and Mary Beth, you been bringing me joy in the evenings. I don't give a shit what you do for a living. We’ve both killed people, Mr. Morgan. I am grateful for you and your company. Not a lot of young people out there who want to spend their days with an old, ruined vet like me. Let me do right by you. Let me give you this ring. Mary Beth is a swell gal. She deserves it, and it makes me happy, thinking that it might bring her joy. I’ll keep my memories, don’t you worry. Because it's like you said." He shrugged. "It's just metal, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur looked at the little velvet box on the table. He picked it up again. He sort of weighed it in his hands, then he looked inside once more. It looked small enough, in size. He couldn’t be sure till she tried it on, but certainly a goldsmith could resize it for them if need be. The little stone was pretty and uncut, just like she was. He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just take it.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, resolved. He closed the box. He tucked it into his pocket. “No one has ever given me a gift like this before.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Hamish. He got up again, to go refill his cup, but the kettle was empty. So he opted for straight bourbon instead.

“What sort of stone is it?” said Arthur, glancing out the window. “Purple, like that. It looks like…quartz maybe?”

“It is a sort of quartz, yes,” said Hamish, coming back to the table. “It’s an amethyst.”

“Amethyst?” said Arthur. “Ain’t that from one of them Greek myths? It sounds familiar.”

“It has healing properties,” said Hamish, a little canny. He smiled and sipped his bourbon. “It’s supposed to cleanse you of all your anxieties.”

Arthur laughed to himself. “Well I should wear it then.”

“You think she’ll like it?” said Hamish.

Arthur glanced back up to the loft where she slept, very quiet. He said, "Yes, sir. I do." Then he asked for some more bourbon. The moon was very high. It was not too late at all.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #mary beth gaskill #mary-beth gaskill #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #hamish sinclair #john marston #abigail roberts #the lily farm

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write-havoc · 5 years

Text

Of Sons and Daughters Ch 12

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

After Arthur dresses, he heads out the back door of the manor house to meet Dutch and John in one of the outbuildings. The muggy swamp air hangs thick around him, but it doesn’t hinder him from trudging through the soft earth toward the dilapidated former slave quarters. The distinct sound of someone being beaten allows him to pinpoint exactly which building they have the O’Driscoll held captive, so he heads that way.

“Arthur!” Sadie’s raspy voice calls out as she rushes up to him from behind. “Hang on!”

He pauses, but continues on his way without looking at her. “Now, Sadie, why don’t you head on back inside-“

“No,” she insists as she catches up to walk beside him. “There’s no way I’m not getting my hands on that O’Driscoll. I promised I’d make every single one of them pay for what they did to me and my Jake and I aim to keep that promise.”

Arthur stops begrudgingly and turns to her with a sigh, knowing she won’t drop the issue. “We need to get some information from him first, okay? I promise it ain’t gonna be good for him; he’s gonna suffer. But we need to get out of him where Colm is before we let ‘im die. If I let you in there, can you promise me you won’t go blowing his head off before we get what we want?”

She looks him dead in the eye as she answers. “Yeah. I promise I’ll let you torture Colm’s location out of him before I kill him.”

Arthur’s not convinced. Especially with the way she looked during the battle against the O’Driscolls that ended not even an hour ago. The sight of her firing off rounds into the enemy and screaming the whole while like a banshee made her look like a woman possessed. And that rage doesn’t just go away.

“Leave your guns out here,” he finally says, pointing to the ground.

She lets out a huff, knowing that he has a point. With the blind rage she feels every time she even hears the name O’Driscoll, she can’t trust herself not to kill the man the second she sees him.

“Fine.” She drops her pistols on the ground and follows Arthur the rest of the way to the broken down shack at the edge of the property.

Once the pair enters the building, they see the young O’Driscoll, his arms and legs both strapped down to a chair. Considering the two black eyes and fat lip he’s sporting, Dutch and John must have already worked him over.

“Arthur,” Dutch greets him as if he’s walked into a party. “And Mrs. Adler,” he adds, though his voice drops slightly.

The woman in question stares daggers at the O’Driscoll before her, but she restrains herself from pouncing on him. Rather, she moves back to lean against the wall as she crosses her arms over her chest in a wordless gesture saying that she’ll be hands off on this. At least right now.

Dutch takes notice then continues. “John and I were just asking our new friend here about his boss, but he’s been less than forthcoming. Perhaps you could try your hand, Arthur. You always were very persuasive .”

Arthur knows what that means; he’s to beat the information out of him. To make sure the O’Driscoll is good and intimidated, Arthur makes a show of rolling up his sleeves slowly and taking his hat off before leaning down to the young man’s face.

“Where’s Colm?” he growls, hoping the man will make this easy by cracking immediately. But of course, he doesn’t.

“Fuck you,” the O’Driscoll spits out in his Irish accent, though it’s muffled from the blood pooling in his mouth from the blows he’s already suffered.

Arthur’s only response is a swift punch to the guy’s gut, knocking the wind from him. As he coughs and sputters to try to get the air that had been punched out of him back into his lungs, Dutch lights up a cigar and casually saunters closer.

“It’s only going to get harder, O’Driscoll,” Dutch calls out in a sing song way. “Best bet is to talk now.”

The man flicks his gaze around all the faces in the room, to the younger dark haired man with the scars to his right, then to the two men standing in front of him and finally to the woman leaning on the back wall with murder in her eyes. “Colm told me about all ‘a yous.” He fixes his gaze on the oldest man that he’s recognized as Dutch. “You especially. You can’t just murder a man’s kin, his brother , and expect not to pay.”

“I did pay!” Dutch yells as he trades position with Arthur to stand directly in front of their captive. “Colm murdered someone dear to me and I loved her more than Colm ever cared about his good for nothing brother, I assure you of that. He still owes me .” To punctuate the point, Dutch stubs out his lit cigar on the back of the man’s hand, eliciting a growl of pain from him.

Arthur moves to the man’s side and grabs him by the hair, wrenching his head up to look at him. “Where’s Colm?” he growls as he rears back like he’s going to punch him again.

“Y-You can’t do nothin’ about it,” the O’Driscoll answers in a moment of weakness, his resolve to remain loyal to his leader momentarily waning with the prospect of another blow.

“Do about what?” John asks as he steps closer.

The young man steels himself, mustering the courage to hold out. “Don’t matter. You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ more from me!”

Before anyone else can react, Sadie flies out of nowhere brandishing her hunting knife with both her hands. She swings the blade above her head and down, burying it deeply in the man’s left thigh.

“Where’s Colm?!” she screams. “Answer us!”

The O’Driscoll squeals in pain at the sudden shock of being stabbed. “You crazy bitch!”

Arthur pulls Sadie back by the shoulder before she can do any more damage, cursing himself for not noticing that she had kept her knife on her. He decides to make the best out of the situation and wraps his hand around the blade still stuck in the O’Driscoll’s leg. He wiggles it a little to produce more pain, hoping that he will finally break. “Last chance, O’Driscoll. Answer or I’ll pull this knife out and watch you bleed to death. Slowly. And painfully.”

He looks up to Arthur, barely able to catch his breath out of pain and fear. His resolve crumbles quickly at the prospect that the man in front of him is telling the truth. For as much as Colm O’Driscoll has spouted that the gang always comes first, the decision to actually try to save his own life comes easy for the young man staring death in the face.

“Saint Denis,” he finally whispers. “Colm’s in Saint Denis. Pinkertons picked him up right after you didn’t show up to the meet. Said he weren’t no use to them no more.”

Dutch steps forward. It’s certainly good to have that information, but something else has been bothering him. “How did you know we were here at Shady Belle?” Depending on the answer, they may have to move camp yet again.

“W-We saw two of your men in a wagon in Valentine,” he starts to explain. “Followed ‘em here.”

Arthur figures that’s possible. When it became clear that Emmeline had permanently relocated from her home, he had sent out Sean and Lenny to pick up Emmeline’s chickens and coop to bring back to Shady Belle. Neither of the two young men have a whole lot of experience and may not have realized they were being followed all the way back to camp.

“Did you tell the Pinkertons?” Arthur asks instantly. That’s the real question. If they know where they are, they could already be on their way here.

“We’re on the run from them now just like you are!” the O’Driscoll bites back. “We ain’t talked to those lyin’ bastards since they took Colm!”

It seems to everyone that the man is probably telling the truth, so their camp is safe for now. But there’s still the issue of Colm.

“Where exactly in Saint Denis are they keeping him?” Dutch asks.

“How the hell should I know!” When Arthur winds up to punch him, the O’Driscoll backs off. “No, no, no! Wait!” he calls out anxiously. “Theys gonna hang him today. I swear! That’s why we went after yous.” His eyes flit around the room, knowing that he’s said too much. “S-So you’ll get your revenge anyway. Even if you do nothin’,” he tries, hoping they don’t put it together.

Dutch shares a look with Arthur, the two of them instantly picking up the real reason behind the O’Driscolls’ quick attack.

“As much as I hate that man,” Dutch starts, “I have to admit that Colm’s smart enough that he’s managed to slip the noose many times before. I also know that he’s smart enough to realize that if he’s going to be strung up anywhere near where I am, I’d make sure he gets properly hung. So this little skirmish we just engaged in tells me for certain that Colm has a plan in place to escape his execution today. And that he doesn’t want me to ruin it. So thank you for confirming that.” Dutch gives Arthur a nod, wordlessly conveying his orders to the younger man.

Without a second’s notice, Arthur pulls the large knife from the O’Driscoll’s leg, making sure to twist it on the way out. As the man screams in pain, Arthur hands the blade back to Sadie and gestures back to the man, making it clear that she’s to dispatch of him.

“Hey, wait!” the man yells. “I told ya what ya wanted!”

His plea doesn’t stop Sadie as she walks forward to him. “You O’Driscolls ruined my life!” She suddenly stabs him in the gut with a punch. “Killed my husband!” She stabs him again. “Forced yourselves on me!” Her hand starts to slip on the hilt as it’s covered with blood, but she continues. “ You ruined my life! ” Using all the power she can muster, she forces the blade up and under his rib cage, puncturing his heart and killing him instantly. His head lolls to the side as the life leaves his body.

Despite the fact that he’s long gone, Sadie keeps stabbing him repeatedly anywhere she can. Once his torso starts to lose it’s shape from the repeated wounds, Arthur gently puts his hand on her shoulder, drawing her out of her rage.

“He’s dead, Sadie,” he says softly. “That’s enough.”

Breathing roughly, she pulls back from the man slumped in the chair and looks down at her bloodstained hands. She wonders just what kind of person she’s become through all of this. Is she even recognizable as herself anymore?

John jumps in, unaware of the battle raging in Sadie’s mind. “You really think after how many O’Driscolls we just killed today that they can still rescue Colm from Saint Denis?”

“I reckon there’s more than enough of those bastards left to save Colm from the gallows,” Dutch answers. “We need to make sure they don’t succeed.”

“We better get goin’ then,” Arthur comments. “If we wanna get there in time to stop them.”

Dutch nods in agreement. “John, you take care of him,” he gestures to the dead man in the chair then looks up to Sadie and Arthur. “We need to see Hosea about a change of clothing.”

Arthur recognizes the look in Dutch’s eye; he already has a plan cooked up in his head. Once they find Hosea and tell him everything as quickly as possible, the older man is immediately on board.

“I have a couple of Saint Denis police uniforms that should fit you fellas. They’ll get you close without raising suspicion,” he explains as he pulls the outfits from a trunk in the back of one of the wagons. “As for you, Mrs. Adler,” he roots around more, finding a fancy yellow dress with a frilly lace front, “I think a high society lady traversing the streets of the city will go unnoticed by anyone looking for outlaws.”

She takes the frock into her freshly cleaned hands, then the large feathered hat he produces as well. “Ain’t exactly worn nothin’ like this. And I sure as hell ain’t a high society lady.”

“Well, you are today, my dear,” Dutch comments.

After they change into their costumes, they all mount up and leave. During the ride, they strategize what they’re going to do. If they’ve made it in time and Colm’s not long gone yet, they’ll patrol the crowd to see if any of Colm’s men are around fixing to make a daring rescue of their leader. If they are in the crowd, they’ll make damn sure to keep them occupied so that Colm gets seen through on his execution.

As they finally approach Guiteau Square, the high noon sun beats down on them. That doesn’t deter the rapidly gathering crowd from congregating in front of the gallows hoping to get a good view of the show about to come. They all look on expectantly as the hangman trudges up the steps to check the noose already hanging on the crossbar on preparation.

“Good,” Dutch says quietly to his companions. “We didn’t miss it.” When he looks over all the people standing in the square, he thinks he recognizes a few of them. He leans in closer to Arthur to whisper, “Those two idiots look familiar?” He gestures to two men talking with another man in the crowd.

“Yeah,” Arthur answers. “They definitely run with Colm.”

“Guess it’s a good idea we decided to show up, then,” Dutch comments with a smirk.

As they watch the O’Driscolls, they notice them periodically turn and look across the street.

“What are they looking at?” Dutch asks almost to himself as he turns to see.

“One of ‘em’s comin’ this way,” Arthur warns and the three Van Der Lindes look away as to not raise suspicion. They discreetly watch the man cross the street and head away from them in the direction they had been looking.

“Better see where he’s going,” Dutch says to Arthur. “Me and Mrs. Adler will keep our eyes on those two.” He gestures to the two O’Driscolls still standing in the crowd.

Arthur nods and starts to follow the man away from the square. Keeping a safe distance, he meanders the alleyways behind the man until he sees him ascend a latter onto a fire escape. He continues on, hopping up onto a nearby rooftop and crossing over to another building, the building that happens to be directly across the street from where Colm will be hanged.

Luckily for Arthur, the O’Driscoll isn’t the most observant, so instead of checking his surroundings first, he goes straight to the sniper rifle that must have been stashed there earlier. He takes up his position to get a good look at Guiteau Square. And most likely the noose he’s set to shoot down to save Colm from hanging.

As quietly as he can, Arthur pulls his knife from its sheath and sneaks up behind the distracted O’Driscoll. It takes just a moment for Arthur to bury his knife in the back of the man’s neck, severing his spinal cord and killing him almost instantly.

Movement on the raised platform of the gallows below catches Arthur’s eye after he unceremoniously drops the dead man’s body to the ground. He picks up the O’Driscoll’s discarded sniper rifle and raises the scope to his eye to get a better look. Colm had been brought out while Arthur was killing the sniper and the noose now rests around his neck. The bright sunlight of this cloudless day makes it easy for Arthur to see the smug smile on Colm’s face through the scope. It’s the smile of a man expecting to walk away from this unscathed, confident that the plan he has in place will go off without a hitch. Arthur sees that expression fall slightly as the man casts his eyes down to the crowd. Arthur follows his gaze to see that Sadie and Dutch are now holding onto the two O’Driscolls in the crowd, guns to their heads to keep them from doing anything stupid. Once Colm raises is gaze to see Arthur in the sniper’s nest, pure fear washes over his face as the realization hits that his plan has been thwarted. This will be his last day on earth and there’s nothing he can do about it now.

Arthur sends an obnoxious wave over to him to hit the point home. “You’re gon’ hang, Colm,” he says under his breath. “Once and for all.”

The hangman wastes no time in shouting out Colm’s charges, but Arthur can barely hear them over the distance. He’s focused on looking through the scope right at Colm’s face, anyway, not wanting to miss a single second of the man’s fear as his execution approaches. Just a moment later, the hangman pulls the lever and Colm finally falls through the drop door to his long overdo death.

Arthur’s seen men die before, many times. He’s even witnessed hangings and it’s never much affected him. This one does, though, not for what it is but what it will mean from now on. The air leaves Arthur’s lungs as if a weight has been lifted from him. Dutch’s rivalry with Colm that’s lasted for almost as many years as Arthur’s been in the gang is now over. He only gets a second to really feel the weight of that before a shot rings out (as well as a scream that sounds suspiciously like Sadie’s angry voice) and then everyone in the square is scattering.

“Arthur! O’Driscolls!” Dutch’s loud voice reaches Arthur’s ears and he jumps into action.

There aren’t many O’Driscolls left, but there are enough rushing into the square to keep Dutch and Sadie pinned down in their positions ducked down behind the low wall surrounding the square. Arthur quickly pinpoints the men battling to avenge their fallen leader and dispatches them with utmost efficiency. Soon enough, the din of the gunshots is punctuated by a cacophony of police whistles as the local law enforcement descends on the scene, adding to the anarchy. Fortunately, Dutch’s cop costume keeps the heat from the actual cops away from him and Sadie as they try to take out the last of the O’Driscolls.

Their anonymity doesn’t last forever, though. One observant officer ends up rushing to take cover right beside Dutch. As soon as he gets a good look at Dutch’s face, his eyes widen in recognition. Dutch sees the look of familiarity sweep through the man’s eyes and knows the tide will surely turn if this young man is allowed to call attention to the outlaw in his midst. Without an extra second’s thought, Dutch silences the cop with a well placed bullet through the top of his head before he can alert anyone.

“We need to get outta here!” Dutch shouts to Sadie.

Arthur can see the moment things start to change. With the law finally outnumbering the O’Driscolls, they start to look around for the cause of the battle. More and more of their eyes are focusing on Dutch and Sadie, which is decidedly a bad thing. It’s one thing to fight O’Driscolls in the streets, but having the entire police force of Saint Denis coming for you is quite another.

The two Van Der Lindes on the ground have no choice but to rush away from the police and toward one of the alleys that the leftover O’Driscolls are holed up in. It would certainly be a death trap on any other occasion, but Dutch knows that Arthur has line of sight on this particular alley. As if on cue, every O’Driscoll that peeks his head out to get a shot on Dutch and Sadie ends up with a fresh bullet hole between the eyes, courtesy of the sniper rifle they so generously provided in the fight in the first place.

Dutch gives a little wave, signaling to Arthur that all the O’Driscolls in the immediate area are gone. When Dutch and Sadie start to strip off their costumes in favor of putting on their normal outfits, Arthur follows suit, pulling his extra clothes from his satchel. Abandoning the uniform and the rifle on the roof, Arthur makes his way down to street level and across the few blocks to where their horses are hitched.

“Come on, Arthur. Hurry up,” Dutch spurs the younger man to move faster down the street as he hops up into his saddle. “We need to get outta here before the police really catch onto us.”

As Arthur mounts Sparrow and turns to follow Dutch, he looks to his right to Sadie. “You alright?”

She tears her eyes away from the road ahead to look his way. “We got ‘em, Arthur,” she chokes out, though no tears come to her eyes; they never do anymore. “Who we didn’t kill, the law finished off. There ain’t no more O’Driscolls thanks to us, so I feel...” She thinks a moment. Happy’s not the word; the grief of losing her husband is still too great to allow for that. “I feel... relieved,” she settles on. “Those monsters won’t ever hurt anyone else. And I’m more than okay with that.”

Meanwhile back at camp, from the moment the trio leaves Shady Belle, everyone else in the gang has been a little on edge. Not only are they wondering if the small group would be successful in making sure Colm finally gets his due, but they have the mess around the property to deal with, too. It’s all hands on deck to try to dispose of the dead O’Driscolls lying around. Fortunately, the swamp around them (and the alligators in it) provides the perfect place to do just that, but all those bodies still need to make their way there.

The thought of having to touch dead corpses horrifies Emmeline, but she doesn’t want to let anyone down. She is a part of this group, so she’s determined to pitch in as much as she can.

“You can do this,” she whispers to herself before she pushes through the front door of the main house and walks out onto the porch. A wave of nausea passes over her as she steps closer to one of the bodies off by the gazebo, knowing what she has to do. “He was a bad man,” she mutters to reassure herself as she rolls the sleeves of her blouse to her elbows. Tossing a glance back to the wagon being laden with dead bodies, she bends down and wraps her fingers around the dead O’Driscoll’s ankles, fixing to drag him in that direction. After only a few feet, she’s interrupted by Hosea’s voice.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there,” he calls out as he rushes toward her. “You should be inside, Emmeline.”

She gently drops the O’Driscoll’s feet, as if she could still hurt him if she was too rough. “It’s okay. I want to help out.”

He doesn’t take that for an answer. Instead, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and turns her back toward the house. “I’m sure Jack would be pleased with your company upstairs. Besides, it’s too hot out here. You shouldn’t overexert yourself in your condition.”

“C-Condition?” she asks, playing dumb in case he doesn’t actually know her secret and means something else.

He chuckles, leading her back up the porch steps and through the door. “Yes. Your condition .” He stops them in the sitting room, knowing that everyone else is too busy to hear their conversation. “I admit that I should have seen it sooner. Age really is creeping up on me. Dulling the senses.” He holds his hand out, gesturing for her to sit onto the couch. He follows after, planting himself down with a groan and creaking joints.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve lived my whole life as a conman, dear girl. I’ve learned to read people, pick up on little cues, little traits that tell me everything I need to know about them. I wasn’t too sure about your... situation at first. Not until I saw the way John’s been looking at you like he’s terrified. The same way he looked at Abigail when she was with child, though not quite as bad. I reckon ‘cause he knows he’s not the father in this case.” He shakes his head. “That boy still ain’t comfortable with children, despite having one of his own.”

“Abigail figured it out pretty quick,” Emmeline explains. “And she told John the second she was sure. He hasn’t really said much to me about it since then.”

Hosea nods. “Abigail’s smarter than people give her credit for. And John,” he laughs, “finesse ain’t exactly his strong suit. We’ve had to fight our way out of more situations than I care to think about because he blew our cover.”

“Really?” she says with a giggle. “I guess Arthur and I will have to start telling people soon, anyway. People are bound to notice when I start showing through my dress.”

“You and Arthur have time yet, I’m betting.” He pats her on the knee gently. “I’m so happy for Arthur to become a father. I know he always wanted to have children.”

“He did?” she asks, confused. Arthur hadn’t really told her that in so many words.

He nods. “He may not admit it, maybe not even to himself, but I know deep down he’s wanted a family. All you have to do is look at how he treats Jack. He’s been more of a father to that boy than Marston‘s been, really. Did everything for him in the beginning. If Abigail hadn’t’ve loved John so much, I reckon Arthur woulda married her just to give the boy a proper family when John left.”

“Arthur wants to leave,” she admits quietly. “Leave the gang with me and the Marstons. So we can raise the children away from this.”

He lets out a heavy breath. “He’s smart to want that. We all know this isn’t gonna end well, deep down. We just try to prolong it, day by day, however we can.” He grasps her hand in his and gives her a poignant look. “You tell him it’s alright to leave all this, Emmeline. Even if he’s said he wants to leave, he’ll wrestle with getting away from this life, leaving us. You tell him he can go. He doesn’t owe us nothing more.”

The vehemence with which he says it has Emmeline nodding automatically. She had a feeling that Arthur would have a hard time with following through on leaving. Especially given how much he sees the gang as his family.

It takes a while, but the property finally gets completely cleaned up. It isn’t much longer after that when Dutch, Arthur, and Sadie get back to the camp. Once everyone sees the three riders galloping down the trail toward the house, they hold their breath in anticipation. The second Dutch hitches The Count and looks up with a bright smiling face and outstretched arms, everyone breaks out in cheers knowing that the trio was successful in their mission. The Van Der Linde’s oldest rival has been taken down. And now it’s time to celebrate.

Liquor flows. Songs are sung. Stories are told. The mood around camp is light and jovial as everyone enjoys the party, some around the fire, some at Pearson’s tent, and some dancing in the middle to the music from Dutch’s phonograph.

From her seat on the log by the fire, Emmeline watches Karen and Sean swaying to and fro together arrhythmically to the music, both of them already three sheets to the wind. It doesn’t stop them from looking like they’re anything but happy together, though.

“You doin’ alright?” Arthur’s voice draws her attention away from the couple.

She turns back to him beside her and gives him a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine, Arthur.”

“What you went through today...” he lets out a heavy breath, thinking about how she was held at gunpoint earlier, “I don’t want you to ever go through that again. Don’t ever want you in danger.”

“I don’t want either of us in danger.” Remembering the conversation she had earlier with Hosea, she scoots closer to Arthur to speak with him more quietly. “I know it’s gonna be hard,” she whispers and takes her hand in his, “but I think we should-“ She’s interrupted by Dutch coming up from behind and clapping Arthur on the shoulder.

“What’s with the long face, Arthur?” he asks with a huge smile as he walks around to stand before them. “We’re celebrating, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Arthur looks up to him. “I know, Dutch. I’ve been waitin’ to see Colm hang for a long time.” He shakes his head a little and scratches at the back of his neck not wanting to tell Dutch about the way his insides twist thinking about how Emmeline and their baby had been in danger today. “Guess I’m just tired. Long day.”

“That it’s been.” Dutch plants himself down next to Emmeline, unaware he’s interrupted the conversation she wanted to have with Arthur. “Things are gonna change for us,” he says wistfully as he looks to the darkening evening sky. “I can feel it. Our luck is gonna change.”

“I sure hope so,” Arthur quips.

“Come on, Arthur,” Dutch replies, though his happy tone doesn’t fall much. He bumps Emmeline with his shoulder. “If you keep spending time with him, you’ll end up just as morose as he is.”

She laughs at his joke. “He’s not morose most of the time. He actually makes me laugh.”

Dutch looks overly shocked. “Arthur? Funny? Pfft!”

It makes Emmeline laugh more. It’s nice to see this side of Dutch. Since she’s met him, she actually hasn’t spent much time with him. And with Micah, the Pinkertons, and the move, Dutch hadn’t exactly been up to socializing lately. But now, it seems like he’s back to the man that Arthur had described to her. She thinks it would be nice to actually get to know the man that’s her only living kin.

Having heard the exchange as he grabbed a beer from the box by Pearson’s wagon, Hosea walks up to take a seat across from the small group. “Arthur’s a regular comedian, don’t you know?” he jokes.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” Arthur grumbles. “Don’t need you comin’ in here and teasin’ me, too.”

Hosea chuckles a bit. “No need to be so serious, Arthur. This is a party, after all.”

“That’s what I was saying.” Dutch rises from his seat and turns back to hold his hand out to Emmeline. “Since your fella is too busy brooding, would you care to dance with me?”

“I ain’t brooding ,” Arthur responds, a smile finally tugging his lips upward once he sees Emmeline trying to hold back a giggle. “Go on then.” He shoos her off with a gesture of his hand.

Emmeline takes Dutch’s hand and allows him to lead her to the open area that had occupied Karen and Sean just a moment ago, the couple having vacated, most likely to their tent. Dutch keeps ahold of her left hand in his right as he turns to face her.

“You know how to dance?” He places his left hand gently around her back while he raises his other arm with hers into position.

“Not really,” she admits, placing her free hand on his shoulder. “My father tried to teach me when I was little, but I think I ended up just jumping around.” She laughs at the memories.

As he starts to sway with her, he asks her quietly, “He was good to you?”

She realizes then what she had said. She had called Joseph, the man that raised her, her father. But the man standing before her technically holds that title. It doesn’t make the former feel any less like a parent to her, though. Despite the fact that he was never blood, he will always be her papa.

“He was a very good... father. I loved him.”

Dutch nods his head, then puts a smile on his face. “I’m glad. I could tell he was a good man.” He steps back and lifts her arm up, prompting her to twirl.

When she comes back to him, she lets out a little laugh. “I don’t think I got the hang of spinning when I was eight years old,” she says, trying to bring the conversation to lighter fare.

Dutch isn’t ready to end the conversation that he’s thought about having for years, though. “I did think of you often,” he asserts, his eyes soft as he looks to the young woman in front of him. “I always wanted the best for you. I tried to help out after Joseph died, left money for you and your mother.”

She looks away a moment as they continue to sway to the music. “I know. Arthur told me.”

“So many times I thought about knocking on your door. Introducing myself to you. Making up for lost time.”

“But you didn’t.”

He shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you; I want to make that clear. I always cared about you, Emmeline. And that’s precisely why I never knocked on your door. Your mother was right. It would’ve been dangerous for you.”

“I understand, Dutch,” she reassures him. “I didn’t at first. I wasn’t too happy knowing I was lied to, but... I do understand why you and my parents did what you did. But I’m happy to get to know you now.” She gives him a smile, which he returns easily.

In the meantime, since Arthur is left by himself, he looks over to Hosea. “Sorry about havin’ to leave those costumes of yours back in Saint Denis.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad they did their job and you all made it back safe.”

Arthur nods. “Yeah. Ain’t no more O’Driscolls left after all that.”

“One less thing on our plates.”

“That’s what we need. Things to be more simple. Like they they were before the Pinkertons.” Arthur takes a cigarette out of his satchel and lights it, taking a drag and exhaling the smoke.

“Maybe we should just be tying up loose ends.”

Arthur looks over to the older man in confusion. “Whatchu mean?”

“We’re the last of a dying breed, my boy. And it’s only gonna end one of two ways, accept it and finally become a member of civilization or fight it and go out on the cooling board.” Hosea stands with a groan, his stiff joints protesting momentarily, and walks over to Arthur, placing his hand on his shoulder and leaning down to speak more quietly. “Don’t you make that girl a widow. And don’t you make that child fatherless.”

Arthur looks up to the older man, ready to ask how he knew. But he thinks better of it. Of course Hosea knew; he always does.

As Arthur follows Hosea’s exit, his eyes wander over to Molly as she stands on the front porch. She’s leaning on the railing with her arms crossed over her chest and staring daggers at Dutch and Emmeline as they continue to dance and laugh with one another.

“Shit,” Arthur mutters to himself. He knows exactly what’s going through the fiery redhead’s mind.

Molly has made her jealous streak well known. Just about every woman that Dutch has so much as talked to has gotten the third degree from her. And it’s all only gotten worse as Dutch closed himself off more. It seems that Molly has been coping with that by drinking more which has only made her more volatile.

Before Arthur can do anything about it, Molly stomps over to Emmeline and roughly pulls her back by the arm.

“Arthur ain’t enough for ya, huh, ya trollop,” Molly slurs out, her Irish accent sounding a little bit stronger than normal. She shoves her finger right into Emmeline’s face and yells, “Ya gotta go after Dutch Van Der Linde himself, too!”

Molly’s loud voice draws attention and everyone looks her way, interested at the turn of events. That intrigue only deepens once Arthur jumps up from his seat and rushes over.

“What the hell are you doin’, Molly?” he calls out and quickly puts himself between the woman and Emmeline to prevent a skirmish.

“Yes,” Dutch concurs as he puts his hands on his hips, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, don’t you act innocent, Dutch,” Molly seethes, refocusing her rage on him. “She bats her pretty eyes at you and you eat it up.”

“I wasn’t-“ Emmeline starts, but Molly isn’t hearing it.

“You shut up, you hussy! It’s obvious you’re throwing yourself at him!”

Emmeline has never been talked to like this in her whole life and it has her flustered. Flustered enough that she blurts out, “I don’t want Dutch! He’s my father !” loud enough that everyone hears.

Audible gasps ring out around the camp at the shock. No one had even an inkling that their newest member was related to Dutch and now it comes out that she’s his daughter .

Molly takes a step back and looks to Dutch as she tries to make sense of all of this. “Is that true?”

Dutch lets out a sigh and puts his hand on the shoulder of his formerly secret daughter. “Yes. Emmeline is my daughter,” he says loud enough for all the straining ears around them to hear. “I suppose it’s time to tell you all everything.” He takes his hand off of her and steps forward to address everyone. “Let me explain. I did send Arthur to check on Emmeline, but it wasn’t just because I knew her mother. I knew all along she was my daughter and wanted to make sure she was alright. She and Arthur did get sweet on each other, but the reason he brought her here was because the Pinkertons knew about her. And they wanted to use her to get to me. Why I decided to keep all this quiet was to protect her. But since we now know that Micah ,” he hisses the man’s name, “was the one working with the police and he’s no longer here, there’s no reason to keep it a secret anymore.”

Everyone processes the information at their own rate. Some people are stood there shocked while others nod softly their assent. John is firmly in the former category, his gaze flicking quickly between Dutch, Emmeline, and Arthur.

“Emmeline’s your daughter?” he asks aloud, though he’s not exactly looking for a response from the man. “And she and Arthur-“

He’s cut off by a swift elbow to the ribs courtesy of Abigail next to him. “Emmeline and Arthur are together and it don’t rightly matter that Dutch is her father,” she finishes the sentence for him to stop him from saying anything he shouldn’t. “I think it’s good fortune. She’s part of the family no matter what.”

Emmeline smiles to the other raven haired woman. “Thank you, Abigail. That means a lot.”

“Indeed,” Dutch’s booming voice brings attention back to him. “We are all a family here. Now, I know we’ve had some tough times, but they are behind us. Tonight, we celebrate our long overdue victory over the O’Driscolls and tomorrow...” he pauses to make sure all eyes are on him, “we make our plans to free ourselves from the bond of the slavery that this ‘ society ’ is forcing on us. Stick with me and I promise that you will be able to live free.”

His words sound good, especially to the mostly inebriated ears that hear them. But they make a weight settle in Arthur’s chest. Dutch seems to be back to his old self... but is that really a good thing?

#of sons and daughters #writehavoc Of Sons and Daughters #writehavoc writes #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan / oc #arthur morgan x original female character #Arthur Morgan / Original Female Character #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2

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blustersquall · 5 years

Note

Hey! If you’re taking requests at the moment and can find a way to fit it into your canon, I would absolutely love to see Arthur and Isabel’s first “I love you” 💛

Sorry this took a while for me to get to! It’s been a weird few days! I hope it is satisfactory. This takes place... during Chapter 6 at Beaver Hollow. I did a lot of random quests and a lot of hunting during Chapter 6 because everything was going to shit and I wanted Arthur to have some relax time.

Admittedly this is a bit out of the blue, but it works for them. I think. >.>

@rdr-oc-appreciation @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread

It would be at least another day, if not more, before Arthur and Isabel reached Van Horn. Not that there was any pressing matter pushing them in that direction, but a decent bed and a bath were definitely two things that would not go amiss, after about five days of camping and travel on horse back.

Arthur knew they would make better time if they pushed the horses faster, but given they were both on the look out for orchids for Algernon Wasp, their pace was slow but the pay off would make up for it.

He was becoming quite good at recognizing the different orchids Algernon requested, and going by the small cluster they had already, Arthur reasoned another two or three and they would have the amount requested. Juno and Valkyrie were hitched about twenty paces away, down a small hill while Arthur used his hunting knife to gently ease an orange bloomed flower from the trunk of a tree. He would look for more, while Isabel tracked whatever creature had caused her to halt them in the first place.

As he slipped a flower into his satchel, there was a crack of a twig behind him and Arthur span on his heel, reaching down for the gun in his holster. He was met with a gun barrel pointing directly at his face. Behind the gun, was a man, short but suited, a bowler hat on his ginger hair.

Pinkertons? Arthur realised. Alarmed, he glanced around behind the man for a sign of Isabel and saw nothing.

“Can’t believe my luck!” the man said, pressing his thumb down on the hammer of his pistol. “When that drunk in the saloon said they saw Arthur Morgan pass through Annesburg, I didn’t believe it. But here you are,” he gestured, laughing to himself. “In the flesh.”

“An’ you are?”

“Agent Stephens.” He reached for the gun in Arthur’s hip holster and tossed it to the side about ten feet away. He did the same with the gun in his off-hand holster. Both guns lay in the dirt, out of reach. “Turn around, Mr Morgan. You’re worth more to me alive, than dead.”

“You don’t wanna be doin’ this...” Arthur growled. He glanced over the man before him, looking for a weakness. He was shaking a little, from fear or from excitement - it was hard to tell. The hand holding the gun was shaking. One false move and Agent Stephens looked prone to pulling the trigger. That meant Arthur couldn’t attack him. He wouldn’t be able to get a punch off quick enough. He wasn’t stupid. If he moved in a way that was too fast, or looked aggressive he knew he would wind up with a bullet between his eyes.

“Turn around, Mr Morgan.” Agent Stephens repeated, his voice steady despite the trembling of his hand.

Slowly, Arthur lifted both hands and began to turn so his back was to the Pinkerton. It occurred to Arthur how strange it was that the Agent was alone. Agent Milton was always flanked by Agent Ross.

“Where’s yer partner?” asked Arthur, trying to engage in conversation while trying to think of a way to get out of this predicament. With his guns away from him at both sides he was at a disadvantage. He could grab his hunting knife and plunge it into Agent Stephens gut if he acted fast enough. But that would require retrieving the knife from his belt, and doing that would undoubtedly give away to Stephens his plan.

“Shut up.” Stephans nudged the barrel of his gun into the back of Arthur’s head. Arthur grimaced, gritting his teeth. He wouldn’t go down like this. Not peaceful and quiet like this. “Lower your hands slowly.” Arthur did as he was told, lowering his hands a little at a time. Behind him, he heard the jangle of metal.

Shackles.

Cold metal closed around one of Arthur’s wrists. His heart was racing as fast as his mind. How could he have been caught unawares like this? After everything he was taught and told? How could he have let his guard down to be caught by some bumbling idiot who had probably never held a gun before, let alone shot one.

“I can’t wait to bring you into Agent Milton,” Stephens said, speaking mostly to himself than to Arthur. “It’ll mean a promotion for me, for sure.”

Where was Isabel? Arthur hoped she was safe, perhaps she saw Stephens and ran to save her own skin. Not that Arthur would blame her. He didn’t want her getting involved or killed on his account. He wasn’t worth losing her life over. If she was safe, then that was fine. If she went back to Beaver Hollow and made it known what happened, then some members of the gang would come for him... Wouldn’t they?

Sadie and Charles, surely. John, he hoped so. Javier? ...Maybe. Dutch...? Dutch was so far removed from the man Arthur knew once upon a time, it was impossible to even try to imagine how he might act if Isabel alerted them all to his capture.

The second shackle closed around Arthur’s other wrist. He clenched his hands. No plan formulated in his mind, and now with his hands bound like this, his options for escape were even less. He was tempted to whistle for Juno. She could charge Agent Stephens, trample him under her hooves... But he didn’t want to risk Stephens firing off and killing his horse.

“Get moving, Mr Morgan.” Agent Stephens smacked the back of Arthur’s head with his gun. “No sudden moves. No back talk, y’hear?”

“Yea, yea, I hear ya.” Arthur replied, wearily. He took a heavy step, his foot sinking into the soft soil on the hillside.

“HEY!”

Isabel’s voice came from above. Both Arthur and Agent Stephens looked up and there she was perched on a tree branch, bow string pulled back, arrow nocked. Before the Stephens could get off a shot, Isabel loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air piercing through Stephen’s right eye and out the back of his head with a sickening crack. Agent Stephens gave a gasp of shock, the gun fell from his hand, and his body followed, dropping and rolling down the hill.

As Arthur found his voice, he turned his gaze back to Isabel. “When did you get up there?” he asked, watching her finding hand and foot holds and making her way down.

“When he was puttin’ the shackles on you.” Isabel replied. She jumped the last ten or so feet from a branch onto the ground. “He was congratulatin’ ‘imself so much he didn’t hear a damn thing.” She went to Stephens body on the ground and dug through his pockets. Once she had the keys to the shackles, she went to Arthur. “You okay?” she asked once his hands were freed and the shackles were on the ground. “That was a nasty smack on the head...”

“I had worse.” Arthur offered her a wry smile. One Isabel returned, shifting her weight from one side to the other. “I was thinkin’ you mighta run off.” Arthur said, looping his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans. “I wouldn’t have blamed you... if you had. Better t’save yer own skin, than risk yerself for me.”

“Arthur,” Isabel gave him a slightly withering look before sliding her hands along the lapels of his jacket, flattening the material to his chest. “You got me, Mr Morgan. I love you. I ain’t goin’ no where.”

She kissed him, but Arthur found himself unable to fully enjoy or reciprocate. His eyes were stuck open and his lungs were empty. She... loved him? Is that what she said? She loved him? Was she serious? He didn’t think he would hear those sentiments from someone... ever again after Mary. He never thought anyone would feel that way about him again. Especially not now with his illness...

But Isabel... she loved him? And she said it with no mirth, and no tone of mocking. She was sincere... At least, sounded sincere. She was earnest and forthright and...

Oh God, she loved him.

“Arthur--”

“I love you,” he blurted out, blinking hard at the confusion and worry on Isabel’s face. Immediately, he grimaced, squeezing his eyes closed and inwardly cursing. “I... I mean...” He searched for a way to fix his uncouth confession, but after a few seconds and bereft of inspiration, he sighed, turned and marched himself towards one of the guns Agent Stephens had thrown to the side. He took his time retrieving it, cleaning it of dirt and examining it for damage, glancing back to see Isabel collecting the other handgun.

He went to where Juno and Valkyrie were standing. Nearby was Agent Stephens body. Arthur began to kick leaf litter and the fallen foliage over his corpse in the hopes it might hide him from passers by. Or, at the very least, by he and Isabel some time while they left this area. If they were lucky, perhaps some hungry wolves or a hungry cougar would happen upon Agent Stephens and the world would forever wonder what happened to the upstart Pinkerton agent.

Isabel joined him. She picked up bundles of leaves and fronds of ferns, tossing them onto the body. When Arthur was satisfied it was mostly covered, he tossed some slabs of meat used for baiting carnivorous creatures onto the heap. The scent would attract them faster.

After she handed him his gun and Arthur had it securely holstered, he unhitched Juno and started to lead here away from the scene. Isabel caught up to him, leading Valkyrie by her reins. When Isabel took his hand, sliding her fingers between his, Arthur did not resist. They walked in silence through the trees a few minutes, following the path through the forest.

“Did you mean it?” asked Isabel, her eyes fixed forward.

Arthur did not need to ask what she was referring to. He nodded, “yes.”

Isabel smiled, “me too.”

I don’t hate this ending!Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know in comments/reblogs/tag flailing!Feedback feeds writers, you guys!

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monarchofsnails · 6 years

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Yeehaw partners I finally pulled my head out of the ground and finished writing the first chapter of what is hopefully going to be a charthur centred series.

Warmth in a Cold Spirit

Tags: Slow Build, Fire side talks, Mutual Pining, hunting trips, Snow, lots of snow, possible Snowball fight, Fluff and Angst, Mountain Wilderness, will there be bears? could be, gift giving, subtle flirting, and by subtle I mean blatant, alternate universe - canon divergence

It’s nowhere near yet but this series will eventually obviously breach spoiler territory, so I figure I’ll put that here just in case because I’m paranoid.

(taking the link off to see if that makes it visible, link to my AO3 on my page)

Chapter 1

It’s a funny thing, time. Days can feel as if they span years as months can pass in the blink of an eye. Charles is no stranger to this concept, having too much time or not enough, and his time with the van der Linde gang has been a particularly poignant example. He didn’t think, when he’d joined up with them for sheer convenience half a year back, that he’d have stayed this long. Since his father had been killed and he had killed those responsible he’d been on the run, had settled nowhere, valued nothing and let no one close enough for it to hurt when he inevitably lost it. And though he had always been a man with a deeply ingrained sense of morals, allowing himself to get attached had been taken off the cards completely.

That was until he'd accidentally stumbled into the gang and gotten to know Arthur Morgan. After that he found that that former conviction to remaining unattached was going to be severely challenged. He can’t pinpoint when he started caring, started giving a shit about this ragtag band that he’s accidentally fallen into, a family of sorts he supposes. But he thinks he can pinpoint who it started with. Upon first impressions, you could be forgiven for thinking that Arthur Morgan was a gruff, irate son of a bitch with plenty of brute strength but not much going on between his ears. That would be inherently and quite frankly insultingly false, though it was the persona he cultivated for himself and the one that Charles had initially bought into during his first weeks with the troupe. But the thing was, he could never keep it up and as Charles became more integrated with the crew he noticed little things about Arthur that perhaps those who weren’t paying attention past his rough exterior wouldn’t notice.

Not to put too fine a point on it, the man cared. He cared deeply about the people around him about the animals he trained both for himself and for the gang. The first time Charles had watched him break in a new colt he’d been ready to jump in, muscles tense as he expected it to go bad, but the gentleness with which Arthur approached and the inherent understanding he seemed to have of the animal meant he needn't have worried. It was just little things, like the presents he’d bring back for the little boy, Jack. The way he’d ruffle his hair and indulge the kids little whims whenever he had the chance, how he’d settle down with the girls and listen to their most recent plights and triumphs and encourage them to pursue whatever it was they were planning next with only a word of caution to stay safe. Never once had he seen Arthur treat anyone other than an equal unless they damn well deserved it. Charles watched all this, watched this man who adamantly denied that he was in any way good, care more than most anyone else he’d known and found himself beginning to care again too.

Then of course shit had hit the fan, just as Charles was beginning to make sense of the faint stirring of something deep in his chest every time he glanced over to see Arthur laughing with one of the girls or cooing at his horse as he brushed out her mane they had been up-heaved. A colossal fuck up on their latest job, he still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, saw them all running for their lives from the Pinkerton agency, up into the mountains and quite possibly to their doom. They’d lost a few in the ensuing gunfight, and then more still on the getaway. He hadn’t known Jenny or Davey well, but he mourned them with the rest just the same.

It was truly a testament to what Charles thought of the man that when Arthur had come to him that night after they’d managed to find the little village in the mountains and squirrel away there to ask if he could borrow Tamia, his beloved Boudica still fresh in the ground, that Charles had agreed without any hesitation. That horse had been with him since they were both just barely finding their legs in the world, he would not trust anyone else with her so readily. Though he tried to play it off as nothing something of the significance of the action must have showed on his face as Arthur had given him a soft, reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder, a low grumble of “I’ll take care of ‘er. You’ve my word on it” being his goodbye as he disappeared into the blizzard with Dutch to find Micah. He’d never admit it to anyone but Charles had counted every minute until their return, worry pooling in his gut that was undeniably not just for his horse.

They’d both made it back that time, Arthur greeting Charles with a grin and a wink as he handed over Tamia’s reins, his newly split lip cracking under the strain of the smile. He’d watched as Dutch had explained what’d happened, the frightened young woman by his side whipping about and staring at them all in a way that reminded him of a cornered animal. He’d watched as Arthur had made sure to cover the young lady’s back, make sure she didn’t feel exposed as she made her way over to the other women, had murmured something to her softly that’d caused her to give him a strange, but oddly grateful look before she was whisked away.

He’d wanted to speak to Arthur more, though he wasn’t sure how and as he watched the other man get ushered away by Ms Grimshaw, his gait slow and laborious thanks to both the snow and the exhaustion, turn and give him another little smile and a wave he’d tried not to analyse too deeply the fluttering in his stomach and instead had bowed his head in return before moving away to his own bunk, the cold seeping into his bones and his injured hand throbbing even as sleep beckoned. That first night felt like hell to all of them, but only because they couldn’t have known of the horrors that awaited them.

So it’d gone like that, Charles made himself useful in camp once his hand was mostly healed, tended to the horses and worked on repairs with the other men to make the hell hole they’d wound up in a little more liveable. Working alongside them in a more hands on environment had given him a new perspective on a lot of his fellow gang members, and though he be loath to admit it out loud he supposed the comradery was nice.

He’d pushed down the worry when Arthur and Javier had disappeared into the blizzard to look for John despite the traitorous little voice in the back of his mind telling him that they were going to lose three more of their number to this accursed mountain and kept himself busy instead scrounging up supplies to make arrows, something he knew they were going to need if they had even a hope of surviving up here, as hunting was going to be imperative. And when the others had returned a day later, a heavily injured John in tow, he’d had to choke down the lump in his throat at seeing them all safe, at the knowledge that the night before hadn’t been the last time he’d see Arthur’s smile.

Later on that evening Arthur had come to sit beside him where he’d been settled by the fire working on the middle stages of a bow, the strong and sturdy birch wood carefully carved and glinting pale in the ample but dim light of the room. He’d said nothing, but the gentle brush of their shoulders had spoken plenty of the quiet comradery they always shared as Arthur shifted against him with a weary sigh, offering Charles that smile tinged with the bone deep weariness that came with being stuck in such abysmal weather. He found himself smiling back, even if just a little and the joy that lit in Arthur’s eyes at the simple response nearly took his breath away. Covering for himself he rolled his eyes and went back to concentrating on what he was doing, focusing perhaps more intently than he needed to as his fingers were well practised in their movements, performing a dance as familiar to him as breathing.

He couldn’t help but glance up through his lashes however when there came a rustling from beside him, the tell-tale soft fwsh of paper sliding against paper as Arthur opened his journal, took out some charcoal from the little satchel that often seemed permanently glued to his side and began to draw. Whilst he didn’t want to overstep or encroach on Arthur’s privacy the temptation to peak was strong. Not many people got the chance to look in the journal that Arthur was always so fiercely protective of and the simple fact that he was willing to work on it right beside him was a significant gesture that was not lost on him. Still, he held himself back from nosing and continued to work on the bow. It was meant as a gift though it was admittedly going to be a necessity as well in the coming weeks given their lack of decent food. Stringing it carefully he hummed a tuneless, but pretty little song and found himself only partially surprised when a lower, gravlier hum joined in. Glancing up he met Arthur’s endlessly blue gaze without entirely meaning to, the man it seemed had been looking at him, or rather studying him for some time it seemed.

He arched an eyebrow and watched as Arthur blinked and ducked his head, abashed like a child who’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar and though the light was dim he could’ve sworn that Arthur was blushing. Convincing himself he must be seeing things he offered the other man a slight smile

“You okay, Arthur?” his tone is pitched low, unwilling to disturb the peace around them as he continued to put the finishing touches to the bow, watching his friend curiously.

“M’fine Charles, jus’ thinkin’” Arthur glanced back up at him with a crooked little grin and Charles once again found himself having to swallow down the little flutter of his pulse quickening before he could speak

“Hmm, and what’re you thinkin’ about Mr. Morgan?” he pressed gently, a hint of teasing in his tone that had Arthur chuckling “That we’re in a whole heap o’ trouble if we don’t start figurin’ out our next move. We’re gonna run out of food soon, with so many mouths t’ feed” Charles hummed thoughtfully, biting the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling as he silently decided now was as good a time as any.

“Well, I don’t know about a plan, that’s more Dutch’s thing. But I think I could help out with the food problem” at Arthur’s questioning gaze he lifted the bow that had been resting in his lap and held it out “I was going to do this tomorrow, but since you’re here now. This is for you” he held it out, waiting for Arthur to take it and trying not to smile at the awestruck look on his face.

“You - for me?” he seemed to struggle with the right words but eventually found his voice once more as he tentatively reached out and took the bow in his hands, examining it almost reverently “Charles this- this is really somethin’. You made this for me?” Charles rolled his eyes, nudging Arthur playfully with his shoulder

“Yes, you fool. Who else?” at that Arthur gave a huffing laugh “S’pose I deserved that” he ran his hands over the bow slowly, taking in every swirl and curve in the grain of the wood.

“So, this idea o’ yours?” he trailed off and looked up, a familiar playful light sparking in his eyes

“Hunting trip tomorrow?” Charles felt his own mouth split into a grin “Hunting trip. Figure if we manage to nap a couple of bucks, that should help with our food issue, at least for the time being” he shrugged, then before Arthur could speak “And you can’t go hunting with your rifle, damn things are too noisy, all you’ll end up doing is scaring everything off” there was a pause, and then Arthur chuckled softly

“Wasn’t gonna contest Charles, I trust ya’” he winked and Charles felt his heart stutter a little. He snorted softly, swaying with the motion as Arthur nudged him playfully “C’mon it’ll be fun, jus’ you n’ me out there” Charles rolled his eyes “Idiot” but his tone was laced with an affection that made Arthur smile.

“Alright then, so we leave at first light tomorrow yeah?” at Charles’ nod Arthur gets up, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound in the room for a moment other than the quiet breaths of their already sleeping compatriots

“Come wake me, probably easier than me wakin the lot o’ them fools you’re havin’ t’ bunk with” Charles couldn’t stop a soft bark of laughter at that, true enough he supposed, he didn’t need to deal with a load of irate cowboys so early in the morning

“Alright Arthur, I’ll come for you” he watched as Arthur shifted, slinging the bow carefully over his back then glancing over and opening his mouth to speak “Don’t worry about the arrows, I’ll have some for you in the morning” his presumption proved correct when the other man’s mouth closed with a soft snap and he offered a grin instead then after a second of hesitation he reached out to press a hand to Charles’ shoulder.

For a moment neither of them moved and all Charles could feel was the intense heat radiating from Arthur’s hand, the solid weight it was providing and his own heartbeat. Instinctively he leaned into it just a touch and it prompted Arthur to finally move, giving his shoulder a gentle pat and a final wink “Fair enough, g’night Charles. Sweet dreams” he rumbled, voice gruff with both trying to stay quiet and the obvious tiredness he was still suffering from.

Charles found himself giving a slow nod “Same to you Arthur” he paused, watched Arthur move towards the door and then, on impulse “Try not to oversleep, yeah? I’d hate to have t’ leave without you” the quip has the cowboy looking over his shoulder, mischief dancing in his eyes as he offered a salute

“I’ll try my best Mr. Smith. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to wake me if I do” and with that he stepped out into the bitterly cold night, making sure to close the door to the cabin behind him and leaving Charles to his own thoughts.

#red dead redemption #RDR2 #Charles Smith #Arthur Morgan #rdr fanfiction #Charthur #honestly I nearly lost my nerve posting this #but like it's up there now #may as well share it #so yeah like. I hope you guys enjoy #and any feedback would be amazing #reblogging is as always welcome and appreciated #and hey I'm in a writing mood so if you guys ever feel like dropping me any charthur prompts or headcanons #-eye emoji-#you could do that #I would possibly be very grateful and cry a lot

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maevesdarling · 5 years

Text

In his arms

Ayyyeee I heard you people liked fluff? I heard you wanted to read about a Charles/Arthur wedding (which by the way is totally fine for the rest of the gang, all they want for Arthur is to be happy okay?) This loosely follows the story up until the mission "blessed are the peacemakers" then it gets canon compliant.

Pairing: Charles Smith/Arthur Morgan

Words: 1110

- - -

The ceremony was neither big nor fancy. With both O'Driscolls and Pinkertons on their trail they had to be careful. Especially after Arthur had been abducted by the O'Driscolls. That was about a month ago and he was feeling progressively better with each passing day. Especially today.

The outlaw had gotten up early, feeling anxious. He tried to shrug it off. It was nothing. They didn't even needed a ceremony, he kept telling himself. But Dutch had insisted. After all it would lighten the camps mood.

They hadn't much money to spend on outfits and other things but stil Arthur had dressed in his best clothes and went into town to get both his hair and beard made for the occasion.

Their fellow gang members stood around them as Charles slipped the simple, golden band around Arthur's finger. It was warm and sunny, the sun reflecting off the water. Clement's point was the closest thing to a home they currently had.

No one commented on the sour expression on Micah's face, although Arthur could have sworn Javier had bumped him into his ribs harshly as Charles had walked down the aisle to signal the man "don't you dare try any funny business or we'll gut you as a wedding gift for Arthur".

Swanson looked well kept for the first time in months, reading from his pocket Bible (not that Arthur or Charles needed it but if it made their group happy) he even claimed to be completely sober for the occasion.

"Hereby I declare you husband and husband. You may now kiss the groom." The Reverend announced with a big smile, Charles hands already clutched to Arthur's cheeks as the dark skinned man pulled him into a passionate kiss.

Around them they could hear cheering coming from their group; their family.

Once he and Charles separated from one another he took in the people around them.

Javier was playing a happy tune on his guitar, Lenny and Sean had their arms wrapped around each other and were cheering loudly at the newly weds. Even Kieran was standing at the edge of the group, looking somewhat happy.

Dutch was standing behind Hosea an arm wrapped around his partner as the older man looked at Arthur with tears shimmering in his blue eyes.

They had taken him in at a young age and raised him as their son, still it had taken some time and convincing on Charles side until Arthur gathered his strength to tell his father figures about the nature of the relationship between him and Charles. Ever since he had woken up in his bedroll, Miss Grimshaw sitting by his bedside, Charles hadn't left his side. He had helped him do some training with his shoulder to get him back into shape and took him hunting just outside the camp to keep the outlaw from going insane from boredom during his recovery and then, a few days ago, he had popped the question. It was a shock to Arthur, but nevertheless, he said yes.

"Well done, Arthur!" Hosea cheered as they walked past him, patting Arthur's back. The outlaw grinned toothy. "Son..." Dutch nodded at him and Charles. "You take good care of him." Dutch warned Charles half hearted.

Up next came the woman. Miss Grimshaw had all of them dressed in their finest gowns and throw flowers at them. Charles laughed when Arthur caught some of them and handed them to his now husband.

And last came John with his family. Jack was cheering happily in his mother's arms. "Uncle Arthur!!! Does that mean I get to call Charles now Uncle Charles as well?"

"Of course Jack." The boy beamed. "Come now, my love." Charles gently nudged him towards their horses. Taima and Carrie had flowers woven into their mane, a fact especially Taima seemed happy about as she had already started to chew some of them off her hair. "Allow me." Charles held out his hand and helped Arthur to sit up in his saddle. The wound on his shoulder sometimes still hurt. Especially after a cold night. He sat up in the saddle with a groan. "You okay?" He nodded.

"Fine. Let's ride." They set a slow pace riding out of the camp, waving after the rest of the gang and set course for the Heartlands. Charles wanted to spend the night out in the wild before they'd return in a day or two.

At first Arthur had felt bad about leaving the camp alone, even if just for a two days. But after Hosea had took him aside and gave him a talk on how although they all loved seeing the couple so happy together no one was particularly interested in hearing their couplings, especially since it was their wedding night, Arthur had felt less guilty plus he went on a hunt yesterday to provide the camp with enough meat to last them once he and Charles left.

They had everything they needed, a tent big enough for two, some lotion Hosea had given to Arthur with a mischievous wink and food Pearson had prepared for them.

The ride had Arthur antsy in his saddle, excitement pulsing through his veins as he imagined the night that was before him.

They followed the roads and crossed into the Heartlands when Charles pointed towards an area ahead of them. "You see them?" He asked and Arthur's eyes made out the shape of bisons standing peacefully and eating the grass.

"Yup." Arthur simply said. He was getting uneasy at the sight of these hills. Scenes flashed before his eyes. Watching Micah and Dutch talk to Colm O'Driscoll from afar, a shadow falling over him, pain. So much pain.

"You alright Arthur?" Charles had noticed his husband slipping out of reality. "Sure. I just don't like these hills. Let's get some distance between us and them." He set a fast pace as they made their way closer to their old camp. Charles said he knew a good spot to camp, deep in the woods were they could spend a day without being spotted.

As soon as they got there Arthur got off his horse and worked on setting the camp up. Charles unpacked what they had brought with them. Two bedrolls, some meat for cooking and blankets. Arthur saw the dark skinned man's smile. "What?" He asked with a smile. Charles shrugged and wrapped his arms around Arthur's hips. "Can't I just be happy to spend the night with my husband?" He asked before pressing a kiss to Arthur's chapped lips. "Okay fine."

He sighed against his husband's lips feeling at ease for the first time in a long time.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #charles smith #arthur/charles #rdr2

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blustersquall · 5 years

Note

First kiss for Arthur/Isabel. I've been dying to know how it happens

Thank you Nonny! It took me a bit of time to think where their first kiss would fit in the canonical world of things. I hope you enjoy this. I do. :D

Takes place in Chapter 4 of the game. Contains game spoilers.

Title: Slowly Falling

@rdr-oc-appreciation @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread

It took most of the day to dispose of the O’Driscoll corpses, though disposal was more tossing them into the bayou to keep the alligators satisfied, but once it was accomplished Arthur could feel the tension in the gang recede a little.

He checked in with those who were up for conversation making sure they were hale and whole. It was miraculous that out of all of them only a few wounds were sustained and most of them minor.

For all their numbers, the O’Driscoll’s were terrible shots.

Isabel sustained the worst wound, one she didn’t even realise she had until the gunfire was finished and every O’Driscoll lay dead. Arthur remembered watching the colour drain from her face as she breathed hard and leaned against the wall for support. Her shirt stained red beneath her jacket and the way she left a smear on the wall when her legs gave out beneath her.

A bullet had found its mark in her lower back during the gun fight. Shallow, and not life-threatening by any means, but bad enough that all the air in Arthur’s lungs left him and her remembered yelling for Swanson as he hoisted Isabel up into his arms.

Morphine administered, Swanson was able to retrieve the bullet with relative ease and dress the injury. Arthur gave Isabel his bed to rest, closing out the rest of the world to try and keep he noise to a minimum while he sat vigil. Her breathing was deep. He filled the time writing in his journal and sketching. Sketching the scenes he had witnessed. Sketching her. The slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the way her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks.

Another person he cared about injured on his watch. Perhaps if he wasn’t so stupid the O’Driscoll’s never would have found them. Maybe if he’d been more alert, the attack could have been avoided entirely. The world was closing in around him and the gang. Civilization, O’Driscoll’s, the Pinkertons, and Cornwall. Soon, they would be surrounded on all sides with no where left to run.

Trapped.

Dawn the next day was when Isabel awoke. Arthur was there, ready at her bedside having dozed on-and-off through the night in a chair. He sat on the very edge of the bed, graphite stained hand on hers.

“Hey there,” he murmured to her watching her eyes openly and focus in on her surroundings. She winced when she moved, her left hand immediately going to the lower portion of her body.

“O’Driscoll’s?” she asked, heaving a breath with the effort it took her to sit up. “Kieran? Is everyone–”

“They’re fine,” Arthur placed both hands on her shoulders. “They’re all fine, Isa– Miss Ashwood.”

“Good…” a brief smile came to her lips. “Good.” Arthur pushed her hair back away from her face. “Damn, I feel like I was gored by a boar…”

“Close,” said Arthur with a brief smile. “You was shot. Not badly. Swanson says you’ll be alright.”

“Guess that’ll teach me for comin’ outta cover.” She chuckled a little, “I’m glad everyone else is okay.”

“Everyone except…”

Isabel’s eyes dropped. “Kieran... yeah. God, that poor kid. I liked ‘im, y’know? He was… nice. Too nice for them O’Driscoll’s. He deserved a better end than that.”

“That he did.”

They sat in respectful silence. Arthur remembered Kieran saving his life. Remembered them going fishing. He was a good man. Kinder than most. Just wanted to tend to horses and live a peaceful life. Getting involved with the O’Driscoll’s was just asking for trouble.

Another person he failed to protect.

He started from his thoughts when Isabel’s hand came up to cradle his cheek in a gesture that was more intimate than friendly, and made his chest tighten. She turned his head so they were looking at each other and the space between them was only inches.

“I see I stole your bed.”

Arthur quirked his mouth in a crooked smile. “You needed it more. At least it’s a bit quieter up here.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Isabel leaned in and kissed his cheek. She lingered there, lips brushing his skin when she spoke. “You’re always lookin’ out for me. Ever since we met.” Her breath trembled when she exhaled and Arthur hoped she didn’t hear him swallow. Having her this close... it was almost more than he could bear. “I… I hope you know…”

He turned his head to see her better and the end of his nose bumped hers. Her breath mingled with his, and without thinking Arthur closed the space between them. The tightness in his chest only grew in response to his action, and a nervousness better suited to a young, inexperienced man made his leg start to jump. Isabel replied with a kiss of her own, reciprocating with a coy softness that was unexpected.

Reality hit him like a runaway train and Arthur pulled back, eyes wide and panic setting in. What had he done? What had he done?! He couldn’t do this again. Not after Eliza. Not after Mary. How could he condone these feelings he was experiencing? How could he allow himself these desires when everything around him was falling apart? More than that, how could he ever imagine that someone like Isabel wanted him? She was brightness in a dark world, and deserved a goddamn fairy tale prince. Not a filthy outlaw. Not a killer. A thief. Not him.

“Sorry, I–” he started. Stopped. Clenched his eyes closed and his hands into fists in his lap. “I should–”

“Arthur,” Isabel’s tone was gentle, not scolding and that alone surprised him. Her hand at his cheek moved to curl his hair around his ear. “I don’t mind.” He met her gaze. Her half-hooded, dark eyes with the rings of green in them that fascinated and enchanted him.

She kissed him this time, her fingers sliding up into his hair. Her lips drew him in, causing him to all but crumble before her. He held her jaw, hungrily devouring her kiss and embracing the coiling, excited sensation bubbling away inside him. There was less coy softness in this. It was as though she was trying to convey to him how she felt through gestures, rather than words.

Isabel wanted him? How could she? After all he had done? After everything she had witnessed him do? After all the things about him she knew? All the things she didn’t know. How could she want him like this? Oh, he didn’t want to question it, but it was something he couldn’t help. It was too good to be true. Something would come along and steal this moment of joy away, surely. That was what always happened. Everything good in his life that was his and his alone got taken from him, or left him. How could he open himself up to that pain again?

He was though. Willingly. Selfishly. With every moment the kiss lengthened, with every breath one of them stole, he was opening himself up to more pain and hurt. Falling into it. Welcoming it.

He was a fool.

“Isabel–” Arthur broke the kiss, breathing hard and pressing his forehead to hers in an attempt to gain some clarity. He ran his thumb along her reddened bottom lip, ignoring the desire to kiss her again. “I–”

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice rang out fro the ground floor and outside, it sounded like. Immediately, Arthur was on alert like a dog being called by its master. “Get down here, son! We need to talk about this trolley station job!”

“I’m sorry,” he turned to Isabel, “I have to…”

“You go,” she smiled, and it was genuine. He expected to see disappointment, annoyance, not warmth. “I should rest up, anyway.”

Arthur nodded, “yeah… yeah. You need t’rest.” He got to his feet and paced a little to work out that nervous jumpy feeling in his legs. “I’ll let Hosea and the Reverend know you’re up. They’ll wanna check on you.”

“Okay,” she lay back in bed, pulling the blanket up from where it had pooled in her lap.

At the door, Arthur looked back at her wrestling with himself and whether or not he should say something. He bit the inside of his mouth. What could he say? Should he try and apologize again? Isabel was already settled back into the thin pillow and had her eyes closed. He chose to stay silent on the topic. Whatever they needed to say could wait until her strength returned.

Whoo, this is longer than I expected it to be! I hope you like it Nonny! I … actually quite like it. It’s how I envision their first kiss to go down. Everyone else at the camp already thinks there’s something going on because they’re always off hunting together or getting into trouble up to this point, but they’re just friends who are…totally blind. Because Isabel thinks Arthur isn’t interested, and Arthur doesn’t think he’s worthy of being loved by someone.

Tra-la-la. ANYWAY. THANKS FOR THE PROMPT, NONNY!

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