#about abigail and mary in his journal. he wishes he could have someone to come home to. he wants to love and be loved so bad it fucks him u

[emmcfrxst]

ppl who complain abt me writing arthur as the romantic type haven’t read his in-game journal entries for sure >:(

[taolaoo]

There are a lot of things that make me despise dudebros. One of them is when Abigail and Arthur's relationship becomes the object of their stupid jokes.

So, Abigail and Arthur's relationship. If you ask me, I really don't think Arthur was head over heels in love with her. Absolutely not. The way he describes her and Jack in the journal is more like grieving for what was taken from him. It's so painfully obvious that he's comparing them to Eliza and Isaac in his mind. It's not love, it's just a glimpse of a lost feeling. But even if it is love, it's not in a healthy way.

An important clarification, but I also don't think Arthur ever slept with her. How could he if he had women of his own at that time? (Eliza and Mary, we don't know for sure which one he got into a relationship with first). Arthur doesn't seem to me like a man who can sleep with someone when he's already in a relationship, you know.

Bill's words in rdr1 about Abigail sleeping with everyone sound very funny coming out of his mouth in my opinion. Because first of all, it's Bill; secondly, he's a bastard who always likes to say things to piss others off; thirdly, why do you expect me to take him seriously after he said he slept with her too? I'd rather believe in flat earth than that Abigail, strong woman that she is, would let this smelly boykisser too close to breathe next to her.

What is certain between Arthur and Abigail is trust. From the way Jack is very friendly with him and not afraid to ask for his help, you could tell that Arthur has always been there for him and Abigail, especially after John left. And that's totally understandable. Because Arthur is the only man in the camp who seems normal, kind, and good enough to look after a child. (Hosea too, I'm sure he and Arthur were that strong support for Abigail when she was having a hard time, but that's a bit beside the point right now).

Because Abigail is careful and smart, maybe she even saw something in Arthur that he didn't want to tell anybody (you always know that a man can only be gentle and caring to a child when he has one of his own). That's why they have such a strong friendship, that's why Abigail can ask Arthur to take Jack fishing without a problem.

And yeah, it may be hard for Arthur because he sees ghosts of his past around them, but he doesn't say no. Because he's kind, selflessly kind to those he cares about no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

Their friendship is so underrated, I wish for once it was talked about in terms of strong friendship and trust, not some dumb pseudo romance that doesn't exist.

[lou-bonfightme]

Catch Flights Not Feelings || [Amelouse]

In which Amy and Gail are visiting Paris while Toulouse is living there...[takes place in like September, but I forgot to post it when we finished, oops.]

@amelia-o-gabble​

[tw -- talks of murder and anti-magick sentiment, vague suicidal thoughts (non-descriptive)]

AMY: Amy arrived the week after Toulouse scittered off to France. His father’s house to be exact, which Amy thought was odd as the two Bonfamilles always seemed to be at odds. She supposed it ran in the family, to be so much like your parents that you couldn’t see eye to eye. 

The journalist could have stayed at her mother’s chateau, which was much closer to the incident she was investigating, if not for a variable of things. One, Amy was not speaking to her mother. And two, the chateau was sold to pay off debts of her mother’s making. Still, she made herself at home at her uncle’s estate for the time being. She was surprised, and happy, to have Toulouse’s company, nevertheless. Especially when she had small town rage to convey. 

Amy burst through the heavy oak doors of the music room with her tablet in hand, “Can you believe her? Oh, I absolutely detest that Annie Tremaine!” 

She threw herself onto the plush bench by the window to lament the loss of a great story to someone such as her work nemesis. “She fancies herself a real writer, you know? She’s a damned columnist, the Squire didn’t hire her to write anything more than fluff! I have a degree in investigative journalism from Cambridge and they have me writing about this memorial fountain! What’s her degree even in? Fake accents?” 

The fiery blonde huffed and looked up from her lounged position up to her cousin. She had many theories playing about in her head as to why he was here. It wasn’t safe for Magicks, especially werewolves, in France. She was aware Hector lifted the travel ban from Toulouse recently, that was the only way he’d be able to board a flight. However, the cogs still whirred, not quite clicking into place yet. Amy decided to prod anyway, against her better judgment. 

“I suppose you don’t want to hear about Swynlake drama though, since you’ve ran away to brood in your father’s estate?” She phrased it as an inquiry more than an accusation, hoping it wouldn’t strike a chord too harshly. 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse had not planned to be accompanied to Paris by his cousins, Amelia and Abigail, but he was not necessarily put out by the idea either. Did he wish that Amelia was Berlioz and Abigail, Marie? Yes. Did he wish they were Hades, Belle, and the children? Certainly. But Toulouse loved his cousins, just about as much as he could love anyone. And he was so, horribly, lonely. 

Also, bored. And bored for a depressed, manic Toulouse was a recipe for disaster. Though, he was telling himself that wasn’t how it was going to be this time. He just needed some time. He would return to Swynlake eventually. Or maybe he needed to reinvent himself, buy a cramped apartment on the Rue de Rivoli, along the Seine and spend his days painting and haunting the Louvre. 

He hadn’t decided yet.

When Amelia appeared, Lou had heard her coming, even though he had been playing Claire de Lune (one of the only pieces he had memorized) on the piano quietly. She had a bold stride, Amelia. It was impossible not to hear her high heels clacking down the marbled hall towards him. He didn’t stop playing as she came in and draped herself on the lounge, in a very Bonfamille fashion. He did, however, look up at her as he finished the stanza and then let the piano notes fade into silence. 

The dig made his eyebrows raise, but he simply took a sip of the glass of water he’d placed on top of the piano forte. 

“I designed that fountain,” Toulouse pointed out idly as he placed the water down, deciding to ignore the comment about him running away. Refuting it would be pointless and only open an invitation for Amelia to pry. Instead, he set his glass back down on its coaster and ran his fingers over the keys, playing a little arpeggio. 

“It sounds to me like you’re just put out that you did not find out about Princess Elena and Dr. Morey first.” He had decided not to address the dig, but that did not mean that he could not dig back himself.  

AMY: Amy rolled her eyes. Of course, he’d have something to say about her comment on the fountain. He knew this was not about the fountain! “Yes, yes. It’s lovely, truly, a beautiful piece,” she complimented dismissively.

If Toulouse thought riling her up about her work would get her off his trail, he was wrong. Amy was like a bloodhound when it came to a mystery. And this certainly wasn’t the first time in his life that she’d hassled him to be let in on his secrets. Her dear cousin should have learned by now that his silent suffering only invited Amy’s scrutinizing gaze. Even so, his comments still made their way under her skin. 

She narrowed her eyes, “I could have if writing trashy tabloid articles was in my job description. But alas, I do the work I am told to do for the Squire. I use my real skills on investigating for Foul. Which is why Gail and I are here, by the way. We didn’t just follow you to France.

But don’t take that as me meaning you aren’t under suspicion. Because you are.”

TOULOUSE: “And what, pray tell, are my crimes?” Lou asked boredly, transitioning smoothly into Claire de Lune. 

It was said in jest, but he did wonder. Had Ameila and Abigail been sent to check up on him? Absolutely infuriating, if so, but also--they were not the first choice for spying on him, but maybe that made them perfect for it. If it were Berlioz or Marie…Lou might not be so kind. (Yes, he was being nice. For now.) If it were Belle or Hades…the thought made him want to laugh. Neither of them would be coming. They simply did not care. 

Anyway, was it really such a mystery why he had run off to Paris?

It was his home. He had not been there for four years. There was no other reason. Obviously. 

AMY: “Not sure, yet.” She answered candidly. 

Amy was not aware of whatever toilings haunted her cousin’s mind. All she knew was that it had to be something significant to have him seek shelter with his father. Amelia always liked Hector, and even though they did not share blood, she felt as if they could have. Though she'd take the parentage of Drake Gabble any day, the politician parent she had was too ambitious to raise children. Which was why this sudden move made her question Lou’s intentions. She would cut off her nose just to spite her face rather than accept a summons from Laraline. So why had Lou come? Did he not house the same resentment towards Hector that she held for her mother? 

Amelia leaned up and expounded, “I never said you’d done anything wrong. Just that you were being suspicious. And you cannot deny that. You can say you felt a rush of parental affection and flew off to dear oncle Hector when he lifted your travel restrictions… but I don’t buy it. You seem troubled, Toulouse.” 

“That, and, you are up here. Not having afternoon tea with the rest of the house.”

TOULOUSE: “I came here because my travel restrictions were lifted and I have not been to Paris in almost four years. Does not seem like much of a mystery,  you are losing your touch,” he told her. 

He ignored the part about having tea with everyone. That was simply because he did not want to. Not because the library was the closest thing he had to his studio back home where he always retreated during his depressive episodes. Lou was safe in the knowledge that his cousins had not lived with him since his bipolar disorder had come on. They did not know his patterns, what he was like. And he was certain Marie had not spoiled it to them, because she was just as embarrassed, if not more so, than he was about it. After all, she’d never once spoken to him about what had happened, all those years ago, at the ocean. 

“Aren’t you here for an actual mystery anyway?” Lou asked, trying to turn her snooping around on her. Besides, Amelia quite liked talking about herself (family trait), so he thought it would be an easy distraction.  

AMY: “Distraction will only get you so far, but yes, I am here investigating a real mystery,” Amy answered all in one huff.

She kicked her legs off the side of the chaise and sat up properly, ankles crossed. “There was a murder in Compiègne a few years ago, but no one ever really solved it. Abigail and I think we can crack it with some fresh eyes and a bit less… French discrimination, no offense! I mean, they pinned it on one of the victim’s friends who just so happened to be a Magick. He’s still serving his time, but we don’t think he did it. The evidence they presented was all too circumstantial…”

Amy bit her lip as she poured through her memory of the files. Sadly, the French police using circumstantial evidence to seal the deal on any case involving a Magick was too common. It made her fear for her cousin. While he was in France he was in danger. Whether Hector could protect him or not, Toulouse was always going to be a target as a werewolf in Paris. “Lou? I have a question and I promise it has to do with the case and not whatever is going on with you.”

TOULOUSE: Once upon a time, the French discrimination that Amelia spoke of would not bother Toulouse. He had always thought those sorts of things were none of his business. For Magicks to work out with the government. It had been true enough for him, as the kind of person who never got involved in fights that did not directly affect him. 

But now: it did. 

Maybe if he had not been outed to the government from the moment he’d been bitten, he could have flown under the radar in France, but the English government had found out, which meant they shared that information with the French government and it had been splashed across the French tabloids long before Alana’s trial. Ever since arriving in Paris, the wolf was ever present. Irritated by the clashing sounds of the city. In every lingering stare and shut door in places he used to not only frequent but lord over like a king upon his throne. Now, he was no better than the rabble. 

The story chaffed, though Lou did not allow for it to be shown. Instead, he continued playing idly at the piano, only glancing up at his name.

“You are going to ask it anyway,” Lou said, meeting his cousin’s eyes and giving a brief flash of a smile. 

AMY: Amy smiled back, despite her tone being somewhat somber when she said, “Do you feel safe here? In Paris?”

The smile slipped and Amy leaned forward, invested in her cousin’s answer. She remembered loving Paris as a girl. The time she spent here with her cousins as children, and in Swynlake, were some of her fondest memories. But they weren’t clouded with the fear that her eldest cousin could be whisked away at any moment, a fear she had now. 

Swynlake was much safer, even for Magicks deemed dangerous like werewolves. It wasn’t that Amy thought Lou was defenseless. But she knew all too well that there were some things a name couldn’t fix. “I just worry. It’s been on my mind since we started looking into this case and you flew to Paris for the first time since… You don’t plan on staying do you?” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse was glad he was not looking at Amelia when she spoke, for she actually surprised him enough that his face showed it. His fingers didn’t stop on the keys, but if she was listening closely he missed half a beat before he got back into the melody properly. 

It just surprised him. Her being so blatant. I just worry. No one said things like that. Marie, he supposed, sometimes, but only when she was particularly upset. It must be their soft English upbringing. That was what he would blame it on. Her soft British father. 

He wasn’t sure how to respond. His cousins had never been that close. Yes, they came for holidays every now and then. Christmases and summers on the coast of France, but that was all. Lou cared about them, of course. They were family. But he somehow never expected that affection returned. Certainly not enough to be voiced. 

“That isn’t about the case,” he finally said after a moment of quiet, only the music still playing very softly, his fingers dancing thoughtfully over the keys. 

“Unless, you would like for me to speak on the discrimination that pervades against Magicks here. In which case: yes, it is different than before but I’ve never cared about what people thought and I don’t intend to start doing so now. I am not worried about it for myself. I am privileged. My father exists in a position of power here. I am not an average person like whomever was involved in your case.” 

AMY: Amy did have a surprising thread of softness through her, and it did not come from her mother. It came from years of doting, bedtime stories, scavenger hunts, and the kind smile of her father. Sentimentality was his middle name. The Gabble girls grew up tough, in posh London schools where their mother’s name meant everything. Amy wore a cold, calculated demeanor like armor; too much like Laraline. But inside, inside was all built by Drake Gabble. The wonder, the love of mystery, the softness Amy felt for Toulouse now. The worry. 

“It could be, if you agree to be an anonymous quote…” Amy made up an excuse.

She stood and leaned against the piano, much closer to him now, so that she could lean over, “I know you say you don’t care what people think about you. It’s not what they think of you that worries me, it’s what they could do. Oncle can protect you from the law, yes, but what about the people who might wish you harm?

They’re trying to fight Magick discrimination and crimes against them in Swynlake. It’s rampant here, Toulouse. I’ve got a box filled to the brim of cold cases across the hall. All of them, the victims were Magicks.” Amy felt herself getting more passionate towards the end, she took a quick breath of air to calm herself. Maybe she was being selfish, scared to lose her cousin to distance again after just settling into a life with him in it. Still, her heart was in the right place, no matter how soft it was. 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse gave Amelia a doubtful look at the anonymous quote thing. He thought it was best they dropped the pretenses that this was about anything other than her concern for him. She should’ve just come out with it from the first moment, if that was her intention all along. Amy was dogged and determined. He liked these things about her. She was not delicate. He liked this about her too. 

He stopped playing as she came towards him. His hands slipped off the keys and went to his lap. 

“I can take care of myself,” he told her plainly. “I am a wolf.” 

And would it be so bad? he thought to himself, but did not say. Amy did not know that secret. It was well protected and he was not the sort to say such desperate things. They stayed, for the most part, locked behind his teeth, rattling around in his chest. That didn’t make them any less true for him to think. Would it be so bad?

If he simply disappeared one day? No one would know what had happened. He could rest, finally. If someone killed him for being a wolf, it would be for the same reason that things should end regardless: because Lou was a monster. If not of magic, than of his own making. 

“Ne t'en fais pas, Amelia. I will be fine. Paris suits me better than Swynlake. I understand her. She will learn to treat me as one of her children again soon.” He said this to convince himself, as well as her. 

AMY: Amy could see that in his melancholy, Lou would not be able to see past the clouds in the way she did. Her world was new and undiscovered territory in Swynlake, and for some reason that she could not understand, her cousin was amid a fog. 

It was not in her power to pull him from it. She set her face, sternly. Replying a quick, “Quelqu'un doit s'inquiéter, et ce ne sera clairement pas vous.” 

She only spoke back in French to be scathing. Much like she’d toss a retort back at her mother, slipping past her father’s discerning ears. “Now will you be joining us for tea, or will you continue to wallow and play your ghostly tunes and haunt this room as if you’ve already died?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse scowled at Amelia. 

There were two paths here.

He could refuse. Continue to play the piano and ignore sitting down with Amelia, Abigail, and his father. This would be petty and the option that would get him talked about the most. He hated giving into demands. Especially when quipped at him like that. Perhaps if Amelia had asked softly, with big pleading eyes, so that he could make a show of placating her, he would not feel the urge to simply say no and ignore her. 

He could go, but to do so would be to agree, at least marginally, with Amelia’s assessment of the situation. And while it was correct, Toulouse did not like being caught out. Most of the family knew to leave him alone if he was sulking. He was not going to be good company. It was best for everyone if he simply did not attend tea. 

But if he did not go now, Amelia would worry even more and this whole conversation was so Lou could prove that there was no reason to be worried. And the way to win that check from Amelia was to go downstairs and pretend everything was perfectly fine. Smile when needed, speak when necessary, and be the version of himself that everyone knew and, many people, even liked. 

The thought of such things was exhausting, but still Lou rose, because he hated being looked at in the way Amelia had been looking at him. 

“You are far too morose for someone so pretty and lively,” he told her with a teasing smile as he rose from the piano bench. “Don’t think so darkly.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed both of her cheeks before sweeping past her and down to the dining room.

[clareguilty]

By Your Side

Hello i wanted these two to smooch bc i think theyre very cute alsdjaldjasl

Arthur Morgan/Kieran Duffy Rating: T | No Warnings Word Count: ~2100

 It was weeks before Arthur was on his feet again. Abigail said the wound in his shoulder must have gotten infected, that his body was overworked enough as it was. She threatened to tie him to the bed.

 He was never alone for too long. The girls took shifts, sitting with him, reading to him, feeding him. Lenny, Hosea, even John. They were all there for him.

 Marston, damn him. Sat there for hours, arms crossed and brows pinched. Hardly said a word, just groused and grumbled and looked at Arthur like he couldn't decide if he wanted to hit him or kiss him.

 Arthur had felt the same way after John nearly got eaten by wolves. The bonds of brotherhood or something like that, he figured.

 And then there was Kieran. Duffy boy. Not an O'Driscoll. Skittish and quiet, only ever coming around when no one else was nearby.

 Even though Arthur was laid up with a bum shoulder and battered ribs, Kieran was afraid of him. Always looked ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

 But he kept coming around. There was something pushing him to fight that meekness.

 Arthur finally found out late one night. It was dark, and all he could see of the boy was the silhouette of his unkempt hair. But he was there.

 "I know how Colm can be," Kieran said. Quiet. Apologetic. "No one deserves that. Especially not you."

 Arthur was quiet for a moment. So that was it.

 "You don't deserve it either."

 Kieran's breath hitched, like no one ever told him that before. Arthur's heart ached. He had been cruel to the boy, and he regretted it.

 "You hear me, boy?" Arthur asked. "You're too good for this. You deserve better."

 Kieran sniffled and was gone in an instant.

 He didn't stop coming around. Continued to spend his nights sitting quietly near Arthur. It was nice, not being alone.

 "Duffy," Arthur hissed one night.

 "Yea?"

 "How's my horse? I want to see her."

 "She's just fine Mr. Morgan. I've been spoiling her these past few weeks for you."

 Arthur huffed. At least the beast was in good hands. Arthur preferred the company of his horse to most everyone, and he hated being away from her for so long. But he trusted that Kieran was taking good care of her.

 "How far can you walk?" Kieran asked.

 "I dunno, Abigail never lets me get very far." Arthur had been confined to a very small radius the past several weeks. Every time he tried to sneak away from his bed, someone caught him and turned him back around.

 "Well," Kieran said slowly. "She's asleep right now. Grimshaw too."

 Arthur was already pushing himself up, groaning in pain. Kieran was at his side in an instant. "Here, Mr. Morgan. Lean on me."

 Arthur was heavier than Kieran anticipated, even after his infection had weakened him. Still, the two of them stumbled and staggered towards the horses. It was slow going, but Arthur was determined.

 The horse looked fine -- cleaner than ever before. Kieran must have brushed her every single day. As soon as she saw Arthur, she stomped her hooves and tossed her head.

 "Hey there, Old Girl," Arthur reached for her with his good arm. "I've missed you."

 Kieran huffed and wheezed as he shouldered Arthur's weight, but it was worth it to see the way his eyes crinkled. Arthur looked happier than he had in a long time. They made their way back to Arthur's bunk, laughing as Kieran nearly toppled them both.

 -

 Abigail gave him hell for walking, but Arthur didn’t mind too much. He shot a wink at Kieran while she ranted and raved about “rest” and “saving his energy.”

 And damn if Kieran didn’t blush bright red, nearly tripping over himself. It made Arthur’s heart swell.

 -

 Teasing Kieran was far too satisfying. The poor boy wore his heart on his sleeve. Arthur constantly ribbed him.

 “You’re too young to be drinking that, boy.” Arthur snatched a bottle of shine from his hand. Was Abigail going to chew him out for getting drunk? Probably. Was it worth it to see the way Kieran’s eyes widened as Arthur licked a stray drop from the lip of the bottle? Definitely.

 -

 Finally, finally finally -- Arthur was strong enough to get back to work.

 There was no chance of him going out. He could hardly walk the length of camp without needing to sit down for a while, but he itched to work, to be useful. The girls enjoyed the company, teasing Arthur for his shoddy sewing skills and unevenly cut vegetables. As long as he didn’t have to spend another minute trapped in that damn bed he would take as much criticism as Susan could dish out.

 His strength came back, and he could carry crates and bags of feed and bales of hay. So he took to working with the horses alongside Duffy boy. He was easy company, and even easier to tease. They were both quiet, good with the horses, content to spend long afternoons sitting in the sun, Arthur sketching quietly in his journal and Kieran sprawled out in the grass letting his mind wander. Arthur often wondered what went through the boy’s head. He was too sweet for his own good, foolish. Not terribly bright but certainly filled with plenty of ideas under his ratty old hat.

 “You’re awful kind for a killer, Mr. Morgan,” he remarked one day out of the blue.

 Arthur bit back the first words that flew to his tongue, an empty threat that would send the boy running with his tail between his legs. Instead he chewed his lip for a moment, considering.

 “I don’t just kill anybody. I tend to try to leave more alive than I do dead -- when I get the chance that is.” Arthur shrugged.

 “Like me?” The boy was looking at him with those wide, pleading eyes. Arthur could never quite figure out if the kid wanted something from him or if he just looked like that.

 Again, he had to hold himself back. He no longer took pleasure in scaring the boy shitless, and he had to fight the reflex in him that always wanted to growl and threaten. It was okay to let his guard down. As much as he hated to say it, he trusted the boy.

 “Yeah, like you,” Arthur shook his head. “Who else would humor me like this? Certainly not Bill.”

 “You think I’m funny?” Kieran’s head cocked to the side. He looked puzzled.

 “Yeah,” Arthur said flatly. “Hilarious.

 The boy pouted. Arthur had to admit it was effective. “You’re teasing me again,” he whined.

 “You make it too easy.” Arthur reached out and ruffled his hair. Kieran practically melted under the touch. He flushed bright pink, a dopey grin spreading across his face before he ducked away, skittering off like he always did.

 -

 The boy cowered and ran under any kind of attention, so Arthur had to hide his staring. He didn’t care who else saw him as long as Kieran didn’t know he was being watched.

 He liked watching Kieran. He was sweet and eager and gentle. From what little he had gathered of Kieran’s past, he had every excuse to be just as bitter and angry as the rest of them. Arthur was a selfish fool, he knew, but he wanted as much of that sweetness as he could get.

 “What’s with you and the O’Driscoll?” Marston asked, sitting down directly in Arthur’s line of vision and effectively blocking his view of Kieran and Mary-Beth sitting together with a book

 “He’s not an O’Driscoll,” Arthur grumbled.

 John’s grin turned sly. “You’re too easy to read, Morgan.”

 Arthur took another drink from his beer. Since he couldn’t watch Kieran, he enjoyed the way the afternoon sun played off of the surface of the water. “I will drown you in the lake,” he said coolly.

 “Then you’d have to deal with Abigail bein’ sore with you. I’m pretty sure she wants the privilege of drowning me.” John looked far too pleased with himself. He thought he was so damn clever.

 “We’ll do it together then.”

 Marston let out a loud, raspy laugh, banging the table with his fist. Arthur almost wished he would go back to sulking and whining about his scratches.

 “I’ll leave you to your staring then,” John shook his head, still chuckling, and wandered off.

 -

 Arthur felt like he was stumbling. Unsure of himself and out of his depth. There were many things he could do: kill, rob, steal, ride, shoot. He did not know how to be sweet. But he wanted to. He wanted to show Kieran the same kindness and consideration that he had shown Arthur. He wanted to make up for how cruel he had been to the boy.

 When was finally feeling well enough to ride into town, he stopped by the general store to refill his satchel with supplies. The barrels of taffy would normally have never caught his eye, but he remembered how excited Kieran had been when Mary-Beth broke off a piece of her chocolate for him. Kieran liked sweet.

 Arthur bought two bags.

 Jack was thrilled to get a bag of candy. Abigail thanked Arthur for his thoughtfulness and eyed the second bag with a gleaming curiosity. It felt like everyone in camp was conspiring against him.

 Kieran smiled so brightly when he noticed Arthur heading his way. He hadn’t even given him the damn candies and he was already beaming. Arthur did his best not to fumble his words.

 “Finally managed to get to the store, and I picked these up for you. I noticed you liked sweets and I was already getting some for the boy-” Arthur cut himself off with a shrug, awkwardly holding out the bag of candies.

 They were both blushing fools. Kieran took the bag, holding it delicately as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. “I can’t wait to share them with you, Mr. Morgan.”

 And Arthur knew he was done for.

 -

 Kieran was filthy. Covered in mud and dust, hair unkempt and unwashed. It had stormed recently, and everyone was covered in dirt to some degree. Somehow Kieran had attracted the worst of it.

 Arthur frowned at the boy. One of the mares hadn’t taken too well to the weather, and Kieran hadn’t left the horse’s side since. He was breaking of small pieces of oatcake and waiting patiently for the horse to eat. He lit up with a smile every time, and Arthur wanted to kiss him so badly.

 But the boy was covered in mud.

 Arthur waited until the horse had finished eating before striding over and hauling Kieran up by the scruff. “Come on, Duffy. We’ve got to get you clean.”

 Kieran was taken by surprise, tripping over his own feet as Arthur dragged him along. “It’s no trouble Mr. Morgan. I’d just wind up dirty again tomorrow anyways. The ground’s not dry yet.”

 “Then we can wash you again tomorrow,” Arthur said. He led them through the trees towards a nice stretch of creek, running water, about waist deep. It was a nice spot to bathe when he couldn’t make it back into town.

 “Strip,” Arthur was already tugging his own boots off, digging a bar of soap out of his satchel. Kieran only hesitated a moment before shrugging out of his clothes. Those would need to be washed too, but Arthur was too busy dragging the boy into the water with him to care.

 Kieran didn’t protest as Arthur lathered up the soap and began scrubbing mud and dirt off the both of them. He had always craved Arthur’s touch, and the scrape of the callouses of his palm against bare skin was almost more than he could handle.

 He hadn’t expected Arthur to dig his fingers into Kieran’s side, causing him to yelp and jump away. Arthur was grinning, looking far too pleased with himself. Kieran smiled back and splashed half-heartedly at Arthur.

 They wrestled in the creek. Arthur easily overpowered Kieran, dunking him under the water a few times and tackling him into the silt. Kieran howled with laughter and clung to Arthur for dear life.

 And then Arthur kissed him. Already breathless and panting, he dragged Kieran in and pressed their lips together. It was clumsy and awkward for a few moments as Kieran froze in shock, but he kissed back eagerly once he found himself again.

 Arthur pulled away with a contented sigh, shaking water out of his hair and chuckling to himself. “Been wanting to do that, but you’ve been sleeping in the damn mud for three days now.”

 Kieran turned pink and then red, clearly overwhelmed. Arthur pulled back a little to give him some space.

 “What if-” Kieran started and then lost his courage. It took him a few tries to get through his words. “What if I slept by you instead?”

 Arthur wanted nothing more.

[graaid]

After nearly 36 years of cold hard denial, Arthur Morgan realizes he likes men. Don't get him wrong, he likes women too, but he's been crushing over Charles since his arrival, and he wants to tell him that he likes him more as just a fellow gang member. But that requires a lot of mental effort.

(Entire fic (don’t worry it’s a oneshot) under the cut, but if you’d like to leave a comment/kudos on AO3 I’d really appreciate it!!)

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky over Clemens Point when the members of the Van Der Linde gang woke up. Lenny and Kieran were, of course, the first ones up and active, ready to prove themselves to the rest of the gang.

The smoke hadn’t even begun rising from the main campfire when Arthur got out of bed. Out of everyone in the gang, he was somehow the most and least punctual; he may show up to a robbery late, but he’ll always wake up at 6:30 am every day, even if he had gone to bed at 3 am that night. Thankfully, this early rising habit gave him the time to get his chores and other tasks done so he could have a little relaxation time later.

“G’morning Arthur, have a good night?” Charles called from his tent as he stretched and started to weave a feather into his long black hair.

“Ughhhh, as good as it’ll ever be,” Arthur groaned, hiding just the tiniest of blushes. Arthur knew he shouldn’t be so gruff with the other members of the gang, but being the no-nonsense uncle of the family had more or less become his thing over the past few years, especially with all the younger folk joining. He had been trying to cut down on the cynicism lately, but sometimes the jokes just write themselves. He figured he should probably leave the joke making to Sean, or at least the assholishness to someone like Micah.

Even though he would usually go straight to chopping wood or transporting bags of grain to Pearson’s wagon, Arthur leaned back on his bed and looked out over the camp. Strauss was nose-first in some ledger book, probably wondering where he could find his next victim to send Arthur after. Javier was tuning his guitar, no doubt readying it for another late night sing-a-long session at the campfire that evening. John was avoiding Abigail like the plague, but Arthur didn’t really blame him; it had always bothered him whenever the two of them yelled at each other. Obviously all couples fight sometimes, but the bickering had gone on so long Arthur wished he could just snap his fingers and have them become a happy couple again, if they had ever been one in the first place.

Arthur’s eyes wandered over to the tiny dock with it’s equally tiny canoe. Hosea had thought it a good idea to purchase the canoe for the camp a week or so ago, and the sight of Sean trying to stand in it and falling over comically into the lake made the purchase definitely worthwhile. It had also allowed the gang to get access to better fishing spots, which made Pearson’s stew almost edible.

That’s what I’ll do , Arthur thought, I’ll go fishing. A fish fry tonight sounds pretty good.

Getting dressed took no time at all, and walking down to the dock, making sure to give Micah an obligatory death stare was even easier. Arthur noticed John sitting on the edge of the dock, staring off into the distance, probably thinking of running off again. Probably.

“Hey John, wanna come fishin’ with me?” Arthur asked, untying the boat’s rope from the dock.

“Arthur, you know I can’t swim, right? If that little dinghy tips even a little we’re both goin’ in.”

“Then don’t tip the boat, dumbass.”

“Oh c’mon, you and I both know that’s not gonna happen.”

“Well if it does,” Arthur continued, stepping into the boat, “Your big brother Arthur will be there to drag your ass to shore.”

John rolled his eyes, sighed dramatically and stepped in the boat, shakily sitting down on one of the planks. “Fine, but if we tip… I’m allowed to look at your journal.”

“If we tip there won’t be much of a journal to look through,” Arthur chuckled, patting his back pants pocket.

Arthur, sitting in the back, pushed off from the dock and started rowing out towards one of the small islands not too far from Clemen’s Point. He’d been affectionately calling it “Bird Island”, on account of all the ducks and ravens that populated it. It was a good spot to think on any other day, but not when bringing John along.

“So Arthur, you did remember to bring bait, right?” John asked, trying not to turn around in the boat too fast, since he really honestly did not know how to swim.

“Nah, bait’s for rich folk, we’re using lures,” Arthur remarked, “Plus, it’s easier to see the shiny, pretty lures than some dumb worm.”

“You sound like a crow, Arthur.”

“Oh shut up,” Arthur replied with a hidden smirk, splashing some water with his paddle in John’s direction.

“Hey no fair, I can’t get you back there!”

“Then jump in the water and get me yourself, coward.”

Arthur didn’t need to see John’s face to know his friend was giving him the dirtiest glare. Thankfully before any revenge could be plotted, they pulled up to Bird Island.

“Alright, here we are, pick a spot and get comfy, we’re gonna be here a while.”

John grumbled in agreement and pulled a downed log to the beach so he could sit on it.

The two of them cast their lines into the water and began the waiting game, slowly reeling their lures back to the beach in hopes of catching some perch or trout.

As Arthur had imagined, John had somehow scared away all the fish. He didn’t know how, but he assumed it was something about his aura, or whatever Hosea called it, that just made it impossible to catch anything.

By the time it was noon, the two of them had only caught about 3 fish in total. Arthur didn’t especially mind though, he enjoyed days when he wasn’t robbing banks and killing innocent folk. He enjoyed his personal self-care days more, but he knew he should take what he can get.

Even from far away on this tiny island, Arthur could see some of the other gang members back on Clemens Point. He could easily make out Sean’s bright red hair as he chased after who must’ve been Mary-Beth around Pearson’s wagon, no doubt on another mission to woo her. Scanning over the edge of camp, he also spotted Charles chopping wood. Normally this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off of the fact that Charles happened to be chopping wood shirtless. Which he normally never does. Arthur suddenly wished he hadn’t asked John to come fishing. He couldn’t make out anything specific, but he had seen Charles shirtless once and the guy was built like a brick wall. He’d seen him knock a man out in one punch before, and the witnessing of it both scared him and made him feel just a little constricted by his pants.

Arthur must’ve been lost in thought longer than he imagined, because before he knew it, John was kicking sand at him, yelling that he had a fish on his line.

Arthur quickly diverted his attention back to his line, reeling it in and trying not to glance back over at Charles. Eventually he pulled in a 5 pound trout, so at least that came of something.

“Hey Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve never been married, right?”

Arthur laughed, “God no, John. This life ain’t really one that allows for much marrying and settling down.”

“But you’ve had… relationships before, right?”

Arthur reeled back his line and sat down next to John on the log. “Is there something you want to talk to me about, Marston?”

John scooted over a bit to give Arthur more room on the log and reeled his line back in as well.

“I… I don’t know Arthur,” John started, “It’s just that, like, I know Abigail and I have been fighting pretty much since we met, it’s just… I thought we would’ve figured it out by now, even just for the sake of Jack, but it just seems to be getting worse every damn day!”

Arthur grimaced. Relationship trouble was never his strong point, but he’d at least try for the sake of his friend.

“Well, you have tried talkin’ it out, right?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah of course,” John continued, “It just never seems to be the right time to talk. We’re just always doing something else, and when we do have free time to talk it just… never feels right, or we just don’t agree.”

“Oh c’mon, you must agree on something.”

“Yeah, that I’m a miserable no-good deadbeat dad.” John chuckled, resting his head in one of his hands.

Arthur sighed and looked out over the water. He knew John didn’t really mean that, even if Abigail’s point had some validity. It’s hard having a relationship in a life like this, you never know if the person you love is going to return that night. It must weigh pretty heavily on Abigail every time John goes out, not knowing whether to tell their son now or later that his daddy might not ever come back.

“Y’know John, I think I have the opposite problem from you,” Arthur observed, “You’ve got someone who cares too much about you, while I’ve got someone who I’m not even sure cares about me.”

John picked his head up from his hands. “You do? You mean that Mary girl?”

Arthur chuckled and looked back at camp where he spotted Charles, unsurprisingly hard at work, “No, this one’s a little different.”

“Is it one of the girls in camp? You know I’d support you but you are a bit… old compared to them.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Close, but no.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Arthur could tell John was really thinking hard.

“Jesus, Marston, I know I’m dumb but you’re really pushing the bar. It’s Charles, okay? Don’t think too much harder, you’ll break somethin’.”

There was another beat of silence.

“Charles, like the one working with us?” John hesitantly asked.

Arthur’s silence told John all he needed to know.

“Huh,” John began, “I uh… never thought you, y’know, swung that way.”

“Me either,” Arthur admitted, taking a drink from his water flask, “But it took me nearly 36 years to figure it out, so don’t go telling me it’s fake or nothing. I did like all those girls I dated, but I just never really clicked with them, I suppose.”

John chuckled. “Well I guess it makes sense you’re the way you are. You probably rubbed off on me, certainly explains the eyes I’ve been making at Javier lately.”

Arthur almost choked on his water. “Say that again cowboy, you’ve been WHAT at Javier?”

John picked up a stick and began drawing in the sand with it. “Eh, it’s nothing really, Arthur, nothing really at all, it's just that… sometimes when Abigail and I fight I just want to run away with someone new, y’know?”

“Oh no you don’t,” Arthur smirked, wrapping his arm around John’s shoulder, “I ain’t gonna let you run out on us again, you’d find me cold in the ground first!”

John beamed back one of his rare sunshine-y smiles. “Aww, I guess big old tough Arthur Morgan actually does have a heart inside afterall!”

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” Arthur replied, standing up to cast his line out again, “You ever gonna tell Javier how you feel?”

“You gonna ever tell Charles how you feel?”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Hey, maybe Charles can give you a little pain in the ass, if you know what I m-”

“Marston you shut your trap before I drown you myself!” Arthur half-jokingly reprimanded, kicking some sand at his adopted brother.

A bit of time passed. Arthur happened to catch 4 more perch, and John devoted the rest of their time on the island to picking some herbs and flowers, knowing that his skills as a fisherman were almost completely useless.

By the time the sun was going down, John returned with a bundle of burdock root and purple flowers.

“Hey uh, Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“Are you ever uh, gonna actually tell Charles or anyone else at camp how you feel?”

Arthur sighed and packed up his fishing pole. “Probably not. It took most of my effort just now to tell you because I knew I could trust you, so you’d imagine what it’d be like to tell someone like Micah, let alone Dutch and Hosea.”

“Aren’t Hosea and Dutch together?” John asked, packing his herbs and flowers into the boat.

“Haha, very funny Marston, they’re just good friends, they’ve been that way for a long time. I would’ve thought you would know that.”

“Well that’s certainly strange, I never knew “good friends” kissed each other on the mouth.”

Arthur stopped what he was doing. “Dutch and Hosea? They’re a… a thing? I thought Dutch and Molly… Hold on a second…”

John wholeheartedly laughed. “Jesus, Arthur, I thought I was slow to get things but I think you just broke the world record for ‘slowest time a man’s taken to figure out his adopted fathers are homosexuals’. All those smart reflexes went to your Deadeye skills instead, huh?”

“Alright now I’m going to drown you in your sleep instead.”

“I’d like to see you try,” John beamed, hopping into the boat, almost tipping it over, “Plus, if you kill me now, who’s gonna help you kick Micah’s ass when you come out to everyone?”

Arthur turned his head away so John couldn’t see his smile. “Let’s just get back to camp first and give these fish to Pearson. I’m almost terrified to see what he does with them.”

Arthur and John rowed back to Clemen’s Point with minimal water damage to their clothing, at least on accident. John, apparently moved by Arthur’s mini-therapy session, made a beeline to Abigail and gave her the bouquet of purple flowers he had picked. Arthur could see her blush all the way from the dock.

“Had fun on your fishing trip, Arthur? I’m surprised you convinced John to come out with you on the water.” Hosea, sitting under a tree, book in hand, called out to Arthur as he made his way to Pearson’s wagon.

“Yeahhhh it was alright; John and I got to talkin’ about some stuff, and we caught some pretty good fish, so expect them in the stew a few weeks from now.”

Hosea grimaced, scrunching his nose. “Can’t wait for Pearson to overcook them too. Oh well, at least we’ll have something to eat.”

Arthur cracked a smile and sat down next to his adopted father under the tree.

“Hey Hosea?”

“Hm?”

“Are you and Dutch, y’know…?” Arthur asked, making a lot of vaguely suggestive motions with his hands, none of which Hosea could gather meant anything literally, but he understood what Arthur was getting at.

“Heh, well I was sure it was going to come out at some point,” Hosea said, closing his book and resting it on his lap, “Yes, Arthur, the two men who have raised you since you were 13 are indeed romantically involved with each other.”

Arthur leaned back on the tree. “Huh, I guess it makes sense. I just… I just wanted to make sure Marston wasn’t lying ta’ me again, y’know?”

Hosea chuckled, brushing his gray hair back into its place. “Oh don’t you worry Arthur, John doesn’t need to lie; and I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m surprised it took you this long to catch on.”

“Eh, well, I’ve got my mind on other things, I guess.”

“Oh? Do you need to talk about something?”

“Not really,” Arthur began, “I mean… it’s just that…”

Hosea placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s okay son, take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur felt a tear well up in his eye. Between his two adopted fathers, Hosea had always been the one that Arthur knew he could come to with his non-outlaw related problems. Maybe it was his calm, almost flamboyant mannerisms, but it made Arthur, and he was sure plenty of the other members of the gang too, feel like you could trust him like a father.

“I… I’ve been thinkin’. About… things…”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, love things, I guess. ‘Cause I mean… I’m getting up in years, and I look at people like John with Abigail and Jack, and you and Dutch, and I just keep wonderin’ when I’m gonna meet someone, y’know?”

“Ah, those kinds of problems,” Hosea mused, scratching his chin, “I remember being your age and thinking the same things. Even when I was with Bessie I was thinking those same things. It’s hard to know when you’ve found ‘The One’, Arthur. I loved Bessie, I really did, and I thought she was my One for a long time, but there’s something about Dutch that I just clicked with all those years ago that I could never get enough of. So now I’m here, with the rest of ya’ trying to make sure you all don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Arthur nodded his head and started drawing in the dirt with a twig.

“But that’s enough about my sordid old past,” Hosea continued, “Is there something that’s happened that made you think about all this?”

“Well yeah, I told you, I’m getting up there in age and-”

“No, I heard that Arthur, I mean is there someone you’ve met that’s made you feel this way?”

There was a brief moment of silence. “Yes.” Arthur muttered.

“Do I know them?”

“Mhm.”

“It isn’t John, is it? I know you two are pretty close, but I’m not sure how… close.”

“What? God no, Hosea, it’s not like that,” Arthur proclaimed, looking around to make sure no one was listening in, “It’s… Charles. Charles, like the one we work with, the one over there.”

Arthur pointed over to where Charles and some of the rest of the gang were hanging around the main campfire. It had become dusk by now, and the gentle orange light from the fire made Charles’s dark skin look like it was glowing.

“Hm I see,” noted Hosea, “Have you told him how you feel?”

Arthur snickered, “Y’know, John asked me the same question earlier. I didn’t even know you and Dutch were together, so no, I haven’t.”

“Well whenever you want to, I’ll be behind you.”

“Thanks… dad.”

“Oh come now Arthur, you don’t have to get all mushy on me, just be confident and speak from the heart and you’ll have no trouble at all.”

Arthur sighed. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll try to remember that.”

The rest of the evening passed normally. Pearson served everyone stew for the Nth time in a row and Uncle roused everyone’s spirits with another vaguely sexual song as they sat around the firepit. Charles was too invested in his dinner to see Arthur shooting glances at him. Arthur knew he didn’t have to tell Charles how he felt, but the constant burying of his emotions was beginning to drive him insane.

Arthur began thinking about ways he could confess his feelings. He could always ask Charles to go hunting with him, but it’d probably be a bit awkward to profess your undying love next to the corpse of a recently deceased deer, so Arthur scrapped that one. He could always just invite him to his tent and tell him there, but then Strauss, who’s tent was right next to his, would definitely hear them.

By the time Arthur came to a conclusion, everyone had settled down and were now just enjoying each other’s company around the fire. Even old Uncle, who was usually the first to a song, was silently leaning back on the grass, already half-finished with his second bottle of whiskey. Nearly everyone was there, and the thought of coming out to that many people at once frightened him, but Arthur knew he just needed to get it over and done with, then everything would be better, right?

Arthur set his mostly empty bowl down on the grass, stood up, and cleared his voice.

“Uh, everyone, I have a, uh, announcement to make.”

“You’re pregnant?” Joked Sean from the other side of the fire, causing a few giggles to be heard.

“Haha very funny Sean,” Arthur continued, rubbing his hands together, “But this is important. It’s, uh, something that I’ve been thinkin’ on for some time now, and I felt like I needed to get it off my chest.”

“Arthur, my boy,” came Dutch’s voice from behind as he sat down on the log next to his adopted son, “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“No! No, god no, it’s not anything like that. I just… I just… I don’t know how to say it.”

“Well then just say it as simply as you can then,” Lenny piped up from next to Sean, “That usually works best for me.”

There was a short pause.

Arthur took a deep breath. “I…well… I like… men.”

The pause after Arthur spoke might’ve only been a few seconds, but to Arthur it felt like years. His eyes kept bouncing around to the other gang members, trying to read their expressions before they spoke. His eyes eventually fell on Charles, who’s expression hadn’t changed since Arthur’s announcement, although it might’ve been his imagination, but he could swear there was the faintest twinkle in his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, the silence was broken.

“Same.” Came Bill’s hoarse but quiet voice as he took another swig of his drink. There seemed to be a collective sigh from the group.

“Jesus Arthur, I thought you was going to tell us that you were dyin’ or somethang.” Said Sean.

Arthur chuckled timidly. “Nah, you’re gonna have to wait plenty more years before you see me go down.”

“Well that’s good, son,” Came Dutch’s warm voice again, “I’m glad you got that off your chest.”

Arthur chuckled again, this time with a bit more confidence. “I mean,” he continued, “I like women too, I just wanted to say this ‘cause I didn’t want y’all to make a big fuss if you ever see me bein’ sweet on another man, y’know?”

There were lighthearted chuckles around the fire. It was pretty obvious that this whole situation was really awkward for everyone involved, but Arthur could tell that they were all at least trying to be supportive, so he sat back down and took a few more deep breaths.

Some time passed and most of the people around the fire had left to go to bed. Arthur had been feeling a lot more relaxed, now that his big secret was out, but at the same time he knew that once Micah heard about it there’d be a whole new line of harassment coming Arthur’s way. Arthur hoped that maybe, just maybe, if Micah was being an asshole to him about this issue now, that Dutch may finally come to his senses and kick the bastard out of the gang. But getting Dutch to go back on his word was like trying to tell a bird not to fly, so Arthur didn’t get his hopes up too much.

Soon enough it was nearly 2 am, and everyone figured that they may as well go to bed. As Arthur was settling down, he heard Dutch’s voice half-whisper from his tent.

“So uh, Arthur, about what you announced at the fire tonight…”

“Yeah, Dutch?”

“You mentioned bein’ sweet on a man. You found someone?”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up fast and consciously moved his head so Dutch couldn’t see.

“No. I was just, uh, sayin’... like in the future, y’know?”

Arthur heard Dutch chuckle to himself. “Y’know Arthur, considering all the time you spend with Hosea I would’ve thought you’d be better at lying. I won’t press it though; take your time, I certainly took mine.”

Arthur heard Dutch’s tent close and breathed a sigh of relief. Coming out to everyone about his attraction to men was already a lot, coming out about which specific man he liked was just a little too much for one evening.

That night Arthur dreamed that he was looking down on three houses facing each other in a wide, open field of grass and lavender. Off to the side of the houses was a field of plants and other herbs and a small wooden chicken coop. There was a big lake not too far away with a dock and a large fishing boat. It reminded him of the area near Big Valley. Sitting on the porch of one of the houses was Dutch and Hosea in twin rocking chairs, Dutch just basking in the sun and Hosea nose deep in some book. Even from Arthur’s far away point of view, he could see a glass of something cold in Dutch’s hand. It was nice to see his fathers relaxing as opposed to what they usually have to deal with.

Sitting on the porch of the second house was John and Abigail. Abigail seemed to be showing John how to sew, who must’ve been doing a spectacularly bad job beforehand. Jack was there too; he was chasing some big golden dog around the field, throwing a big stick for the pet to catch and bring back. All three of them were smiling and laughing at some unheard joke. Arthur felt happy for them, and he wished he could be like them. Maybe someday.

Arthur looked to the porch of the third house and saw no one there. He came closer, and to his surprise, there was a tiny carving of a deer standing at the top of the steps. Next to it was a same sized carving of a wolf. Arthur felt a strange pull to the carving of the deer and he reached down to pick it up. As he did so, he saw a hand out of the corner of his eye pick up the wolf carving. As he stood back up with the deer in his hands, he saw that it was Charles who had picked up the wooden wolf. The two men were standing mere inches apart, eyes locked on each other. Arthur so desperately wanted to kiss Charles, even if this one was just a figment of an overactive and horny imagination. But instead of a kiss, Charles took Arthur’s free hand, led him up the steps of the house to the porch, and sat him down on a large wooden chair next to his own. Neither Charles nor Arthur spoke a word to each other, but the feeling of Charles’s large, warm hand on Arthur’s own as they sat and looked out over the lake together as the cool air wafted past them made Arthur feel an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time: contentedness. The feeling was so comforting he even forgot that this was all a dreamed-up fantasy. Arthur wished he could skip having to tell Charles that he liked him and just go straight ahead to this perfect moment. But Arthur knew that he’d just have to get it over with, like with his coming out. But thankfully now, with the thought of (just) about everyone behind him, he knew he could do it.

[gingernastyy]

Arthur:

Arthur hasn’t really taken too much thought about the idea of being a father. He has this constant residual fear that no matter what he did he would end up just like his dad.

His dad was an outlaw and Arthur got roped into the life because of him and Arthur is sure that if he had a kid they’d be dragged into the life too.

Being with Mary changes his mind. He felt like maybe he could do the father thing. The way she talks about running away together gives him the hope of having a better life. He could see them having a nice place with a fence, with a dog that lazily lays on the porch and a couple of kids running around.

He swears if it can become true he would be a better dad than his was and would do anything, and he means anything, to protect his kids and Mary.

When they broke up he was devastated. It led him into a life feeling like no one would ever have him, no one would want him to father their kids.

It’s a sad and lonely night of him drinking when he meets Eliza. They start talking before hooking up; a few times from time to time. As harsh as it is she’s a bit of a rebound after Mary. They were friends but he never felt strong enough to marry her. It makes her getting pregnant feel even worse.

When Eliza had Isaac he felt lost and scared for the kid. He knew that his life would endanger the both of them sooner or later. But swore he would do best by Eliza and helped out anyway he could. Then when they were both killed he didn’t know how to cope with it. He repressed everything that happened to them, only a few journal entries talking about what happened. But those entries and the sketches of Eliza and Isaac where in the journal that he lost in a fire.

It’s after Isaac had lived and died that Abigail has Jack. Being around for the time that Abi is pregnant makes him reflect on when Eliza was. God, he wishes he could have been there for Isaac’s birth. He feels guilty for being around when his brother’s kid is born but not there for his own.

As much as he hates John for leaving Jack and Abigail for that whole damn year, he enjoyed stepping back into that fatherly role to help Abi. There was something that felt so natural about taking care of the kid, guess he did picked up some traits from the short time he had with Isaac.

Abigail had questioned him a few times on about how he’s so good with Jack. She swears she’s had to tell almost everyone who’s held him to support his neck but not Arthur. He bounces and sways while holding Jack that calms him down that she believes that there is no way that it’s the first time that Arthur has held a baby.

A part of him thinks he should propose to Abigail to make up for not marrying Eliza but he knows that it won’t make amends for what had happened. Besides he’s too caught up on Mary and Abigail is to in love with Marston that he knows he will be turned down.

When/if he gets out of the life he considers adopting. Even if he can’t find someone to marry, he’s okay with being a single dad. He’s also happy to adopt if it’s the only way he and his partner couldn’t physically have kids. He feels like Hosea would be proud of him for helping out a kid like Hosea and Dutch did for Arthur (though he would want to avoid the outlaw part). He knows going through the legal system would be challenging with the price on his head but if he found a kid like Hosea found John and himself, he’d gladly take them in as he own.

He finds himself to be a tough and not really an emotional guy but having his newborn baby and the first time his thumb is grabbed by that itty bitty hand he damn near cries.

Years of being an outlaw has been beneficial for one thing... when the baby cries Arthur is able to get up right away. Late at night he’s the one who wakes to change diapers or calm nightmares. He’ll put himself to exhaustion to let his partner sleep.

Usually he falls asleep on the couch or a chair after rocking his baby back to sleep, baby on his chest and his hand on the little ones back.

He’s very supportive of creativity- especially as an artist himself.“Pa and me” or the full family sketches are tucked in the front cover of his journal. He wants those drawings to be the closest thing to him. He always makes sure to tell his kiddo that they’re doing a real good job and are already better at drawing than he is.

Play wrestling and piggy back rides are what he’s great at. He’s always asked to do or straight up just climbed on until one or the other happens.

Luckily he’s taught a kid how to ride a horse before so he feels pretty confident in teaching his own. If he could teach Jamie to ride his horse, with his thousands of questions, he feels he can teach his own kid(s).

Teaching his kid(s) to read and write is much harder than Hosea ever made it seem when he was teaching John and Jack.

He wishes that grandpa Hosea could meet his family. There are nights he looks to the sky and wonders if he’d be proud of him, getting out of the life and having a couple of kids of his own. He knows that Hosea had wanted that for Arthur for so many years.

As bad as he thinks he is at hunting and fishing he’d want to teach his kid(s) how to do both. It’s always good to know how to handle a gun and also know basic survival technics. He’ll mumble a side comment about wishing that Kieran could be there; he was always better at fishing but say it was nothing if he was asked about it.

He would go a little into the overprotective category. If someone was threatening his kid(s) he would get real quiet with the person, put his hand on their shoulder and get close. He would explain how he has killed before, has enjoyed doing so in most cases, and if they don’t leave his baby alone, he will find plenty of enjoyment killing this person.

Hosea:

Bessie and Hosea had always talked about having kids. They just were never sure when would be the right time, if there ever really is a right time when you’re a couple of outlaws.

Hosea jokes that maybe raising John and Arthur could be in a way, a test run before they have some of their own. They’re already almost fully grown so they could skip past the diaper phase and “terrible twos” and if anything could blame Dutch for the way they turn out.

Teaching John how to read really told Hosea that he does have the patience to have kids. He loves that boy dearly but it took a lot of work to get him to even focus to be able to educate him.

When Hosea and Bessie left the gang for awhile they set up in the Grizzlies East. During this time they tried to start their own family. If they were going to have kids it would be the time to do so. But either there was something with him or with her, or just unfortunate luck, they could never seem to get pregnant.  

When Hosea drifts back into the outlaw life they have moment of agreeing that maybe it was the best that they weren’t able to have a kid, as much as it devastates them both.

Hosea wishes that Bessie was still around by the time that Abigail has Jack. He knows she would have loved that kid like her own. She surely would have spoiled the hell out of that kid not that Hosea is any better.

He’s definitely had a moment when looking at the photograph of him and Bessie that he thinks that even though they weren’t fortunate to raise their own kids, but they skipped right to being grandparents.

As a father, Hosea is kind, patient and always there for his kid(s). He saw his father about three times in his life and would want to be there for his kids to make up the time he feels he didn’t have with his own dad.

As the comedian he is, or thinks he is, Hosea would be the dad who can’t pass up a good dad joke. He’d tell one about “you know the best way to catch a fish? Put your line in the water.” He would have to bring up the time that Arthur was suppose to go fishing and brought back a fish from the market, claiming he’d caught it and then next time that Hosea and Dutch when in town the store clerk asked Arthur how that fish that he bought was. Hosea we’ll find any opportunity to laugh at Arthur about it.

Hosea is the best at storytelling. He would tell his kid(s) stories every night. He’s able to work those years of stage acting into the voices he uses during his storytelling.

He and Bessie were always fans of playing dominos so he would want to show his kid(s) how to play. He’d often bring up how he always accused her of cheating during playing because she was that good. Arthur, though taught by her, didn’t seem to have her luck with the tiles.

On sick days he’s getting medicine, soup, crackers, pulling out blankets and whatever will help his kid.

He wants what is best for his kid(s) but also encourages them to write their own path. They can be whatever they like if they set their minds to it. No matter what, his love is unconditional and he wants to see them do their own thing.

Dutch:

Dutch is a hard one when it comes to being a father. He wants a kid to enlighten them with his wisdom, to show them everything he knows. At the same time having a newborn with all that crying and loosing sleep, especially being the leader of a gang, doesn’t sound ideal. Toddlers tend to be very... sticky, which he wouldn’t be a fan of either.

He would want to have a kid, much like John and Arthur were already functioning on their own that he can already start having conversations with, being able to teach them how to fish, shoot, and talk about the injustices in the world around them.

If he had a kid, like about a toddler in age, he would read them Evelyn Miller and explain, even though it would be going over this kid’s head, that “what Mr. Miller is saying is... “

Dutch values an education but has little patience when trying to teach. Even with John and Arthur, Hosea did more when it came to helping them learn how to read and write.

He’d be less of dad that says “I love you’s” and more often be the one that says “I’m proud of you”

He would be able to playful tease his kid and his competitive side would be great when they get old enough to race and play poker.

His relationship with Annabelle was really the only time he considered having a kid of his own. He loved that women and if she wanted a child he would figure out a plan for way for them to have a kid.

He thinks that maybe once they are able to get one good robbery that when they leave to New York or Tahiti, where ever they may land that he considers the idea of starting a family.

[verai-marcel]

I found you on AO3. Love your work! I was wondering if you could do something with Arthur and Abigail during John’s yearlong absence. Smut it up! Please and thank you! 😊

Just This Once (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x Abigail, 18+)

Summary: It’s been 11 months since John left the gang. On a cold winter’s night, Abigail sits alone and cries silently, heartbroken and lonely. In a moment of weakness, she does what she never thought she would do again: seeks the warmth of another man.

Author’s Notes: According to the Red Dead wiki, Arthur and Abigail have a 14 year age gap, making her 19 and Arthur 33 in 1896, which is roughly when John is gone. I saw the whispers of this relationship in game and I think this was the second relationship that was cut from the story. So I’ll explore this what-if through my writing.

Tags: angst, smut, plot, age difference, RDR2 spoilers

AO3 Link is over yonder.

——————–

Abigail slowly lay Jack down to sleep in her bed, brushing his hair with her tired hand and smiling softly at her baby. She loved her little boy, more than anything. If only… if only John loved him too. If only he loved her enough to stay.

She quietly left the tent and walked to the edge of the nearby stream to take a moment to herself. She had to be realistic. It had been almost a year. John wasn’t coming back. She had fallen for him, loved him hard, perhaps too hard, and now she had lost him. Staring up at the starry sky, she let out a sigh, wrapping her shawl around her tighter against the winter chill. 

She heard the crunch of leaves and twigs under heavy boots and recognized the particular gait of its owner. Turning to him, she attempted to smile, but even she could tell her lips wavered.

“Better get back inside, it’s cold out here.” Arthur looked as if he wanted to say more, but waited for her to respond.

“Just a moment longer. I just need… a moment.”

He took another two steps to stand next to her. “I have some whiskey, if it’ll help.”

Arthur didn’t share his personal stash of whiskey lightly. He knew she was missing John fiercely, and he hated watching the light slowly fade from her eyes over the past few months. Where was that fierce woman who stood up to the world and spat in its face? Seeing her like this did something to his insides that he didn’t want to examine any further. He just wanted her to be happy again, like she was when she… well, when she had started to fall for John. He kicked himself mentally for where his mind had gone.

Abigail nodded. “I’ll take you up on that, Arthur.” She quietly followed him back to his tent, which he had closed up to keep the warmth in as much as possible. He pulled out the bottle from a box underneath his cot and handed it to her.

“Sorry I don’t have no fancy cups or nothin’,” he mumbled.

She took the bottle and took a very hearty swig. “Thank you,” she said, making a face as the alcohol burned her throat all the way down. Handing the bottle back to him, she sat down on his cot and let out another deep sigh. “Can I… can I ask you somethin’?”

He sat next to her and took a drink of whiskey. “Sure,” he said, although a bit hesitantly.

“I miss him. How… how do you cope?”

Arthur let out a deep sigh of his own. “You jus’ hafta take life one day at a time. And if you’re still livin’ the next day, then you got to deal with it then too.”

She looked at him, a sadness filling her eyes. She understood; Mary had left a giant hole in Arthur’s heart. Tilly was irritated whenever her name was brought up, and Hosea would glare at anyone who brought her up in Arthur’s presence. And then losing Eliza and Isaac only tore that hole further.

Placing her hand on his knee, she just nodded. “It… It hurts. Even after all this time.”

Before he could think better of it, Arthur wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling Abigail into his arms for a comforting hug. She felt so small in his embrace, so warm and soft. A protectiveness surged in his heart, and Arthur, unable to stop himself, laid a soft kiss on her temple.

Abigail held her breath. Her heart belonged to John, but her body reacted to the physical comfort that Arthur brought. She leaned into him, remembering the way he had felt beneath her.

Had it only been two years since she had joined the gang? Uncle had introduced her as a working girl, to help with chores and occasionally warm beds to keep morale up amongst the men, in exchange for a safe place to live and food to eat. Most of the men had bedded her; even Arthur had, but only once, after he came back drunk and depressed. He never said why he was so unhappy that night; only that he took her hand, led her to his tent, and asked to have her. He had been so gentle, so giving, and when he was done, he had curled up around her and cradled her close to him as he slept. She had wondered what kind of man he would have been if he hadn’t been in this kind of life. 

Then John started to fall for her, and she for him, and she started doing more chores to make up for her no longer wanting to warm beds, which Dutch and Hosea agreed with. She could say that most of the men she had been with had fucked her, but only two men had made love to her: John… and Arthur.

“Can… can I stay?” she whispered as she looked up at him. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Arthur pulled back and met her eyes, torn between craving the physical intimacy and his own resentment. She loved John, not him. She was just feeling lonely and wanted someone, anyone.

“Just this once. Please, Arthur.”

He couldn’t leave her alone, not when she was looking up at him with a loneliness that mirrored his own. After a few moments, he sighed and nodded.

“Alright, but no kissin’ on the lips. That’s my only rule.”

She nodded, not wanting to question him, and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered as she reached up to unbutton his shirt.

“O’course,” Arthur said with a wry smile as he let her remove his clothes, sitting back and taking in her beautiful form as she did the same. Watching the shirt slide off her shoulders, the skirt flutter down from her hips, he felt his blood burn with desire; it had been so long since he’d laid with a woman, and Abigail was certainly a fine specimen. Her skin was soft as he caressed her shoulder and arm, taking her wrist and pulling her close. Grabbing the blanket, he covered them both as he laid down on his back, draping her over his body. She held him close, snuggling against his warmth as he stroked her back, his hands trailing along her skin, giving her goosebumps as she sighed with pleasure.

He trailed kisses on her neck and earlobe as she sat up and straddled him. Cupping her generous bosom, he pinched her nipples just to see her reaction. Abigail bit her lip, controlling her voice as she leaned forward into his touch. She rolled her hips against him, his cock straining to enter her inviting heat.

“Been so long,” he mumbled.

“Me too,” she sighed as she slowly lifted her hips and lowered herself onto his length, reveling in the intimate embrace, of feeling filled up by a man. She had missed this feeling of physical connection, and even though Arthur wasn’t the man she loved, she trusted him with her life. If ever she was in danger, she knew that Arthur was the sort of man who would save her. It was a deep feeling, a different kind of love.

When she was fully seated on his member, Arthur gripped her hips and started to guide her pace. As she started to ride him, he controlled her speed, keeping her slow at first, but as their desire built higher and higher, he couldn’t help his own movements as he moved her faster on his cock.

“I need more,” he murmured before pulling her close and rolling over so she was beneath his body. Lifting his hips, he took her from this new angle, watching her throw her head back and pant. She tried to keep herself quiet, but the strength of his thrusts drew out a small mewl from her, and he quickly covered her mouth with a big hand. 

“Hush now, don’t want anyone knowin’ about this,” he whispered. She nodded in agreement.

He wrapped his other arm around her and buried his face into her neck. Smelling her unique scent, Arthur sucked on her neck and collarbone, losing himself to her lush body, the heat enveloping him. Her muffled moans of pleasure sounded like heaven in his ears. For one swift moment, he wished she was his.

If only. If only Abigail would forget John, as if she could. If only Mary didn’t invade his thoughts, as she too often did.

His mind replaced Abigail’s face with Mary’s for a second too long, and to his deepest shame, he almost shot his spend inside. Pulling out quickly, he buried his moans into her chest as he spent himself on her belly instead.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Arthur mumbled as he collapsed next to her. He trailed his hand down her body until he reached her core, and started to stroke her. “Lemme help you.”

Abigail turned towards Arthur, clinging to his shoulders as he touched her in just the right way, just like he did that one night long ago. She came in his arms, shuddering and biting down on his shoulder to stifle her sounds of release.

Afterwards, they lay together, just breathing deep, Abigail’s head buried in Arthur’s chest, her body tucked against his for warmth.

“Thank you,” Abigail finally whispered.

He nodded, then after a few silent moments, he spoke, almost too low for her to hear. 

“If you ever need me, Abigail, I’ll be there. Always.”

***

Arthur awoke to feel wetness on his chest. Looking down, he watched Abigail murmur in her sleep, a few tears sliding down her face.

“John…”

He sighed. Of course. Even though he knew what he got himself into, it still hurt to hear another man’s name on the lips of a woman he just laid with, and his heart burned with even more resentment. That dumb bastard had no idea how lucky he was.

***

In 1907, on a cold winter’s day, John finally, finally, opened Arthur’s journal. Being an idiot, he read the last entry first.

“John, protect Abigail and Jack.”

He nodded; he could almost hear Arthur in his head saying those words to him. Then he flipped to the beginning of the journal to read from there. So engrossed in his brother’s entries, he didn’t hear Abigail as she sat down on the bed next to him and looked over his shoulder.

“Is that me?" 

John blinked and looked over at her, and then looked down at the page he was reading. "Yeah.”

“Arthur… drew me?" 

"And the boy too.”

“What does his entry say?" 

John debated lying to her, but that wasn’t his way. Honesty above all else, even if the rest of his morals weren’t as crystal clear. So he took a deep breath, and read it out loud to her. 

He looked up to see Abigail holding her mouth closed, fighting back tears. He put the journal down and held his arms out to her. She fell into his arms, clinging to him tightly as she took shuddering breaths, trying to regain her composure. 

"He did a lot for us,” John whispered. “I, we, won’t ever forget him.”

John felt her nodding. He just held Abigail close, feeling her warmth, her softness. He felt incredibly grateful that he was able to live on and be with her, that she still stayed with him after all his mistakes. After a while, a wistful smile spread across his face as he thought back to the past.

Arthur was right; he was the luckiest man alive.

——————–

End Notes: I hope I did this request justice, @jesusismyhostage​. I really wanted this to be as canon-compliant as possible, because I want to believe that this could totally have happened in game. Anyway, let me know what you think!

[victoodles]

Nicknames and Late Night Dances

Hey! It’s my first RDR2 story! I’m working on more but I hope you like this one. I don’t know how this works but if you like my work and wanna send me requests, I’m down for pretty much everything. Xoxo gossip girl! Find it here on AO3

Warnings: Nada :)

The gang’s hoots and hollers could be heard from Valentine all the way to Saint Denis. A celebration with no rhyme or reason, but still just as spirited. With the uncertainty that there would ever be a sunrise to come, everyone partied as if heaven’s gates would be waiting for them bright and early the following morn.

Drinks were plentiful as generous portions of booze were passed from one hand to the next; leave no cup high and dry. Arthur nursed his beer slowly as he observed his ragtag family, mentally preparing for the shenanigans that would soon follow-the ever dutiful guardian.

Everyone was up to something, rambunctious as always. Sean made pitiful, lecherous passes to a drunk Karen, who responded in kind due to her excessive inebriation. Dutch was sitting with Molly, a familiar grip on her thigh as they sipped on finer liquor together; Miss O’Shea was too highbrow for whatever the commoners drank. Lenny and Hosea recklessly played “five-finger fillet”, which to no one's surprise, ended with sliced hands and hearty laughs at their blatant stupidity.

Javier sat by the fire, casually playing his guitar as people sang-some slurring-dirty songs in tandem with his strumming. Amongst the jovial crowd was you, cheeks pink from one drink too many and your voice louder and prouder than the rest.

Color Arthur surprised that a usually dignified lady such as yourself was bellowing filthy tunes with the likes of Uncle and Swanson. He quickly found a familiar tint adorning his cheeks, similar to yours, and he couldn’t pin the blame on the alcohol this time around.

Arthur was constantly enamored by you but seeing you like this, unrestricted by the commonalities of a society you had long abandoned, he found you even more captivating than before. With a lopsided grin and the fire casting delicate shadows upon the contours of your face, Arthur committed the image to memory so he could immortalize it in his journal later that night.

He hadn’t even realized he was starring, something he was usually hyper aware of, but with the flames emitting such an enchanting glow that continued to envelope you, he felt himself spellbound.

As if starlight had come to life, was the first thought that came to mind; he mentally reprimanded himself for sounding like such a lovestruck fool. Although despite that, he found no shame in admitting to himself that all those pretty poems you and Mary-Beth tittered about could never hold a candle to your beauty.

Too lost in his own head, Arthur hadn’t realized that you had looked up to meet his lingering gaze. Now exposed, heat quickly crept up the back of his neck as your smile widened and you proceeded to eagerly wave him over to the campfire. His feet acted before his mind could catch up and he started in your direction, not before taking an excessive swig of his drink in a sad attempt to calm his nerves.

While Arthur lacked the liquid courage, you on the other hand had enough of it for the both of you. The whiskey you’d been sampling had sent a warmth blooming through your entire body, weakening the shyness that usually reared its ugly head around Arthur. You were a well-spoken, educated woman but your feelings for a certain Mr. Morgan had reduced you to a blushing, bumbling mess.

“My lady,” Arthur said affectionately and he tipped his hat to you, “everyone,” he acknowledged the rest of the group with considerably less enthusiasm. The men responded in kind, grunting their hellos.

Almost as soon as he arrived, you had hopped up from the log you were perched on to meet Arthur, beaming at him even more now that you were in his presence.

Having your inhibitions assuaged thanks to a healthy dose of Uncle’s personal booze supply, you wrapped your arms snugly around Arthur’s sturdy shoulders, catching the usually stoic outlaw off guard.

“Ar-tie,” you singsonged, rather loudly; you had no idea where this newfound nickname had come from but your drunk alter ego seemed to enjoy throwing all formalities to the wind. Arthur’s eyes widened, his blush clearly visible as he found himself in your warm embrace.

A universal silence fell over the circle, Charles and John trying to contain their snickers as they eagerly awaited for the rest of this sickeningly saccharine scenario to play out.

Arthur sputtered pathetically as he tried to process the entirety of this overwhelming situation that he quickly found himself in.

You were so close to him, a distance he previously would’ve considered improper especially with a lady of your caliber. But now, with alcohol fueling both of your systems, he wasn’t so sure he could bring himself to care.

He could faintly make out the scent of wildflowers in your hair-a mix of lavender and honeysuckle. How could someone who lived amongst criminals and was constantly surrounded by depravity smell so sweet?

Your hypnotic aroma was almost enough to make him forget about your ridiculous shortening of his name-almost.

“Artie?” he asked incredulously. He was a hardened criminal, the secondhand gun and leading enforcer of the Van der Linde gang. A bad man. And here you were, drunk and without a care in the world, calling him something not even Jack had thought to come up with. You pulled back from him, much to his dismay, with a faux-pout pursing your lips.

“Yes, that’s,” you paused to lightly bop him on the nose with your index finger, “you.” The rest of the gang had abandoned any form of subtly as unrepressed chortles could be heard from practically everyone around the campfire.

Little ol’ you was making the infamous Arthur Morgan, a man with a bounty of over five thousand dollars, more flustered than a common schoolgirl. They weren’t naive to his feelings towards you, keeping to themselves lest they want to meet the business end of his wrath. But this was too hysterical to ignore, and they felt safe making jests at Arthur’s expense with you in tow.

“Artie why don’t you sit down with us,” Javier offered cooly, the smirk tugging at the edge of his lips practically giving away his teasing undertones. Arthur was about to retort when he was cut off by Uncle’s loudmouthed interjection.

“Yeah Artie, my boy, you look a lil’ red in the face! Take a load off and enjoy the company of the fine mistress called whiskey,” he whooped, slapping his knee as he keeled over from a fit of laughter due to his own witticism.

Completely oblivious, you laughed alongside the other men as you linked arms with a disgruntled Arthur. He scoffed in response to this incessant mocking, quickly tossing back the rest of his beer to alleviate his rapidly increasing heart rate as you continued to move closer to his side.

Your attention soon diverted from the conversation to Dutch’s gramophone, a gentle melody emitting from it and drifting up to the moon above. Excitement took ahold of your heart and in turn you took ahold of Arthur’s hands, the joy radiating from you almost palpable.

“Artie,” you chirped, earning another wave of sniggers, “dance with me!” It wasn’t so much a request as it was a demand, as you already started tugging him towards the music’s origin.

“D-dance?” he stuttered. He wasn’t known for his charm and grace and yet despite that, you were asking this of him anyway. And who was he to deny you of anything you wanted?

But at the risk of making an even bigger idiot of himself in front of you, he couldn't help but hesitate. You noticed his apprehension and turned towards him, hands on your hips in a stern fashion similar to Abigail before she’s about to scold Jack for misbehaving.

“Yes dance, silly,” you chided, resuming your place around his arm before softening your expression again. “Do you not want to dance with me, Artie?” you said sullenly; the sad look you gave Arthur was irresistible and almost impossible to refuse.

He sighed heavily, shooting daggers at the men ogling the two of you from around the fire and then returning his attention back solely to you, ready to concede to your wishes.

“As my lady commands” he said, ushering you closer to Dutch’s tent by the small of your back-always the gentleman. The two of you stood next to the gramophone, the record idly spinning as it produced a pleasant rhythm.

Arthur extended his hand and you excitedly gave yours in turn, not expecting such a soft kiss from his chapped lips to grace your senses. Your flush was amplified by his chivalry and you bowed your head in response, like a true lady of high society.

His arm found a comfortable place around your waist and the two of you began swaying in an almost perfect tempo to a song unknown to the both of you.

With the entire camp peering at this tender moment between you, the only audience you two acknowledged were the stars twinkling faintly above.

Arthur surprised you with an elegance and poise that could be expected of a Saint Denis socialite, but still making it an experience that was uniquely him. You giggled as Arthur clumsily twirled you around before bringing you back towards him, your chests mere inches apart. He cocked an eyebrow at you in mock accusation at your sudden outburst.

“You are full of surprises, Sir Artie,” to which Arthur let out his own hearty chuckle for the first time that night.

“I’m no sir, my dear lady. Just trying to please.”

“And you are doing a fine job, cowboy,” you purred, putting extra emphasis on your last word and catching his attention for yet another time that same evening. It seemed to be a talent of yours and he had no qualms about your skills. A nickname, so suitable for him, sounded absolutely perfect coming from you.

“No more Artie?” he questioned with a humorous tone, giving you another spin. He was never one for dancing, but with you, it came as simple as breathing. You smiled at him mischievously, daring to lean in closer. He didn’t object.

“I was just teasin’, didn’t mean to make you sweat cus’ of it,” you admitted.

To be perfectly honest, you didn’t take into account the backlash from the rest of the gang that would result from your drunken roguery. But you were tired of letting your lack of confidence get in the way of pursuing a man who you held such a deep level of admiration for. Right now, you had absolutely no regrets about any of your actions.

Arthur laughed again, a lovely yet rare occurrence. “Well no offense taken darlin’, despite those buffoons I’d say this evening ended quite pleasantly.”

With that, he dipped you gracefully as the music gave one last bombastic crescendo before its grand finale. A majority of the gang awarded the two of you with a hearty round of applause, but Arthur paid them no mind.

Gently, he pulled you back to him as you both regained your composure. He looked down at you fondly, brushing strands of hair that came loose during your dance back behind your ear. Even disheveled, you were still a marvel to behold in his eyes.

Your gazes were locked to one another, fingers still intertwined. Arthur, bless his heart, was unsure of how to end this beautifully intimate encounter. He had already taken so many risks tonight, and if said risks weren’t related to some sort of gang heist, then it meant he truly was taking a leap of faith outside of his realm of expertise.

You could practically feel his frantic heartbeat thrumming against your own chest. Feeling bold, a hand found its way up to his neck and you stood on your tiptoes to place a single kiss on his cheek yet dangerously close to the corner of his lips.

As quickly as you gave it, you retreated in hopes of seeing his earnest reaction and you were not disappointed. Almost baffled, his free hand lingered where you had kissed in an attempt to reaffirm he wasn’t dreaming. You placed your hand over his, and gave him a loving smile that almost knocked him off his feet.

“You know where to find me later,” was all you said as you sauntered away, his line of sight following your form as you leisurely strolled back to your tent.

Another moonlight dance was definitely in store.

[rheyninwrites]

Old Friends Part 21

He and I had come to an understanding, finally. We knew where each other’s weakest points were, and we each did our best to shore the other up. I won’t pretend it was easy, or perfect. It was damn hard work, and sometimes we failed. Occasionally one of us would spend a night on the couch before we made up, kissing each other to make up for the time we’d lost.

We fell into a pleasant routine. His work, my painting. Coffee shared in the morning, dinners at night. Occasional nights with friends, sometimes alone, but often together, as we became one more couple in the group, but we still rarely spent time as the full gang, the way we had previously.

That’s why, when Abigail brought up the idea for a big, day long birthday party for me, I was ecstatic. We planned far enough ahead to be sure that everyone could attend. Even Jack was going to be there, and I’d told Abigail and John to bring Mr. Matthews as well, since I wanted to meet the man who had been so kind to them. Arthur even invited Dutch! The day couldn’t come soon enough for me, and I spent every day leading up to it trying to get the house to a place I felt would be appropriate and comfortable for such a large, varied group of people. I extracted promises from everyone that they wouldn’t bring gifts, because the only thing I wanted was everyone together.

Well, almost everyone. Every time I asked Arthur to promise me he wouldn’t give me a present, he’d fidget and find a way to leave open a technicality. He wouldn’t, no matter how hard I tried, agree to a solid nothing for my birthday. Finally, after bugging him forever, he broke down and confessed why.

“I can’t promise to not give you a present, ‘cause I already got one. It’s been in the works a long time. But I promise, it ain’t nothing big or fancy, ok?”

I rolled my eyes at him and pretended to strangle him, which resulted in him pulling me down and covering my neck with kisses, making me laugh. He always knew exactly how to get to me, making me forgive him, most of the time, before I’d even gotten mad. And I’d never been happier.

When the day finally came, I was a bundle of nerves, straightening out the same things over and over, checking the same things I had a thousand times already. I was excited to see our friends, and meet the few people I didn’t know. I didn’t even care about birthday wishes, I just wanted everyone there already!

Mary-Beth and Kieran were the first to arrive, and we had a great time catching up on everything in the quiet time before the place got crowded. Kieran positively doted on her, and she gave him the same attention.

“Ain’t he just the sweetest thing? He spends every spare moment he’s got with me. He doesn’t even care if I’m writing! He’ll just spend the time watching me, and get me anything I need. It’s just like one of my romance novels. I ain’t never been happier in my whole life,”

Abigail, John, and Jack came next, Mr Matthews following closely. Jack gave me a big hug, and Mr Matthews thanked me profusely for inviting him, and urged me to call him by his first name, Hosea. He told me that I reminded him a great deal of his wife, Bessie.

“A kinder woman I have never known in my life, all smiles an sweetness. That is, until you crossed her. A tougher adversary you’d never find.”

I said it was an honor to be compared to her, then moved to greeting the next arrivals. Dutch came in before long, demanding to see the woman who ‘had so undone my dear Arthur.’ He gave me a very thorough once over, then pulled me into a tight hug.

“My dear, I just want to thank you. This poor sap has been miserable beyond belief all the time I have known him, and you come into his life like a ray of sunshine, and suddenly he is all smiles.”

His flowery language made me laugh, and Arthur blush. He yelled a sarcastic response, and before long we were bantering, along with Hosea. Laughter filled the house. Sean nearly set fire to it, as he tried to light the grill, but Javier and Bill took over, and the smell of meat cooking filled the afternoon. Not my thing, but I appreciated the feeling it brought as I watched everyone chatter, Jack playing with a stray cat in the backyard. It was the feeling of family, the only family I’d ever really known.

As the afternoon turned into evening and the bugs came out, we moved inside, perched on every space any of us could find to sit. Sadie, Karen, and I watched Sean getting ever drunker with mild amusement. Lenny, Charles, and Arthur were deep in conversation on the couch, and Tilly was reading a story to a sleepy Jack in the corner. Abigail and Mary-Beth were looking over Mary-Beth’s new novel, while Bill, John, Kieran, and Javier talked about work by the kitchen counter. Hosea and Dutch were apparently becoming fast friends, sharing drinks and laughter at the table. It was picture perfect, my own little slice of paradise.

Soon, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Arthur had come over, a flat package tied with a bow in his hand. The room went quiet and all eyes were on me as I walked to the counter and sat the box down so I could unwrap it. The knot gave me a little trouble, but soon the ribbon was off and the box unwrapped. I lifted the lid. It was a worn leather book. The same book I’d seen dozens of times, usually in Arthur’s hands.

It was his journal.

I was trying to work out in my head why on earth he would give me his journal as I picked it up and opened it to the first page. It was a drawing he’d done of me, must have been years ago when we first met, as I looked about twelve. My heart skipped a beat as I skimmed page after page, knowing already what would be on each one.

It was filled with pictures of me, sketches he’d done over the years. Some were loose, barely there suggestions of my face or figure, but some were more detailed, sketches he must have done while I sat or slept nearby, and I’d never known. I’d never had any idea that he’d been drawing me, all this time. The last page was an image of me, in our bed asleep, my head resting on my arm. It couldn’t have been from more than a few days ago.

“Arthur . . . .”

“That one got full. Got to get another one now.”

I had no idea what to say. What can you say to someone who’s given you a window into their private thoughts, and they’re all beautiful thoughts of you? Instead of saying anything, I just wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, holding him as close to me as I possibly could. He returned the embrace, sweeping me off my feet for just a moment as everyone around us whispered and cooed about what a great gift it was, and how romantic.

I waited until everyone had left before making him sit down with me to go through every page, stopping occasionally to ask him about one. It turned out that he’d done a sketch of me for nearly every night we’d ever spent together, sometimes having to go from memory the next day. He pointed out a few that were really special to him, like the first time we rode out together to watch the sunset, the night we got drunk and fell asleep in the back of Boadicea, and, yes, the first time we slept together all those years ago. That was nearly two full pages across, loving detail of my face as he must have seen it, my arm above my head and staring right into his eyes.

“I can’t believe this. Arthur, it’s all so beautiful. I love it, but I have to ask why you decided to give this to me.”

“Didn’t have more space to draw in. Besides, I thought maybe it’d help you see you the way I do. The way I always have.”

“Arthur Morgan, you are such a romantic! No matter how tough you pretend to be.”

“I never pretend with you. Don’t have to.”

“No, you don’t. Now come over here and kiss me.”

He happily obliged.

[saintcheesus]

If you're still accepting prompts, maybe John wingmanning for Arthur to help him get with Charles. Thanks in advance if you decide to write this

I love this nonny! 

------

I am convinced that Charles has taken to chopping wood in front of me solely to drive me mad. He started taking his shirt off just last week, on account of this damn heat...

“Take your shirt off too, if you hot then. 

Arthur slammed his journal shut faster than John had ever seen. John laughed at how red in the face Arthur became, it suited him better than that sourpuss one he was always sporting. 

“Goddammit, Marston! Why you standing here for?” 

“You must have been awful distracted to not realize my shadow been over you since you was writing. When you gonna sketch him shirtless?” 

Arthur grumbled and looked away. 

“I already did...” he mumbled shortly after. John smiled at that and sat down next to his big brother. Just like Abigail showed him, he snatched the book from Arthur so deftly that by the time he reacted to the air in his hands, John had already managed to sneak a quick peek of the rough sketch. It wasn’t for longer than a few seconds, unfortunately, because Arthur was just as quick taking it back. John was also gifted a swift but firm slap to the back of the head. He thought he was twelve again, but just like then, he shook it off. 

“Why don’t you show him the sketch?” 

“Right, suppose I’ll just mosey up to him and say something foolish like, ‘Hey Charles come look at this sketch I have of you while I watched you chop wood for an hour!’ I’m sure he’ll be real keen on that, John. You moron.” 

“Sure, but then y’all get to chatting and then who knows what could happen from there.” 

John snuck a glance at his brother and his heart twinged a bit at the sight of someone he idolized (not like he’ll ever tell Arthur) for being the gang’s hero of sorts, look so helpless. 

“I ain’t good at talking to folks, John. My best skills is fighting and shooting. Ain’t much room for talk during those.” 

“Arthur you was nearly married.” 

He was considering mentioning Eliza too, but Arthur still shuts down hard whenever there might be room for her to be mentioned. 

“Mary’s different...she’s--” 

“A woman.” John finished. Arthur’s resigned nod and sad face was the answer. 

“What if Charles don’t...what if he don’t like men?” 

“What if he does?” 

“What if he don’t like me?” 

That sounded like it physically hurt Arthur to think that way, and John was not about to let Arthur doubt himself into not asking Charles. He wasn’t sure why Arthur forgot about that period before Mary where he fucked. Men and women alike. It was a short window of time but Arthur still owes John favors for covering for him all the times he snuck his lovers into camp. 

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. It’s like you said, John. I was nearly married, but I ain’t because she ain’t want me. She weren’t even the first to say that.” 

John never really cared much for Mary, and hearing how sad and insecure that break-up made him just makes him mad all over again. 

“I ain’t good enough for him.” 

John didn’t mean to have the conversation take this turn, Arthur was clearly upset enough that he sighed and left his spot on the grass. John watched as Arthur schlepped away to his tent. John turned his attention back to Charles, who had just taken a break from his chore. He was wiping sweat off his brow, his eyes caught John’s. He smiled and waved, John was more than happy to return the gesture. The topless man then walked over to him and joined him in Arthur’s old spot. 

“How are you, John?” 

“Reckon I could be better. Getting a bit restless, I’m probably going to head out soon.” 

Charles hummed. John suddenly had an idea. 

“Charles do you want to go hunting with me? I saw a bunch of rabbits not too far from here, and deer too, they was making babies all winter so there’s plenty of them.” 

Charles laughed and nodded. 

“Sure, I’ll grab my gear and meet you at the horses.” 

John tipped his head and waited for Charles to leave before darting over to Arthur, who still looked as miserable as ever, scribbling away in his journal. He was drawing Cain.  

“Arthur! Arthur let’s go hunting!” 

“I don’t want to, go away!” 

“I want you to come with me.” 

“Always nice to try somethings for ourselves, I reckon.” He deadpanned 

John was getting irritated, but he wasn’t going to stop. 

“Please Arthur? We ain’t really done much with each other outside of missions. You might not miss my company so much but some times...well...you know...” 

Arthur sighed loudly and John smiled, knowing that he won. Arthur put his journal away and then put his hat on. 

“Come on then, the sun’s about ready to start setting and ain’t no use hunting in the dark.” 

John was as giddy as a child and practically ran over to his horse. Charles was already waiting there. John wished he had a camera to capture the priceless face that he had when he saw Arthur walking over with him. It was sheer delight, and John nearly pummeled his brother for thinking that he wasn’t interested. When John looked at Arthur, the man’s face was pale as all hell. He had his lasso on-hand in case Arthur was thinking about booking it back to his tent. Instead, he shook it off and smiled at Charles. 

“Morning, Charles.” 

John wanted to laugh so bad. Arthur sounded like a love-sick teenager, he wasn’t even this bad with Mary! He even batted his eye lashes at him! Charles chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder. He rubbed it with his thumb. His thumb! John thought he was going to combust! He knew Arthur had a penchant for being stupid but he didn’t think Charles had a bit of the fool gene in him too. 

“John didn’t tell me you were coming with us.” 

Arthur giggled as he anxiously fiddled with his horse, Artie. She was a good girl.

“It’s funny...he ain’t tell me neither.” 

Arthur’s eyes flicked over to John’s and the man knew he was going to get his ass beat the moment they came back to camp. It would be worth it, he decided. 

Charles smoothly mounted Taima, and patted her gently. John could have sworn he saw Arthur swoon at the sight. This was bad, this was the worst he’d ever seen someone. He was definitely telling Tilly and Hosea about this. 

“If I had known, I would have dressed better.” 

John had never heard Arthur snort while laughing ever, but today was full of firsts for the both of them. The cowboy’s face was beet-red as he nervously laughed. Maybe John should have told him beforehand, but he didn’t want the man getting cold feet and never come. Charles started riding off, leaving the two brothers to follow. 

“Did John tell you what we were going to hunt?” Charles started the conversation. Arthur seemed to have calmed down, that was good. 

“No, did he tell you?” 

They were talking about him like he wasn’t right there. They really were made for each other. 

“Rabbits.” 

“Yeah cause y’all about to be fucking like them”, John thought. 

“I think I know what he’s talking about, there’s a clearing in the forest that’s just a bit further out from camp. We could spend the night there, since it’s already near sundown.” 

Charles flashed another smile at him and nodded. 

“Sounds like a good idea. You brought your bow?” 

Arthur pulled it from his horse’s holster. 

“Good. You’re really good with that thing. Didn’t even need to really teach you.” 

Arthur tipped his head downward so that you couldn’t really make out his face, but John was next to him and could see that he was grinning from ear-to-ear. It really warmed John’s heart to see him so touched. Only lover he had that was nearly as kind to him as Charles was Eliza. People weren’t truly kind to Arthur, very few were. John wasn’t very kind to him either, not after he deserted him for a year. But he was trying to make it up, Charles would be good for Arthur. Arthur just seemed so lonely most days and melancholic, besides himself, Hosea, and Sadie, Charles was the only other one to try and make him feel good about himself. Of course this is all considering the fact that they both love-sick buffoons who needed one non love-sick buffoon like John Marston to help them get together. It was working so far. 

They finally got to that clearing that Arthur mentioned and along the way, they saw rabbits, deer, and even a few turkeys. They were definitely going to have decent meals coming their way. Charles and Arthur were both dismounting when John whistled for Charles to come over to him. 

“Why are you still on your horse? Come down, set up camp with us.” 

“I’ll catch up with y’all later on, I think there was a...a...legendary rabbit up that way. It’s best if we split up to cover more ground, and y’all are better hunters than me so if you stay here you’ll catch all these critters.” 

Charles crossed his arms and smirked. He looked like he caught John’s drift but then maybe Charles just always looked charming. He exhaled and nodded after quiet deliberation. 

“Alright, but I’m telling Arthur before he starts to worry after you.” 

Before John could stop him, Charles turned and shouted, “John’s heading further up, he’ll come back tonight!” 

Arthur shouted back, “If you get into any trouble shoot your gun twice so we can come get you, you hear?” 

“Sure.” 

“You got water? Food? Bullets?” 

“Yes, Arthur!” 

“Don’t come back no later than noon neither, can’t have you running off on us again.” 

Arthur did this when he was a kid and he’s still doing it now. He was grown! He was twenty-six he knew how to pack for a hunting trip! He huffed and began walking away from the two of them. He found a patch of grass on a hill not more than five minutes away from them. When he got to the top he managed to coax his horse to lay down and have a nap with him. When they woke it was well past mid-night. Tiredly, he and his horse trudged back to the campsite where he found that the fire was still lit. He also realized that there was only two tents pitched up instead of three. He went to walk over to the second tent but he kicked an empty can of beans, and Artie got spooked because of it, she huffed two strong gusts of wind in his face. She also woke Arthur up. He came out of the tent with just his pants thrown on haphazardly. When he saw John standing there he put his hands on his hips. 

“You been gone all that time and ain’t bring nothing back? Ain’t you the one that wanted to hunt?”  

“He was a slippery bastard.” 

“Shut up, I see the drool marks on your face, idiot.” 

John crossed his arms. Arthur started to let up. 

“If you was sleeping then you wasn’t eating. Come on, Charles and I made a plate for you.” 

John realized that there were at least ten rabbits, two turkeys, and a buck who was big feller. His stomach growled when Arthur placed the plate in his hands. The food was still warm. It was beans, corn, and turkey. Much better than anything Pearson ever cooked. While he was scarfing it down, Charles came out of the same tent Arthur did, also half-naked. He was yawning while he walked over to Arthur and kissed the man on his bare shoulder. 

“Why did you leave?” 

“Because John came back and nearly let my horse die of shock.” 

Accused man swallowed his food and said very sternly, “I did not!” 

Charles woke up after hearing John’s voice and it was his turn to blush. Arthur’s composure was much better than earlier today. He was smiling at John teasingly. 

“Yes, you’ll be glad to know your little plan worked.” 

“Do I gotta leave camp again to let y’all finish or are you done?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and waved his little brother away as he turned to go back into the tent. 

“Shut up and go back to bed after you finish eating, that tent’s pitched over there for you. Charles and I will see you in the morning because I ain’t about to let you return to camp empty-handed.” 

Charles followed behind Arthur dutifully as they went back into their tent. Once the camp got quiet again all John could do was childishly mock him before doing exactly as he was told. 

At least Arthur got his man, though. 

[squidproquoclarice]

Sadie and Arthur's relationship frustrastes me. I played the game and took their scenes as flirting, like the whole Rhodes trip and even when she called him "honey" it was def not out of common courtesy. Every time I mention this on the Reddit though, I get attacked - "it's not flirting!" Like... Am I the only one taking this all as a romantic POV? Same with her saying Arthur is the best man she's known while the low hr he's the best friend? Like they say it was Charlotte but no way !!

Reddit can be a rough place, from what I’ve seen, and it seems like there are very firm opinions there about Arthur’s love interests.  In the greater sense, dude, y'all can ship whoever you want, because that’s the badass thing about fandom.  So long as it’s two consenting adults not hurting each other, fandom is your playground, and we’re all the better for it.  :D

Objectively, if we’re trying to discuss this as “Who was the cut love interest?” and divorcing it from any kind of opinion of “This is the only ‘real’ Arthur ship”, let’s go for it.  For Charlotte, I love that storyline, but I don’t see her as the love interest (maybe the woman she is in 1907 would have a shot, but not 1899).  She couldn’t have gone on missions with him.  She literally just lost her husband.  And it works as a story of two people who never would have met ordinarily coming together and making each other better, and Arthur having the chance to selflessly give of himself to help someone in need to help teach her to survive–the sheer patience and generosity of Arthur as a teacher in moments like hunting with Charlotte, fishing with Jack, and running the stagecoach job with Lenny gives me feels, I swear–and Charlotte seeing that goodness in him and validating it with her own kindness.  It’s a beautiful interaction, but pretty platonic.  That kiss on the cheek is lovely because it’s a genuine moment of human tenderness which Arthur really, really needs, but I don’t see it as anything but a sweet “thank you” on Charlotte’s part.  

Objectively, though. part of why I ship Sadie/Arthur is that I feel strong groundwork for it was pretty clearly laid in the game, and the indications seem to point hard to her being the intended love interest that was cut.  Like I’ve observed before, they immediately hit an easy banter on their Rhodes excursion that’s unusual in his interactions with women, and it continues into a strong dynamic in Chapter 6 where there’s still some of that lighthearted ease, but the mutual support and validation of each other is pretty intense as they go off on missions together.  She’s of a close enough age to him (early thirties, by the look of her) that it makes sense there.  He sketches her.  He writes admiringly about her.  She’s said, in her char descrip, to be “loyal to those she loves [emphasis mine]”, and we see how fiercely loyal she is to Arthur, to the point of trying to stay by him until the end, indicating the “love” mention is probably significant.  As observed, she very specifically compares him to her dead husband in terms of admiration for him, and she could have just left it as “You’re one of the best men I know” which would have been strictly platonic validation, but the comparison to Jake is a pretty strong romantic indicator.  She calls him “honey” and makes it obvious she wants to protect him.  There are a few unique relics in gameplay he doesn’t seem to have with others in camp, like the specific animation of her slapping him if he’s being an antagonistic asshole, and the fact that her item request occurs as a cutscene with additional dialogue rather than just the “Thanks!” you get from others.  All in all, Sadie is set apart in numerous small ways.

There feels like there’s something missing from her story, and her relationship with Arthur, given how she skips from the Shady Belle battle to being our fierce badass gurl in Chapter 6 holding the gang together.  I buy into the fan theory that Chapter 5 was bigger than just Guarma, and happened in New Austin/Blackwater too, and Sadie was far more involved in those missions.  There are screenshots of Sadie and Arthur in that area, riding out together, and the odd emptiness of the area in-game seems to support there having been plans there, plus there’s proof that Arthur has journal entries, the end of the dinosaur bone quest which requires access to that area, etc., so he was intended to be in those regions at some point.There’s mention that the love interest specifically had missions they did together, and Sadie and to some degree Karen are the only women riding with the gang acting as a triggerwoman.  Mary-Beth, Tilly, Molly, Susan, and Abigail really aren’t.  And I don’t see Karen as the love interest, though the same arguments could be used as are used for trying to claim it’s Mary-Beth (sharing a dance, having a counseling session), given her involvement with Sean, and grief at his death.  There are also more shots of Sadie on-mission that never showed up in the game (walking with the gang in Valentine in Chapter 2 or 3 given Sean is there, with John and Arthur at Bacchus Bridge with the dynamite, etc).

All in all, Sadie virtually has to be the cut love interest.  Like I said, I say that as part of why I ship it because it laid a great dynamic and strong groundwork that still remain there, but again, that’s not me saying Sadie/Arthur is somehow the only valid ship.  Fandom’s your playground, remember?  ;)  And I wish we had more of that cut content for her character to further develop some of those gaps, but I actually give R* some credit for not pulling the trigger–no pun intended–on a Sadie/Arthur romance in-game.  They’re both not in a good place.  And they made the choice at whatever point for Arthur to die in the end.  They seem to have backed off the love interest angle then, realizing that it “didn’t make sense [from a storytelling perspective]”, which seems to fit only Sadie in the end, or perhaps Karen.  There’s nothing keeping him from a tragic romance with Tilly or Mary-Beth or Penelope Braithwaite or anyone else.  But if we look at it objectively,  for a female character lose a deeply beloved husband violently, unexpectedly find love again so soon (almost too soon, IMO, which I think is part of why it “didn’t work”), then have that new love violently taken from her, and have both those deaths occur within about six months, is a pretty shitty thing to do to her.  To their credit, they seem to have chosen to not do Sadie dirty just so that Arthur could die having experienced a fully requited and validating romance.  And that’s unusual, because we all know plenty of female characters whose needs, or even their lives, have been sacrificed for a male character’s emotional journey.

So what we got is actually the best of both worlds.  There’s the respect for Sadie’s grief and their mutual emotional and psychological turmoil, but clearly, they do love each other.  The fact that it’s not transformed into a romantic love in-game doesn’t keep it from being a fairly profound platonic love that strengthens both of them at a terrible time in their lives (and unfortunately still hurts Sadie in losing it given her demeanor in the Epilogue) and promotes platonic love as being valid and valuable.  Like–I wish Arthur could only see how loved he actually is, by Sadie, by Hosea, by Abigail, by Lenny, by Jack.  And given more time after Chapter 6, like I’m writing in Sunrise, it’s easy for that love between them to eventually develop into a romantic love, while still having all the caring and support of a slow “friends to lovers” arc rather than focusing on romance from the get-go.Thank you for coming to my RED Talk.

[deputy-ripley-adams-blog]

I think you're the most beautiful man in the world

Morgan/Female Reader (smut)

I love my cowboy 💛

You could watch him for hours and sometimes you tried to, but most times he could feel your eyes on him and he'd catch you staring at him like some love sick puppy. Every time he caught you he'd give you one of those bashful smiles and messed with his hat as he bowed his head at you in greeting, you did what your instinct told you to do which was to retreat as quick as you could. Arthur Morgan was one of the most handsome men you had ever set your eyes on. The sad thing about this was that Arthur never seemed to know how handsome he was, many times you had heard him put himself down or compare himself to other men, you wished with all your heart to just tell him all the things you thought about him. Thinking about telling him is easy enough but actually telling him to his face was almost impossible, last time you had gone to tell him he had been sat on his cot, the button up shirt he wore was partly open and he had smiled softly at you with his journal in hand. You had started panicking instantly and as he had reached out for you to help, you ran out of his tent with a shout of 'goodnight!' despite it being only midday. The girls had been relentless about your last encounter, the fact you had screamed goodnight at a man for smiling at just 12 o'clock in the afternoon was the most hilarious thing in the world. Karen always offered to tell him for you and you are pretty sure that Mary-Beth is basing the new novel she's writing on your misfortune and pining, the only supportive one had been Abigail - she often sat with you and just talked about love and about knowing if someone was the one. And to you he was. Arthur Morgan was the love of your life and he didn't know and at this rate he was most likely never going to know.

You screamed into your pillow loudly. You had opted to spend the night at the Valentine hotel, you needed a pity party for yourself and this what you chose to do, you had a bar of chocolate and a bottle of whiskey on the bed you lay on, the pillow was pressed to your face as you face planted into it on arrival. At that all the other things on your mind crashed down on you, how sad did you look staying in a hotel on your own? You honestly felt like the saddest and most pathetic woman in the world, which you were - pining after a man who had only offered you small talk and smiles. But boy were those smiles something.

Knock Knock

You ignore it at first but then the banging becomes relentless and the door shakes as the door is pounded on. When the door handles starts being twisted you decide that it was probably smart to answer before that seedy hotel clerk busted the door down. Groaning you lift your head off the pillow and look towards the door, using the most polite voice that you can seemingly muster during your mental crisis you respond to the person who keeps knocking in hard taps,

"Sir I only want the room - no baths or anyone or anything needed thank you,"

The person on the other side stops their banging but their shadow doesn't leave from behind the door, "Y/N? You in there?"

You're pretty sure your eyes almost pop out of your head, quickly you lift yourself off the bed and look at the mirror, your hair is unruly from the pillow screaming and the shirt you're wearing is crumpled to pieces, you're also only in your underwear. The door handle is tugged again with a concerned call of your name. With a silent scream to yourself you pull at the shirt as if that'll help make it cover more of you and you open the door.

Arthur stood on the other side, he was shifting as he waited. He was in a soft,blue union shirt with the buttons undone, you had to control yourself and avoid looking at the exposed skin of his chest, that would be a key weakness and you had only your room to run into this time. There was no way past him if you wanted to bolt forward anyway. Arthur took up pretty much the whole door way with his bulk. He looked worried and slightly annoyed, his hair was damp near his ears and his neck was flushed which gave off the impression that he had been running around or striding quickly in his usual sort of movement.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong back at camp?" Your fingers gripped the door hard as you looked up at him, his chest was heaving slightly and you watched as his hand lifted to point right at you.

"What are you doing here? You didn't tell anyone where the hell you were?"

You had. You had told all the girls, you had told Mrs. Grimshaw and hell you even told Hosea who had suggested the idea in the first place.

"I did Arthur - I'm surprised no-one else told you I was here,"

He took a breath as he stopped his pointing only to cross his arms, he seemed annoyed which you couldn't understand so your grip on the door only tightened.

"You didn't tell me,"

Your eyes widen as you stare at him, "I have to tell you that I'm going to book a hotel?"

That caught him off guard, his whole body seemed to tense at your question, in typical Arthur fashion he bowed his head and shifted as if unsure of what to do with himself. When he looked back at you his mouth was in a straight line and his eyes flickered to you and then to your room as he tried to peer in.

"Arthur I'm fine, I'm just going to spend the night here and then I'll be back at camp in the morning,"

"Look I - I just wanted to make sure you was safe is all - could hear ya screamin from the other side - almost kicked the damn thing down - ya got someone in there with ya? He ain't hurting ya is he?"

He heard your pillow tantrum? Your face erupts into a deep blush as you look at the concern on his face, he averted your eyes when he saw your reaction but that didn't stop him from trying to look back in the room as if expecting the mystery man to reveal himself anytime soon.

"I - I - I'm alone! It's just me!"

Arthur didn't look convinced. He was a clear example of someone's reaction to listening to absolute bullshit. With a nod at you, he puts his hand near his holster and taps his fingers against his gun, "Then I guess ya won't mind me havin a little look then,"

You stammer as Arthur carefully manoeuvres you out of the way and pushes himself into the hotel room, you watch as his eyes scan the premise for any danger before settling on the crumpled cushion and the goodies on the bed. When he turns back to you his eyes widen when he takes you all in and you then realise that before you had been able to smartly conceal yourself behind the door, but now you were completely exposed - Arthur had been given a clear view of your underwear and the hairs on your body stood on end as he gave you a quick once over. He lets out an embarrassed cough as he adverts his eyes and with that you return to your previous seat on the bed and thrust the pillow into your lap as you cross your legs to hide yourself.

"See I'm fine,"

"I can see that,"

The room feels really warm now and you glance at the window thinking of a new escape plan.

"Doesn't explain the screamin though does it?"

You laugh slightly, which comes out as an awkward set of cough as you stammer again, "I - I - I just had to have a little moment. To ge - get it out of my system! Just a good old scream and cry to get the juices flowing,"

"Somethin the matter?"

You thought about his question, and all you wanted to do was scream yes at him as he stared down at you, you think about telling him but with him looking at you with those eyes you throat tightens. But this was your chance and like Abigail had said - you had to take it eventually. Besides if you didn't what were the chances that Mary Linton was finally going to get Arthur crawling back to her, her letters were more consistent and of course Arthur went back to her to help. If you didn't speak now you were going to lose him.

"Can you turn around?"

"Excuse me?"

"Just I got something I want to say but I need you turn around please,"

Arthur gives a bemused smile but does as you ask, his back faces you now and you stare at how broad it is, "Ya coulda just said my ugly mug was botherin ya,"

You knew it was supposed to come out as a joke, but you knew he wasn't, and that was the trigger point for you.

"I hate it when you say stuff like that, I hate it because it's far from true,"

"Y/N I w-"

Arthur begins to turn around but you quickly interject to stop him, "Turn around please! I'm not done," he twists his body back round thankfully, but his back is tense as he stands stiff.

"Arthur. God I thought it would be easier with you turned around! I - ah - I -"

"What?"

"I think you're beautiful Arthur,"

He snorts at that.

"I really do! I think you're one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen! And - and not just based on what you look like! You - you're kind and strong - I - I've seen how much you help others and how compassionate you are whether it's with the others or your horse and - and -"

You stumble on your words, something wet hits your hand and you realise you're crying, Arthur stills stand stiff still as he listens to you and seeing the reality of what you're doing you let out a choked sob, as quickly as you can you throw yourself off the bed and go for the door. Before you can reach for the handle the door is slammed shut in front of your face, bracing for impact you brace your hands against the door to prevent yourself from running face first into it, you lean your forehead in defeat against the cold of the wood as you continue to sob. Arthur is directly behind you, his hand braced above you to keep the door closed, his chest is against your back and you shift at how warm he is, you almost tremble as he leans into you so his face is closer to the top of your head.

"Ya had more to say?"

"I - I - I can't!"

"You can,"

"Arthur - I - I really can't,"

"I ain't letting you leave till you do,"

With shaky breaths you push your head further into the door, your nails dig into the wood as you try and focus on what to say, "I don't want you to hate me or be angry - I know you wouldn't be - but I don't want you to - to not talk to me again,"

"That'll never happen you know that,"

"I do,"

"Then just tell me, ya got something on your mind, ya have for a while now so just get it all out and then maybe ya can stop running away from me every damn time I go to talk to ya,"

With deep breaths you try and calm the beating of your heart, the thumping of it echoes in your ear drums and the pressure of Arthur breathing against your back isn't helping things.

"I - I -"

"It's okay darlin,"

Was it okay? It was too late to consider that because the long waited words had finally slipped out of your mouth and they came out loud and clear, "I love you Arthur,"

Time stands still. All you can hear is the frantic beating of your own heart and the small choked sobs that escape you every once in a while, Arthur is silent and you press further into the door as the tears start to fall more freely. You watch as Arthur's hands fall from the door, you watch as they seem to twitch before disappearing from view and then the unexpected happens when those fallen hands settle on your hips, his hands are unsure as he holds you but they're warm and steady when he pulls you towards him so his chin can rest on the top of your hair. You can feel the warmth on his breath against your head and you frown in confusion as he sighs against you.

"You know how long I've been waitin to hear that?"

Blinking your tears away you try and turn to look at him but he keeps you planted in front of him, "What?"

"Been waitin for you to say it first, I wanted to - god I've wanted to tell you since the damn party for Shaun but I - god I'm a coward,"

"You a coward? You're anything but Arthur, besides I was the one running away from you all the time,"

"You were, cutest damn run I've ever seen,"

You let out a hiccupy laugh and smile as you feel his chest rumble with laughter against your back, "You laughing at my well thought out escape plans?"

"Hmmm perhaps, saw how ya were lookin at that window earlier,"

You let a choked grumble as you fidget in his grasp, he laughs a bit louder and hugs you tighter, your hands remove themselves from the door and you grab at his hands that now intersect at your stomach. You stroke at the scar on his knuckle and he sighs softly against the top of your head, you writhe in his grasp as you try and spin yourself around in order to look at his face. He relinquishes his grasp ever so slightly so you can pivot and place your hands on his chest, now you can freely stare at his exposed skin and you almost snort at your small victory to be able to finally look at him like this and not feel like a creep. When you look at him he's staring right back at you with such an adoring expression, your face feels warm as he moves his hands to hold the small of your back, your own hands have moved from his chest to cup at his face. He's let his beard grow out a bit, a bit thicker than his usual stubble but it suits him all the same, your fingers trace his cheeks softly and gently touch at the tufts of hair that have fallen from under his hat, the curls just ended under his ears and you touch one as you breathe him in. The lingering smell of tobacco and sweat clings to his form, when you glance back at him his eyes are closed as he sighs, when he opens them again he smiles when he realises your eyes are on him again.

"What does this mean Arthur?"

He sighs as he spreads his fingers over your back and leans in so he can look you in the eyes, "Guess it means - my tent is gonna be a bit more crowded,"

You shake your head with a smile as you cup his cheeks in your hands, "What if I want to stay in my own tent?"

"Sorry ma'am I can't allow that,"

With a boisterous grin that lit up his face he picks you up which causes you to squeal loudly as he tosses you onto the bed, you bounce several times and you laugh when he fails to dodge the pillow you toss at him. You go for another one but he's on you in seconds, straddling your waist as he holds your wrists in his hands.

"Ma'am I'm gonna have ta ask ya to drop the pillow,"

Pouting you do and he snickers as you flinch when he starts tickling the palms of your hands with his fingers. Then you realise the position you're in with him leaning over you like that, he must realise it too, his grips loosens but he doesn't let go and he doesn't remove himself from your waist. His jaw tenses as he watches you, only one of his hands hold your wrists in place - the other cups your cheek and you can't help but lean into the warmth of it. Your stomach is filled with butterflies and your heart pounds, there's still that small fear of rejection but the feeling of love and want for him is overwhelming in comparison.

"Arthur I - I want-"

"I know,"

With that he grabs his hat and tosses it onto the nearby bed stand, and then he leans down and kisses you softly, his lips press ever so gently and sigh against his mouth as he presses a bit harder. Your hands flex in his grip wanting nothing more than to run your hands through his hair and down his back, he doesn't let go and the hand that once cupped your cheek moves to stroke the column of your neck. He pulls away after a few more quick kisses and looks at you, his hands trace your neck and then linger at your collarbones, his eyes flick from your own to your shirt and you get the message soon enough.

"It's okay,"

Nodding at you several times he releases your grip and leans back so you can sit up, your hands hold the hem of your shirt and you look at Arthur to make sure he's watching you: he is. Slowly you lift the edge of you shirt upwards, revealing the skin of your stomach and the outline of your ribs. You had nothing underneath, as you had plans to be alone the whole day so had no need to wear anything else in the room, Arthur isn't expecting to see you completely bare as his eyes widen comically when your shirt is fully removed and you're front is exposed to him. His eyes take in you all in and you fight the instinct to cover yourself as his eyes go from your stomach to your breasts and then back to your face. He coughs several times as if he is unable to formulate any sort of speech, which causes him to swear under his breath as he darts his eyes from your form to your eyes. With slow movements he shuffles closer onto the bed so he can reach a hand to touch you, he retracts at first as if unsure but when you smile softly at him he continues and cups a breast in his hand, his hand covers the whole of breast in a soft squeeze and you can't stop the small moan that leaves your lips.

"You're beautiful - god - I don't even deserve to be touching you like this. God! even seeing you like this - I don't -"

You move your hands to hold the back of his neck and you thread them together, "You do Arthur," with that you kiss him again.

The kiss is more heated this time around, his lips crash into your own desperately as if he couldn't get enough, one of his hand holds your breast giving the occasional squeeze and pinch, the other hand moves to the small of your back, slowly teasing downwards as if unsure if he can touch you further. You gasp when he pinches at your nipple and uses his fingers to cause them to harden almost painfully, as soon as your mouth parts open the warmth of his tongue invades, he licks at the roof of your mouth then to your own tongue as he kisses you like a dying man. Your hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls to bring him closer to you, he groans at every pull you do and his kisses become more confident. With shaky hands you push gently at his chest, Arthur chases your lips as you pull away, but when you refuse to kiss him again he stops and lets his nose brush against your own as he pants with you.

"This needs to go," your command is shaky as you try and regain your breath, your hands pulls at the blue fabric of his shirt.

"I'm not sure you want to see this sweetheart - I ain't as young as I used to be - not got much to offer,"

"Please,"

He does take it off, slowly and unsure but he does remove it. His chest is as broad and as perfect as you imagined, hair tufts  on his chest and more hair leads downwards to the edge of his trousers. He has some scars on his shoulders and ear his ribs but he is still stunning to you. Your hand traces his ribs and you repeat and up and down stroking motion on his chest, which causes him to sigh heavily. He's not skinny by all means, but he's thick and bulky, with strong arms and a presence of just pure strength.

"Like I said before, you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen,"

You press soft kisses to his chest as you rub the slightly red skin near his collarbones, he groans when your breasts connect with his bare chest and he can feel your nipples harden up against him. He leans in to kiss you again but you stop him with a hand over his mouth.

"If you want to continue you have to say I'm right,"

You almost laugh at the frown that takes over his features as he looks down at you, he's reluctant you can tell but you know he'll say it, whether he likes the idea or not. Pressing his forehead to your own he looks you in the eyes and you remove your hand and wait.

"You're right,"

Smiling brightly at him you loops your hands around his neck and with a laugh drag him back down on top of you, he immediately connects your mouth together in frenzied wet kisses as his hands brace themselves over you so he wouldn't crush you. The hair on his chest tickles you and you laugh in-between kisses, your fingers continue to pull at the strands of his hair as you melt under Arthur's touch. You notice how he keeps moving against you, the hardness of him presses against you, you look at him with heated eyes and he gives you another kiss before moving from your lips to your neck. He presses wet kisses from your throat down to your breast where he kisses at the bud of your nipple, your hands grasp at his hair as he latches him mouth onto it and suckles, breathy moans escape your lips as his other hand cradles your unoccupied one. Fingers tease at your left nipple, whilst his mouth continues to suckle at your right one, you groan when he pulls away and he offers small licks as an apology to the sore bud. His kisses and nips travel downwards, from your stomach to the plush of your thighs and then he stops as he hovered over your clothed sex. With a look at you for permission in which you nod quickly, he delivers a long lick to the cloth of your panties, one of his hands grabs the flesh of your left thigh as he spreads your leg so he can move closer to the silk of your underwear. Eventually he stops his teasing to pull at the clothing and yank it away off you, it lands somewhere on the floor but before you can worry about your lost underwear he is back in-between your thighs as he licks at you again. Your hands grab at the sheets of the mattress as you cry loudly as he drinks you in, his hands soothe at your thighs and keep them open, preventing you from closing them around his head to bring him in closer. His tongue plunges in and out of you and the tickle of his facial hair only stimulate the feeling further as he presses his face so hard into you. Occasionally, he'll pull back and let his tongue trace over the lips of your vagina before sticking it back into your folds causing you to moan out gibberish as you writhe under him. You scream when one of his hands moves from your thigh to play with your clit, he rubs slowly and finally he allows himself to tease a finger into your opening. You sigh in relief when the first finger enters you but before long when he slips in the second you're writhing against his hand trying to push his digits deeper inside you, he sucks hard at your clit and soon enough the heat in your stomach becomes too much, you don't want to finish so soon so you try and move yourself away from his mouth. Arthur only groans and tries to pull you back to him, but you don't relent much to his disappointment as he continues to drag you back to him.

"Arthur! Stop! I - I - just not yet! Please!

With a sigh against your clit which causes you to shiver he moves back, with a slow and steady movement he withdraws his fingers from you. With a few kisses to your thigh he sits up between your legs and looks you in the eyes as he brings one to his mouth and licks. You bring your hands to your face in embarrassment as he does this and all he does is laugh at you, when you peek from behind your fingers you see that his hands are twitching patiently at his sides and you flush brightly at the wet around his mouth and how it shines across his lips. Your eyes drag from his mouth to his crotch which his hands are twitching by, he presses uncomfortably from what you can see judging by the hard outline of himself.

"Off,"

With fumbling hands Arthur removes his trousers, he pauses at his last garment of clothing, he presses hard and thick against the cloth and you sigh in anticipation as he pulls it off himself. He hisses as the fabric brushes against him, but when he's completely free from the confining material he groans softly. When you reach out for him to repay the favour, he waves a hand at you.

"I'm good ta go darlin, just need to know if you are,"

You nod at him and he nods back at you in silent understanding. His hand holds the base of himself as he strokes slowly, he shuffles himself forward in the process so your legs spread wider to accommodate him. He groans as he touches himself as he stares directly at you, with his hand he lines himself up with you, your legs wrap around his waist and he drapes over you so his mouth is a breath away from your own. He twitches against your opening and you moan as you wrap your arms around his neck, his free hand holds himself over you as he stares deep into your eyes.

"Are you sure you really want this darlin?"

Smiling up at him with watery eyes you kiss him quickly, "I do. Have done for a while,"

He kisses you softly as he smiles back at you, "Me too,"

Arthur shifts closer and your arms wrap around his neck hard as he shifts against your entrance, you choke on your breath when he slowly pushes in. He's a lot bigger than you could have imagined, it hurts for a moment but you feel complete when he fully settles inside of you. His hand releases himself after guiding himself inside you and instead grabs at your thigh and brings you in closer so he's connected deeply inside you. Your breath is shaky against his mouth which his parted open in short breaths as he stills for a moment, he waits for you to shift your hips before he starts moving. You drag him back down to your lips as he moves against you, he moves slowly but deeply inside you as he grinds you into the mattress, the kisses are less coordinated but filled with passion as you cling to him hard. His slow motions have resorted to deep thrusts that have you clinging hard onto his back as he moves harder and deeper inside you, with a hard kiss to your mouth he pulls away and presses his face into your neck as he pulls out completely and thrusts himself back into you hard. You scream and dig your nails into his back as he repeats the motions, the speed and strength as his thrusts increases as he moans into your neck and at the drag of your nails against the wet of his back. He mouths breathlessly at your neck and kisses hotly at any bit of skin he can get to, you grip him like a life line as his thrusts become relentless, they shake your body as your breasts press hard against his chest, the drag of his chest against your nipples heightens the feeling in your stomach drastically.

"Arthur - Arthur!"

You cry his name as he pounds into you, he groans your own name into your ear before clamping his teeth into the junction of your neck as he rocked into you, you gasp as the feeling in your stomach returns and your toes curls as you cling to him, Arthur groans as you tighten around him and releases your neck to kiss you again as the hand on your thigh drops to touch your clit. He rubs quick, hard circles as he kisses you hard and you wail loudly as he hits just the right spot.

"It's okay darlin - come on - you can do it,"

He pinches hard at your clit in-between frenzied thrusts, and with a cry of his name you orgasm, shaking hard against him as you tighten your grip around him. Arthur groans loudly into your neck and curses as he shifts so he can angle deeper, his hand leaves your clit to pull your leg over his shoulder as he frantic thrusts push into you, when you moan his name he dives forward crash his lips into your own and groans loudly into your mouth as he releases inside you. You coo at him as he shakes above you, your hands stroke over the muscles of his back and your legs cling to his hips. You kiss him softly as you hold him close, he returns your kisses with the same softness and you almost start crying again as he whispers multiple 'I love yous' against your lips, you just kiss him harder and smile at him whispering the same thing. When he pulls out of you, you both gasp at the feeling causing the hand holding Arthur up to drop , in which he collapses on top of you. Your hands stroke at his hair, which is damp with perspiration, you leave tender kisses to the top of his head as he shuffles downwards to lie against your breasts. 

"You sure this is okay?"

"More than okay sweetheart," Arthur kisses your chest softly as he tiredly raises his eyes to meet yours.

As your hands play with hair you think back to earlier on, "I'm still surprised no-one told you I was here,"

"Oh they did,"

Your hands freeze at your ministrations and Arthur groans at that, "Then why did you lie? Why were you so angry?"

"Karen told me you was with a man,"

Of course, you think, Karen was the one of all people to start trouble.

"You must have been surprised that I wasn't,"

"I was thankful - meant I still had a chance,"

"You always will with me Arthur,"

You both smile at each other, and with an over exaggerated yawn from him he drops his face suddenly back into your chest which causes you to laugh loudly with surprise.

"That means no more runnin away darlin,"

"And that means no more insults about yourself, you're beautiful,"

"Hmmm - you're right. I must be something special to end up with someone like you,"

[annaphoenix1994]

Colter - Enter, Pursued by a Memory (2)

"Goddamn, this cold!" Arthur groaned as he entered the morning freeze, using the sole of his boot to light the match for his cigarette, taking a long and slow puff of the tobacco as if his life depended on it. He forced himself to walk through the snow, mentally preparing himself to feel the cold wind cling to his skin through his clothing.

He rushed into the main cabin, seeing Missus Adler struggling to stay warm while she kept her distance from everybody else while Abigail Roberts, Tilly Jackson, and Mary-Beth Gaskill were surrounding the hearth for warmth. "Hello, Arthur," Abigail started as Arthur chucked a fresh log into the small fire.

"Abigail." He replied gruffly, holding his palms to the fire.

"Arthur...how you doing?" She said nervously as she approached him. He looked at her nervously, taking her in. He had always scolded himself for not marrying her when he had the chance, but he knew that wasn't how things were supposed to be. He cared deeply for her and young Jack, but in a way, he still loved her from when she had been friendly with not only him, but almost every man in the gang at one point.

He gulped as he held those memories at bay, where they needed to be, "Just fine, Abigail, and you?"

"I need you to...I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry to ask but..." She stuttered.

"It's little John...He's got himself into a scrape again." Arthur replied with annoyance and a bit of jealousy coating his voice. He brushed her off as he continued to find warmth from the fire.

"He ain't been seen in two...two days!" Abigail protested.

"Your John'll be fine," Arthur said, opening his arms at her. He hated arguing with her, but she needed to hear it. "I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks and as dull as rusted iron but that ain't changin' because he got caught in some snowstorm!" He argued.

"At least go take a look," Hosea intervened as he closed the book he was reading to young Jack. "Javier?"

"Yes?" Javier Escuella replied, looking up from cleaning his gun.

"Javier, will you ride out with Arthur and take a look for John?" Hosea asked. "You're the two best-fit men we've got."

"Now?" Javier questioned, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette.

"She's...we're all...we're pretty worried about him." Hosea continued, taking note at the look of jealousy on Arthur's face as well as a bit of concern eating at him.

Hosea had played a major role in Arthur's life in the earlier years, seeing Arthur as a son to him. He could tell when things were bothering him or when he was keeping something to himself. Hosea knew Arthur and Abigail had a brief romantic history and that Arthur at some point thought that young Jack was his son, but he couldn't stop Abigail from falling in love with John Marston, who was his fellow brother, but also his competition.

"I know if the situation were reversed, he'd look for me." Javier said as he handed Arthur his sewed-off shotgun. Arthur nodded as he took the gun before turning on his heels, pushing out Abigail's 'thank you's out of his head as he walked through the doorway.

"This way! Last I know, John was headed up the river!" Javier said over the wind as he took the lead.

"For all we know, he kept ridin' north and never looked back," Arthur grunted, bowing his head so that the brim of his hat would shield his face from the wind.

"He wouldn't leave. Not like that." Javier doubted.

"Well, wouldn't be the first time," Arthur replied, clutching the reins tighter, wishing he had on two pairs of gloves instead of one. He and Javier trekked north, both of them encouraging their horses to continue on their journey. Arthur may not have had a bond as strong with this horse like he did with Boadicea, his fallen horse after the failed ferry robbery in Blackwater, but the mahogany bay stallion was pushing through. "Good boy!" Arthur encouraged as he gave the stallion an encouraging pat to the neck. "So... You were there, Javier, what really happened on that boat?" He asked.

"We had the money, it seemed fine, then suddenly they were everywhere," Javier explained.

"Bounty hunters?" Arthur guessed.

"No, Pinkertons. It was crazy. Raining bullets," Javier continued as the horses were now on steeper terrain. "Watch out for this crevice!" He warned. "Dutch killed a girl in a... bad way, but it was a bad situation."

"That ain't like him, though." Arthur replied.

"They continue along the cliff wall here!" Javier said, referring to the horse tracks he and Arthur found shortly after they left camp. "Davey got shot. Mac and John... Both shot too. Sean, we don't even know. I'm surprised we escaped at all. By the time you boys showed up from the other side of town, we were only just holding on." Javier continued.

Arthur sighed, "Bad business alright."

They were now trotting through fresh snow, which was too much for Arthur's liking, so he decided to slow his horse down to a walk as he knew the fresh and deep snow had to be hard on his horse. "You're alright boy," He encouraged. "The horses are struggling."

"Yeah, a lot of fresh snow here."

"I don't know about this, Javier. W-we can't follow nothing." Arthur doubted.

"Let's push on a little bit, maybe we'll pick up the trail again," Javier encouraged as their horses continued to push on up the steep embankment.

"Almost there, boy, c'mon now!"

"Hey, look! Over there, you see that?" Javier pointed as the men stopped their horses before nudging them to a lope. Upon closer inspection, it was a deceased horse. "John was riding that horse when we left Blackwater." Javier sighed.

"Oh... That's..." Arthur grunted. He didn't mind killing an animal when it came to hunting but seeing a dead horse hurt him on the inside. Aside from a buck, horses were his favorite animal as they represented so much freedom, beauty, and spirit. Something Arthur wrote fondly about in his journal was Boadicea. He sighed as he looked away from the deceased animal before turning his attention back to Javier.

"Let's see if he can hear us!" Javier said before firing his revolver, the gunpowder echoing through the icy canyon and empty mountains.

"Hey! Help! Here!"

"Come on... Up there!" Javier suggested as he pushed Boaz into a steady lope up the embankment.

"Hello? Over here!"

"It's coming from up ahead somewhere. I don't think we can go much further on the horses. We'll have to walk from here." Javier said as he dismounted Boaz. "I'd grab that shotgun from your horse. Who knows what's up ahead."

───※ ·❆· ※───

"That's quite a scratch you got there." Arthur said as he and Javier were now looking at John Marston from over the cliff he had sought shelter.

John looked up at the pair with his new three lacerations, "Never thought I'd say this, but it's good to see you, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur sighed as he eased himself down to where John was, looking him over briefly, "You don't look so good." He said as he slung John's arm over his shoulders.

"I don't feel too good neither," John groaned as Arthur easily lifted the man up, helping him get atop the cliff so Javier could help. "I'm freezing!"

"Don't die just yet, cowboy." Arthur said as he hoisted himself back up before slinging John over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, slowly walking behind Javier as he figured out a way to get back to the horses without having to go through the rough terrain they had encountered on foot.

"You see that on the ridge?" Javier said as distant howls echoed from afar. Arthur felt John shift his weight as he was still slung over Arthur's shoulder, looking up at what damage the animals had caused.

"Shit," Arthur mumbled as he helped John to his feet. "I'll distract them while you get to the horses. Go, I'll draw 'em off you." He insisted.

"Let's get back to the others!" Javier exclaimed after Arthur had successfully terminated the three wolves after a brief scrapple. Arthur clutched his wrist to rid the pain as he had gotten bitten, but it luckily didn't pierce through his skin, only his coat.

"I don't feel too good," John complained.

"You'll be fine. It's just like a...a dog bite."

John sighed, "I knew a feller, got bit by a dog. Died an hour later."

"You ain't gonna die! Not yet-" Javier assured. "More of 'em to the right!" He shouted.

Arthur quickly pulled out the sewed-off shotgun Javier had given him, hoping that his new horse wouldn't spook too bad from the shots and the wolves coming at his fetlocks. "Easy boy!" Arthur said as he shot two wolves quickly, regaining control as his horse's natural instincts took over.

"You see any more, Arthur?" Javier called.

"Don't think so." He grunted.

"Jesus!" John whined.

"You still with us, Marston?" Arthur teased.

"Just about." He groaned.

"You're gonna be okay. We have some shelter now." Javier assured.

"Thanks for coming for me."

"Of course. That bullet in Blackwater, now this? You had a hell of a time."

"And Arthur always says... I'm lucky." John croaked.

"You know, we're gonna need to come up with a better story for that scar!" Arthur teased as the horses trudged through the current of the river in an attempt to cover up their scent.

"So, freezing, bleeding, starving, damn near getting eaten to death, ain't good enough for you?" John questioned.

"Yeah...c'mon. Let's push hard and get back."

"See those buildings up ahead John? That's where we're camped. Nearly there." Javier assured as the camp was inching closer.

"Come on! Someone help John down off this horse!" Javier exclaimed.

"Can we get some help here?" Arthur intervened as he pulled his horse to a halt, dismounting as he heard the main cabin's door squeak as Abigail came running out. "You're alive! Oh, you're alive!" Abigail cried as she gripped onto John's jacket.

"Ay, careful idiotas, it's his leg!" Javier warned as he was still atop Boaz.

"Come on, let's get you warm!" Abigail said as Bill was acting as a crutch for John, leading him to the cabin. "Thank you! Thank you both!"

Arthur and Javier nodded as they were soon joined by Hosea and Leopold Strauss. "Thank you, Arthur. Thank you." Hosea said, patting his shoulder.

"You got any other lost maidens need savin'?" Arthur groaned.

"Yeah, that Minnie Barlow," Hosea teased, referring to the brief conversation he and Dutch had about the woman after they brought Sadie Adler to camp, Dutch explaining to Hosea that Arthur had kept asking questions about the fellow outlaw relentlessly, making it clear to Dutch and Hosea that he may be under the impression of a crush, which Hosea loved to play "matchmaker."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Arthur scoffed. Hosea chuckled as Javier and Leopold Strauss retreated slightly, "Dutch told me about your crush."

"Whatchu talkin' about? I don't have no crush!" Arthur blushed.

"You're forgetting that we know you better than you do, Arthur. Since when have you been so curious about an outlaw when you're an outlaw yourself?" Hosea questioned. Arthur shook his head as he wanted to get the topic of love interests from his head. 'Yeah, like a woman like that would have me anyways.' He scolded to himself.

"Have you and Dutch talked about how we're gonna get out of this?" Arthur asked, changing the subject.

"I was just discussing with Herr Strauss when the weather breaks I suppose we'll have to keep heading east."

"East? Into all of that civilization?" Arthur objected.

"I know," Hosea replied. "The west is where our problems are worse. C'mon, Herr Strauss, let's get warm."

Arthur nodded as he thrust through the snow, rubbing his palms up and down his upper arms in an attempt to generate heat, but he felt as if he was getting nowhere. He quickly shut the door to the cabin, retreating to his room for a brief bit of isolation, something that he needed. He had a sudden urge to write as if nothing that was going on even mattered. He sat on the edge of his cot, pulling the nightstand closer to him to make a table:

𝓦𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓼. 𝓦𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓪𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓲𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝔀. 𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻.