#Arthur Morgan / Original Female Character

[nataliabdraws]

Summer love ☀️

[jennyartkim]

I have so many ideas or Arthur and and arg! 😩✨✨✨✨

[miller-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

PART TWO: GUNSLINGER

Arthur Morgan x Gunslinger!Reader

18+, mdni (this work is not necessarily 18+, but my blog as a whole is)

Summary: The famous 'kid' settles into the camp, but slight problems arise when Dutch learns his new gunslinger hasn't ever fired a rifle. Arthur Morgan, the loyal enforcer, is all too happy to oblige is lending his help... for a price. (Reader is based on Texas Red from the Song 'Big Iron')

Warnings: reader is female but is disguised as a young male (use of masc pronouns towards reader by everyone accept Arthur), use of guns, reader is described to have a masculine outer appearance (for show) and is mentioned to have reddish hair (for the sake of the storyline). A fake name is used but otherwise can be read completely as a reader insert.

Word Count: 3.5k (pathetic, i know)

Hey howdy hey, welcome back for part two of this fluffy little cowboy story that is going to become such a hellscape later on. Just sit back and relax while it lasts and enjoy it... bc it's gonna be so crazy y'all

“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.” “But Dutch said that-” “I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.” You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

You haven’t seen much of the nature of Agua Fria, but you’re glad you’re able to, now. You’d town hopped a few times within the city, letting new faces get a look at yours. But there was a sort of pressure in those crowded areas, and it doesn’t feel like that in the Van Der Linde campsite. 

The gang has taken well to you. It’s been a fortnight since you joined up, the ragtag gang of outlaws, thieves, and gunslingers had been welcoming, given your display on just the day after your arrival.

Dutch has yet to send you on any jobs, mainly because of something you revealed to everyone around the campfire a week ago. 

“How does one shoot a rifle?” you pondered curiously, the silence of the group making you anxious.

“Boy, you better be pulling my leg,” Dutch himself butted in, shaking his head in disbelief. A cigarette hung from his lips, but he pulled it away to stare you down. 

“Well, I just…” haven’t ever shot one before. You’d trailed off before any further mockery could be made, but it was too late.

“You mean to tell me, that in eighteen years of life, you never managed to fire a rifle?” Arthur chimed in, though he was in on your secret, this revelation still surprised him. What else were you hiding?

“If y’all are just gonna mock me, I’m turnin’ in.”

Dutch laughed, and everyone else in the circle made an attempt to undo the harm done. 

“Javier ain’t even played a damn note, and you’re gonna sleep?” John cut in, his gravelly voice full of resentment to your attitude. Maybe you were a bit touchy, but it’s not like you’d ever had close friends to joke around with before. Much less people who got away with poking so much fun to your name.

“Who cares if he can’t shoot a rifle? He’s got a faster shot than all of you with a pistol,” Tilly piped up, her sweet voice just about putting all the other men in their place. She looked at you with contrition. “I’m not very good with those big guns, either.” 

“Thank you, Miss Tilly,” you tipped your hat, sitting back down on the log next to her. 

Arthur chuckled under his breath watching the interaction, going back to the drink in his hand with a shake of his head. He wouldn’t say anything, he promised he wouldn’t… but some of these occurrences were just too amusing, he couldn’t help his genuine reactions. The slanted jokes about male anatomy towards you, usually coming from John, Sean, or even the calendar boys. The way that you nearly had a heart attack when Miss Grimshaw offered to help you out of your clothes to wash them. Even now, the sweet words from Tilly and the funny way you looked at your feet to avoid meeting her eyes. 

That was another thing… You couldn’t bear to break the young girl’s heart, although she would have to find out eventually that you were not in fact the man she thought you were. 

He’d been surprised, if he’s honest. He thought that with all her romantic notions and storybook thoughts that Mary-Beth would be the one to fancy a new gunslinger… but maybe you just weren’t her type. Perhaps it was the red hair that deterred her, he knows for sure that was the case when Sean tried his luck. Good thing Karen was there to catch his fall... But sweet Tilly had no idea what she was in for.

He’d teased you about it over the next week, and finally today, when it was time to show you the ropes of a rifle. Dutch insisted that running with them required knowledge of more than pistols and revolvers, and who better to teach than the enforcer himself?

“Like this?” you asked, trying to place the gun correctly. 

“Yeah sure, if you wanna blow your arm out of socket.” His low chuckle, followed by a drag of smoke was not helpful, and neither were his words, but your position was just too funny.

“I believe this is where you’re s’posed to be helpin’ me,” you replied, a fiery bite in your words. You’d been learning to warm up to people’s teasing, although it was still a long road to go. 

He stood to his feet from where he lounged by a tree, coming up beside you to kick your foot out a little. “Can’t stand like a tree, kid… you’ll tip over in the wind.”

"I ain't a kid," you mumbled, trying not to let him hear your annoyance to something so trivial... you just couldn't help it. People called you kid when they were trying to rile you up, trying to get you to shoot at them. It hadn't ever been used as an endearment before.

"How old are you, anyway?" He asked with a laugh, getting closer to you while he reached to adjust the gun.

"Twenty-Two..."

He let out a small 'huh' before focusing back to the task at hand. He realizes he's only eight years your senior, not twelve. He pulled the butt of the gun into your shoulder, making sure you wouldn’t give out when the gun fired. 

“Alright, the shootin’ part should be easy for you. Just hold strong, that thing’s gonna kick back a hell of a lot more than any handgun.” 

You pulled back the bolt, raising the barrel until you could aim properly. The glass bottle on the tree branch down the way looked like an easy enough target, but when you fired, you weren’t ready for how much pressure the gun would push on you, and you stumbled back into Arthur. 

“Mind your step, will ya?” he teased yet again, and it took everything in you to just ready your stance and try again without saying a word. 

You took a deep breath, pulling back on the bolt once more. You had a good idea as to how much you needed to push back this time. Finding the bottle again, you pulled the trigger, closing your eyes at the explosion and faintly hearing the sound of broken glass in the distance. 

“I did alright,” you turned to Arthur, a narrow gaze in his eyes as he looked from you then back to the tree. It was quite a distance away, and he was surprised you’d hit so accurately already. Then again, you were kind of known for your accuracy… but you’d never fired a rifle.

“Yeah, more than alright,” he reasoned, taking the gun from you and turning to take a shot for himself. “Now ya just gotta work on speed. This ain’t nothing you can keep on your hip.”

He fired one round after another, each bullet hitting the same branch on a tree until it fell from the trunk completely. Wow. 

He smirked over his shoulder, and your face probably gave him an even better reason to be smug. You were clearly in awe of almost everything this man did. Taking care of his horse? In awe. Carrying supplies from the wagon into camp without having to make several trips? In awe. Even now, his accuracy and reaction time. He was so skilled, and you wondered if you’d ever match him. 

“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.”

“But Dutch said that-”

“I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

“Sure, you do…” he trailed, standing right in front of you and reaching down towards your hip. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, even just having him this close to you. When his hand met your gun, pulling it away from its holster, you relaxed just a bit more. “How is it you shoot so fast?” 

Honestly, you didn’t have a clue. Everything you did to get faster, you’re sure he’s already done, and a million times over. 

“Nerves, mostly. My hands start shakin’ whenever I get a challenger, they start itching to shoot real bad… guess that’s why.”

He nodded, but was unsatisfied. Your answer was vague and unconvincing.

“What’d you do to learn? You obviously ain’t shot another gun but this one here, tell me how it came along,” he raised the pistol in the air, his skillful hands spinning it over a finger with ease. 

“I guess s’a long story.”

“And since you learned your way around a rifle so well, we got nothin’ but time.”

You sighed, stepping into the shade of the tree closest to you. You leaned into it, crossing your arms and watching as he continued to handle your closest ally in his steady hands. 

How do you even start this story? How does it even get told? You’d never uttered a word about your past to a single person since it all unraveled. You weren’t sure he’d stick around to hear it all, or maybe if he did, he would think you to be foolish. 

But this Arthur Morgan, with his tough exterior and gruff voice had a soft spot. He was gentle when need be, kinder than most. You suppose he derives it from Hosea, given that the man practically raised him into manhood. 

“You know, I used to be a little rich girl,” you chuckled, watching for his reaction. It was surprising to him, but he waited, almost as if thinking you’d retract it as a joke. “Yeah… lived on a big orange grove in South Carolina.”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he let out when he realized you weren’t messing around. 

“Had a rich daddy and a rich mama. My entire lineage has gotta be worth a couple million at least.”

“Then why on earth are you here? You’d have to be crazy to leave that behind,” he gripped your pistol tightly now, his entire stance leaning on his left leg as he narrowly watched you lounging against the tree. 

“Oh, I had a good reason,” you scoffed with wide eyes. 

“Good enough to leave behind a family fortune?” 

He’s a man. Every man you’ve ever met is the same. They pay no mind to you anymore because you look like one of them now. But before? It was practically a brawl at every public event you attended. You hope that Arthur does not prove to be like the rest. You’ve already been so sure that he stands out, it'll break your heart if you were wrong.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I used to be quite the stunner. I attracted quite a few suitors.”

He nodded, looking you up and down in one glance before coughing a bit and averting his eyes. You hid yourself well, but if he tried hard enough, he could imagine how you would look in more feminine apparel. He liked what he was imagining. 

“I don’t doubt it…”

“Well, my dad was in control of who would have my hand, and as you can imagine I wasn’t fond of that fact… He picked one of his old pals from Virginia, another big farmer like himself, wealthy beyond belief and probably thirty five years my senior.”

Arthur was still, blinking a few times. He doesn’t understand. Yes, you would have had to marry someone you were not interested in… but the situation seemed ideal otherwise. 

“You would have been well taken care of, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh sure,” you nodded, but there was a smirk on your lips. “I would have been just dandy until he found a reason to kill me like he did his first two wives. My father never believed the accusations, of course, and the evidence had been conveniently destroyed… but I knew better.”

He let out a low whistle, finally looking back to your gun and wondering if its origins were about to come to light. Yeah, he thought. That’s a pretty damn good reason.

“So you ran off?” 

You gave a small nod, remembering the last time you ever saw your home and family.

“When I was eighteen I was shipped off to Virginia with a caravan, but before I could be delivered to old Thomas Arlington’s doorstep, I hid overnight in a stable. I stole a horse and headed west a bit.”

“How far west?” 

“West Virginia,” you chuckled. “I got to lurk around there a while, I started dressing all boyish and helped a travelin’ musician with his shows. After he settled down I found that very gun on the ground of a saloon. No one ever claimed her, so I polished her up and started practicing draws. I got pretty good, made bets on shootin’ games to get by.”

“You just… picked her up and started shootin’?”

“It sounds real dull when you put it that way,” you laughed, holding your hand out to take the gun back. You’re not an expert with this thing, can’t even spin it half as well or efficiently as he does… but you might be the best in the world at drawing it from your holster. “I’d never shot anyone before, until one man got real upset that he lost a shooting game to me. It was my first duel… and I won. All because of a game. It was that can game we played after I got here.”

“I figured as much. I ain’t never believed anyone could shoot faster than me until I saw you that day. Paid close attention to those bullet holes.”

He was being far too kind. It’s not like you were anything like him. He had it all. Strength, skill, wits, and as you learned with every glance, the looks to kill.

“I ain’t any good besides the one shot I know how to take.” Your confession meant more to him than you realized.

Yeah, he thought. You can draw, but before today you’d never shot a rifle. You’d never used a knife. Likely never robbed a bank or a stage coach or anything of that sort. Aside from duels, you’re clean cut and inexperienced… your nickname holds far more weight than he’s sure you can actually hold. Ruthless killer? More like a hustler with a bit of blood dusting your fingers. You haven’t made any ground compared to him, yet you’re the one they know far and wide. 

“Let’s make a deal,” he started, his steps carrying him quite close to your form, nearly hovering over you. “I’m gonna make you one of us. Teach you everything you need to know. Fightin’, stealin’, sneakin’ round… all of it. And in return, you’re gonna teach me how to shoot faster than you.”

He knows it’s built on a prideful notion, but he reckons you don’t care, because he’s offering you far more than you can give him. Obviously you agree, because even if you try to teach him, you are almost positive that you don’t even know the secret to your speed.

“Alright, cowboy… I’ll shake on it.”

And you do, squeezing his hand tightly.

-

You find yourself settling into the camp a lot easier than the weeks before. The names of the people here just roll off your tongue... whenever you see them, a greeting is spoken. You’ve also been able to sleep soundly in your tent despite the fears of the animal sounds out in the distance. You’ve come to realize that you aren’t alone in the wilderness, and you have a sort of family to keep you safe, now. 

Arthur continues to show you the ropes, giving you tricks and quick witted thoughts for situations you would never have thought to put yourself in. They all are illegal situations, of course, but you listen intently, and learn each step with an absorbent state of mind. 

Even if he doesn’t outwardly show it, you think Dutch is happy about your progress, given that you are not only an asset to future jobs, but also because you seem to blend well with everyone. He definitely views his gang as a family of fugitives, and now that you’re one of them, he’s become warm with you, even calls you ‘son.’ 

There is one member of camp that to date, you haven’t gotten into conversation with. Hosea Matthews. The man seemed to be the fatherly type, and nearly everyone in the gang had a sort of paternal view of him in some way. You reckon Arthur has taken the man to be closer to him than actual blood. The great Mr. Morgan doesn’t often share details of his past, but you’ve heard here and there about the rascal that was his father, dead and gone when Arthur was a kid, but not soon enough. 

It was a Tuesday morning, after a round of stale coffee when he first sat down beside you for a friendly chat. You couldn't have possibly known the contents of the topics he had in mind, but you were about to be bombarded with them in the most gentle way you reckon a man can speak. 

“Mister Gunslinger,” he began, a gentle clap on your shoulder to garner your attention. “I’ve heard you’re getting to be the best man at camp.”

His friendly chuckle eased your nerves, but you brushed off his words anyway. 

“Not sure ‘bout that. Just learnin’ the ropes,” you nodded along to your own words, hoping they caught well with him. 

“Arthur told me you picked up a rifle for the first time a few days ago and blew him out of the water,” he mentioned, the tone in his voice suggesting he wanted his compliment to land. 

“He’s bein’ far kinder than I deserve,'' you scoffed, shaking your head this time. “Nearly took my shoulder out of socket on the first shot.”

“But you broke a bottle on the second,” he returned, likely quoting your dear mentor’s own words. “How did you learn to shoot that pistol of yours, anyhow?”  

Hosea knew everyone’s stories. He was the father of the camp, albeit not the leader. He knew everything about everyone, and he took care of them. You took one look at him and decided you could trust him from day one… but that didn’t mean he should know everything.

“Well, I found this gun a while ago, just started shootin’ it till I hit somethin’.”

He leaned forward in his seat, another chuckle rolling off his tongue, but the question went unanswered in the way he’d hoped for. He took a breath, turning to face you a bit more… He decided to be straight with you. 

“I’m sure you’ve probably got things in your past you’re not too proud of. I’ve heard the name ‘Texas Red’ in quite a few towns now. I guess I’m just curious about what you did before the gunslinging days.”

“Oh…” you trailed, completely unsure if elaborating on your past, even without context, could force you to accidentally spill something you didn’t intend to. So you took the safe route. “Not much to tell. Ran away from home, stole a horse and headed west. Found this gun in an old saloon and the rest is history.”

He saw through the act, but didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to feel like you needed to hide things, but similarly, he didn’t want you to feel pressured to talk. This camp was a safe place. As long as you kept to the rules and helped out, you didn’t need to do anything else. You could just live freely and have your being. 

“Listen, son… I know it’s probably hard to open up about things you’ve gone and left in the past. Every person here has a story, somewhere they came from or something they did. If you ever want to talk about yours, I’m always chipper for good conversation.”

You looked into his eyes, and they were full of contrition, full of compassion. You guessed there wasn’t a bad bone in this man’s body. 

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded once before standing up and heading down to the river bank, likely to fish. 

You wonder if he has suspicion of you, or if he knows more already than he’s leading onto. But then you think, no. He’s just a kind older man that actually gives a damn about the younger folks here. He didn’t seem to have any biological sons or daughters, but this camp was full of family he could call his own.

You were starting to call them family, too.

-

(tags are open)

[moeitsu]

I like to imagine these are some of the sketches in Arthur's journal when he's drawing Kate :")

Credit to Lee Walker and Jason Lohmeier

[fandomstatewrites]

LARKSPUR - Chapter One:  all that glitters ain't gold

“Colm, then?” asked Hosea, arms crossed across his chest. Arthur shook his head and took another pull from the bottle. “Girl's got her own demons chasin' her, by the looks of it,” “She ain’t an outlaw too, is she?” Another shake of his head, “Naw. This seems personal. Something about that ring of hers. Someone’s going through an awful lot of trouble to get it from her. They chased us out of Emerald Ranch,” Arthur explained, “She managed to divert him away from the camp while I rode on ahead with Karen, but by the time I doubled back...Well, let's just say she roughed him up good before puttin' the bastard down." “Tough girl,” Hosea mused. Arthur hummed in agreement. - When amateur outlaw and bounty hunter Ramona Kostka ends up on the wrong side of a robbery, she's swept into the world of the Van der Linde gang. A surprise reunion with an old friend deepens her involvement, forcing her to navigate alliances to clear the bounty on her head. As danger mounts, Ramona must outwit both friends and foes in a desperate bid to protect her freedom and her life.

Read on Ao3 - Chapter One

[prettyprincessmorgan]

california; may, 1892.

tw: smoking, use of marijuana !

This is... pleasant. The scent of herbs meanders lightly within his tent, candles the only gentle sources of light, and the flaps all drawn for privacy.

In thin nightwear, Kehlani sits lazily on Arthur's cot, delicate fingers rolling marijuana, raspberry leaves and white sage into a joint一 a shared indulgence, naturally. Because when is anything between them not lately?

It's hardly clear to him what all this is.

This woman ー my god, one he's known for only a few fleeting months ー has to be magic; she's certainly proved she's capable of it. With the giddiness he feels around her, or even with this strange mix of plants in her hands if nothing else.

This'll help you unwind, honey; give it a try, she'd whispered weeks prior, kindness weaved into the chestnut roots of her irises. Warmth dripping from plump lips like thick nectar.

And it had. My, but it had.

An evening of hushed conversations amidst wisps of fragrant smoke with this girl welcomed in a sense of tranquility he'd scarcely ever felt.

Oh, it feels like an eternity slipped by since then. The dew-kissed grass and crisp air of that time has now morphed into late spring heat and the incessant trilling of cicadas.

Relinquishing his gunbelt with a weary sigh, Arthur gingerly shifts upon his aching feet. His gaze, like moth to flame, drifts to Kehlani, sitting there as if a skilled artisan ensnared in perfecting the fruit of their craft. Meticulous, serene.

Crush dried petals, leaves. Sprinkle in. Roll. Seal it with a whispered kiss to Nature. Sprinkle, roll, bless. A small stash for later evenings.

It's strange, really. A nomadic spirit she most definitely is, yet this same woman sits within the confines of his space with the ease of orchids nestling into the valleys of tree bark, butterflies finding home in lush meadows and sunlit gardens一 feeling, knowing, she belongs.

Maybe that is why her presence feels so ethereal. Why he thinks the fabric of reality may be cracking every time she is near.

Instead of discovering the joys of this unfamiliar land ー racing in fields with wild horses, basking in dawn-tainted rivers ー she's here, waiting to curl up against his sturdy frame and lose all sense together. It's a peculiar world to live in, isn't it?

His mind is hazed. He vaguely registers his own voice resounding as he clears his throat, day-old fawn craving attention, "I'll light it," his fingers lightly gesture towards the freshly made joint.

Slender eyes flicker to him, a glimmer of delight in their depths, ''Yeah?'' He barely musters a feeble nod.

With jewelry clinking together, she shifts within the modest cot, decorated body easily creating a space for him. ''C'mere,'' Kehlani's invitation dances in the air, hand tracing the sheets invitingly.

She smiles, patient, waiting, and it's the blooming of a wildflower, the birth of a sun. It stirs a twitch of response from his own lips.

Whatever you wish for, sweet girl.

The dulcet heat of her frame calls, oh it sings, but the man is no Icarus, if only because he lacks the blind confidence, the naivete; burnt before by another, he fears his wax heart melting again.

Yet, as always, this woman has a way of softly prying away his defenses. Soothing his worries, calming his burns as would the fresh water of a trickling stream.

''Since ya ask so kindly,'' his words rumble in jest, and they earn him a breeze of laughter, rustling the canopy of his soul. The light slips in.

Settling within arm's reach, Arthur finally decides to maintain a safe distance一 this already feels enough like a dream without adding in the feel of her skin anyway.

''Ah, didn't realize I needed to beg...'' Kehlani's voice, imbued with a confidence that contrasts greatly the fractured English of their very first exchanges, carries a lighthearted tune.

His hand reaches to strike a match, and as he swiftly drags it beneath his boot, he notes his fingers shaking. Seriously?

Smiling in spite of himself, he leans forward, his answer laced with dry humour, ''Yeah, gotta admit 'm a tad offended. Keep steady now, will ya?'' his large palm barely daring to cradle the curve of her jaw in place, he approaches the swaying flame.

Kehlani sits patiently, features brightening at the contact. Her fingers naturally drift up to his wrist, encircling一 embracing his touch. Heat blossoms in his belly.

The joint's tip ignites, wisps of white swirling away before she inhales deeply, lashes fluttering shut.

Holding in the aromatic blend, she lets time slip by, savouring, and eventually releasing. The mist escapes with words woven in its tendrils, ''Ay, I missed this.''

Arthur's gaze, reverent in its study, watches unashamed laughter spill through kiss-worthy lips, reminiscent of windchimes and birdsong. So soon is he feeling dizzy, the prospect of a high now seeming trivial in comparison to her.

Yet, it seems he is but a greedy man; his fingers still carefully pluck the rolled herbs from Kehlani's grasp, letting the drag he drinks in seep into his lungs and intoxicate him further.

The nerves clouding his senses dissipate if only for a moment一 his brows furrow, lips curling into a tentative chuckle as he exhales, "Missed the feeling, or me?"

The scented mist twirls the tent, his voice carrying hoarsely when he speaks. She meets his gaze, grinning, "The blend of both, I believe一 missed getting high with you..."

Sneaky fingers steal away their shared sin, ''Mm,'' Kehlani hums thoughtfully, ''Mostly just missed you though.''

It's a miracle he still manages to breathe, to remain even relatively at ease. His jaw aches with the sincerity of the smile this has drawn out of him. Christ, he feels like a lovesick fool.

''Pining after a nasty, ol' outlaw?'' He prays she'll laugh, reassure him that this isn't as serious as it feels, ''That's one way to pass the time, sweetheart." C'mon, just make it clear for him what this is and isn't.

Kehlani's giggles bubble up like a mountain stream, but, as usual, clarity eludes her words. ''Hah! Well, I'd say nasty, ol' outlaw is quite a stretch, but yeah, I guess I have been yearning a bit,'' her features hold a distinct softness, ''You've been scarce around camp these past few weeks..."

Relaxing into the plush pillows she'd gifted him – convinced he'd deserved something nice for once – she gracefully extends bare legs upon his lap, guiding the joint to his awaiting lips, "I'm all ears一 any leads, strange jobs to recount and entertain me with?"

Arthur just can't tear his eyes away from her, especially not as she searches his gaze with such care for any sign of discomfort at the touch she's initiated.

His sizeable hand, like second nature, drops down to her thigh in reassurance, and the hum of pure happiness he receives in return is worth more gold than he's ever stolen.

With a light clear of the throat, he finally nods, "Uh..." His breath trembles as he inhales a puff of the herbs, "Just the usual一 stealing some wealth from those who ain't got no need for it."

Kehlani smiles at his remark, though her eyes remain mesmorized by the warm palm on her skin一 his heart cracks wide open, painfully aware of how rarely he finds the courage to reciprocate her affections, ''Mm, so no grand tales to regale me with?'' Her gaze met his again.

His head shakes gently, ''Nah, 'm sorry, sweetheart; t'was mainly real shitty gigs.''

''Ah, real shitty? ¡Joder! I rarely hear you admit that...'' she breathes out, grimacing with empathy, "I guess this is a welcome change of pace then, yeah?''

''Mhm, more than welcome,'' he admits, his typically deep voice unusually hushed, ''Missed ya一 missed being around ya...'' He feels lightheaded, lips seemingly laughing and moving by their very own will, ''It's like a damn glimpse of Eden, I reckon.''

Morgan, you fool. In this intoxicated state, with his mind floating higher than the clouds, of course he spills forth romantics, embarassing himself in front of the one he adores so.

Yet, as gorgeous features light up, shining like the setting sun outside, Arthur can't find any space within the confines of his heart to regret the love which escaped his throat.

Her smile incapable of leaving honeyed lips, Kehlani nestles into his side, head finding a resting place against his chest as she delicately reaches for the joint.

A quiet moment passes, content inhales and exhales of the herbs spilling forth between them. Her fingers bring them like a divine offering to his own lips, his hand caresses her thigh in feather-light touches.

With every little movement of hers, the pleasant jingle of jewelry, vestiges of her travels, follows一 extravagant earrings, artisanal bracelets stacked along lithe wrists, shiny trinkets entwined in voluptuous curls. He swears he'll hear this same melody in his dreams tonight.

A languid smile graces his lips, "You know, I did see a few pretty sights, though... just scenery, bunch o' nature. The sort you'd like."

''Did you sketch any of it?''

Arthur wrestles a grin, tickled by a sense of déja vu, ''Maybe.''

''Dios mío, I swear I'll beg if I have to this time; would you please just一?''

The words barely leave for the dusk-painted sky above, abruptly shut up by Arthur blowing his smoke at her, sending the curls framing her features into a waltz, ''Keep dreamin'.''

Kehlani's crystalline giggles peek through his soul like threads of sunlight filtering through dense trees; in that instant, he yearns to curl up right here, within her radiant glow.

Blessed, peaceful, oh he'd linger until his earthly body rots. Until time itself loses its meaning, until all that remains, all that has to matter, is her.

Yeah, he's fucked.

[mentally-a-slut]

Masterlist!

figured i've posted enough to justify making one of these, so here we are!

Red Dead Redemption 2

One Shots

Staring Problem (Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader)

Three Days (Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader SMUT) part 2 of Staring Problem, can be read as stand alone

Chapter Fics

Luck Ain't Got Nothing to Do With It (Poly! Arthur and Charles x Fem!OC) teaser

Baldur's Gate 3

Prompt: "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop." (Gale x Fem! Reader SMUT)

Tav finds out how practiced Gale's tongue really is. (Gale x Fem!Tav/Reader SMUT)

Stardew Valley

none yet!

[koshkahhh]

Drew the oc of a friend lol!!

*insert interesting caption*

[nataliabdraws]

decided to try something new for a change and rendered my RDR2 oc, Ramona!

[jennyartkim]

Yeah, i'm live xd

[miller-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

PART ONE: TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Gunslinger!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: From the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day. Never spoke to folks around him, didn’t have too much to say. No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip, for the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip. (Reader is based on Texas Red, from the song Big Iron)

Warnings: reader is female but is disguised as a young male (use of masc pronouns towards reader for this chapter), guns, violence, duelist behavior. Reader is described to have a masculine outer appearance (for show) and is mentioned to have reddish hair (for the sake of the storyline). A fake name is used but otherwise can be read completely as a reader insert.

Word Count: 6.5k

Howdy y’all ! I’m really excited about this story (arthur is my main comfort man) and this is just a story that I’ve been cooking up since I finished the game. This part (and a lot of the story’s future plot) is HEAVILY influenced by the song Big Iron by Marty Robbins and reader even goes by ‘Texas Red.’

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.” Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself.  “You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for me, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Charles, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are around here,”

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

-

tags are open

[moeitsu]

♡The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee♡

(Arthur Morgan x OC) Masterlist

Hey cowboys!

Below is where you'll find all the chapters to my Red Dead Redemption fanfic, I will keep it updated as I continue to post more chapters. But in the meantime, I wanted to make things a little more organized and easier for you to navigate.

Whether you just started reading, or if you've been keeping up with the story since the beginning. I want to thank you! This started as a little side project to keep me busy during my down time at work, but it's turned into something I'm really passionate and proud of! So thank you for all the support <3

!!Please be aware this fic is explicit. As it contains blood/violence, as well as other adult themes!!

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->-> Ao3 

->-> Wattpad

Summary: Kate McCanon, a young widow from the north, meets outlaw Arthur Morgan. When the two cross paths she discovers a complex man wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong. As their unlikely bond deepens, Kate becomes determined to guide Arthur towards a brighter path, even as tensions rise within his gang led by the enigmatic Dutch van der Linde. With danger lurking at every turn, Kate must navigate treacherous territory to protect those she holds dear, all while finding love in the most unexpected of places.

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

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Ch 1 - The Years Creep Slowly By Kate becomes entangled in a heist with two strangers, Hosea and Arthur, forging an unexpected bond amidst their criminal endeavor. Ch 2 - The Snow Is On The Grass Again A fisher of men and A strange encounter. Ch 3 - The Suns Low Down The Sky Welcome to Horseshoe Overlook Ch 4 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been It's time to collect a debt. Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp... Ch 6 - As When The Summer Days Were Nigh The battle begins, and the past is revealed. Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back. Ch 8 - Or Down Affections Cloudless Sky A blissful sunny day after a long hard night. Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night. Ch 10 - Since Last I Held That Hand In Mine The Course of True Love and other Revelations Ch 11 - And Felt The Pulse Beat Fast Arthur and Hosea share meaningful conversation after a night of advertising some moonshine. Meanwhile Kate finds herself involved in a dubious mission with John and the boys. She patches up Arthur as the day ends with an air of unspoken desire. Ch 12 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 1 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God in a world that is ugly with violence and hate. Ch 13 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 2 Arthur’s life is ebbing out like the tide. Kate must work quickly and diligently to reverse the cruel hands of fate. She is aided by the help of an unexpected ally. Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey. Ch 15 - When Up The Hilly Slope We Climbed Arthur struggles to adjust to his new disabilities. Meanwhile Kate finds a job outside of camp for them, providing a few days respite and some much needed alone time. Arthur finally reveals his feelings. Ch 16 - The Past Is The Eternal Past Kate and Arthur welcome a new life into the world. The scene brings back tender memories of Arthur's past, he finally finds the courage to open up to her about his family.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━ If you're interested in reading about my OC, I linked the Kate McCanon Lore here :) As well as her Face and Voice Claim here <3 About me!

[mrm0rgansw0man]

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

★・・・・・・・・・・・・★

𓄃 the story of arthur morgan and belle monroe 𓅓

summary:

belle monroe. she was a poor, lost, and broken soul. she had no roof to put over her head, no family to turn too, the only thing she had was her sanity. which was scarcely hanging on by a thread. after a particularly low blow, belle found herself wandering in the forests that were close to a little town called valentine. where in a chance encounter, she met a man. an outlaw named arthur morgan. he was instantly intrigued by the mysterious woman. after all, she was wondering the forest like a ghost when he found her. he took her in, offered her a place with the van der lindes. little did he know, he needed this a woman like her just as much as she needed someone like him.

★・・・・・・・・・・・・★

Chapter One: The Ghost of a Woman

'Why do people have to be so cruel?' Belle wondered, her bare feet numb against the cold earth underneath her. She couldn't tell you for how long she had been walking. But her feet were numb and surely bloodied by now. Each step sent a jolt of pain through her entire body. Strangely enough though, Belle couldn't feel a thing. Her body was so used to being under constant stress or pain that now, she just felt numb. Even that was an understatement. She truly felt like she was a ghost, floating in the skies above watching over her battered body below. She was seeing things from outside of her body, and even then her vision was blurred. Her hair got caught in tree branches that left tiny scratches on her face. Her knees were bruised from tumbling into the ground over and over again. Her ribs, back, and most of her body bruised and or bleeding from the beating she just took.

This was the last time she ever trusted another living soul. The last time she ever dared to have hope.

Look where that had gotten her. Beaten and bruised, still on this earth perhaps but not in any way that mattered. Whatever had she done in her past lives to deserve the treatment she got? What was it all for? Certainly not for this. Not to be tearing around in her fucking nightgown. In the woods. Alone. At night. Nothing but the spirits whispering in her ears to keep her from collapsing in the river she found herself wading into.

｡･ﾟﾟ･　　･ﾟﾟ･｡

Arthur let out a sigh. He was tired, so tired. He would give his life for this gang, for Dutch, but god dammit sometimes he just needed to get away from it all. To let himself take a breath away from the confines of camp. Everyone was asleep, so it was quiet.

"For once..." Arthur muttered with a sigh. He had an awful ache in his head tonight. He needed some clear fresh air.

Arthur made his was over to the edge of camp near the lake. He took a couple of deep breaths before pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips. Arthur carefully struck a match against his boot and lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing back out clouds of smoke. Arthur began to walk even farther away from camp, down the bank of the river and deeper into the woods. He walked, he smoked, he breathed. Really breathed, full breathes of air that he could relax and enjoy. Having a moment to himself like this was a rarity, really. Although he could feel the fatigue from the day creeping up on him, he wanted to savor this. He'll allow himself another cigarette before heading back to camp.

Arthur was so deep in his thought he almost didn't notice the woman in the river up ahead.

He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, backing deeper into the surrounding trees. He stared at the woman for a moment, wondering what on earth she could be doing. It was the middle of the night, and she was far away from town in nothing but her nightdress. Arthur couldn't make out any specifics of her face yet, all he could see in the pale moonlight was her long dark brown hair blowing in the wind and the bruises that covered her pale frame. Arthur Morgan may have been a murderous outlaw, a wanted man, a hired gun, but he wasn't some heartless pig. He couldn't just walk back to camp after seeing this woman, he had to help her. Give her money, his jacket, something. Arthur stepped out from his place among the trees and walked slowly to the edge of the river, the gentle water splashing against the toes of his boots. He made no attempt to silence himself, but the woman didn't flinch.

"Ma'am? Do you need some help ma'am?" Arthur called out to her. Her head slowly turned to him, and this was the first time Arthur could make out her features fully. Oh god, and the damage done to her face.

She had two gorgeous green eyes, even with the bruises underneath them Arthur saw how they glowed in the moonlight. Her lips were full and beautiful but were badly chapped, and her bottom lip had burst open. Her nose had old blood all around it that was starting to flake off. The pale skin of her face was covered in an assortment of scratches, the worst of everything being a cut on her cheek bone.

Belle could barely hear the man over the ringing in her ears, but she thought he was asking her if she was alright. The ringing in her ears slowly subsided as she waited for the man to speak again. She wished to tell him that she didn't want any help. That taking some help was the reason she ended up here in the first place, sitting in this river, waiting for the mercy of death to take her. Belle vaguely recognized the man, something in her wanted to trust him so badly.

Arthur held eyes with the woman for a moment, and he noticed the tears forming in hers. He also picked up on the fact that she was shivering violently.

"Ma'am, this is no place to be..." He said softly, taking on a gentle and cautious tone. Like he was speaking to a frightened doe. "Would ya' like a place to stay for the night? You'll be safe there 'nd we can get ya' warmed up, your gonna catch your death out here, Miss."

Arthur didn't know for certain yet, but be felt like he was speaking to a broken woman. A woman who had been through hell- and not just whatever put all these fresh cuts and bruises all over her body. She had that look in her eyes, like there were horrors engraved into them.

Arthur still couldn't stop himself from noticing how beautiful they were, though.

Belle broke at the man's gentle tone. He talked to her so sweetly, like she was actually human. It was the most kindness that she had been shown in ages. Belle's vision became clearer, and she realized just how much pain she was in. And how she was so cold it hurt. Suddenly, Belle was really glad the man had found her. So glad that it motivated her to speak.

"P-Please, just don't hurt me." She quietly begged, her voice hoarse not only from lack of use but from screaming for her life earlier in the day.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. "On my honor, I promise no one is gonna lay a finger on you while I'm around. Do ya' need some help getting up? " He said, making sure his voice was strong and reassuring. What he really felt was heartbroken. Heartbroken because upon offering this woman help her first response was begging to not be hurt.

Belle only nodded, truthfully it took all her strength to stay sitting up right. She was in so much pain. But she was touched by the man's promise, shocked that a stranger would offer her anything other then a glare or some harsh words.

Arthur stripped of his worn leather jacket and waded into the water, and though he knew it couldn’t be warm in their the sheer cold seeping into his boots and clothes astounded him. How the hell was this woman still alive? He got out of the water as quickly as he could, picking up his jacket and draping it over the woman in his arms. He ran back to camp as quickly and as steadily as he could, the last thing this girl needed was to be shaken up anymore.

"What's your name ma'am?" Arthur asked, quickly down at the woman in his arms. He could see the camp in the distance, but she wasn't looking to good. "Just hold on a lil' bit longer! We're almost back."

"I'm Belle..Monroe." Belle said through chattering teeth. There were still chills wrecking her body, but she felt like she was sweating. "I don't wanna die, Sir. 'M so sorry for all the t-trouble."

"Save your strength Miss Monroe." Arthur said softly. He noticed the sheen of sweat forming on her forehead and upper lip. "We're here! DUTCH! MISS GRIMSHAW ANYONE WAKE UP I NEED SOME HELP OUT HERE-"

Belle wearily lifted her head, taking in her surroundings. She knew she had been put down, but something wasn't right. It was all she could do to tug on the collar of the man lying her down before losing consciousness.

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"Arthur Morgan this had better be worth it!" Grimshaw yelled, leaving her tent followed by an equally angered Karen. Both visibly softened when they saw the woman in his arms.

"She's messed up real bad- I found her in the river she needs help now." Arthur said urgently, already opening the flaps of his tent. He felt Belle tugging on the collar of his shirt and by the time he looked down she had already lost consciousness.

"In the river?! The hell is wrong with her!?" Karen asked, mostly to herself. She followed Ms. Grimshaw into Arthur's tent, looking at the woman laying down in his cot curiously. Karen swore she knew her or saw her somewhere before.

"Karen, go to the wagon and grab an extra blanket or two, and get me some clean cloths to wash her with. " Ms. Grimshaw ordered, Karen nodded and was off, all thoughts of knowing the strange woman pushed aside.

"Arthur, What's going on?" Abigail asked, a sleepy Jack propped up on her hip. "Jack was having trouble sleeping, we heard you askin' for help."

"I went walkin'.. and ran into some trouble. Found this girl, she was in a state when I first saw her I swear." Arthur said, his voice distant as he watched Ms. Grimshaw look over Belle's injury. "She was in the river, hurt and.. I don't know. She's seen some things that's f'sure. Let me help her though."

Abigail nodded, taking in Arthur's words. Karen arrived back just as Abigail had started making her way back to her tent.

"I've got an extra blanket, a bucket of water and cloths, and some clothes for her to dress in once she's up 'nd warm." Karen said breathlessly, she handed the supplies off to Ms. Grimshaw before turning to Arthur. "Want me to wake Dutch? He's sleepin' like the dead!"

"If it ain't too much trouble f'you." Arthur answered, though he couldn't tear his eyes away from Belle. He watched as Ms. Grimshaw washed the blood and dirt from her shivering body. There was so much he wanted to ask her, like why was she out there? Who had hurt her? How did she end up entranced in the river? By the time Arthur turned to look at Karen, she was already at Dutch's tent yelling at him to wake up.

"You think she's gonna be alright?" Arthur asked quietly. He hoped she would, this would be an awful way to go. Cold and unconscious, with no family or friends.

"I'd say she is." Ms. Grimshaw nodded. "You did right bringing her back here. Now that she's clean and warm, I think she's doin' just fine. Poor thing is just banged up."

"Probably gonna be asleep for a day or so." Arthur concluded. He didn't let his voice give away how relieved he was. "I think Miss Karen is done screechin' at Dutch, I should go talk to him."

"Goodnight Arthur, you get some sleep now." Ms. Grimshaw said with a light chuckle.

"Yes ma'am." Arthur said and nodded. He made his way over to Dutch's tent and scratched his neck. Dutch was already waiting outside, how the hell was he going to explain this? He was still taking in the fact that Belle was a real woman and not some spirit from the forest. Arthur thought she was a ghost at first, honest to god. But no, she is real, she's hurt, and she is now sleeping in his cot. Where she will be for god knows how long.

"Dutch." Arthur said. "Miss Karen tell you anything?"

"That you brought back some 'ghostly' looking woman who was beaten and bloody?" Dutch said tiredly. "How the did you even run into anyone at this time of night?"

"Took a walk. I was smokin' and walkin' along the river, couldn't sleep. She was in the river when I found her, don't know nothin' else really. She let me help her, but Dutch she looks like she's been through it rough." Arthur explained, shortening the story as much as he could.

Dutch chuckled and shook his head. "You've certainly got a way with women, son. You get her name?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Belle Monroe she said it was. You know 'er?"

Dutch's eyes widened a bit. Arthur looked at him curiously, was she a wanted woman? Or maybe some sort of performer? Had Dutch been with her? A part of him hoped not, though he didn't know why.

"I've heard rumors." Dutch said simply. "People think she's a witch. She's supposedly got some sort of gift. She's been passed around and sold to the highest bidder like an animal." Dutch continued, the disgust in his voice was clear.

"Jesus.." Arthur murmured. What the hell was wrong with people? "Y'know, the first thing she said to me was to please not hurt her. I don't think she woulda' let me help her if she was stronger."

"It's a good thing you got her." Dutch said, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "She should stay with us, only if she's willing of course. You talk to her when she wakes up."

"Course." Arthur confirmed. He stifled a yawn with the back of his fist. If he was tired earlier, he was exhausted now. His body and his mind. Arthur had happily given up his cot, but he'd be lying if he said he was looking forward to sleeping on the floor tonight. "G'night, Dutch."

Dutch nodded and retreated back into his tent, Arthur did the same. He debated getting his bedroll from his horse, but ultimately he decided to just sit on a chair next to Belle. As soon as he had gotten back to his tent he was wide awake. He couldn't shake Miss Belle Monroe from his thoughts.

Everything about her was intriguing. She was a witch, supposedly. Maybe that was why he was so stuck on her?

"Did you put a spell on me, Miss Monroe?" Arthur whispered. He never would've said that to her if she was awake, or if anyone else was for that matter. Hell, if he had actually gotten a few hours of sleep he probably wouldn't have even thought it period. Exhaustion was wrapping it's inescapable claws around him. And before he even knew it, Arthur was drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

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Belle awoke with a jolt. Her whole body ached, and she felt sticky with sweat. She was surprised to find herself in a cot, covered in blankets rather that at the bottom of the river. She sat up shakily, kicking off the blankets. She looked down at herself, and the memories from the night before came flooding back to her. The man who helped her from the river, and the man who was the reason she fled to it in the first place. The thought send a shudder through her.

Belle swung her aching legs off the side of the cot, and right as she was about to stand the flaps of the tent swung open. She flinched backward, bracing herself for what could come. But it was only the man from last night.

"So sorry, ma'am! I wasn't expecting you to be awake." The man said, she seemed to startle him a bit too. "How 're you feelin'? I can reckon you're a bit confused."

"You saved my life. That's what's confusing me." Belle said, her voice gravelly from sleep. She cleared her throat before she spoke again. "Why?"

This seemed to catch the man off guard, which was a hard thing to do. Belle could tell just by looking at him.

"Well...I don't know I suppose." The man said. He seemed to think for a moment. "How could I not? I saw someone who needed my help 'nd I helped 'em."

"You don't know me. You don't know who I am." Belle said, her voice twisted in disbelief. "You coulda' just left me to die in the river. Anyone else would have."

"I'm not like anyone else Miss Monroe." The man said simply. Belle noticed now he was holding a bundle of woman's clothing. "For you. You can change whenever ya' feel like you can stand. I don't blame you for not trustin' me, I've heard about some of the things you've been through."

Belle's eyes widened, she shakily took the clothes from the man. She felt like she had lost the ability to speak. He knew her, what people thought she was. He even had an idea of the thing that had been done to her, and yet here this man was. Still helping her. Belle felt her heart begin to ache, when was the last time someone had been so kind to her? She was still weary, but Belle knew in her heart and soul this man meant her no harm.

"But I promise," The man continued. "I want nothin' from you except for you to accept my help. You can stay here, if ya' like. Or I could take you anywhere you wanna go. The choice is your's ma'am- as soon as your feelin' up to it."

Belle felt tears flood her eyes. Was she dreaming? Or was she dead? This man she didn't even knpw his god damn name -not only saved her life, but now he is offering her a chance at a new one. Could she really be free now? Free from the life of being sold, used and discarded like some fucking object? Free from the beatings, all because of false accusations? This man wasn't going to hurt her. She was safe. It was too much for her to believe.

Arthur was worried he had said something wrong when he saw the tears in Belle's eyes, but he simply waited for her to speak again. He didn't want to overwhelm her.

"Please tell me your name." Belle whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "Please."

"My name is Arthur Miss, Arthur Morgan."

"Arthur Morgan." Belle said, her voice cracking. She reached forward and grabbed his hand, holding it tight. Arthur held hers with the same tightness. "You have no idea what you've just done for me."

[fandomstatewrites]

LARKSPUR - Chapter Two:  wayfaring strangers and all kinds of danger

“Colm, then?” asked Hosea, arms crossed across his chest. Arthur shook his head and took another pull from the bottle. “Girl’s got her own demons chasin' her, by the looks of it,” “She ain’t an outlaw too, is she?” Another shake of his head, “Naw. This seems personal. Something about that ring of hers. Someone’s going through an awful lot of trouble to get it from her. They chased us out of Emerald Ranch,” Arthur explained, “She managed to divert him away from the camp while I rode on ahead with Karen, but by the time I doubled back...Well, let's just say she roughed him up good before puttin' the bastard down." “Tough girl,” Hosea mused. Arthur hummed in agreement. - When amateur outlaw and bounty hunter Ramona Kostka ends up on the wrong side of a robbery, she's swept into the world of the Van der Linde gang. A surprise reunion with an old friend deepens her involvement, forcing her to navigate alliances to clear the bounty on her head. As danger mounts, Ramona must outwit both friends and foes in a desperate bid to protect her freedom and her life.

Read on Ao3 - Chapter One

[frogtastic66]

A little something I made for my upcoming Arthur Morgan fic. Introducing to the world Arthur & Pearl ♥️

[oceanmusings]

shipuary 4 | emmaline nielson x arthur morgan

Masterlist : link

Summary : the worst thing about sharing a bed with a man who wakes up at the crack ass of dawn.

Warning : super fluffy, my apology for what I wrote for them last time, based around the time at Shady Bell! No spoilers

One thing that everyone knows about Arthur is that he always wakes up with the sun. When the sun rises, no doubt Arthur Morgan would rise too. This becomes unfortunate for Emmaline when he invites her to share his bedroom at Shady Belle. Emmaline was a light sleeper, and has been since she was a little girl. The littlest movement or sound could wake her up. It was worse when she was getting used to sleeping outdoors, but eventually she got used to it. This was not the case when she moved into Arthur’s bedroom.

His cot was already very small and it was cramped to fit the two of them, but they were able to do it with Emmaline basically draped over Arthur. But he didn’t mind the pressure and just would pull her closer to him instead. Emmaline was pretty sure even if they got a bigger cot to fit them both, they would still cuddle up together like this.

Like every morning, she feels Arthur try and move out from under her as stealthy as he could. But the minute he moves her head off his chest is when her consciousness awakens. She opened her eyes groggily, it takes a second for her to register everything around her. She lifts her eyes to where Arthur was sitting on the cot, stretching his arms above his head as he tries to suppress a large yawn. He reaches for his boots but pauses as he feels a hand lazily grasp his wrist.

“Stay.”

Arthur turned his gaze to the half-asleep woman on his bed, a slight pout on her lips that was too adorable. “Darling, I got to get up. Got some jobs from Dutch.”

“Damn Dutch, stay with me.” Emmaline whines, pulling on his hand to join her back in bed. “It’s too early to do anything.”

“Don’t let Miss Grimshaw hear you say that.” The cowboy laughs, letting the woman tug on his arm.

“Don’t care what that old crone says.” Emmaline mumbles sleepily, but both knew that wasn’t true. Miss Grimshaw wasn’t a woman to cross or argue with. “Now c’mon, it’s barely early enough to do anything. Come back to bed.”

Arthur stared down at the woman, a glint in his eyes that Emmaline’s mind couldn’t place. But her eyelids were heavy and it was hard to keep them open long enough to focus on it. He smiled at her gently and toed off his boots again.

“I’d be a fool to deny the woman.”

The sleepy grin on her face brightened the old cowboy’s whole day. Emmaline adjusted herself so Arthur could slide back into bed next to her, facing her this time instead of laying on his bed. Emmaline immediately wrapped her arm around his waist and pressed close to her cowboy, humming in delight at his warmth enveloping around her.

“Good choice.”

Arthur let out a soft laugh and pressed a kiss to her forehead, placing his hand on her hip to pull her closer to him that every inch of their bodies were pressed up against each other. The scratch of his beard against her skin was a nice sting, she realized it was getting a bit long now. Maybe she’ll offer to shave it sometime.

Her thoughts drifted off as she felt him begin to press kisses down her face. From her forehead, eyebrows, under her eyes, and the tip of her nose. Her eyelids fell closed as she felt his breath brush against her lips, waiting for him to kiss her where she wanted it most. Frowning as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth instead.

He laughed once more as he felt her frown. “You are too easy.”

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

He didn’t deny her and pressed his lips lazily against her own. The two share a kiss and many more in the privacy in his bedroom without any watching eyes that could interrupt the tranquil moment they have created together, other than the rising sun peeking in through the windows.

Every morning Arthur wakes Emmaline up, but if it always ended up like this, Emmaline doesn’t mind rising with the sun anymore.