#and i can imagine she's close and familiar with hosea.

[sweet-by-and-by]

Baptized In Your Name - Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

summary: The rugged stranger who found her at her lowest turns back up on Charlotte Balfour’s doorstep, offering help as she navigates her new life in the remote wilderness. Determined as hell, she lets him teach her a thing or two about guns, and finds herself offering her own help in turn. But as questions of his past bubble to the surface, will she find the man she believes him to be, or will she learn of a darker side? word count: 3819 pairing: Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

AO3

The Northern air had always been healing. Arthur took a deep breath in, the fresh air from the Northern Kamasana River calming and crisp.

He had travelled across the Eastern Grizzlies after his ride with Rains Falls. He decided to take the long way back to camp, needing some time away after all his talk of ghosts. Away from Dutch, from John, from everyone who reminded him of everything he had lost.

The painful memories played in his mind as he rode through the mountains. He rode down into Roanoake Ridge, stopping as he approached the fork in the road at Doverhill. He chuckled at the memory of the mad scientist there, a frown settling across his face as he recalled another life lost. He wondered if he was cursed, if to meet him was to meet the angel of death itself.

It had been a few days since he found the widow of Willard’s Rest, Arthur thought to himself as he hesitated at the crossing of pathways. He eyed the road to his right, the one that would take him back to camp. His frown deepened at the thought of seeing Dutch just yet, and he spurred his horse Eastward.

It didn’t take long before he was turning off the main path towards Charlotte’s cabin. He savoured the beautiful scenery, idly watching a buck stand guard over his family as they sipped from the river’s edge.

He startled at the sound of gunfire, his attention drawing towards the sound. He reached for his holster, ice running through his veins as he realized the gunshots were coming from Willard’s Rest.

He dug his heels into his horse’s side, the loyal beast sensing his panic and darting off towards the cabin. Visions of robbers and bandits danced across his mind, fearing what he would see when he rounded the bend up towards the cabin.

He pulled his horse to a stop as he crossed through the gate, eyes scanning the homestead to assess the situation. His brows furrowed in confusion when he saw that Charlotte was alone, and he quickly holstered his weapon before she could take notice.

“Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed as he swung out of the saddle. His worries drained away at the tone in her voice and the beaming smile she wore as she turned to greet him.

He took in the state of her, his confusion only deepening at the rifle in her hands. He tried to focus as she thanked him again for the rabbit, doing his best to keep his concern off of his face. He had only just met the woman, but he found himself worrying for her already.

He listened as she told him of her plan to shoot at some bottles, his heart lifting at the excitement in her eyes.

He offered his tips, his heart racing as he leaned in close to her. He shuffled slightly as he adjusted her stance, begging his hands to stay steady as he pointed down the barrel to guide her aim.

They worked together to improve her shooting, and by the end of their session Arthur was impressed. She may not be taking on Annie Oakley anytime soon, but he could see she took pride in her gained skills and her determination was infectious.

“Thank you for everything,” she smiled, her melodic voice drowning out his thoughts. “Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”

Arthur nodded, not daring to speak as his chest tightened. His heart hammered at the invitation, hammering against his ribs. He followed her into the cabin and glanced around her home. The solid wood logs were familiar to him, but the decorative touches screamed of rich inhabitants. Arthur felt starkly out of place against the backdrop of luxury. He awkwardly took a seat in the ornate dining chair at Charlotte’s prompting.

He looked around and took in the rest of the cabin, and could practically hear Hosea scolding him for his gawking. Her home was full of beautiful items, the likes of which Arthur had never seen in a cabin in the woods.

He whipped his head around at the sound of the stew pot slamming down on the table, Charlotte’s hiss at the heat drawing his eyes to her. He smiled politely as she dished up his dinner, passing it to him with a “bon appetit”.

“Huh?” he slipped out before he could stop himself, and he quickly cursed his muddled response. Charlotte spoke of Aristotle with grace that would have Dutch draped at her feet, and here Arthur was sounding like some back country hick in Murfree territory.

“Please, enjoy,” she said, her eyes casting downwards in embarrassment. Arthur felt himself flush at the realization he thought it was cute, casting his own gaze down to a spoonful of stew. “And thank you again, for everything. I really am grateful.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” he dismissed, scraping his spoon against the porcelain bowl to keep himself busy.

“You’re a good man,” Charlotte said decidedly, turning away before she could see him react. He was taken aback by her conviction.

“Oh, you don’t really know me,” he murmured, his conscience heavy with the weight of misleading a poor widow. He thought of his deeds, of the list he could give her to prove his case.

“I know enough,” she retorted, busying herself around the kitchen.”There’s always more to find in ourselves, you helped me to see that.”

“My husband Cal was such an optimist,” she said fondly as she took her seat across the table from him, “I found that to be quite contagious. We were both born with the silver spoon...banquets, butlers, valets,” she trailed off.

“Sounds awful,” Arthur chuckled, a cough working its way through his chest. His ears rang and his vision wavered as he tried to suppress it. He blinked to clear his eyes, listening pointedly as Charlotte told him of her father and her fear of being crushed by the wilderness.

“Well, I reckon you’re gonna be just fine,” he coughed, struggling against his labouring breath.

“Are you alright?” Charlotte asked, her worry evident. His coughing worsened but he waved her off, rising to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he stammered, rising to his feet. The spell he was under broke, and he realized the risk he was putting her at by having come in for dinner. He rushed to get himself out the door, out of her home and away from her with his disease. The angel of death had forgotten his place, let himself enjoy Charlotte’s company and foolishly put her in danger.

“Thank you for this,” he struggled, staggering forward as the room spun around him. He forced himself to keep going, splatters of blood peppering his fist as he coughed even harder. “I think,” he wheezed, “it’s best if I just-”

And he was down on his knees.

He heard Charlotte rush towards him as he collapsed to the floor, trying to keep her back as his body shook. His lungs burned and his abdomen ached, rendering him helpless as he curled into himself.

“Stay right there,” he faintly heard, “it’s going to be okay.”

The melodic promise carried him away as darkness swallowed him.

--

He startled awake, another cough bringing him back to life. This one was less debilitating, just the usual tickle through his chest and throat.

He propped himself onto his elbows, looking around to register his surroundings. He forced himself to roll onto his side, pushing himself to a seat with a groan. He shook his head and ran his hand down his face, stopping to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth. He glanced around again and noticed a note at his bedside, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he leaned forward to reach for it.

“My Dear Arthur,” he read, blinking at the words before him. His face sunk as he recalled his letter from Mary just a few days before, the same greeting pulling at his heartstrings.

He smiled as he read the rest of the letter, fought through the confusion from the sleep-addled fog that still clouded his mind. He admired her penmanship, her decorative sprawl surely a result of her higher education.

He scowled at her words about the money in the jewelry box. He knew she had plenty, but his stomach turned at the idea she thought his visits were for some kind of payout. He tucked the letter away, reaching around the jewelry box for his hat. He stood, glaring at the box that stashed the bills as he pushed past the door and into the main room.

True to her letter, Charlotte was out hunting. He took another chance to gaze around the room, no memory of Hosea’s reprimanding stopping him this time. A fire roared in the great stone hearth, warming the cabin from the slight chill in the morning air. This far North the chill lingered late into Summer, and Arthur was grateful as a shiver crept down his spine.

Though he wasn’t sure the cold was to blame for that.

He looked at the fine furniture, wondering to himself how much they had brought from Chicago. He was sure it wasn’t purchased around here, though he supposed it could have been shipped up through Annesburg.

He looked at the pictures in their frames, photographs and paintings decorating the dark wooden walls. He was struck with a longing to stay, to hang his own photos alongside her relatives.

His heart ached as he continued to look around the cabin. He imagined a life here, of coffee brewed on cold mornings and conversation shared over breakfasts. The fancy furniture would take some getting used to, but he could easily see himself settling into it. Could even imagine the patter of small feet running across the floors, the chime of a child’s laugh bouncing off the walls.

He shook his head to clear that thought, the echo of ghosts rattling in his skull. He turned to the door, walking towards it as he left those images behind. There was no point in pining for something so intangible. All just hopelessly romantic dreams of a life he stopped deserving long ago.

He pushed the front door open and stepped out onto the porch. His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun, and he faintly wondered how long he’d been out for. A misty fog hung low in the air, the weather seeming to reflect his somber thoughts.

Arthur sighed and stepped down from the porch, greeting his horse from across the homestead. He strolled down the path at a leisurely pace, trying to savour the last few moments before mounting up and heading back to camp. He approached his steed with a pat on the neck, wiping away some dirt from their journey. Arthur noticed the horse’s trepidation to his touch, his own hair rising on the back of his neck. He was suddenly overwhelmed by an encroaching feeling of being watched.

He reached into his saddle compartment and pulled out his rifle, gripping it tightly as he checked the chamber. He looked for cover, but found nothing useful in sight.

“Well look who decided to make an appearance!” a voice cried out from the woods. Two men on horseback emerged from the thicket, guns already drawn and aimed.

Bounty hunters.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Arthur warned, “payday ain’t worth the risk you’re about to take.”

“I dunno,” the other one snickered, “they really seem to want you. I reckon we could get ‘em to ten thousand if we brought in that lovely lady of yours too, I bet she’s got all kinds of things to say.”

The first man hummed, his eyes darkening, “If we even hand her over,” he smirked devilishly.

Arthur growled, his fists clenching around the cool metal of the rifle. His lips cured up in a snarl as rage rushed through his veins. Before he could think, his barrel was pointed between the man’s eyes and a bullet ripped through the air. Arthur quickly dispatched the other one, whose bolt was still half-cocked in loading when his body slumped down the side of his horse.

Arthur heaved as his rage coursed through him, snorting furiously and spitting at his feet. He fought back another cough, not willing to let his victory be spoiled by another fit.

He watched as their horses took off, throwing their heads back and whinnying as they galloped away. He sighed and shook his head, slinging his rifle across his back as he went to get rid of the bodies.

He whistled for his horse, who met him dutifully as he hoisted the first bounty hunter up. He slung the body over the horse’s rear, the man’s arms and legs dangling morbidly as he hung from the beast. He reached down to lift the other hunter over his shoulder, and he whistled again for his horse to follow him.

They walked the bodies down to the water, stashing them behind a rocky coverhang at the base of the waterfall. He quickly washed the blood from his coat in the pool of the river, hoping it wouldn’t stain. He wasn’t sure how much laundry the girls were doing anymore, not that he would be in camp long enough to have it washed anyway. His stops there were getting shorter and shorter between Dutch’s errands, the state of the camp only adding to his souring temperament.

Once he was satisfied with his cleaning, deciding it wouldn't get much better than this, he walked back up the hill to Willard's Rest. He wanted to make sure there was no trace of the bounty hunters left, get their horses good and gone before Charlotte returned from hunting. He held back another cough, frustrated by the ache in his lungs. He had barely done any heavy lifting, nothing that would even have him breaking a sweat a few months ago, but now he could feel himself on the edge of exhaustion.

He passed under the wooden arch and paled when he spotted Charlotte standing on the front porch. She held a hat and a pistol in her hands, remnants he had missed from the bounty hunter’s corpse. He sighed and cast his gaze down to his feet, keeping his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat as he approached her.

She turned to look up at him, her confusion evident as he drew nearer. Her mouth opened as if she was going to speak, but no words came.

"Mrs. Balfour," Arthur murmured, stopping when he reached the steps of the porch. He kept his head dipped, resting his hands on his gunbelt and waited for her to speak.

"Please, it’s Charlotte" she said, looking between him and the hat in her hand, "is everything alright? I found this by the gate, a-and there was blood in the dirt…"

Arthur said nothing, just refused to meet her gaze.

"Did something happen? Are you alright?" she asked, her tone more insistent. Arthur heard worry in her voice, foolishly hoping she was afraid for him, not of him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, "some...some men came lookin up here, tryin' to find somethin'."

"Oh my," she gasped, "did you chase them away? What on earth would they be looking for up here? Perhaps it was Cal's relatives, I wrote to them regarding his...incident."

Arthur almost smiled at the innocence in her eyes, but the weight of the situation kept him serious.

“No,” he drawled, shifting uncomfortably where he stood, “they-uh. They were lookin’ for me. Bounty hunters,” he admitted after a long pause.

He watched Charlotte’s expression shift as she realized what he was saying. He waited for the moment she kicked him off of her porch, shooed him away like the mangy dog he was.

“You’re a criminal,” Charlotte said simply. Her tone was dangerously even.

“I told you, you don’t really know me,” he warned, “I’m not a good man.”

He cringed as Charlotte unconsciously took a step away from him. The action cut through him, made his shame swell and his chest ache. He knew he deserved it and so much more..

The two of them stood there for a moment, tension hanging thick in the morning air. Arthur turned away, clenching his hands into fists at his side and hung his head as he walked away from the cabin. “You don’t want me,” he said forcibly. “I’ll leave. You won’t have to worry about seein’ me no more.”

“What kind of outlaw would just leave?” Charlotte called out, and Arthur froze at her words.

“What?” he gaped. He turned to face her, finally looking up.

“Should I expect to go in and find that you’ve robbed me blind?” she asked.

“No,” Arthur said slowly.

“And will you turn your gun on me and force me to lie with you?”

“No!” Arthur sputtered, appalled that she would even suggest it.

“Well, I’m not sure you’re quite the bad man you seem to think yourself,” she said, her face set with that same determination that he admired so much. She stepped down from the porch and walked slowly towards him. “In the city, everything is painted so black and white. But out here,” she gestured to the forest that surrounded them, “I see clearly now that there are so many shades of grey.”

She closed the last of the distance between them and reached out to rest her hand on his arm. He felt himself relax at her touch, noticing the sweet scent of her perfume that mingled with sweat from her hunt.

She placed her other hand under his chin, dragging his gaze up to meet hers. “You’re a good man,” she said, the steadiness of her voice and the fire in her eyes almost too convincing, “I can feel it in you.”

Arthur didn’t dare to move, barely dared to breathe. Worried that at any moment he would wake to see the waxed canvas of his tent and find that all of this was just some far-fetched dream. His eyes searched Charlotte’s, looking for some kind of trickery or deceit. All he could see was kindness, and he found himself leaning forward against his better judgment.

He startled when his lips pressed against hers, surprised by their softness. It had been some time, but he didn’t remember it feeling this easy in the past. Not even Mary, whose secret, stolen kisses always gave him such a rush.

He was shocked to feel Charlotte return his affections; kept waiting for her to push him away. Instead, she met him with a soft passion that entranced him, made him unable to stop himself from running his tongue along her bottom lip and deepening the kiss.

She opened to him willingly, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in close. Their tongues danced, the taste of coffee on her lips swirling around the cigarette smoke that lingered on his. Nothing else existed in that moment; not bounty hunters or wolves or even Dutch and his plans. Nothing mattered but the taste of her on his tongue, the soft fabric of her shirt beneath his fingertips.

She pulled away after what felt like eternity, leaning her forehead against his. He ducked his head to steal one more chaste kiss in case this was the last chance he had.

He drew back when he felt a teardrop against his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Charlotte’s brimming with tears, silently crying as she squeezed her lids tightly. Arthur reached up to cup her cheek, wiping away the falling teardrops gently with his thumb.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said lowly, his voice all whisky and honey, “I shouldn’t’a- I mean I-” he stammered, returning to his senses. He stepped back and pulled his hand away like it had been burned.

“No,” she choked, “it’s not that. I wanted it- I do want it. I just...,” she hesitated, hiding her face in her hands as more tears flowed, “it’s Cal.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped, a wave of guilt and shame washing over him at the reminder. Widow or not, Charlotte was a married woman. And here he was, stepping right over her husband’s grave to make his move.

His mouth tasted bitter, no longer of coffee and cigarette smoke or the underlying hint of her. He stepped back farther, putting even more distance between them.

Not knowing what to say, he stood aside as Charlotte cried. He forced himself not to reach out to comfort her. He didn’t trust himself not to take, not to hold her in his arms and will everything else to fade away again.

“I make a terrible widow,” she laughed humourlessly, “my husband is barely ten minutes into the grave and I’ve already fallen for the first handsome stranger that crosses my threshold,” she shook her head, her voice catching in her throat.

She smoothed her skirts and wiped away her tears, straightening herself to try and regain composure. She looked to the sky and smiled sadly.

“I think it’s best if I go,” Arthur said, adjusting his hat.

“I wish I could say that I didn’t agree,” Charlotte replied, “but just for now. I’d like to see you back soon, though perhaps without the bounty hunters next time.”

Arthur frowned as the guilt returned. Charlotte stepped forward to place a kiss on his cheek, resting her hand on the other side of his face to draw him in.

“I don’t care what you are,” she whispered against his skin.

“I ain’t got long,” he replied, his head swimming with thoughts of bounty posters and doctors and Pinkertons.

“Once a widow, always a widow,” she joked, “at least now I come with some experience on the matter.”

Arthur laughed, wondering how such a fine society lady could have such humour. Before he could think on it for too long, she was backing away to return to her porch.

“Goodbye, Arthur,” she said, “Arthur Whoever-You-Are.”

“Morgan,” he said, “but, uh, don’t go lookin’ it up. Please.”

She nodded in understanding. He took in the sight of her one last time, trying to memorize each detail of her for his journal. He stared as she reached for the door handle, opening the heavy wooden door and disappearing into the cabin.

Arthur sighed and whistled for his horse, swinging himself into the saddle as he prepared to ride away. He turned back to look at the cabin, his mind racing. He tried not to let himself hope, but he felt lighter than he had in years. So maybe, just for now, he could let himself believe that things would work out. That he could find something he needed at Willard’s Rest, and he could be something in return to the widow that lived there.

[12timetraveler]

Charles, Arthur, Hosea, Bill, Dutch, Javier? finally meeting ex who cheated on the reader? Would that help be a distraction?

Been working on this one on and off for a minute, just whenever I need to write something. It turned into little drabbles more than anything.

The first section is sort of the start of the story, and then it breaks off with how each character would react as your S/O

This one only has Arthur, Charles, Bill and Hosea, but I'll probably do a part two with others in the gang. I just wanted to post what I have already.

GENDER NEUTRAL READER.

Cw: cheating ex. Period-typical racism.

~~~

Your stomach dropped when you saw him. The man you never wanted to see again. The piece of shit who’d taken what you had and threw it in the dirt when a pretty face walked by. You did your best to bite your tongue as Dutch approached the man and shook his hand. 

The contact for this job was your ex lover, who had cheated on you like you were nothing. Just your luck. You had to work with him if you wanted to get the money. Dutch had explained to you all how important this contact was, and how everyone needed to have decorum and be on their best behavior. 

You weren’t sure he recognized you at first, the way his eyes passed over you like the others as he took in the crew Dutch had brought along. You weren’t sure if you should be offended or grateful. You tuned him and Dutch out as they went over pleasantries. You were just trying to keep your composure, and keep your head down. Then you heard him say your name. 

“It’s good to see you again,” He said, giving you a dashing smile. You froze, not saying anything. “You… look well.” He said. Dutch was looking between the two of you quizzically.

“Yeah,” you said, dumbly. “I… I am.” You finally managed. 

“I’m… guessing you two know each other?” Dutch said, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“He’s… I… we... “ you were still so caught off guard you couldn’t form sentences. 

“We were together, once.” Your ex explained. “Until they left me.” 

“Until you cheated, you mean,” You cut in, frowning. He was not going to make you the bad guy here, just because you’re the one who ended things officially. He ended it the moment he followed that woman to bed. “How is she by the way? Still everything you wanted?” you asked bitterly. 

Dutch shot you a look, and you stopped yourself from saying anything more. You couldn’t do the job without him. You’d have to be civil.

“I told you, she meant nothing. It was just a mistake. You’re the only person…” He trailed off, and you felt a hand rest on your shoulder. You couldn’t suppress a small triumphant grin as you recognized the familiar presence of your lover at your side. You could only imagine the look he was giving your ex. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~Bill~~~

Everyone froze, holding their breath. Bill wasn’t exactly known for his even temper. What would he do? Would he shoot your ex? Challenge him to fight? You leaned back against Bill slightly, hoping your presence would calm him.

You heard a laugh rumble from Bill’s chest as he looked the man up and down. It started out as a chuckle, but grew to a full-belly laugh as he looked at the man. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close as he laughed. You glanced up at your lover quizzically, then back at your ex. Your ex looked confused, and more than a little irritated at being laughed at. 

“And what do you find so funny?” He growled, scowling at Bill. 

“People like to call me the idiot,” Bill cackled, “But at least I was never dumb enough to hurt the most perfect person on earth.” He took in a deep breath, calming his laughter, letting out a few remaining ‘hoo’s and ‘ha’s. 

“Excuse me?” Your ex asked, barely containing his rage. 

“I mean, come on. They’re perfect,” Bill said, as if it were obvious, gesturing to you. “Their laugh, their smile. They can sling a gun better than half the men here, yourself included I’d reckon. They don’t take no shit from no-one.” He glanced down at you, blushing. “Yet they still put up with me fer some reason.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I figure that means you’re dumber than me for lettin’ yer eyes wander when you had the best in the world on your arm.” 

Dutch and your ex stared at Bill, mouths gaping. Your ex looked like a fish on land, mouth opening and closing, not sure how to respond. Dutch seemed mildly impressed at Bill’s poetic words, but also more than a little irritated for what it could mean for the job. Bill seemed suddenly aware that everyone’s eyes were on him, not just you and Dutch and your ex, but the rest of the Van der Linde gang behind him were staring at him in shock. 

“I… er…” Bill seemed to shrink a little under everyone’s gaze, though not enough that he’d surrender whatever stand-off he was having with your ex. 

Before his shyness got the better of him, you grabbed his face and pulled him down fiercely for a kiss. You may have been squishing his cheeks a little too tightly, but you weren’t letting him go, no matter what. He melted into the kiss as he always did, forgetting everything around but you. 

When you broke the kiss, Bill's face flushed red. He coughed slightly, boot scuffing the dirt as his arm wrapped around your shoulder and he pulled you tight against him. You grinned triumphantly at your ex as you snuggled up against your sweetheart, holding onto him while he pushed down his embarrassment. 

“So. We gonna do this job, or ‘re you too small to put this aside and get to business?” Bill huffed. 

~~~Arthur~~~

“So,” Arthur said, his voice eerily calm. “This him, then?” He asked. You glanced up at Arthur. He was staring your ex down, his face hard as stone. You nodded. 

“And, you are….?” Your ex asked, doing his best to seem unimpressed by Arthur’s demeanor, though you didn’t miss the way his hand twitched by his gun. He was scared. 

“This is Arthur,” Dutch cut in, trying to save the deal. “Don’t mind him. He’s very protective of those he cares about. Shall we... continue…” Dutch trailed off when he realized your ex wasn’t listening. He was watching as Arthur’s arm went from your shoulder to your waist, pulling you against him. You felt him press a quick kiss to the top of your head. 

“You… you traded me for this brute?” your ex scoffed. “I never thought you’d prefer brawn over brains,” 

“And I’m sure they never thought you’d be dumb enough to cheat on them. But here we are,” Arthur said dryly. 

“You made your bed,” You said. “Now you get to lie in it. I’m happier now than I ever was with you.” You wrapped one arm around Arthur’s waist, your other hand resting casually on your gun. 

“Well,” your ex huffed. “Seems you two are perfectly suited. I hope you don’t live to regret it. Violence begets violence. When he starts beating you, don’t come crying to me.” 

You let out a little growl and stepped forward, ready to fight, but Arthur held you back with a firm hand on your waist. 

“Now just a minute,” Dutch snapped, glaring your ex down. Your ex just gave him a bored look. 

“Shall we get on with the job?” He asked. Dutch glanced back at you. You shrugged. 

“He may as well be good for something.” you said simply. “It weren’t lovemaking. Maybe he can help earn some money.” You could practically see steam leaving your ex’s ears, but he was too proud to let you chase him off, so he and Dutch returned to business. 

Arthur leaned down and gave you a quick kiss, nuzzling his nose against your cheek for a moment before turning back to the business at hand

~~~Charles~~~

“Are you alright, my songbird?” Charles asked calmly, his hand slipping down your arm and interlocking with your own. 

“I’m fine,” You assured him, smiling up at him. 

“You and him?” You ex scoffed. 

“Yes. This is Charles.” you said, glancing over at him before turning back to look up at Charles. “You remember the man I told you about?” 

“The one who cheated on you? Yeah I remember,” Charles said, his voice dropping some as he stared the man down. But his demeanor was completely calm. Your ex scoffed. 

“Seems your standards have dropped.” He said. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You growled. 

“I mean, what prospects do you have with this man of… questionable heritage,” He finally said. Your gun was drawn and pointed at your ex in an instant. Charles grabbed your hand and gently guided it down, so that you were aiming at the ground.

“I’d think very carefully about what you say,” Charles said, amusement in his voice. “They aren’t known for their even temper.” Charles let go of your hand and stepped toward your ex. He took one step back in fear before he forced himself to stop and stand face-to-face with your current lover. 

The two men stared each other down for a moment. Everything was quiet, the air was still, no one even dared breath. 

Charles threw a punch, landing it squarely on your ex’s face, sending him sprawling into the dirt. 

“That’s for breaking their heart,” Charles said, leaning down to stare at the man. “Though perhaps I should thank you. We’d have never met if you weren’t such a fool,” He said. Charles straightened up and walked back over to you, pulling you into a tight embrace and breathing in your scent to calm down. You hugged him tightly in thanks. 

“So,” Dutch said, as if nothing had happened. “Shall we get on with the job?” 

~~~Hosea~~~

“Is everything alright, my darling?” Hosea asked calmly, though you could sense the tension in his hand as it rested on your shoulder. You brought your hand up to rest over his, meeting Hosea’s gaze. 

“Just fine, my love,” You replied. Hosea leaned down and gave you a quick peck. “Just some trash from the past.” you said, turning back to look at you ex, eyebrow raised. 

“I’m trash?” Your ex laughed. “Which one of us is now with some decrepit old--” your ex cut off as both you and Hosea simultaneously drew your guns and raised them. 

“I’d think over your next words very carefully,” you warned. Hosea looked the man over and scoffed. 

"Hosea," Dutch said, a little surprised at the normally level-headed man's response. "Guns down." You lowered your gun slightly, but Hosea did not. 

Hosea stepped forward, gun still raised, staring your ex down. Your ex stood stock still, not even daring to move. Hosea lowered his gun, and grabbed your ex by his collar, lifting him up so they were eye-to-eye. 

"Listen here, you waste of space, and listen well." Hosea growled, "This decrepit old man is about to give you the most valuable piece of advice you have ever gotten. Are you paying attention?" He asked. Your ex nodded frantically. He'd clearly done the math. You didn't live to be Hosea's age in this kind of life unless you were the strongest. 

"If by some miracle you are ever graced with a partner even half as good as they are, they are to be treated with the utmost respect. Your eyes will never wander. You will never leave their side unless they send you off. You are a fool for ever looking anywhere but to them. 

"And maybe I should thank you for it, except I remember how they were when we found them. Half starved. Heart broken. They'd been beaten to a shell of a person by YOUR choices. No one deserves to be broken like that. 

"But then, because they are so strong, they pulled themselves out of it. Picked up the pieces and became whole once more. Stronger than before. And once they'd healed, they found it in their heart to give me a chance."

Hosea's head turned ever so slightly, glancing back at you out of the corner of his eye. You stepped forward so you were standing behind him.

"Every fiber of my being is telling me to snap your neck like a twig," Hosea continued. "But that's not my choice to make. What do you say my dear?" Hosea asked you. You paused, thinking over the offer. Just seeing the terrified look on his face was filling you with satisfaction.

"Let him go," you finally said, and Hosea let go of your ex's collar instantly. "We need him for the money. He may as well be useful." You said, linking your arm through Hosea's and staring at your ex. He looked pathetic, perfect clothes wrinkled, staring at Hosea and you in fear. It was enough.

"Well, carry on." Hosea said, gesturing for your ex and Dutch to continue their conversation.

[rxmanticdevil]

Drabble/Short Fic #1 - Cutting Ties

((Characters: Josiah Trelawny (& his family), Arthur Morgan Spoilers: Yes, through Ch. 4 Words: ~982 Trigger warnings: Robbery Explanation for this abomination: Just a “what if” babble imagining if in the escape from the Saint Denis’ bank robbery gone horribly wrong Arthur ended up accidentally breaking into Trelawny’s house. He takes the opportunity to deliver Trelawny news and advice. 

I just got this scene in my head and I wanted to write it, okay? Hahaha. I might write another version from the perspective of Arthur, and then a darker version for it were Dutch instead of Arthur.))

Those eyes were colder than Trelawny could have ever imagined.

There were a million ways he saw this same situation play out in his mind over the years. It was far from a possibility he hadn’t entertained before. And yet, actually being in the predicament was certainly jarring. Not only that, but there was a larger cast here than he had imagined there would be.

His hands were raised in surrender, he was standing stiff, acutely aware that his wife and young sons were trembling behind him. He was between them and the predator before them. In all those imagined scenarios, he couldn’t have imagined the relief in his heart that the barrel of the gun he was staring down was aimed at him. That meant his family was safe. The sound of the gun clicking seemed to echo in his family’s Saint Denis home.

“Josiah, no!” his wife was frantic.

“Go into that room and shut the door. Don’t make a sound, or I’ll kill him,” the voice of his opposition was low, gruff, pointed at his wife and kids. He could hear as they scrambled to follow the orders.

And Trelawny’s only regret in the moment was that he couldn’t tell them he would be unharmed.

Well, so he thought.

The narrowed eyes, furrowed brows, they were familiar. Dirty blonde hair tumbling over ears. The rest of the face hidden under the brim of a hat and the black fabric of a bandana was something he could easily paint in his mind. The man may be pointing a gun at him, but Josiah still trusted him.

“Arthur,” he whispered, not wanting his wife to know the connection between the man robbing their home (and from the gunshots earlier, he suspected the city too) and her husband.

“Quiet you.” And Trelawny could imagine the terror he’d fear should this be more than a farce. An act. An attempt at ensuring Trelawny’s reputation of an upstanding man remained untainted, and Arthur’s reputation as a ruthless outlaw remained intact, “Your valuables.”

It was a demand.

“I don’t have anything you’d want-”

Arthur closed the distance between them, boots crunching the shards of glass from the broken window that had provided entry. A large, rough hand went to Trelawny’s shirt collar while the gun was pressed to his head, “Bullshit. This house’s got jewelry don’t it? You’re fancy, I know you got money.”

Now Arthur’s face was close to his, and Trelawny felt for the first time in the encounter real fear. The world around them vanished into the background. Arthur’s body, although smaller than it had been in the past (a point of concern, if Trelawny was thinking straight) was still hulking over his own. They both knew Josiah was far from a fighter, and at this proximity was completely at Arthur’s mercy. Something he had previously thought he had, but now with the gun to his head and hand at his neck, he wasn’t sure.

“Don’t come back,” the whisper was quiet, pointed. A stark contrast to the man’s violent actions.

The words were hardly registering.

“We lost Hosea. And Lenny.”

“What? Arthur? What’s going-”

Josiah had no time to process what was said. A fist came at him, “Ah!” he yelped in pain as it made contact with his cheek- though he knew from watching the outlaw fight in the past it wasn’t Arthur’s worst.

“I said your valuables. I can take your life instead if that’s more convenient,” It was back to the show.

“A-a-ah yes,” his mind was still racing, and now his head aching from the punch, “That drawer, it should- should have some jewelry in it. Maybe some money.”

He was shoved roughly into the wall behind him as Arthur moved over to the designated drawer, opening it and pocketing pearl earrings and a necklace, along with a small billfold. He turned back to Trelawny, “Thanks for the donation. You know, you’re lucky you ran into me. My friend would’a killed you.”

There was something in how that had been said that brought a chill to Trelawny’s spine. Friend? Which one? That Micah character? Well, Trelawny could have told anyone that if one of the Van der Linde gang would kill him it would be-

“A Dutch fellow.”  

Dutch? There was so much that Arthur was telling him, he needed a moment with all of it. But before he could focus on even one of the threads, Arthur had once again closed the distance between them.

“Guess this is good-bye,” and with a quick hit with the butt of a pistol, Trelawny collapsed to the ground.

______

“Josiah?! Josiah! Dear! Wake up, please!”

Head aching with each word, his eyes fluttered open. Pain was coursing through his body as he struggled to focus on the world.

“Oh, thank God!” His wife wrapped her arms around him, bringing him close to her chest.

“Daddy!” his sons rushed to his side, clinging onto him.

She pulled away from him just enough to check his face, her sweet eyes lingering on his bruises, “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, yes, don’t worry about a thing, darling, I’m alright,” he held his family, but his mind was still on the encounter. Arthur said so much: Hosea and Lenny… dead? Dutch was a danger now? Don’t return?

There were countless questions. But from the sound of it, none of them would be answered. And honestly, as long as his family was safe – he supposed the answers weren’t important.

Though his heart ached, for Hosea- the wise man, for Lenny- the young, bright spirit. Gone like sweet, playful Sean. How many more deaths in the gang would there be?

He wasn’t even upset about the robbery, if what Arthur said was true – and he trusted the outlaw more than one probably should trust such a degenerate – then it was a small price to pay to be protected from Dutch’s wrath.

He had been playing with fire for long enough, it seemed. This had just been a small singe from the flames, and it was probably best he quit before he became engulfed in them.

[clareguilty]

More Than You Know

Arthur Morgan/Lenny Summers Rating: Explicit | Mutual Pining, smut, fluff Word Count: ~3000

Summary: In which Arthur kisses Lenny during that drunken night in Valentine and doesn't remember it the next day. Mutual pining ensues.

Lenny Summers was no stranger to pain, but he had never had a hangover this bad before.

Last night… last night had been fantastic.

The past few days before that had been hell. Riding out with Micah Bell of all people. Lenny was almost too happy that the sonovabitch was in jail. Let him rot. 

But Dutch. But Dutch and his unfailing loyalty. His greatest strength was also his greatest weakness. 

Micah would return, and Lenny would have to spend his days stamping down the urge to knock his filthy teeth out.

Last night had been a nice escape.

Arthur had always been one of Lenny’s favorites, and he was so glad that the older outlaw liked him enough to take him out for drinks.

But God, this hangover.

Lenny blinked and groaned. He must have made it back to camp somehow. This was definitely his bedroll. The warm sun was far too bright -- it looked to be about noon already.

Pushing up to his elbows, Lenny noticed that he was just in his pants. “Aw, hell,” he groaned, “Where’s my damn shirt?”

“Grimshaw’s got it. She’s getting it washed for you,” Karen was sitting a little ways away, drinking. The smell of liquor made Lenny’s stomach turn.

“You had quite a night, it seems,” Karen spoke again. “Arthur still ain’t back yet.”

Lenny looked around. Sure enough, there was no sign of Arthur. His brow furrowed. “I hope he’s alright.”

“He’ll be fine,” Karen waved her bottle. “He can hold his drink.”

From what Lenny could remember of last night, Arthur was just as much of a lightweight as himself. God, they had been such fools, dancing and singing and fighting and…

Lenny’s face grew hot. Surely that hadn’t actually happened.

He had to have dreamed it.

Bringing his fingers to his lips, he brushed them lightly over the chapped skin.

Did Arthur really kiss him?

It had been spectacular -- at least from what Lenny could remember. Arthur was soft and sweet but so strong. He had pulled Lenny in and kissed him breathless, not an ounce of hesitation in him.

And Lenny. And Lenny had kissed back as best he could, leaning into Arthur’s touch and drinking the warmth and affection. It had felt right.

Karen was staring at him, eyebrow raised. “You sure you’re sober?”

Lenny nodded, snapping out of his drunken memory. “Yeah, I’m good.” With considerable effort, he pulled himself to his feet. Terrible as he felt, there was work to be done.

The other guys wasted no time in descending upon Lenny. He had apparently made quite the fool of himself when he got back to camp past midnight. Javier’s eyes gleamed as he threw one teasing remark after another. Lenny brushed them off with a chuckle, they didn’t have any more dignity than he did.

Arthur stumbled into camp not too long later. He certainly looked terrible, and Mary-Beth ran to meet him, pressing a flask of water into his hand and helping him over to his tent. He collapsed onto his bunk and was snoring within a minute.

The memory of Arthur’s kiss replayed in Lenny’s mind. What should he do? Should he talk to Arthur about it?

He didn’t get the chance until late that evening. Arthur was at his tent, scratching away in his journal. Lenny strolled up as casually as he could manage, but his nerves had the tendency to get the best of him.

“Hey, Arthur,” he greeted.

“Mister Summers,” Arthur grinned, “I’m sorry to say that if you’ve come to invite me out again, I don’t think I’d be able to give a repeat performance.”

Lenny was so focused on the memory of Arthur’s lips on his, it took him a moment to understand Arthur.

“Neither could I,” Lenny shook his head. “Can barely remember the end of the night if I’m being honest.”

“Really?” Arthur’s head tilted to the side. “Maybe you can fill me in. I don’t remember much after the fight. Was there a fight?”

Lenny tried to tamp down the weird feeling in his chest. “There may have been a few fights.” He plastered on a grin.

Arthur didn't remember the kiss? Would it even have meant anything to him if he did?

Lenny filled Arthur in on the events of the previous night, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Arthur about the kiss. 

Except he also couldn’t bring himself to forget it. He struggled to navigate the twists and turns of his thoughts. He hadn’t even realized he liked kissing men. But maybe it wasn’t all men, maybe it was just Arthur. He knew there wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. Dutch and Hosea were a clear example of that. He had never seen a love that ran so deep, so tender.

But he still found himself afraid. Afraid that at night, when he would lie on his bedroll, he would think about Arthur. About his broad shoulders and the low rumble of his voice and the softness of his lips.

Arthur was too good for him. 

But that didn’t stop him from longing. He treasured every moment spent with the man, be it out hunting, or picking up supplies, or scouting out O’Driscolls. 

Lenny could no longer deny the depths of his affection for Arthur Morgan. Every word of praise, every low chuckle made his chest tighten and his cheeks warm. He was thankful that no one could see him flushing every time Arthur turned his blue eyes on him, or clapped a hand on his shoulder.

He lost himself in the wondering. Wondering if Arthur truly meant to kiss him. If Arthur would kiss him again. If Arthur felt the same way for Lenny. If they could have something, anything. He wasn’t sure what. Hosea and Dutch, whatever they had was dangerous and wild -- nothing like Arthur.

Arthur was cool and steady, strong. Lenny himself was laid back and easygoing. He liked to think they would fit well together.

He would never tell Arthur that. How could he? Arthur didn’t even remember. There would never be a chance, never a right time. So Lenny resigned himself to a lifetime of not knowing.

Arthur didn’t make it easy to forget. He was always so kind, always so close. Pulling in Lenny for a quick hug after a nasty fight, clapping a hand on his back as they talked by the wagons. He even rested his hands on Lenny’s waist as he slipped past him one time.

“You underestimate yourself kid,” Arthur said to him one night. “We see how good you are. Too good for me certainly.”

Lenny had tried to protest. “You do more for us than anyone deserves.”

They had gone back and forth quite a bit on that, both trying to prove the other’s worth. Arthur’s compliments had only grown more insistent and Lenny was thankful that Arthur didn’t seem to notice how much the words affected him.

“I’m surprised you ain’t found yourself a girl,” Arthur nudged him with his bottle. “You��re young. You could find honest work somewhere -- start a family.” Arthur himself seemed saddened by the prospect. Lenny tried not to read into it.

“I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I owe too much to Dutch, and I’ve got too much for me here to just leave.” It was true, he had family among the gang. Sean, Hosea, the girls.

Arthur.

He couldn’t leave Arthur. Not yet anyways. He still held onto some kind of longing.

“Besides,” Lenny took a breath. He was taking a big risk, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t know if I even see myself ending up with a girl anyways.” He regretted the words the moment they passed his lips.

Arthur watched the fire for a moment, parsing out what Lenny was actually trying to say. “I understand that,” he nodded. “The thought’s crossed my mind quite a bit as well.”

“Really?” Lenny asked before he could stop himself. Arthur? Arthur had imagined himself with men?

It made sense, of course. He had been raised by two men. Why would he feel ashamed of such a thing?

It was a dangerous hope that sparked in Lenny’s chest. He found himself thinking over every moment he had spent with Arthur in the past few weeks. Had there been more there than he realised? Was he a fool for his wishful thinking?

“I’ve met a lot of fine men,” Arthur shrugged. “Unfortunately, I am not as fine a man myself.”

“Don’t say that, Arthur,” Lenny placed a hand on his arm. “You’re one of the best men I know. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Lenny would have said more, but he was cut off by a familiar feeling.

Arthur’s lips against his.

It was gone as soon as it was there, but Lenny knew what had happened. And Arthur wasn’t drunk this time.

“I’m sorry-” Arthur pulled away quickly. “I shouldn’t have-”

Lenny grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in again, taking the lead this time and kissing Arthur as sweetly as he deserved.

“I’m glad you’ll be able to remember it this time.” Lenny smiled, fighting the bittersweet that climbed the back of his throat.

“We’ve...? Before?” Arthur stared at him in confusion. The realization dawned on him “That night in Valentine.”

Lenny nodded.

“You didn’t tell me.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t remember. I didn’t know if you wanted to.”

Arthur placed his hand over Lenny’s, thumb brushing the back of his knuckles. “I always was braver drunk -- and more foolish.”

“I’m glad for it,” Lenny chuckled. He felt as though he had climbed to the highest peak of the Grizzlies and now he had no way down. He had kissed Arthur, and he found he only wanted more. But nothing was certain. There would be no way to know if things would be any different tomorrow.

-

The sun rose and nothing was the same for Lenny Summers. Arthur found him as he was buttoning his overshirt, smiling and offering him a cup of coffee. Lenny accepted, draining the entire cup in one go.

“I swear, Morgan, it’s like you don’t sleep,” he groaned. Lenny woke earlier than most of the others in the gang, but Arthur was always ahead of him. He would stay up well past midnight and still be up at dawn every morning.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s always work to do.”

Lenny felt emboldened after their conversation last night. “Then let me help. Maybe with the two of us we’ll be able to finish early enough that you can actually rest.”

Arthur turned positively pink.

They worked well together, as always. If Lenny thought that a closeness to Arthur was dangerous before, he was not prepared for what came after the kiss.

Arthur was teasing. He pinched and poked and prodded. Rested his hands anywhere he could reach. Lenny tried to focus on his work, but Arthur was always so damn close he felt he could catch fire at any moment.

Just as Lenny had said, they finished the work long before sundown. Arthur seemed unsure of himself without something to do, and Lenny wondered if anyone had ever truly let him rest. Between Dutch and Susan and Pearson it seemed that Arthur was always needed somewhere.

"Why don't we play a few rounds of dominos before supper?" Lenny suggested. "After that you can turn in early and maybe actually get some sleep for once."

Arthur considered the offer for a moment. He watched Lenny carefully.

"What do you say you and I ride into town for the night?" he offered in return.

"Arthur, the whole point of this was for you to get some rest." Lenny pushed away the thrill of Arthur's suggestion in favor of disapproval. As much as he wanted to spend a night alone with Arthur, he wanted him to rest even more.

"Exactly. I can't get any sleep with these yahoos always jabbering on," Arthur gestured to the rest of camp. "Wake up in the dead of night for some reason or another."

"Alright fine," Lenny gave in, "but I'd better not catch you running errands or anything."

-

They ordered supper as soon as they made it to town. Arthur opened up a lot more when he was away from camp, and Lenny enjoyed his broad smiles and crass humor. It was always nice to see Arthur when he let his guard down, when he didn’t have to put up a front. Lenny only saw it in glimpses before now. They cleared their plates and made sure to limit themselves to only one drink -- it would do them no good to brawl and wind up in a cell.

Arthur unlocked the room he had rented for the night, and Lenny could have sworn his heart was going to beat out of his chest. He had never felt excitement quite like this. He knew the telltale rush of an oncoming fight, or the way his blood pounded in his ears during a job, but he had never felt the flip-flopping of his stomach the way it did now. His skin felt like lightning.

But he had brought Arthur here to rest. A full meal and a good night’s sleep for once in the poor man’s miserable life. Lenny packed away their things, making sure the revolvers were within easy reach. Arthur had kicked his boots off and was already sprawled across the hotel bed. He really had needed this.

“Get some sleep, Arthur,” Lenny urged him.

“Come lay with me?” Arthur was flushed pink to the tips of his ears, and he looked anywhere but at Lenny.

Lenny felt he was going to shake right out of his boots and slip between the floorboards. “Yeah,” he croaked out. “Move over a bit.”

He settled in beside Arthur, stiff and awkward at first. A few moments of silence passed before Arthur huffed and threw an arm around Lenny’s waist, pulling him against Arthur’s side.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and was snoring within minutes.

Lenny lay awake for a long while, listening to Arthur sleep and the faint sounds of the town beneath them. It was much quieter than it was at camp, more peaceful. Arthur deserved peaceful.

-

He woke to the feeling of Arthur shifting beside him. Awake early as always -- dawn hadn’t even broken. Arthur sat up and stretched, yawning deeply. He stood, washed his face at the basin, and looked around the room blankly.

“There’s no work to do here, come back to bed.” Lenny rolled his eyes.

Arthur stood for a moment longer, as if waiting for a chore to materialize out of thin air. Finally, he turned back to the bed. Lenny wasn’t prepared for Arthur to lean over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before laying on his side. He heart stuttered against his ribs, and he longed to feel it again.

So he did. He kissed Arthur, winding his fingers in his hair and pulling him in close, taking as much as he wanted -- had wanted for a long time.

Arthur was just as eager, dragging Lenny forward by his hips. They were clumsy, uncoordinated, neither of them used to the closeness or the affection. They were driven by want, chasing the warmth and the excitement. 

It was different, with Arthur. Nothing like the few girls Lenny had been with before. The scrape of Arthur’s beard against his skin. The strength in his hands and fingers. The weight of him as he rolled over Lenny to deepen the kiss.

He ground his hips down against Lenny just to hear the low moan that escaped the younger man. “Arthur,” he gasped.

Arthur said nothing, slipping one hand between them to grind his palm over Lenny’s hardening cock.

“Arthur, please,” Lenny tried again.

Arthur was smiling. “You want this?” he asked.

Lenny nodded quickly. “I do. I do.”

Nimble fingers quickly undid both of their trousers. Lenny groaned as Arthur pulled his cock free and slowly stroked it. Arthur knew exactly how to make his hips shudder with the motion of his wrist.

Lenny nearly wind as Arthur pulled his hand away, but he was simply freeing his own cock so he could wrap his large hand around the both of them.

He stroked them together, rocking his hips in perfect tandem with his hand. He trailed hot, wet kisses over Lenny’s jaw and down his neck. It was quiet, just the sounds of heavy breathing and creaking wood and skin against skin. Lenny felt like it was a secret, something hidden and safe just between them. Arthur was sharing something with him.

He came first, biting back his moans and spilling across his stomach. Arthur didn’t release his cock, and his vision whitened with the sting of overstimulation until Arthur finished as well.

It was hot, and sticky, not terribly comfortable, but Lenny lay there satisfied, a dopey grin plastered on his face.

Arthur was on his back with his eyes closed, breathing slowly returning to normal. The sun had finally made an appearance, illuminating dust motes and warming the air. Lenny finally found it in himself to wash at the basin, glad to be rid of the evidence of what they had done but not feeling any remorse.

He spoke up when he was pulling his boots on, both of them sitting on opposite sides of the bed getting ready to ride back to the noise and bustle of camp.

“Hey, Arthur,” he began. “Was this a one time thing?” He was glad Arthur couldn’t see him, that he couldn’t see Arthur.

“No,” Arthur answered after a moment. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I don’t,” Lenny answered quickly. “I don’t want it to be a one time thing.”

They were standing now, facing each other just before the hotel room door. Arthur reached out and pulled Lenny in for a soft, gentle kiss. “Let’s get back before they send out a war party,” he groused, but he was smiling all the same.

[daintykeith]

RUN KID RUN

Title: Run Kid Run

Summary: Dutch and Hosea are trying to teach John how to read but he runs off after they got frustrated and Arthur goes deep into the woods looking for John.

Word count: 2298

Notes: mild cursing | brief scene despicting an almost hanging | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @onlytherocksliveforever

Happy late Christmas and Happy new year! I’m sorry I’m so late, this took me forever; I’ve been giving it a long thought and decided to comply to your second item in your wish list!

2) i love DUMB ASS John Marston and his better looking brother Arthur; give me a slice of life with the two of them pre-canon, or a story about them helping the other thru a tough time.

I’ve decided to combine both ideas and so this story came to be.

When Arthur was twenty-three, he saw a boy—dirty, savage and with a look in his eyes that had given up on living. This boy was with a rope in his neck, ready to be hanged. Dark gray with no reflection but death itself; no tears, no regret. Dead Eyes that held onto dear life with a fierceness reflected in his fists.

Next to the boy, an unnamed man spoke words of dead wisdom and nonsense which to the eyes of Arthur was meaningless.

“We have come to see the of law enacted. We will not sit idly by as people take the law into their own hands!”

Heavy kind of bullshit that Arthur didn’t enjoy a bit.

The crowd of the town roared loudly in excitement and agreement. For them, it was only entertainment, a show that made Arthur’s gut churn with anger. He tilted his hat lower and turned around, ready to move on. However, Dutch’s hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him.

“He looks like you did, a while ago,” Dutch said with a smirk before the gun in his hip shot the rope on the boy’s neck.

“He doesn’t.”

The boy’s shine returned in a glimpse that Arthur caught with both his eyes and heart. A will to fight and survive, to get the hell out of the mess that was about to start.

“What the hell Dutch?!”

“He was not meant to. Not yet.”

A sense of relief in his chest appeared with a long deep breath. He was glad for the boy that had gotten a chance to live, what was Dutch and Hosea thinking when they brought him into camp?

Arthur got wounded in the dirty fight they had in town for freeing the boy and he was resting in his tent, with Susan on his side cleaning his injuries. When Dutch and Hosea walked in, he asked: “What took ya’ so long?” with a warm grin that quickly faded into disbelief.

The boy stood between the two men, pouting his lips, frowning and crossing his arms as means to make himself more intimidating. The way Dutch smiled, looked and treated him with his gentle gestures and Hosea had given his jacket to protect him from the chilling breeze of that night was so familiar to Arthur; he had been in that place after all. What was that boy doing in camp? Similar to himself in the past, why did they needed to bring someone as intense and dumb as him? Wasn’t one dumb enough? He wondered.

“What’s your name, kid?” Arthur asked after he noticed Dutch’s gaze on him.

The boy stood silent.

“Come on boy, tell him.” Dutch crouched to his side and whispered words to him that Arthur wasn’t able to hear.

He remained silent.

When Arthur was twenty-four, he met the boy. A month had passed from his rescue and Arthur’s birthday quickly arrived with the cold and mean air of winter. There was no snow landscape yet, the skies had become dark and gray like the boy’s eyes and the fallen leaves

“John Marston,” the boy said with a mean streak that left Arthur with a bad taste in his tongue.

“Arthur Morgan.” He extended his hand to greet but John had already abandoned and left him with the words unsaid in his lips.

Arthur sighed and placed his hands on his gun belt; he could see John’s silhouette far away, hiding somewhere where he thought no one could see him, and grinned. A part of him still refused to acknowledge John, prouder than a bull and wilder than a cougar in a midnight sky, and another part of him found itself in that boy who slept with a knife under his pillow.

“John, come here!” Dutch called the next morning.

Arthur was laying in comfortably in his bed, with his worn-out leather hat covering his eyes, thinking about what to draw in his journal. A bird? A flower? An herb? His imagination was as dull as dishwater and his brain couldn’t tell skunks from house cats. Boredom was partly guilty of the dullness, too.

“John, come on.” From his closed tent, Arthur saw how Hosea’s figure grabbed John’s arm and took him somewhere beyond the reach of their shadow. A loud growl, from the boy, echoed through the whole camp that Arthur scoff. The boy was that stubborn?

The blue-eyed man closed his journal, stood up from his bed and walked out of his tent to do the chores of the day. As he chopped wood, he could see Dutch and Hosea, with John between them, sitting together in one of the round tables near the food station with a book in hand. This was going to be fun to see, Arthur thought.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Dutch said firmly. “Read this part here.”

“No,” John scowled.

“Why not? It’s not that hard if you try. Here. The king in his…” Hosea slowly talked

John went silent.

“Boy,” Dutch lowly growled.

Arthur swung his axe over the log and splat it in half. When he was putting the wood aside, he peeked at John. The boy had his arms crossed, frowning and giving the book in the table a deadly gaze. Did he hate reading that much? Arthur laughed to himself and got caught by Hosea who looked at him with disapproval. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He tried to slowly walk away, feigning ignorance, but the older man approached quicker than he predicted and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Arthur.” Hosea squeezed hard the shoulder blade and grinned in a way that created grimace in Arthur’s expression, “wanna’ join us? I thought I could show you the new book I got!”

Arthur grunted.

Just great. He knew Hosea’s way of scolding Arthur and thinking about it annoyed him, however, he didn’t expect to see Dutch vexed, red-faced and squeezing the book with both his hands, yelling to John.

On the other hand, Hosea was perplexed. He dragged his hands over his now tired face and sighed.

“He wasn’t this troublesome!” Dutch said to Hosea, referring obviously to Arthur.

Something in that statement made Arthur chest puff in pride. Oh boy, he really liked that. Even if he refused to acknowledge this feeling to everyone else, he liked it when Dutch or Hosea praised him.

Arthur remembered the days when Dutch and Hosea were teaching him to read. Hot summer days, mosquitoes everywhere and that smell he couldn’t forget, berries and lemon, which brought his mind ten years back, when he was a thin, small and young boy. He grinned to the loveable thought and looked at Dutch fighting with John.

“Dutch, what’re ya doin’!? Don’t ya’ grab him like that and rub his head!”

“I know he can do it, but he’s not even trying!”

Something Arthur knew is that Dutch would take as “true” whatever he assumed; and hardly took back his words—standing for what he believed, a true blessing for the wise and a curse for the ignorant. Later on, Arthur didn’t know which of those Dutch was. A true mystery until the very end.

“Dutch, calm down, you’re gonna scare ‘im…”

“But I know he can—"

“Shut up, you pair of dimwits!” Susan yelled from afar as she sewed one of Arthur’s shirt.

And before any of them could say any further word, John slammed his hands against the table and ran away into the woods that surrounded the camp.

“Get back here, boy!”

What a mess. When Arthur saw no signs of Dutch calming down or Hosea backing down, he decided to look out for the now goner.

“John! Where are ya’!?” Arthur yelled as he stomped over some broken sticks. Definitively John.

“Ya’ damn bastard, dontchu’ ever get tired?” he whispered to himself, wondering as he furrowed his brows and rushed his pace.

As he walked deeper into the woods, the stars that normally would be faded under sunlight, had come out without any shame, telling Arthur to hurry. The breeze got colder and the sky darker and even if he found clues of where he could have gone to, the boy sure knew how to keep out of sight. He was going nuts; what the hell was the kid running from?! He had nothing to run from and nowhere to go, what was he thinking?

“John!” He called once more before he heard a gasp to his side.

The moment he turned his head, he saw a terrified boy who had fallen into the ground. Unlike the first time he saw him, fierceness shone in his eyes despite of the fear that his thin body could not hide—however, that didn’t mean it wasn’t agile. He quickly got up into his feet and started running towards the glowing moon.

“Oh no, you ain’t!”

He could hear John’s broken breathing and how he gasped for the air he didn’t have; it broke Arthur’s heart.

“Watchu’ running from, kid?!”

Arthur got closer with every step he took and grabbed without any restrains John’s wrist to stop him, quite brusque for his liking but there was nothing he could do. Those iron eyes gazed at him with the loathe and anger he deserved which left a sour flavor in his mouth. John struggled to free himself from Arthur’s grip but it only got stronger.

“Lemme ask you again, kid. Watchu’ running from?”

John struggled again and Arthur grabbed his other wrist. He took a deep breathe and closed his eyes for a moment. Was it this hard for everyone else to deal with him? Being a kid in the streets wasn’t easy, it roughens you up in a way that shatters what you truly are, breaking and eventually rotting every corner in your mind. But he was no kid in the streets no more, he could finally begin living and not just survive.

“He wanted to kill me,” John replied in a quick low whisper.

Arthur raised a brow. “Dutch was shootin’ his mouth off and by now Hosea and Susan must have given ‘im a black eye for that.” He tried to sound reassuring.

“Let go!” John fought with all his strengths to free himself; Arthur tightened his grip.

“Listen to me, kid. You got nothing to run from; here you got a bed, food and people who want ya’—��

“Dead…” John interrupted.

“Let me finish! Goddamit—as I was saying. None of ‘em want ya’ to be a goner.”

“How can I trust you? They all said I was an idiot, useless. They all hate me and they’ll kill me. It’s better if I’m gone.”

“We’re family.” Arthur meant it. He had found a part of himself in the little black-haired boy that wanted to keep running; running to never look back, from all the things he didn’t deserve.

“We ain’t.”

“Listen to me you little piece of…! You became part of us the very moment Dutch cut that rope on your neck and brought you into the camp.”

“Still; that doesn’t mean I can trust you guys. You’re outlaws.”

John wasn’t buying a single bit of what Arthur was saying. Shit. At this rate he was gonna run off by himself and God knows what would happen to him.

“They took me in when I was your age.” John’s eyes widened in curiosity; “I… well, my momma died when I was real young and my daddy… let’s say I wish he did too. They taught me how to read and Hosea taught me how to draw.”

Despite of the nervousness inside him, Arthur took the journal out of his satchel and gave it to John without letting go of one of his wrists. He eagerly flipped through the pages and stopped to look at some of the drawings it contained; some of the graphite stuck into his fingers, but it didn’t stop him from eyeing with detail each illustration.

“Why didn’t ya’ read? Back then, when Dutch and Hosea asked you to.”

There was a long pregnant pause. “I did—read it, I mean. I, uh, wasn’t sure to er, say it out loud.”

“Really?” Arthur smiled from ear to ear. “See? You’re smart, John! Ya’ ain’t that bad, there’s potential.”

John blushed at Arthur’s praise and kept looking at the drawings until he reached the last one, that page that had remained blank for the whole day.

“They are family to me. Family is everything; I’d die for it.” His voice didn’t shake even once.

John closed the journal and gave Arthur a gaze full of admiration that Arthur wasn’t worthy of. He could be one nasty son-of-a-bitch, rash to anger and emotions; unfamiliar to giving inspirational speeches like Dutch would do or smooth-talking like Hosea the Conman.

“And I will…” he stuttered, “I, uh…”

“You what.”

“I won’t let them kill ya’; just in case.”

A mischievous grin appeared in John’s face. “That won’t stop me tho.”

Arthur had let his guard down. John escaped from his grip and started to run the fastest he could. Where the hell was he going to and, most importantly, where the heck had he gotten all that damn energy from?

“Cuz’ I’ll kill ya’ myself, you little piece of shit!”

“Thank you, brother” John screamed in the distance.

“You ain’t got the right to be my brother!” Yet, he wanted to say but kept it to himself.

That day, when Arthur was twenty-four, his family grew by one member. Even if mocked him every now and then and behaved like assholes, it was the most important thing to Arthur. It was everything he had—not like money or gold; those two could go straight to hell unless Dutch and Hosea gave the word.

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll Pt 7

Part 6 - Masterlist

Part 8

This is a bit of a filler chapter, which is stupid for the ratio of original wording to in game script ratio. Next one will be more engaging, I promise. Also sorry for the long wait; I took time off from writing last week because it was my birthday, and then England swept into a second lockdown so it’s been poo trying to prepare especially in work because I process somms for small-medium businesses but whatever. No one is getting much for Christmas this year lol

****

You find, much to your relief and Arthur’s annoyance, that Sean’s chaotic charm and energy swallows everyone’s attention over the next few weeks. He’s loud, boastful and brash: The Irish Terrier as Arthur and his adopted fathers call him.

You can’t help but find his totally unapologetic nature comforting. Whilst washing shirts, you overhear him get Molly to admit she considers him no better than a chimney sweep from the local bog - and immediately crucify her for it, calling her “snotty nosed” and a “right little madam”, much to her dismay. After the weeks of dirty looks (despite little to no actual confrontation), Sean brings a breath of fresh air. With him nearby, you know exactly where you stand and whether anyone in the vicinity is plotting against you.

“Please, Y/N,” groans Arthur into his hands one evening. “Please tell me you ain’t makin’ friends with that bastard.”

“Why?” you ask, genuinely surprised. “Isn’t he like a little brother to you?”

“Yeah, but not in a good way.” He moves his hands to give you a look of despair. “What’s wrong with Lenny? Or Tilly? Or Mary Beth?”

“Karen’s fun,” you muse, earning yourself another groan.

“Always with the loud drunkards,” he grumbles.

“Mmhm, and what was it Dutch said? When you go missing he checks the saloon, and if you’re not there he checks the jail?”

“Shurrup.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto his body, grinning as you protest, laughing.

“Don’t play innocent - Hosea’s been telling me stories!”

“Ahh, don’t go listening to him. He spins stories for a living, and anyway I was a kid in most of them.”

“And the stories I’ve heard from Lenny?” you smirk, still fighting despite it proving futile with you laughing so much. He growls, peppering your exposed skin with kisses as you wrestle playfully.

You cry out when a flailing limb makes contact with one of your swollen breasts. Arthur immediately releases you, watching you with concern as you try to rub out the punch without swearing.

“Y’alright?”

“Fine,” you huff. “Just sensitive is all.”

“I’m sorry - shouldn’t be playing so rough with you when you’re… in the way tha’ you are.”

“It’s fine, Arthur,” you repeat firmly, staring him down. “I’m fine. You didn’t knock my stomach, so we’re fine. Like I said, I’m just sensitive.”

He hums doubtfully.

Following a shootout with the Pinkertons and the law in the middle of Valentine, Dutch had ordered the camp out of Horseshoe Overlook and ushered you south east into the state of Lemoyne. On the other side of Dewberry Creek, Arthur and Charles had scouted a hideout chistened Clemens Point. Arthur hadn’t been the keenest to tell you that story, but you had weaseled it out of him.

Micah had recommended the dried out river bed, but when Charles and Arthur had arrived to scout it, there was an abandoned camp nearby, complete with a dead body. Whilst trying to assess the location’s risk to a group of outlaws should they move in, Arthur had moved some crates to find a woman with her two children.

“I guess I saw you,” he mumbled sadly, avoiding eye contact. “An’ the mess I might leave you in one day.”

You rubbed his shoulder patiently. “What happened?”

“I told ‘em to go ‘cause we needed the land.”

You were confused by the guilt still plaguing him and told him so. With a heavy sigh, he described how the girl translated her mother - that their father had been kidnapped and how it took Charles insisting otherwise to convince him to go look.

“So it’s really thanks to him we found this place,” he says gesturing at the open space bordered with woodland and lake.

If anything, you prefer this new destination to Horseshoe Overlook, and not just for the absence of bad memories. You love the sense of freedom swimming gives you: how it makes you weightless, how easy it is to tilt your head back and listen to the low rumble of the earth and water. You also enjoy that the road is more than a stone’s throw away here. A wanderer would have to purposely go out of their way to discover the camp, to hear the noise or see the light of the campfires. Clemen’s Point made you feel safe, even with the occasional canoe sailing by with a wave.

The new location lifted everyone’s spirits. So much so, Dutch dragged Arthur and Hosea out fishing. They returned hours later - singing and surprisingly sober - with deputy badges and a boat load of fish. Whilst the shiny badge continues to earn Arthur a lot of gib from you and everyone else in camp, Dutch insists the news is beyond fantastic.

“We are inaugurated in the local law!” he cries during one of his many speeches. “Hiding in plain sight!”

Still tired and snacking throughout your waking hours, you are relieved to find your morning sickness has passed its peak. Whilst you feel like your veins are popping out of your skin, Arthur insists your stomach is beginning to curve. You accuse him of an overzealous imagination until you try (and fail) to button the jeans from your past life as an O’Driscoll and your shirts that still fasten offer little to no breathing room.

“Think a trip to town is in order.” You jut out your bottom lip, demonstrating the distance between the buttons and their corresponding holes as your lover looks on laughing.

“I think you might be right.” You don’t resist as his fingertips tilt your chin up to plant a kiss on your lips. “Let me go see if Pearson’s got a list and we’ll head out. Think they’ll do another couple hours?”

“Don’t really have a choice,” you grumble, stealing Arthur’s worn blue shirt from under the cot. You can hear Sadie and Pearson bickering even from the edge of camp, so it doesn’t surprise you when Arthur’s tone cuts through the noise.

“-ain’t cooking work?”

Looking over, you see Arthur has taken the expostulating Mrs Adler aside. You look away quickly - there’s no reason to ruin an acceptable day by agitating her enough to start shouting at you too. Her and Pearson have been at each other’s necks since she’s pulled herself out of the worst of her depression, almost as though he has become the target of her grief.

You focus your attention on preparing the cart. A trip to town means a trip for supplies, and with so many mouths to feed, horseback wasn’t a viable option.

"How are you, Miss?"

You turn around, surprised at being addressed directly by someone other than Arthur. Seeing Kieran’s familiar pastiness relaxes you a little. As an ex-O’Driscoll himself, you trusted him the most not to stab you after Arthur and the little boy, Jack.

"Fine," you reply flatly, brushing out the tangles of the shire’s mane.

"We ain't really had much time to talk since we was in Tall Trees a few months back, have we?" You hum in response, trying not to flash any amount of flesh by moving too much. The poor boy was skittish enough. He immediately begins to help you, being the horse fan he is.

"I never even suspected a thing, Miss,” he gushes. “So I bet you anything Ol' Colm won't have neither."

"So you two were close, huh?" You barely contain the sarcasm.

He shrugs off the question awkwardly. "Which feller was you again?"

"Well I must’ve been good if you have to ask." You feed the shire a carrot, avoiding eye contact. "I was Thomas," you admit quietly. The following silence is prolonged. Doubtful.

“Thomas Donoghue?” You shrug your shoulders. “So you were friends with Paeder then?”

“Peter?” You respond coolly. “Never knew him.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue, but Arthur is marching across camp, shouting back over his shoulder to Mrs Adler. Spooked, Kieran bolts to a safe distance, doing nothing but look on as Arthur helps you up onto the back of the cart.

Acknowledging you with a sneer, the other woman takes her place on the bench up front. “So I’ve graduated from choppin’ vegetables to shopping?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth…” grumbles Arthur, reins in hand as the cart moves off. You give Kieran a small, apologetic wave farewell, but it’s difficult to contain the relief of your companions’ timing. Paeder was a private matter, and one which you had no desire to discuss out loud. You’re sure the shaky man meant no harm, but some things were better buried.

“You cooled down then, yet?” Arthur asks the widow, distracting you from your thoughts.

“I guess,” she grumbles. “And I ain’t no scullion! And I sure as hell ain’t takin’ orders from that sweating halfwit!”

You can almost hear his eyes roll. “Well I guess we all gotta do our share, princess.”

“Where’s that letter?”

“Oh, you reading his mail now?”

Sadie throws him a dirty look. “Robbing and killing’s ok, but letter reading’s where we draw the line?”

You stifle a smirk as Arthur pulls it from the inside of his coat, knowing he’s been had. “Here.”

“Dear Aunt Cathy-”

“You are somethin’ else…”

“I haven’t heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further… bla bla bla… s’boring… Oo! Wait a sec, listen to this! Since we last corresponded, I have travelled widely, making no small name for myself.” You all laugh out loud. “Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife, but I can assure you it is not for lack of suitors.” Arthur barks out laughing again as Sadie giggles. “He ever actually talked to a woman he ain’t paid for?” she asks in disbelief.

“Look, we’re all hiding behind something.” Whilst his tone advises the limit of fun has been reached, the smile is still audible.

“And what’s this? Return to Tacitus Kilgore?”

“Oh that? That’s Dutch’s idea. All mail to be sent to the same alias. Whenever we set up somewhere new, Strauss, he heads into town, tells them to start expecting mail from a Tacitus Kilgore or whatever they changed it to… Here, gimme that back. We got work to do.”

You all sit quietly as the cart rolls into Rhodes. The locals watch you, wary of the unfamiliar faces, but you keep your head high. Strangers smell weakness. It’s better to come off aloof and avoid trouble than to present as vulnerable and be beaten down at every turn.

“Ok, here we are.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mrs Adler points a pistol at the side of the building, squeezing one eye shut as she gauges the iron sights. “I shoot the shopkeeper, while you-?”

“No! You insane?”

“Well I thought we was outlaws…?”

“Outlaws! Not idiots!" he hisses, pushing down the gun as he looks around for any witnesses. "We rob fools that rob other people! These people- they’re just tryna get by! So you head on in there, and you buy us some food to eat. And no guns.”

“Are you sure?”

“This time.” The two of you share a look again as he helps you down. “There’ll be plenty o’ time for killin’ soon enough.”

“What are you doin’?”

“I’m gonna go check the mail, nothin’ exciting.”

Sadie shrugs and saunters off. Arthur sighs and shakes his head, touching your arm. "You gonna be alright?"

"Here's hopin'."

"Any trouble, holler. Stay outta her way best you can though, alright?"

Knowing that his concern lies with your companion's open hatred for anything remotely O'Driscoll rather than your ability to defend yourself, you nod. Blowing him a cheeky kiss, he waves back at you with a grin as you enter the general store.

"-flour, oats, salt, eggs, apples if you have them..."

"Sure, not a problem,” responds the shopkeeper as he begins to gather the goods. “Big family, have you?"

"Somethin' like that." Mrs Adler barely spares you a glance as the titter of the doorbell announces your presence. "And you sell clothes?"

So Arthur had explained to her your purpose for the journey. You're flattered, if a little bewildered at this kind gesture. From the looks she’s been giving you, you’re surprised she has buried the hatchet of your past so quickly.

"We do. Not the widest range of ladies fashion, I'm afraid."

"That's alright. I'll look at everything you got."

"Of course, Mrs…?"

"Kilgore," she smirks, turning to bat her eyelids at you. You realise then that her request is completely unrelated to you. Why wouldn’t it be? You’re not the only person that has been swept into the Van der Linde gang with little more than what you were wearing on your back. From Arthur’s story, she escaped with nothing more than her wedding ring and her nightclothes, so it’s only natural that she is also in need of a new wardrobe. "What? You don't even trust me to handle the shopping by myself?"

"You're not the only one in need of new clothes, Mrs Ad- Kilgore." You force a polite smile at the sales clerk whilst Mrs Adler browses the shelves dully. "What are the biggest sizes you have in stock? Any maternity wear by chance?"

"Ain't many women round here makin' babies," he sighs, pulling out a few options. You can feel Sadie's eyes burning past you at the pile. "You're best tryin' Saint Denis or ordering outta the catalogue. There's a tailor in Blackwater I heard is pretty good for that sorta thing, but it's quite the journey-"

"Too far for me, I fear." You flick through the pages as Mrs Adler leaves to try a few things on from the pile in front of you. Writing a quick list with estimated sizing, you purchase the largest button up shirt and skirt for sale. The trousers will have to wait for another day - you know investing twenty dollars in a pair that you'll breach the waistline of in a matter of weeks is a luxury you can't especially afford right now.

Mrs Adler on the other hand spares little expense with a sturdy pair of jeans. Finally out of the cumbersome skirts, her whole character changes and suddenly you feel the same pit of dread you did when faced with a full camp of spitting Van der Lindes all those weeks ago.

Intimidated, you step outside whilst she settles the bill. You take a short wander up the main road, taking in the familiar buildings with apathy. Who would have thought you would end up here again? Now you’re not so apprehensive about your life span, you can see how rundown this dusty crumbling town is. The few shops that are open have seen better days, and the best kept building is the bank. You feel your skin crawl as you spot the large parlour houses on the horizon. Of course this place is struggling to survive - anywhere that profited from slave labour deserved to rot. Part of you hopes it’s slow perilous march to abandonment continues: it would be disappointingly merciful to see a place be lost to one good shoot out.

“I’ve birthed foals with more strength than you!” Mrs Adler’s cursing sinks your stomach as you navigate your way back to the store where a man is helping her load the cart. “Hell, my sister’s newborn had more strength than you and he came out bright blue!”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!”

Spotting Arthur, who is strolling back himself, fills you with relief. The shopkeeper walks back to the porch, checking the list before walking back. “I think this is everything,” he says, swinging the sack of salt on the cart.

“Thanks… here, take that for yourself, okay.” She flicks a silver coin and he catches it out of the air, scowling.

“Thanks,” he spits.

“Well, give it back then! Jesus! I didn’t ask for his goddamn help..." She pushes the sack on more securely to stop it rolling off when the cart moves. “OK, get on. I’m about done here.”

“Why don’t you drive?” suggests Arthur coolly after making sure you’re sat safely amongst the supplies. “C’mon lady, get a move on.”

She scowls as she takes the reins. “I like Sadie, not lady.”

“I know. So you get everything?”

“I think so.”

“And some… new clothes, I see?”

“Don’t start,” she sighs, the heat returning to her voice. “I can wear what I damn well want. Like I told you, my husband and I shared all the work. I wasn’t some little wife with a flower in her hair baking cherry pies all day.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. You sure look the part now. Won’t be long before you’re smoking cigars and playin’ the harmonica.”

“I’ll have you know I used to love playing the harmonica before… well… my house and everything I owned got burned to the ground.”

“I know... I’m real sorry. About what you… you know. Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for another one.”

“I don’t want no pity,” she snaps. “Just… treat me equal and know… nobody’s taking nothing from me ever again.”

Arthur hums in comradery. “Just don’t kill the camp cook…”

A horse gallops up alongside you. “Hey there! What are you folks up to?”

“Just heading home,” says Arthur casually, adding a quiet “keep it cool, Sadie”.

“You’re in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” The hairs on the back of your neck prickle at the anticipation of conflict. You realise with a sinking stomach that you’re completely unarmed. “How about you pull over right now?”

“Pull over?” he repeats incredulously. Your eyes scan the bags and boxes around you. There has to be something here that can double as a weapon of some kind.

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey!” calls Sadie coolly. “How’s about this?”

A pistol cracks and the Lemoyne Raider cries out in pain. She ushers the horses on with a Go, go, go! as Arthur stands up, drawing his revolvers and firing. You duck down as bullets fly over your head, your hands scrambling for anything that could be of use.

“What the hell was that?” cries Arthur furiously.

“They was gonna rob us!”

“A new pair of pants and you think you’re Landon Ricketts!” He curses loudly as more men run out in the road ahead.

“I’m gonna run this son of a bitch down!” she shouts, pulling the wagon over one raider and off the road.

“Well you wanted to see some action, lady, now you got your wish!” Arthur slings his longarm from his back and shoves it in your direction as he continues to fire. You can see more men coming out from between the trees and you take aim, knocking them down one by one as Arthur clips off any extras over your head.

“You alright there, Sadie?” you shout over the gunfire. Arthur is still firing behind you, but she’s out of your line of sight from where you’re crouched behind sacks of grain.

“Of course! You think I can’t handle these fools?” You don’t retaliate and you can almost hear her voice aim at Arthur. “Told you I could shoot a gun, didn’t I?”

“I don’t remember asking you to prove it,” he grunts, tossing you extra ammo just in case. The last bastard is fleeing south down the dirt track. You take aim, but he’s out of range.

“Yeah you run, you goddamn coward!” screams Sadie before taking a steadying breath. “I think we’re good here. Nice shooting. I’ll drive us back-”

“No! Pass those reins here!”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve caused enough trouble already.”

She doesn’t find grounds to argue, instead looking back at you, her face straight and unreadable. “We showed those bastards, huh?”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Arthur scowls.

“They was clearly plannin’ to bushwhack us!” she argues, facing forward again.

“You did good, but that’s a lotta mess to make near camp. Hope it don’t bring anyone sniffin’ around.”

“Are you gonna tell Dutch?” she asks mockingly.

“Maybe… if he asks. But, maybe not.”

“So who did they say they were? Lemoyne Raiders?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. Who knows… Anyway, don’t you go ribbing Pearson about that letter.”

“How dare you? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Riiight, you wouldn’t…”

“I have travelled widely, making no small name of myself…”

Arthur laughs. “I won’t be giving you no mail to post any time soon, that’s for sure.”

She chuckles too. “I just wanna peak in that journal of yours. The mind boggles.”

“Not a chance…”

“You didn’t get yourself killed then, Miss Adler?” calls Pearson, strolling over smugly as Arthur pulls up near the horse station.

“Not quite,” she responds truthfully.

“Well, I’d like to say I missed your refined conversations, but I’d be lying.”

She accepts the box shoved into her chest without complaint. “I… I enjoyed myself out there.”

“Yes, we err… Mrs Adler did ok!” He holds up his arms and lifts you down gently by your waist.

“At shopping?”

“Yes, at shoppin’...”

The double meaning doesn’t go unrecognised by Sadie who thanks him with genuine gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. I would ride with you again, Mrs Adler, if you will ride with me.”

“Maybe,” she laughs. “If you prove you can handle yourself.”

“Well, they say I lack finesse, but I ain’t afraid of gun smoke.”

“We got this, Arthur. You’ve already done me a big favour today.” Turning to you with a smile, Arthur accepts the repeater you proffer. It’s best to remain unarmed for now - there’s no need to risk one of your lesser fans finding an excuse to regard you as a threat. “Okay, Miss High and Mighty. And… nice pants by the way.”

“You okay there, Y/N?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his side. “You manage to find something too?”

“Just about,” you admit. “Had to put in an order. How long do you think we’ll be around here for?”

“Until we can’t most likely. Everything alright? They didn’t catch you or nothin’, did they?”

“Of course not, Arthur.” Your weak smile is genuine and heartfelt at his concern. “I’m not above shouting when I’m shot.”

“‘Course not.” He rubs your back, leading you back to your shared tent. “You gonna try them on, or what?”

“Nah, I figure I might as well make the most of still being able to fit in this stuff, even if it’s only for a few more days.”

He laughs, pulling you into a big hug. “Fair enough.”

From under his arm, you spot the rousing attention of Herr Strauss nearby. You nudge him in warning, but it’s too late.

“Ah, Herr Morgan! How are you enjoying yourself out here?”

“Well enough, I guess,” he replies gruffly. “And you?”

“Well, it turns out the pursuit of freedom is not a cheap business. Not for us, and not for some of the locals.”

“Sharking, already?”

“I prefer to call it banking.”

“You ain’t the one handing out the beatings,” snarls Arthur.

“No, but I am the one feeding the women and children in the camp,” he retorts. “What choice do we have, Mr Morgan?”

Arthur sighs. “Ah, I don’t know. Well, come on then! Tell me who…”

You stop listening as Strauss reads off a list of names, and only tune back in to hear Arthur ask how many he expects to be able to pay.

“With enough encouragement, both of them!” he chuckles, his black eyes twinkling from behind the round spectacles.

Sighing, Arthur returns to where you’re sat on the camp bed. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’d best be gettin’ on.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You stand up to kiss him. “The gang comes first.”

He grimaces at that, but doesn’t dispute it. You give him another kiss for good luck and wave him out camp before dropping the flaps, not missing the glare of bitterness from Sadie across camp.

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 6 (1/3)

Finally back after the Holidays! I ate so much I am embarrassed to say...

Previously on TWoT: Emily, a girl from 2020, ends up in 1899. Her life changes drastically but she seems to find some comfort in the people she happens to live with: the Van Der Linde gang. Even though things in camp seem to go well, outside camp the world is full of dangers, some little, some big, that make Emily remember day after day that she isn’t in 2020 anymore. Now it is time to prove herself and the gang what she can do. 

Chapter 6 (1/3) - Horses and O’Driscolls

Words: 2,2k

That morning Emily woke up with an unusual heartbeat and kept feeling that way until Mr. Morgan announced he was leaving. She still couldn’t understand what attraction had that kind of wandering: he didn’t even visit towns, he just roamed in the countryside, camped among the mud and weeds, and spent a lot of time on his horse. Without considering how dangerous it was: he had no mobile phone - of course in 1899 they didn’t exist yet - and if something had happened, if his horse had sprained his ankle, if he had fallen in a pit, if someone had attacked him, if the law had caught him eventually, they would have never known. 

In the end she went to say goodbye, with a long face that made her look like a child who hasn’t received her favorite toy from Santa Clause. 

Fortunately for her, over the next days she would have had a lot to think about: Miss Grimshaw kept her busy for some other little job; she had started to practice with Charles how to calm a horse, how to read its physical signs, how to mount and dismount, and how to take care of it; Jack asked for her everyday and she had to come up with a couple of different games to play; and then there was that illegal practice by the doctor in Valentine which intrigued her, and from time to time she went looking for Javier to know if he had found out something new.

One day, it was a cloudy day, with those heavy dark clouds that make you understand the rain might come every moment, Emily was in the kitchen, washing the plates and chatting with Mrs. Adler. She was still grieving for her husband and she wasn’t really in a talking mood, but Emily tried all she could to make her feel better. She couldn’t fully understand how Sadie was feeling, because she had never lost someone: her only family were her parents and an old uncle, she had lost her grandparents when she was young and didn’t remember much of them. 

But even if it was difficult, she tried to focus Sadie’s attention on something else, asking her what she thought about the camp, about the country, if she wanted to go to town someday with her, everything that could distract her, and from now and then she noticed that Sadie glimpsed at the man tied at the tree right behind the kitchen, who was perfectly visible from where the basin to wash the dishes was. Maybe she new something about him that Emily didn’t.

“What do you think he has done?” she asked nodding towards the prisoner.

In those days she had walked many times in front of him, but she had never stopped to talk. She didn’t trust him, even though Mary-Beth had told her he was harmless. 

“Something bad for sure. He’s an O’Driscoll” replied Sadie with a low growling voice full of despise.

“What does it mean? What is an O’Driscoll?” she asked.

“They are the sons of bitches who killed my husband.” Emily raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth, moving her eyes from Sadie to the prisoner.

“You mean… he was there that day?”

“No, not him. His friends.”

“So, what has he done? Why is he tied there?”

“Whatever he’s done, I hope they let him rot there for the rest of his days.”

Sadie made sure to pronounce those last words loud enough to be heard by the man, who did nothing apart from closing his eyes and taking a sigh.

Emily was shocked by Sadie’s cruelty. After all, he had nothing to do with her husband’s death, he was part of the same group, that was true, but she couldn’t tar them all with the same brush. 

So, the mystery of the tied man was still chasing her, and when she finished with the dishes, she went looking for Hosea: if someone could unravel her doubts, that was him. She found him near the horses with a big map in his hands, which he was studying carefully. She walked closer and as always she first asked what he was doing, intrigued by that big piece of yellowish paper.

“It’s a map of some big rare animals. A man at the saloon gave it to me this morning and I was having a look” he said showing her the little animals drawings.

“Are you going to hunt them?”

“I’d like to. There are a couple of interesting animals, like this bear here, up the Cumberland Forest. People in town say he’s huge, a real monster. But I need someone to come with me. I’m too old to hunt it on myself.”

“Oh come on! You can’t be this old” she said kneeling down next to him, and for a moment they looked like a man with his granddaughter seated at his feet ready to hear another story from the past.

“I’m old enough” he laughed.

The two of them exchanged a sweet smile.

“Anyway, I came to ask you about the man you keep as hostage. Sadie told me he is an… O’Driscoll? What does it mean?”

Hosea took a deep sigh and then started with the long story about the feud between Dutch and Colm O’Driscoll. Luckily, he had nothing better to do, so he educated Emily about the different gangs, who they were, their way of doing things, why they claimed to be different from them. And so Emily finally had the answer to the presence of so many girls, a child and even the reverend. She learned that everybody was part of that group because Dutch had saved them from a life of misery, or because they had saved Dutch somehow. She also had the certainty that what was written in that little newspaper cutting under Arthur’s tent was true: once they used to steal from the rich to help the poor, but now with so many mouths to feed and the law constantly on their heels, that kind of charity was out of question.

“So, what has that man done? Why is he tied?” she asked in the end.

“He’s there for questioning, and without a little persuasion Colm’s boys never speak openly.”

“Are you telling me that he’s probably done nothing? And you’re keeping him in that conditions anyway?”

Emily felt sorry. She felt sorry because in the past week she could have helped that man, bring him the water he asked, exchange a few words with him to make him feel better, talk with Dutch and try to find another solution, but she didn’t because she had fallen under the spell of prejudice and stereotype, something that she had always sweared not to do.

“That’s barbaric” she whispered, but she was talking about the other’s behavior as much as hers. 

“It’s necessary. If he runs back to his friends and gives away our position, we’re all dead.”

She left Hosea and reached Charles seated on a small footstool next to the fire, not the one at the centre of camp, where they used to sit and eat, but the external one, the one they called ‘scout fire' for the people on guard duty. He had told her to reach him there every day around eleven o’clock for their lesson.

Among all the people in camp, Charles was the most patient, generous and hard-working of them all, but because of his robustness was also considered one of the most dangerous. Emily had tried to think of him in those terms, imagining how fierce he had to be with his enemies, with that stoic expression of his, but then he opened his mouth and a calm and reassuring voice came out. No, it was impossible to think of him as a bad man.

“Hi, Charles. I’m ready” she said walking closer.

“You better change your clothes before. Put on them jeans you have.”

“W-why?”

“You need to be more comfortable this time, we’re going out.”

Out? Did he mean out of camp? At last! She hadn’t put a foot out of that camp since Arthur had left. Due to the fact that she still wasn’t able to ride a horse and that she couldn’t take a wagon if not in the presence of a man, she hadn’t had the audacity to ask anyone in camp to accompany her again. Besides, the idea of Valentine, with its stink, its muck and its rude citizens, wasn’t appealing. 

Emily didn’t inquire further on the matter of leaving camp and walked to her tent where she changed her skirt with her jeans. Then, she went back to Charles feeling incredibly nervous but thrilled at the same time. She still hadn’t acquired a good familiarity with horses: she was more confident in touching them and mounting and dismounting, but far from being ready to ride. 

Charles made her mount on Taima and then he took the reins, walking out of camp and thought the wood. When they reached a plain a little out of the woods, Charles gave her the reins and told her how to give Taima the commands: walk, speed up, slow down, turn left or right, and stop. He told her she needed to give a little whip of the reins and a kick with the heels to make her move, and so she did.

“Now stay calm. Horses can sense fear or insecurity, you have to show her who is in command.”

“In command, yes. I-I don’t really feel like I’m commanding her.”

“But you are. Come on, make her walk in a circle, all around me.”

The lesson went on for a while. With every circle, Emily felt more and more secure on the saddle and her movements where smoother. When Charles saw she was making some progress, he thought it was enough for the day and they finally headed back.

“When do you think I’ll be ready to go on my own?” she asked.

“It’s hard to say. You’re getting better, but you still have a lot to learn. It’s easy to control a horse when it’s calm, the hard part is control it when it gets skittish.”

“They truly are the most stupid animals in the world. How it comes they are so big and strong and yet afraid of their own shadow?”

“Instinct to survive.”

“I guess. Anyway, thank you, Charles. For all you’re doing, for teaching me. You’re really kind. You all are. Are you sure you are criminals?”

“So says the bounty on our heads.”

“I still don’t get you. Why don’t you take some money from a bank and buy some land? It would be far much easier. You all make a great group.”

“When we don’t turn one against the other.”

“Yeah, well… every family has its flaws.”

Charles’s words echoed in her head for a while, about the bounty on their heads, and she wondered what they could have possibly done. Hosea had told her that Dutch had killed a girl, but she still couldn’t believe it: looking at them, at their faces, she couldn’t think they were capable of killing someone, she didn’t want to believe it, she didn’t want to think of them as murderers, not Hosea, not Charles, and especially not Arthur.

She was brought back to reality by Lenny, who shouted a “who’s there” when they reached the camp.

Emily decided to change her clothes again to avoid her jeans, her precious only pair of jeans, to get dirty, so she wore the brown skirt again, before she went looking for Javier. That was the only thing she could do, walk around and annoy people with questions, and sometimes with simply her presence. 

She found him seated at a table polishing a gun and she took a little sigh before approaching him: why they had to keep always those things in their hands? Walking closer she also noticed he had changed his clothes too and now he was wearing a big grey Mexican-style hat. 

“If I had a doubt about your provenience before, now I can’t be mistaken” she joked sitting on the table and catching his attention. 

“Before you ask me again, yes, I’ve been back to Valentine and had a look” he said.

Emily laughed at his annoyed tone. That poor man was right, she had been asking him about the doctor almost everyday, sometimes even more than once at day. 

“What did you find?” she asked.

He put down the gun and looked at her right in the eye. 

“There is another iron door in the back of the building, just like the one on the inside. This means we can’t get in from the back, we need to convince the doctor to open the door for us.”

“Well, that seems easy enough. You just have to make him open the door, take the money and leave.”

“It’s not that easy” Javier chuckled.

“Why not?”

“First of all, we don’t know how many men there are behind that door. Second, the sheriff’s office if right beside the doctor’s, and if he should hear something’s wrong and comes checking, I’m a dead man.”

“So, we need a plan of attack” she said as she felt a thrill run down her back and suddenly she was so excited she could barely sit still on the table.

[ayshaelshamayleh]

What is Divine Will in The Arab Israeli Conflict & why is it essential to the current discourse?

The Arab-Israeli conflict has been ailing me extensively for the past few years. Not exactly for the reasons that are common amongst Muslim-born Arabs. But for reasons pertaining to contemplations about Divine Will. As a scholar of The Holy Bible -one who has studied the Quran, both having grown up in a cultural context rooted in it and having had to study it as a spiritual seeker in the process of finding a faith/creed - I am burdened by uncomfortable questions. As someone who believes in God, solidly, I am broken by my inability to understand God’s hand in this war that lives so close-by. 

Let me explain my point-of-view: I experience the bible as true word of God, on a personal basis. I live with it. I study it. I model it. I am Arab. I live in Jordan. Israel roots its claim to Palestine in a biblical promise made by God, and narrated in The Holy Bible. 

I find it important for there to be Arabs, accustomed with the bible, engaging (and in fact leading) the discourse about the Arab-Israeli conflict. Arabs who are interested in the conflict must know more about the biblical context, no matter what they themselves believe, so that the conversation is more productive than it has been. If your opponent is claiming God is doing this, and it is difficult to understand how it is possible for an entire country to come into existence out of nothing, the question of “is this by God’s will or not?” must be important for every believer or spiritual seeker on both sides. This way you will speak clearer, and more convincingly, using a language all sides understand and relate with. You should not deny religious belief systems are at the core of this conflict, for everyone involved. You can’t care how uncomfortable that process is, it’s uncomfortable for all of us. And if politics, especially in a land heavily documented to be God’s, is a physical manifestation of the design of the energetic realm; it is important for all those who really look for or believe in God, to ask: “what’s up?”, and to consider that a priority question in their outlook, should they be true believers, true thinkers, true citizens. 

Let’s deal with what’s in the bible about this conflict. To summarize, in the bible the Jews are promised to be scattered amongst nations, and God’s subsequent redemption brings them back to a Promised Land. From Abraham to Joseph to Moses to Joshua to David, the journey that is the blue-print for the spiritual-Jew takes him/her from living somewhere, God approaching him/her and wanting a relationship, as part of a chosen people (chosen by random, not because they are better than the rest, but just to use them as a sign, a symbol, for His relationship with all of humanity at a certain point in history). So then, like the rest of us, they dance between committing to Him and wanting worldly desires and comfort, falling in the face of fear to truly trust Him, to follow His voice and wait in the silence, to move in obedience, to humble themselves as to have a sovereign God over them. They didn’t do that. As you and I don’t do that. As we all don’t do that.  

So then, God -having had good things to give them, good things to promise them, good ways to love them (the quintessential Perfect Lover) - in pain scatters them (‘because it’s over’). He scatters them into Egypt through Joseph, where they move and are eventually enslaved. To taking them out of Egypt, through Moses, wandering a scorched land of a desert for 40 years, so that everyone dies but their remnant (a minority out of them that loved God back in action), who are then given their ‘promised land’. And in the historical bible this does indeed correspond to areas in historical Palestine and its surroundings. David becomes the King of Jerusalem. Solomon builds his temple. Then the cycle goes downhill again, by the time of Daniel, famous for surviving a cage of lions, the jews are back to enslavement in Babylon. The downhill cycle continues.  

One important point to mention is that all throughout the Old Testament, the people of God are promised a Messiah, and to define “messiah” in lay terms: it is the someone or something through which we are saved, making life perfect and peaceful (it’s what every human dreams of and is alive in wait of - the perfect peaceful good life; the Messiah is the spiritual linguistic term that corresponds to the tool which brings about that life we dream of; the life-like heaven we pursue, the perfect state of us becoming perfectly ‘corrected’ and at peace with our existence). 

Now the New Testament tells the story of the Messiah, who is named Christ Jesus (consider it a random linguistic term for now that corresponds to this ‘tool’). Just to avoid confusions, because life is such that we are prone to mistaking a new car or a promotion or a new wife for a messiah -I just confirm that if you want to delve into the realm of precise language and the human-Divine story in order to discern whether the life you have is the one promised to you by God (or if you are living in a land way off-track), the ‘Messiah’s’ character is historically embodied by a man who happened to go by the name Jesus, at random (just the case, neutral). The things you like and fall in love with remind you of the character of ‘Jesus’. If we are to use his name just as a name of a character that is uttered by some people on the route through which we get to that life-like heaven, it’s just that. The gospel gives you a full and short enough narrative about that character (philosophically, artistically, literarily, poetically, historically, literally) to be able to use it as a reference for your life in that practical and simple, manual-style way - should you be one interested in answers that come through such a pallet.

So this fella, Jesus, a jew himself, a son of the lineage of David, a Christ of God comes to settle the debt between God and humanity once and for all. This guy comes to give us a tabula rasa, not just that, but a permanent stay in the life-like heaven. In fact, he says he’ll be inviting you and preparing us to live practically and truly as children of God. Like we feel that way, experientially. Now as you can imagine, you turn out to be indebted to the God that you avoided, silenced, maybe cheated on, but who still shows up (from Adam to your name). So this ‘tool’ of a Messiah is necessary. 

We fully understand the feelings of God on that front through the Book of Hosea (in the Old testament). The prophet of the times was called by God to get married to a cheating wife as a sign of the era and the feelings of God about humanity’s relationship with Him. The endless dancing, not settling, confusion, blurred lines, not making a decision about His presence and involvement, confusion, fear-of-commitment; mess. That wife, symbolizing the people of God, keeps running away into the hands of men (and man-made things), until she finds herself in a slave market. That slave market has modern iterations we are familiar with: selling our souls to jobs we hate, making money that is useless to spend on band aid solutions for the void and the endless pain of wanting life-like heaven but losing the way, insisting that is the only way it goes. That was Hosea’s wife; just like us. Wanting to skip investigating God’s design of life in favor of good times, and “busy-ness”.

Now if you’ve ever been cheated on, imagine that happening over and over for centuries with someone - the brokenness and ridiculousness and unfairness pile up, and Him showing up to create a life for you doesn’t mean the wounds went away or that His showing up is sustainable on an energetic level (think “accounting”). So (to be very simplistic in handling Christian philosophy) something needed to wash things over, resolve you, heal you, get a final fix so the two entities -you and God- could be ‘together’, compatible again, somehow -in friendship? In romance? Him, your Perfect Lover (each up to his capacity in His will). And that route that does that, mathematically and mythically and literally and linguistically, was randomly assigned the name Jesus. 

So what would it take God to reconcile us to Him, according to the bible (the new testament)? The answer is counterintuitive and very difficult to accept or agree to believing in. Before I lay it out, there’s this parable in the new testament that Jesus narrates that might help. There was once a man (alternate man with “God”), who owned a vineyard, and worked very hard at it, dug the winepress, built a tower, and lent it out to some farmers (alternate farmers with “us”) and went to a faraway country (alternate that with “life”). When harvest time came, the man (/God) sent his servants (/friends that walk around in your life constantly annoying you about God or things that remind you of such) to get his share of the fruit as agreed. The farmers (/us) responded by refusing the owner’s end of the bargain, so they beat the servants (/annoying friends) and killed them, so the farmers kept the whole harvest to themselves (/as they wished). The man (/God) sent more servants again. The farmers (/us) killed them again. So then the owner of the vineyard sent his son (alternate that with “Jesus”), thinking the farmers (/us) would respect someone as close and dear and connected to him as an actual son in this ordeal, and that we would give this son the rightful share. When the farmers saw the son, they said to themselves this is the heir, come let us kill him and keep his inheritance to ourselves. And so they did, just that. Killed him to get the land (/life) for themselves with no accountability before its owner. 

The proposition that is difficult to understand or agree to is that God, instead of finding a system that would make us pay for our unwise choices in our relationship with him, knew we couldn’t possibly manage to do that. So, be patient with me here and see it in mythical terms for a second; God paid the price of our wrongs by sending someone of Himself, allowing us to witness ourselves choose to kill him, and in response He showed us He resurrects, and everything not of His dies, to reach out to us for further correction again. The cycle of life keeps moving in that direction. God is here for good. At His own price. This is what makes “God” God, his capacity to love, counterintuitively. This personally moves me. 

The Christian philosophy essentially says God made a truce that is light and easy. If you are drawn to the character of this son, if you love this one who lived loving Him and his neighbor, showing the way, forgiving, sacrificing himself; you are saved and you enter your life-like heaven. The alchemy that happens within you, evolving you, as you pursue your belief in him changes your character into a state able to find and enjoy heaven. Now this life-like heaven isn’t easy. It entails embodying a life like that of God’s son. Loving God. Loving people. Telling the truth, even when it’s difficult. Having people mistrust your goodness. And instead of you choosing to retaliate, choosing to expose your wounds and your pain. Humbling yourself before God and man by asking your Maker for the strength to be good in truthful terms, for the sake of the people’s love for God and God’s perfect love for people. You will be persecuted because of that. You will be whipped. You will struggle. Yet within that life, God Himself works miracles in you and through you. You witness them. You feel Him, real, and strong. You know God. You see Him. Daily. He knows you. Personally. And there’s nothing else you need after that point, apart from enjoying your faith. And thus, heaven is on earth. In that counterintuitive and difficult way. 

Needless to say, what I’m describing above is not the ‘state’ of Israel. Let’s tie this back to the Arab-Israeli conflict. One of the reasons the historical Jesus was not accepted by the historical jews is because they were expecting a political King for a messiah. A man who controls life. Who leads them to physical prosperity; monetary, “real”. Christ was too ethereal for the historical jew. Too intangible. Promising a kingdom of heaven, not earth. So those who are jews in today’s world are an expression of a spiritual state that hasn’t accepted that the ‘messiah’ (the tool to life-like heaven) can come. They find it hard to grasp that after Adam and Eve’s fall from heaven on earth in pursuit of the physicality of life and its desires, the story ends with God coming down to earth to be with us. But that “being with us” is inside of us -I hate to break that, I know it’s an overstated statement. It demands letting go of the world enough to experience Him, rely on Him, see Him, find Him within the eye of the soul. Peace comes out of that silliness, that wherever your geo-coordinates may be in the universe, you are in God, and you work hard at maintaining that (through discernment of what is and is not God) and you suffer in His name. Faith isn’t a hobby. Faith is a full-life ordeal. 

Let’s tie this back to the issue of the Arab-Israeli conflict again. What is going on has to do with another important belief that is so rare. Jews, christians AND muslims all agree on one thing: The world will end with the second coming of Christ (in fact, to Jerusalem). I don’t need to tell you that in today’s post-COVID era and post-Deal-of-the-Century, etc. reality, many feel -as secular as we may be- that the world keeps feeling like it’s ending. Now since all three creeds (i.e. the majority in this region) piously and unanimously agree that earth is destined towards a direction leading to the “arrival” of Christ, then all who are “correct” by their own standards, should be living in pursuit of knowing Christ, regardless of your religion. Your religion stipulates that, should you be a true believer. 

Those who do not know Christ, if they believe in God or are asking questions about God, should learn about him. It is a part of your religion. Social taboos on that front should not concern you, because you claim to believe in God, not people. A life of faith demands a life of your own faith in action, in behavior, in practice - waking up in the morning and working on yourself to find more about your God everyday, about your ‘religion’ everyday. Asking the uncomfortable questions. Anything else is not belief, or creed, it is a facade and a lie. It collapses. If you are unsure there is a God, the most important goal in your life is to go find out whether there is. Don’t wait till a deathbed. 

In my twenties I watched my father die over six years. His real and actual deathbed was fatally propped in our living room. And I watched. I watched him reckon with death. I watched his life be accounted for, both in the human realm and in the other one. I watched him apologize for wrongs he had done people. I watched him pray. I watched him pretend to have beings in the room other than my family. He was asked questions by them (very intelligent, logical and concise). He even gave answers he would turn to me and say were right or wrong or ones he was unsure of. He became so beautiful in his withering, the most loving essence of him palpably fragrant. I saw Christ. He was devotedly Muslim. Not in how he applied laws. But how he practiced, so humbly elegant, real faith is something so dense and real, but unseen, unacknowledged, unaccounted for. That humanity is the only one I wish to see. 

Life takes time. People have different paces and different paths. Intrinsic in the choices they make about how they live life and what they name things (e.g. ‘Israel’), they express what they worship, you express what you believe is the right modem for life. You can’t control your neighbor. You can just worry about your stuff - another overstated statement, I know. 

Here is a political state calling itself “Israel” that believes in doing good for itself and for its people, in hate and at the expense of what’s outside of itself. Is that wrong? They themselves say “no, not when it’s for our best and we are a chosen people”. In my contemplations about Divine Justice, I ache to understand how it is fair that God gives others a choice in how they treat things around them. How is God “God”, if He leaves it all to people? There seems to be no power behind it. Just suffering, and bleeding, and dying on a cross. That’s no God at all - I would imagine the spiritual jew and most Arabs would agree. Not impressive enough to warrant belief. Too passive, many people I’ve crossed paths with have said this. 

As a person of faith, I struggle with those questions as well. I find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place. I experience God as so perfect as to give people choice, even in how they treat Him, and in how they treat others. He is magnanimous as to warrant freedom of speech and behavior. But don’t take that lightly, because you will win. So it’s on you in the smallest of moments. Life and how the people around you experience it depends on you and your choices. There is divine judgement but you are allowed to do whatever you wish, it has consequences, but that’s not the reason you do good. You do good because you believe in the intrinsic value of creating a good world (should you live in a life-like heaven, then that’s imperative for you). Doing good to avoid punishment points to a young state of faith, baby believer, there is much space for development. We work towards becoming adults in God. 

I fail to understand what sort of life to lead to contribute to the resolution of problems that claim people’s lives around me. I feel the situation, it hurts me deeply. Life and God get confusing to the point of total implosion. To be real, since finding faith, the condition of my life is often signaled by whatever is happening in Jerusalem. If you want to know how I am, look up ‘Jerusalem’. Not because Jerusalem causes my pain at all, but my pain coincides with it, like truth. It’s like we’re in the same box of existence. Not by choice, I don’t even share any genetic roots to the place. I’m a random person of God. That state hasn’t been good. 

I feel that an important response (in addition to the other responses out there) to what is happening in Sheikh Jarrah would be to compile resources again and get the people to live in a neighborhood that loves them. Man should not need to negotiate his value amongst the people who live close-by him. In all cases, and despite complexities, man must live amongst the people who are concerned about him, willing to carry him all the way through. I pray that that comes through, and if in any way I am helpful, I’m interested in collaborating.

I’ll end with this good thought by pastor and author Tim Keller:

“Anger is love in motion to deal with a threat toward that which you really love (to disintegrate the threat) – to see what your heart loves the most, you need only ask what you are defending.”

Worth the think. 

[toutallyahoe]

Hopeless Romance ~ Mary-Beth Gaskill (RDR2)

Requested By: --

A/N: more than fucking 6000 words yall

im dead

never thought ill get to write 6000 words just for one fucking one shot

i thought itll only be until 4000 or 5000 words but NOPE! THE GREMLINS IN MY MIND IS LIKE 6000 BITCHES

but anyway, i love her so much help asdfghjklworijcjjxjdb

─────────────────

Mary-beth let out a fond sigh as she took her eyes off the book she was holding and looked dreamily at the view of the lake. The young woman had finished her chores earlier and Miss Grimshaw finally let her off the hook and Mary-beth immediately took her chance to read a book she had been reading for awhile now. The young woman sat comfortably on the grassy ground as her eyes looked at the blue waters of the lake. It was a breathtaking view, Mary-beth had to say. The waters seemed to have some sparkling glow as the rays of the sun hit it just perfectly. The calm breeze passing by and making the leaves of the trees dance with it.

Mary-beth closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the scent of the fresh open air of the land, then sighing in content. A soft cheerful hum leaving her lips as she softly smiled. This was a nice day. It was not sunny-- rather that it was a bit cloudy which seemed to be a perfect weather to spend near the lake that was close to the camp and read her book. The calmness of the area was rather enjoyable. There were no loud noises, not like in the camp. As much as Mary-beth loved everyone in the gang, finding them as a family and such, the young woman liked to have some peace and quiet now and then.

Mary-beth opened her eyes, the smile still on her lips as she looked back to her book. The printed text on the pages of the book made Mary-beth smile dreamily as she thought of what if she had her own journey like the woman in the story. Now, it was a common knowledge that Mary-beth Gaskill was an absolute hopeless romantic. She loved the thought of those romantic moments she had read and adored when she get to see those romantic endeavors in real life.

The young woman always felt her heart leap when she get to see those romantic gestures and courtship. She can't explain it but Mary-beth just loved those. It was like a light in her own dark world. Something to look forward to despite her life being dangerous. After all, an outlaw life isn't the most well loved one.

The young woman let out a hum as she imagined herself as the woman in the story she was reading. The story was at first boring if Mary-beth had to be honest, but it was because the plot of the story seemed to be close to the same of some of her other books. Yet, it still captivated her. Especially how the love interest of the woman was introduced. The leading man as Mary-beth imagined to be handsome, very handsome with the way the woman in her book described. With how the man's eyes filled with determination and passion and how he acted to the woman in the story with such soft and tenderness despite him being someone of higher status than the woman who was merely a maidservant.

Mary-beth had to be honest, the man in the story reminded her of someone in camp. Someone who was dangerous and rather terrifying at times, yet he was also kind and had that tenderness she sees when he would talk to... her. That someone was named [Name] [Last name].

Mary-beth fancied him if the young woman had to be true to herself. He was a bit rough around the edges as he was an outlaw like herself, but he was more dangerous than her. Mary-beth merely pickpocket and lie. He on the other hand, had killed and slaughtered people. Of course they were either the law that were chasing them or O'Driscolls and other gang but he was still a man who can not be crossed with. But then again, Mary-beth saw more than what other's had missed. The young woman saw how [Name] adored animals, especially his horse who he always looked after and he enjoyed to play a harmonica and would play in occasions if he was requested to.

Mary-beth remembered the time when she first heard him play the harmonica. The moon was shining bright along the twinkling stars in the night sky. The young woman was off to go back to her shared tent with the other ladies since she had to walk away a bit to do her business when she had heard the soft sound of the harmonica as she passed by the campfire where the fire was still burning bright. Looking around, Mary-beth was surprised to see the new member of two months sitting underneath the stars on a stump of a tree. His back turned to her as the sound of the harmonica came from his direction. If Mary-beth remembered correctly, the tune he was playing was a song called "Oh My Darling, Clementine".

[Name] played well. He seemed to know the tune of the song and Mary-beth stood there with a soft smile on her lips as she saw him tap one of his feet on the ground along the tune he played. It was that night that Mary-beth saw the quiet and reserved outlaw express himself through the tune of the harmonica.

As the young woman softly hummed and got lost to her thoughts, Mary-beth failed to hear the sound of something approaching her until it was too late.

Something had grabbed Mary-beth's shoulder from behind. The young woman was surprised with a hint of fear swirled inside her as a loud shriek left her lips. Mary-beth felt the thing taking off whatever was on her shoulder as Mary-beth hastily stood up and turned around to face who had touched her. Her book getting thrown on the ground yet she did not care for she was afraid on who or what had grabbed her. Mary-beth was readying herself to confront who, only to see a very familiar man. Specifically, the man who she had unconsciously thought off.

"M... Mr. [Last name]!" Mary-beth had said in surprise. Her freckled cheek flushed with embarrassment as she saw the outlaw nodded his head at her. "You surprised me," she had said as her hand was placed on her chest, where her heart is as she felt her heart beat fast from the fright she just had. She was surprised, no doubt about it and [Name] noticed it.

"Ma'am," [Name] had said as he tipped his hat to her direction as a sign of politeness and greeting. "Apologies 'bout that but I have been callin your name for awhile now," he had said. Mary-beth felt her cheeks heat up with his words. Has she been in her head that long?

[Name] raised a brow when he saw Mary-beth looked away from him. "Really sorry again," he had apologized again. The outlaw look around and let out a quiet hum. The place he found Mary-beth was pleasant. [Name] look at Mary-beth again and saw something on the ground. Eyebrows furrowed as he realized what it is.

"Ah," [Name] had exhaled as he approached near the young woman and picked up  the book she had unintentionally dropped on the ground when she had gotten scared. Raising to his height as he looked at Mary-beth in the eye.

"Sorry but you seem to dropped this," he said as he offered the book which Mary-beth let out a gasp and hurriedly took it from his hands. [Name] watched amused as he watched the young woman inspected the book closely, making sure it wasn't damage or so from being thrown to the ground. When Mary-beth had made sure the book had no damage whatsoever, she sent the man a look. Silently telling she did not appreciate the scare that cause her book to be thron on the ground.

"You seriously need to stop scaring a lady, Mr. [Last name]," Mary-beth pouted. "I would have not forgiven you if you had damage my book from it," she said. Mary-beth saw the outlaw crack a small smile at her.

"Well, the truly sorry again for the lady," he had said with amusement laced in his voice. His eyes, oh those [Eye color] eyes that Mary-beth swore she could only see in fiction or her silly imaginations were real. [Eye color] eyes that seen so much horror still has that unwavering spark in them that made the young woman's heart throb inside her chest. "But the lady should also have been alert in her surroundings. You never know when an animal will pounce on ya," he had said.

Mary-beth let out a laugh as she playfully slapped the outlaw on his arm. The outlaw send the young woman a small amused look that she happily returned with a large grin on her lips and glee evident in her face. "Oh?" Mary-beth had said. "Like you, Mr. [Last name]?" The young woman had teased as a chuckle left the man's lips as he shakes his head at her. Mary-beth beamed as she took pride on managing to crack up a chuckle from the man.

You see, [Name] [Last name] was still a reserved man. He preferred to be alone at times and the camp respect that with the occasional times of the resident Irish loud mouth Sean Macguire trying to get the outlaw out of his 'shell' as the Irish man had put it. Bothering the man until he gets threatened at most times. And both the Callander brothers who seemed to enjoy [Name]'s overall being, actually trying to get the man to spill more of his past that he seemed to avoid talking about and also just dragging the quiet and reserved man on jobs.

Yes, it had already been almost a year that [Name] had joined and some of the members of the Van Der Linde gang still don't know much of the [Hair color] haired outlaw. He seemed to avoid the subject of before Hosea and Dutch brought him in one day along with Arthur like a plague. The Van Der Linde gang still remembered [Name] looked absolutely skinny and malnourished when the three men had brought him in. Mary-beth remembered him almost falling off of Arthur's horse when they ride inside camp and was quickly carried into a tent to have him lay and rest in a cot as the man seemed to not point what was real and what was not at that moment.

Mary-beth only heard bits of pieces on what Dutch had announcement to them when Miss Grimshaw and Reverend Swanson tried to patch him up with the cuts and bruises littered on his [Skin color] skin as her mind was filled with worry to the poor [Hair color] haired man. Dutch had said that they had found the injured man locked up in a basement on a house they had robbed. It made Mary-beth's heart seek for the poor man who who knows how long he had been stucked in a dimly lit, rotting old basement and probably even was dehydrated and starving for days with how skinny and malnourished he looked when his body was carried pass by her.

"Ah, trust me ma'am," [Name]'s voice cut through Mary-beth's reminiscing of the past as she snapped her head to look at the direction of the man. The young woman's breathe hitched as she saw that rare sly grin the outlaw had sent to her. "I'm more of any dangerous animal here," he had chuckled as he had took off his jacket, leaving him in only the old blue dress shirt that seemed to have its colors fasing from age. The man then had placed his jacket on the grassy ground. The outlaw did not minding the young woman's eyes curiously looked on what he was doing as he then offered one of his hand to Mary-beth. "Ma'am," he had said as he sent the young woman who looked at him curiously with her eyes gleaming at him.

Mary-beth giggled at his words. The young woman clutched her book tight as she felt her heart fasten its beating when she took [Name]'s hand with her own that was not holding her book. The young woman noticed how gentle and tender the man's hold on her hand. It, again, reminded her on the man in the book that was gentle and soft to the woman in her book. The warmness of [Name]'s hand on her's made Mary-beth softly smiled when the man had guided her to sit on his jacket that he discarded and placed on the ground as he then took a sit beside her, not taking a space on the jacket he laid but on the grassy ground to have the young woman more space on the clothing.

"My, what a gentleman you are, Mr. [Last name]," Mary-beth had laughed as she sat comfortably. The young woman sent the man beside her a large grin as he raised a brow at her. "And here I thought you are a dangerous animal," she teased. The young woman's smile widen when she saw the corner of the outlaw's lips twitched upward, a smile threatening to make its way on his lips yet he turned away to avoid looking at her. The young woman still knew he was smiling though as she stared at him.

"Well, Miss Gaskill, I can be civilized at times," he had said as he turn to look at her again. Amusement gleamed in his [Eye color] eyes that the young woman noticed with how there proximity wasn't too far away. Again, those [Eye color] eyes that Mary-beth knew had seen so much pain and agony stoll had that burning spark in them. That burning spark that she find enchanting.

"It seems so," the young woman had softly laughed as she shakes her head while the man had a small smile yet it disappeared when she stopped shaking her head in amusement and looked at him again. Mary-beth saw [Name] let out a sigh as he turned to look at the large lake in front of them. The young woman looked at him for a moment and then following his lead. Again, the lake was still both beautiful and calming with the breeze passing by and disturbing the waters of the lake, creating small waves as the leaves of the trees and some flowers in the land dance along the wind. The sun having to be blocked a bit with the clouds that were passing by to shade the area.

There was a comfortable silence as Mary-beth turned her gaze on her lap where she had placed her book. Opening it again, she went back to the page she had thankfully still bookmarked and continued reading. Her losing to her book again as the outlaw beside her sent a quick look at her to see she was reading. He watched Mary-beth for a second or so as he felt himself crack a smile.

The [Hair color] haired man had to admit, Mary-beth looked beautiful. She always was. Through those first two months he didn't interact much with the other members of the Van Der Linde gang when he joined, he still noticed her. Mary-beth stood out like a sore spot for him. The outlaw saw the young woman beside him to be too pretty and rather too nice to be an outlaw when he had recovered and officially joined. Despite him not really interacting much with her in those few months, he had always noticed how she acted in the camp. Polite and kind. A rather obvious none outlaw attitude.

[Name] hummed as he remembered his first time officially interacting with her and not just say greeting and when passing by in camp. His very first conversation with her was when he had caught the young woman listening to him play with his harmonica that he had asked Arthur few days ago. The outlaw had noticed Mary-beth listening to him play for the past few nights but he did not have the courage to call her out on it. It was that one night that he finally mustered up the courage and looked at the direction of Mary-beth usually listening to him when he had finished playing and had called her out. It was rather awkward at first as the young woman seemed to stutter out a lot amd tried to explain herself when he just cut her off and asked her if she wanted to listen to more.

It was another night. Rest of the camp seemed to be asleep already aside from Bill who was grumbling in his station that was near the entrance if the camp that he was in guard duty that night while the [Hair color] haired outlaw sat at the log near the center campfire of the camp. It was late at night already with the night being dark yet the moon and stars shone brightly down while the embers of the fire from the campfire were the only source of light [Name] had besude the lamps in tents and wagons to aid anyone still awake in the nights. Taking out the harmonica out of his pocket, he let out a sigh as his ears picked up some footsteps behind him but then stopped. The [Hair color] man knew who those footsteps belonged too as he recognized ut was that same footsteps beling to someone in camp that had been listening to him for awhile now. Shaking his head, [Name] let out a sigh as he placed the harmonica on his lips and blew.

That night, the outlaw had choose to play a more somber and saddening tune of the song The Streets of Laredo on his harmonica. Lost in his own world as he played, a few feet away, a certain woman had peeked her head from the tree to see him play.

The young woman that stood a few feet away from him, away to not be easily seen (especially hiding behind a tree) yet not to far away to not hear the man was playing. Mary-beth couldn't help but hum a little bit with the tune the [Hair color] haired man who's back was facing her to be playing with his harmonica. Of course, Mary-beth knew what he was playing. It may have took a few seconds to familiarized herself with the tune but she still recognized the tune of The Streets of Laredo playing.

With quietly humming the underneath her breathe and closing her eyes. The young woman felt calmed. Yes, it was rather creepy on what she was currently doing. Stalking and hiding herself just to hear a man she barely talked to play a harmonica in the dark of night when she could have just asked to sit beside him in the campfire. It honestly made the young woman remember that thing in her book where a young prince was riding by an old castle with a large wall protecting it despite the wall was already old and covered in moss and vines when he had heard a beautiful voice overwall the wall.

Mary-beth remembered the prince in the book, curious who's voice he had heard that was so lovely had dismounted his horse and climb the old wall with the help of the vines that covered it. As he reached the top, he saw a beautiful maiden with hair as black as coal and skin as white as snow with lips as red as he color of rose. He listened to the maiden sang that lovely melody.

Looking at what she was doing now, the young woman bit back a smile to form on her lips as she also felt laughter bubbling up inside her, threatening to come out and blow away herself from her hiding place as she seemed to realized that she was the one doing the prince's role on listening while the beautiful maiden's who was singing role had fallen into the [Hair color] haired man who was playing his harmonica still in that somber yet alluring tune yet it was slowly getting quiet.

"I know you're there," [Name]'s voice cut through the air like a knife as had stopped playing his harmonica. He turned his head behind him and faced the direction on where he fully knew the young woman was hiding. Mary-beth snapping out of her thoughts and realizing she had been caught let out a quiet shriek leaving her lips as she went back to hide behind the tree. Her face flushed with red as she felt her heart beat quite fast in her chest. Trying to take deep breathes to calm herself down, Mary-beth poke her head a bit to see if the [Hair color] haired man was still looking at her direction. Her face flushed more in embarrassment as she saw that he was still looking at her direction.

"Um... g-good evenin!" Mary-beth stammered as she saw the man gave her an unimpressed look. His [Eye colo] eyes held no sort of emotion that she can see but if she was more closer, the young woman would have seen that small spark of amusement in those eyes of his.

"Evenin," [Name] had greeted back with a rause brow as he turned his body fully to face the young woman. "Now, why are you still awake Miss Gaskill?" The man had asked. Mary-beth let out a nervous giggle as she played with her hands behind the tree that she was still partially hiding.

"I... uh... th-this was not-- I was n-not-- uh... erm..." Mary-beth stammered out as she tried to explained herself. The young woman can feel her face already heating up more as she saw the [Hair color] haired man still looking at her. Mary-beth could not explain. She does not want to. This was already embarrassing enough and saying that she was stalking and listening to him play for awhile now? The young woman felt dread as she still embarrassed herself more of thinking uo ways to try and explain herself. "Um... I-I was... Mr. [Last name]! I-I did not mean... erm..."

The [Hair color] haired man seemed to have gotten either fed up or impatient with the young woman's flustered stuttering as he turned himself back to face at the burning fire of the campfire. Mary-beth bit her bottom lip as she saw what the man had done. Was he mad? He didn't had yelled at her for minding her own business nor question her on what she was doing hiding behind a tree. But still, it made the young woman fear what the outlaw think of her now.

Mary-beth stood behind that tree for awhile as she contemplated if she still would try to continue embarrass herself by trying to explain why she was awake in the middle of the night and hiding behind a tree to listen to him play or just go back to the other women that were sleeping in their tent to avoid embarrassing herself more. As the young woman contemplates, [Name] took a quick look behind him again as see that the young woman was still there. With a sigh and a click of his tongue, he decided to invite her to his side.

"Miss Gaskill?" The outlaw had called. Interrupting the young woman degrading herself in her thoughts as Mary-beth snapped her head at his direction and realized that the [Hair color] haired man had called her.

"Y-yes?" Mary-beth had said. Her voice raising an octave from her nervousness. Was he going to shout at her? Be angry at her for being this creepy woman that was stalking him behind a tree in the middle of the night? Does he think she was creepy or weird? What if he--

"Do you want to sit and listen to me play?" Mary-beth but her bottom lip as she had tried to hide her joy from his words. Frantically nodding her head to his question, the young woman saw [Name] raised his hand and gestured at her to come closer. "Well? What are you waitin for?" He had said as he turned his head back to look at the fire. Mary-beth let out a sigh of relief as she realized the [Hair color] haired man was not angry at her. The young woman finally stepped out from her hiding spot as she happily approached the outlaw that was sitting on a log. Taking her place beside him as she was close, the young woman smiled at him when [Name] had look at her way for a minute or so.

"Any request?" Mary-beth had heard the man beside her grunted as she saw him placed the harmonica on his lips, ready to play whatever she would asked. The young woman felt something inside her flutter as she heard his words. Thinking, the young woman smiled as she had finally decided a certain song for him to play.

"Oh my darling, Clementine... if you don't mind," she had said. Mary-beth did not miss the small smile that formed on [Name]'s lips as he heard her request. Nodding at her answer, he started to play the song the young woman had asked for him to play. Now, there was a reason why Mary-beth had asked specifically for "Oh My Darling, Clementine" for [Name] to play. It was the very first song she had heard him play with the harmonica many nights ago.

As [Name] played the tune of the song, oblivious to the young woman's thoughts nor the stare she still had at him, it was peaceful. As the tune of the harmonica [Name] played, after awhile he had heard the young woman beside him quietly hummed until Mary-beth had sang the song as he played on. With the young woman's sweet voice accompanied by the lovely tune of the man's playing of the harmonica, it was that night, the two felt close to each other with a single song.

The [Hair color] haired man snapped out of his thoughts as he felt pressure on his shoulder. The man had tensed for a bit until her calmed down and thought that it was perhaps Mary-beth's doing. Turning his head, [Name] saw the young woman beside him had placed her head on his shoulder. He was right, it was indeed Mary-beth. Looking at thr young woman, [Name] noticed small content smile on her lips as her eyes still on the book in her hands.

"I hope you don't mind, Mr. [Last name]," Mary-beth had softly said as she haf briefly sent a quick look at the man beside her. Mary-beth felt her face heat up a bit as she saw the [Hair color] haired man was looking at her. Looking down on her book, the young woman bit her bottom lip out of nervous as she waited for the man to shrug her head off of his shoulder or say anything to her. Yet nothing. Mary-beth only heard [Name] let out a hum at her words as he still looked at her.

The outlaw noticed a small flush in the young woman's freckled cheeks yet did not comment on her bold actions nor the color flushed on her face. Instead, the [Hair color] haired man let out a sigh as he then placed his head on Mary-beth's. Looking at the lake in front of them, [Name] couldn't help let his lips formed into a small content smile. The two stayed like that for awhile. Silent yet it was a calm and peaceful one. Content they were in that moment.

"Oh," [Name] had said as he sat up right. The young woman beside him was surprised a bit with his actions that she took her head off of his shoulder and turned to look at him. A confused and curious look plastered on Mary-beth's face as she saw the [Hair color] haired man shuffled a bit as he seemed to be patting his upper body down. Seemed to be finding something until [Name] let out a grumbled that Mary-beth had not caught.

"Are you alright?" Mary-beth softly asked as she saw the [Hair color] haired outlaw shoves his hand on the pocket of his trousers and seemed to let out a relieved sigh. [Name] had ignored the young woman's question in favor to take out whatever was inside his pocket which Mary-beth had to be honest, she was quite curious on what got the [Hair color] haired man to be that way.

"I almost forgot this," Mary-beth had heard [Name] gruffly had said as the young woman saw him pull out the thing in his pocket. "I thought you might like it," [Name] had said as he presented the thing to the young woman. A soft gasp left the young woman's lips as her eyes widen at what the [Hair color] haired man had pulled out. On his [Skin color] hand, there was a necklace. A beautiful golden chained necklace with a lovely pendant that was shaped like a heart. The young woman noticed a bright red ruby gemstone in the middle of the golden heart shaped pendant. It was beautiful. The necklace looked absolutely beautiful and Mary-beth felt her heart hammered as she gaped in awe at the jewelry.

"I-I... Mr. [Last name]..." Mary-beth had softly had called out as she tried to look at the man in the eye. The [Hair color] haired man awkwardly cleared his throat as he avoided eye contact at the young woman beside him. Mary-beth bit her bottom lip when she saw his actions. There was a red taint bloomed on her freckled cheeks when she saw how this gruffy, big, and scary outlaw shied away from her eyes.

"Oh, Mr. [Last name]," Mary-beth had softly had said as she placed her book on her lap as she then gently grabbed the outlaw's hands that was holding the jewelry to her. A soft and greatful smile on her lips as she saw her action had gained the man's attention to her. "Y... you shouldn't have..." Mary-beth had said.

"Yeah... well, a lady like you deserve somethin beautiful," the [Hair color] haired outlaw had truthfully stated as his eyes soften with how he saw Mary-beth looked in absolute awe at the necklace. "Turn around," he ordered as the young woman did as told. [Name] moved some of the young woman's brown locks away from her neck, careful not to touch her skin as he did. Mary-beth decided to help the man out, grabbing her hair and raising it a bit away from her neck, the [Hair color] haired outlaw took that chance to  carefully slip the necklace onto Mary-beth's neck.

"I... it's beautiful, Mr. [Last name]," Mary-beth had breathed out when the man had finished tying the necklace on her neck. Letting her hair down as she stared at the jewelry, Mary-beth gently touched the pendant and smiled. Turning herself back to face the [Hair color] haired man who waited for her reaction, she sent him a large beaming smiled. Seeing her smile, the [Hair color] haired man nodded at her.

"How... how can I ever thank you?" Mary-beth had asked as she felt the [Hair color] haired man's hand squeezed her hand.

"Well... if you want..." [Name] had started as he looked at the young woman in the eye then turned to look at the lake. Taking his hands away from the young woman's hold which honestly seemes to disappointed Mary-beth with his action but still listened to his words. "I... uh..." Clearing his throat, [Name] sent a quick look at the young woman beside him.

"May I court you, Miss Gaskill?" The outlaw had asked. The young woman froze at his words as the [Hair color] haired man waited for her answer. Mary-beth couldn't believe it. Did... did she heard him right? Did she heard him ask for her permission to court her? As Mary-beth tried to process his words, the [Hair color] haired outlaw assumed the young woman's silence for the worse as he let out a sigh. Rising one of his hand and running it throught his [Hair color] hair, he let out another sigh again.

"You know what?" [Name] had said as he lowered his hand and instead formed both of his hands into a fist. Mary-beth's silence seemed to make him regret his decision to say thise words to her. To ask fo courting her. Clicking his tongue, he shakes his head in regret and dismay. "Let's just forget thi--" [Name] didn't get to finish his words as he felt a huge force pushed him onto the ground as something wrapped around his neck while there was weight on his chest.

"Shit!" The [Hair color] haired man let out a hissed of pain from the rough landing on the ground as his back ached from the pain he felt while there was also some heaviness on his chest. Looking down, the outlaw let out a surprise noise when he saw and realized who had caused him to be pushed down the ground. "S-shit! Miss Gaskill?" [Name] asked, surprised at the young woman who's face buried on his chest yet her arms wrapped tighter on his neck. Hesitantly, the [Hair color] haired outlaw wrapped his arms around the young woman.

"Is... are you... okay?" The outlaw had softly ask. Rubbing the young woman's back in a type of way to ease whatever she was feeling. The [Hair color] haired man assumed she felt something in the lines of sadness or perhaps fear? [Name] don't know but he tried his best to console the young woman in his arms.

"Miss Gaski--"

"Yes."

The outlaw blinked. One... two... three... four...

"Pardon?" The [Hair color] haired outlaw dumbly asked as he looked down at the young woman who finally stopped hiding her face on his chest but instead looked up at him. [Name] noticed small tears on the corner of Mary-beth's eyes yet he was more focused on the large smile on her lips. She was beautiful.

"I said, yes," Mary-beth had said. "You may court me, Mr. [Last name]," she continued as she laughed when she saw the man looked like he was frozen for a second until a smile broke onto his lips.

"I... I can?" He had breathlessly asked. The [Hair color] haired outlaw seemed to be in disbelief and Mary-beth couldn't help but laugh at his expression. Did he thought she won't say yes? God, this man...

"Yes, you can, you silly man," Mary-beth had giggled as [Name] had sat up right and looked at her in the eye. Mary-beth saw those [Eye color] eyes of his filled with joy, and it made her more happy with it. "Now, how about you give a lady a romantic kiss for a start of your courting?" She had teased as she heard the man chuckle.

"I didn't think you would ask for a kiss on the start," the [Hair color] haired man had said as he unwrapped his arms off of her and instead had his hand placed on the young woman's waist. The outlaw was rather surprised on the young woman's bold words yet a smile on his lips when Mary-beth laughed at him. Shaking her head, Mary-beth placed herself more comfortable by sitting on the man's lap, her smile still on her lips as she faced him.

"I'm not," Mary-beth confessed with a grin. "But I'll let this one slide," she said as she felt the [Hair color] haired man's hands squeezed her waist a bit. "You better show me a good courting though, you silly man," she ended as she leaned close to the outlaw. Mary-beth's couldn't help but giggle when she heard [Name]'s chuckle leaving his lips.

"I will," [Name] had said as be saw the young woman leaned closer until their lips touched. It was a soft and quick kiss as Mary-beth immediately then parted with her freckled cheeks flushed a bright red hue. The [Hair color] haired man was no exception as he felt his face heat up from the young women's action yet a soft smile on his lips.

Mary-beth felt the [Hair color] haired man to place his head on the crook of her neck as he hold her close to him. "Come with me to town tomorrow?" The young woman had heard him muttered as she couldn't help but softly smile at his words. She always wanted to go to the town near their camp yet have not gone to for she was busy doing her chores that Miss Grimshaw had assigned to her and the others girls, not to mention no one will take her unless there is a reason for her to go into town since some of the men are very busy.

"I'd love too."

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 33

Read on AO3 here

Dear Journal, 

I always hate starting these things. Never know what to do to signify another passage starting when the ending of the other was just on the other side of the page. Be it days or months, the one thing that never changes is how close my last entry was. I guess this is to document my thoughts so that when I’m an old man I can look back and reflect on how life used to be. Most of the time I just draw something awful and leave a caption so when my eyes can’t see right anymore I’ll know what I was attempting to preserve. If I make it that far I’ll have plenty of stories to tell. 

Anyways. 

I know the last time things seemed to be doing well. I got married to a woman who changed me. Dutch had a plan to get us out. John and Abigail were getting along just fine, even little Jack was learning to hunt rabbits and small critters. But it all changed so quickly, where do I even begin…

The bank. I know that damned job was where everything went wrong. Micah and Dutch never stopped talking about it the whole time we were in Guarma so I couldn’t forget any detail even if I tried. And I did try. The first week stuck in that humid hell I was too angry to speak and drank myself into a stupor that would rival Reverend Swanson; alcohol helped me ignore the pain in my chest where my heart used to be. Maybe that’s why he drank. To forget. Everyone tried to talk to me but I wasn’t in a place to listen. They tried to tell me everything would work out, that she was alright and we just had to focus on one thing at a time. But that was bullshit. I just kept seeing Hosea get shot and my wife being carted away, and I was stuck helpless to do anything against it. I’ve never before realized that was my worst fear; watching from the outside as people I love get hurt. 

The Pinkertons showed up too fast to not have known about it before but there was no way any of us would have ratted out the gang when we were so close to our goal, so close to leaving and putting behind us any thought of betrayal or being on the run any longer. I spent more than one night stuck on that island replaying it over and over but I couldn't make sense of it. 

I should have been faster. I shouldn't have let Dutch separate us. As soon as that snake Milton yelled I knew we were done for. 

I shouldn't call him that. I know I can come up with something worse. Technically he is my father in law, but he is the reason Hosea is dead and the woman I love is...gone. Who knows where he’s hidden her away. No wonder she never told me about that mess, I would have never believed someone so good and true was family with that vile man. 

She probably thought I’d hate her for keeping the secret, but the truth is I couldn’t care any less. Sometimes you don’t get lucky enough to pick your family. I know that better than anyone. 

Micah claims they planned it together, for her to distract her father long enough for us to escape, but I’m not too sure yet if I believe that. I saw the look in her eyes. Panic. Fear. Then that stubborn heroism that should have told me to drag her out with me no matter the cost. It was in the set of her mouth, and how her eyes narrowed enough to give away her thoughts. Just a few of the things I love so much about her. But in an instant she was gone. Locked eyes in the middle of the chaos was the only goodbye I got. 

Losing Hosea was hard, to say the least. He was more of a father to me than Dutch was in all the ways that mattered. He taught me to swim and fish and how to read the leaves and stars at night. He taught me that waiting is sometimes the best strategy, and to never go anywhere without a good strong lie as to why you’re there. He was kindness and compassion, but also cleverness and hard edges when he needed to be. I looked up to him more than I knew and his absence will leave a painful hole that cannot be filled. 

But my grief is nothing in comparison to Dutch’s. His...it’s like a pain he’s unwilling to admit is there. Like he’s afraid that acknowledging it will break the damn he’s built and everything will come crashing down. I worry what it means for him, for me, for all of us. Hosea was truly the angel sitting on Dutch’s shoulder. 

I somehow made it out of Guarma and that whole mess alive. A boat took me back and I had the unfortunate luck to land in Van Horn. I must be getting old, my bones seem to have absorbed some of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling for nearly a month now. But I got myself a horse and should be back at Shady Belle tomorrow afternoon to whatever wreckage is left from my former life.

The thought of seeing my wife seemed to be the only thing getting me through the days since that cursed robbery. Her smile, the sound of her laugh, her soft hand in mine. I miss it, sometimes so much I am nearly brought to tears and in those moments I understand why Dutch doesn’t talk much about Hosea. Like watching the sunrise with burning eyes, sometimes the pain that comes with it makes you aware that it happened at all. 

Part of me knows that what’s waiting for me at Shady Belle isn’t good news, but I can’t think about that just yet. Hope is the comforting shadow beside me. 

I should have known better than to expect a good night’s sleep. My eyes were so blurry I mistook a tree for a man on the side of the road. Even my body knew that nothing is how it should have been. 

Shady Belle was empty. Well, worse than that. It had echoes of the gang being there, our last hurrah as we rode out to the gates of victory so blind to what was about to happen. Cans littered around where we ate together, scuff marks all across the dirt from our boots, even a small pair that must have been Jack’s. The worst though was a carving I found on one of the poles of the front porch of my initials in a heart that she must have drawn without me knowing. I tried to etch it into my notebook but found I couldn't stand there for more than a few moments without the familiar pain of missing her taking over my senses. Maybe one day I won’t feel like I’m being ripped apart by all of these emotions.

Inside was empty. Nothing remained of the time we spent in those walls. I couldn't bring myself to check the room I had shared with YN for the fear of being entirely overwhelmed again. Instead I found a letter from Sadie Adler, a woman of many surprises, waiting for me in the living room. She must have known I would come back. 

The quiet didn’t last too long before a couple of Pinkerton fools in the employment of Mr. Milton came around. From what I overheard they returned to Shady Belle every single day to see if we had returned but had no such luck. That meant two things; that the gang got away safely and the other’s from Guarma hadn’t come to the house. For a few moments at least my heart settled but that didn’t last long. These days it never did. 

I rode straight to Lakay even though I despise the damp, disgusting heat of the swamps. My eagerness to see people I knew won over my hatred for the area. Eventually I found my way to a small village, if you’d even call it that, of buildings set up along the river bank. Time and humidity had worn away at any pride these homes must have held, the moss clinging to anything that needed to be filled back in. It was silent save for one man in the farthest hut chopping away at some type of meat. 

Pearson for the first time in my life was a sight for sore eyes. Luckily Abigail was behind him and Sadie behind her so I was quickly welcomed with warm arms and a bowl of stew that was the finest I had ever tasted. There were questions, so many questions, but they held their tongues for the time being and let me settle into a bed for a few hours of sleep. Finally the exhaustion caught up with my body and I was overcome with aches and a cough, but that I ignored too. 

Tilly, Uncle, Lenny, Karen, Sean, Mary Beth, Strauss, Molly, Charles, and everyone else was safe and hidden away. We were safe for the time being. 

Micah and Javier arrived the next day with the same story. We all needed rest, but there were things to do. John had been captured and taken to Sisika. Abigail pulled me aside and asked about YN and I did my best to hide my pain, but she told me what happened after we got caught in the gunfire. She was taken somewhere north, or at least that’s where the wagon headed, and some man named Staten was her watcher. My blood nearly boiled, but Abigail calmed me down until the agony of losing her ripped me apart and I had to go sit on the dock before anyone else saw me. How am I to deal with this alone? I would give anything to have her back by my side again, father be hanged. 

Not two days later a rain storm kept us inside, and set up the dramatic entrance for Dutch’s grand return. Things all broke loose. Abigail was yelling about John again, Micah on about something else. The man didn’t even have a chance to sit down before he was bombarded again. We raised a glass to Mrs. Adler for saving the gang in Dutch’s absence, her and Charles were the only reasons things continued on. 

She found me staring at the water the next morning. I was sitting there, thinking of my wife, and Sadie must have known. She tried to talk about knowing loss and feeling my pain, but there’s no one in the world who knows what I’m going through. What we’re going through. My wife is somewhere I don’t know and I can do nothing about it. Every second of every day I feel like a failure for letting her down. I want to be there for Dutch as he needs the support, but I can’t help think that as time ticks on she’ll forget me and move on. Not sure what I’ll do if that happens. 

Bill Williamson is a right fool. That night he came busting into the sleep house going on about how hard we were to find, saying he asked everyone he could find, and I knew trouble couldn't be too far behind. Only someone truly hoping to meet death walks into a nest of vipers. I had just finished my glass of whiskey when I heard her voice. 

At first I thought I imagined it. There were plenty of times that the desperation in my mind had boiled long enough that her sweet tones called to me from somewhere just beyond my reach. At first I longed for them, for any gentle reminder that she was as real to me once as the glass currently in my hand. Then after a while they hurt to hear and the words got all jumbled together. Like she was farther away than ever. Like I needed reminding. 

But sitting inside that house I heard her clear as a bell. Not the words she spoke, it was far too loud inside for that, but I could tell it was her. My heart knew too and started pounding in time with the rain hitting the roof. Dutch saw me and asked why I had frozen in place but Abigail had heard it too. She stood and stared at me, wondering what was taking me so damn long to move but it was like my legs had grown twice their weight. I finally got myself up and pushed through the sudden silence around me to stand at the door. 

There she was again. She had to be real. But she sounded...off. Like something was wrong. 

Calling for me, for us, or anyone. I was so full of terror I couldn’t breathe. But someone touched my shoulder and I came back to life, opening the door and finding my dream standing before me. Wide eyed and desperate, much like myself, but there was a warning in her eyes I couldn’t decipher from so far away. Her hands were up in the air shaking like a leaf. Her head shook slightly. I was overcome by a need to preserve this moment of reunion and committed her to memory for once she was back in my arms and I could draw her in this here journal. Honestly I can’t describe how I felt knowing she was at least alive. My heart wanted me to run to her and throw caution to the wind, but my gut told me something worse was lingering in the shadows with an alligator grin. 

Just from looking at her I could tell Milton had damn near starved her for the dress she wore was much too large, hanging off her arms and shoulders. The blood was what cued me in. Rust red stains splattered the front and ice filled my veins at the realization of who’s ghosts she wore wrapped around her. That bastard Milton paraded her around in a costume like he was putting on a show, but I was done being a puppet.

Arthur Morgan was nobody’s fool. 

Arthur. 

His eyes were murderous but whether that was aimed at you or not remained unknown. The rapid thumping in your chest flooded into your ears as well but the words passing between you didn’t need to be spoken. You didn’t need to hear them to know what he would say. 

Seeing Arthur after all that time was a breath of fresh air in a world that had been a dusty haze for the past month. It was awful and wonderful at the same time to be standing so close yet unable to move any closer. Your soul ached to return to its rightful place. The stress of standing there with the weight of all that had happened could be seen as your hands shook and your shoulders tensed and your heart broke all over again.

More light passed onto the muddy ground as the door behind Arthur opened and a few cautious faces moved out. Dutch. Abigail. Bill. Lenny. Charles. Sadie. Anger and confusion colored their expressions. You hoped they all could understand. 

A strange feeling passed through you as you noticed Micah was nowhere to be found.

Arthur took in deep, heavy breaths as you held eye contact. Under any other circumstance standing beneath the stars in the dark of night would be almost romantic, especially with the twinkling fireflies blinking their messages all around you. But the rain and the tension crackling across the night like lightning changed that. In fact it changed everything. 

The rain covered the sound of wagons rolling in and the footsteps of Pinkerton agents as they crept around the perimeter to trap the Van der Linde gang from escaping. The lightning bugs hid the glints of metal from the guns being raised and taking aim. And you, the queen of the chessboard, were meant to hold the outlaw’s attention as the plan slid into place around you. Your father had been almost gleeful explaining it to you and it made you sick. 

“YN...what’s going on?”

Dutch held his hand out in front of his adopted brother but kept his eyes trained on you. 

“Don’t say anything, Arthur. We don’t know what this is.”

A voice hissed behind you. The horrible reminder that you were not there of your own accord. You were not there to be rushed to safety, to explain and convince those you loved that you have never walked out those bank doors if you thought any harm would have befallen them. 

“I…” The words faltered as they mingled with the falling rain. “I am here to...offer a deal on behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, the United States Government, and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth.”

“A deal!” Dutch snorted. “And what would that be?”

Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of what had to come next. Only when your shoulders shook from the tension of holding them back did you look away from Arthur, praying to anyone who would listen for a way out of this. 

“You have nowhere left to run.” The words were plain but landed like a slap in the face. Milton had prepared a lengthy monologue and you fought to remember all of it. “My father has chased you relentlessly and ultimately you will submit. There is a price big enough on your heads that  bringing you in dead would still earn him a fortune. But there is dignity and pride in turning yourself over alive instead of ending up d-dead like that...fool Hosea Matthews.”

The hiss behind you continued as the people in front of you balked at your words. It hurt to know Milton was twisting the knife in but you held the weapon.  

“If you come without a fight, you will all be allowed to live. If not, I can’t -”

“Allowed!” Dutch responded. “What is this, there’s no honor in this choice. I will not be commanded like some dog after what your father did to Hosea!”

This time the words hurt you and you answered with a flinch. 

“Dutch, please,” you licked your lips, your eyes darting to Arthur. “You don’t have to fight! Everything will be alright, just listen to me -”

“Everything will be alright?” The leader repeated back. “I believe nothing of the sort. Mrs. Morgan, do you know what happens to folks like us who the law doesn’t see favorably? Who aren’t the shiny, golden children of society? They are hung like common street criminals and forgotten in the ashes of our history books. I refuse to fade away as an ink spot upon a page, I refuse to let others make my choices for me, and I refuse to listen to a bully who hides like a coward behind others! We demand to be more than that legacy fated for us by others. We demand our god given right that others only dream of, freedom!”

His speech was beautiful but it didn’t change the fact that mere feet behind you sat a Maxim gun, manned and ready to fire, if they didn’t listen to your pleas. Dutch’s pretty words did nothing to stir the rebellious spirit in your chest and instead caused more tears to run down your cheeks. The flare of his independence was bright, but that meant it couldn’t burn for much longer. 

You weren’t the only one affected by Dutch. Behind you the men lying in wait rustled out of the bushes and crept up with their guns drawn, each footstep stringing tension across your shoulders. 

“I was wrong about your father, YN.” Dutch drew in quick breaths at the sight of the ambush. “He’s not only a coward, but a fool too. You see, he’s underestimated us once again and that will lead to his demise. Now, boys! For Hosea!”

The world erupted in gunfire and smoke around you. At Dutch’s signal everyone hiding inside fired away at the agents planted around the swamp, yelling and filled with rage at the thought of revenging their beloved Hosea. Loss was a strong motivator, and as you clamped your hands over your ears you wondered how long the haze of distraction would last. The maxim gun fired continuous deafening rounds and all you could hear above the ringing in your ears were the screams of people you loved. Your knees sank into the mud as panic rippled across your skin. 

Milton shouted behind you, commanding his men like he was trying to storm the gates of hell. 

Dutch retreated into the cabin leading his rebel crew in a secret assault against the forces of perceived evil who had come to change his ways. 

Where did you fit into all of this? What was your place and how did you go about getting there? Was your only hope to run and hope it would find you? It only took a moment to come to you. There was only one anchor in this hurricane and it was the same one you returned to time and time again. 

Arthur Morgan. 

As Dutch retreated Arthur hesitated to leave you behind. His eyes darted through the dark to try and find you while he ducked for safety. Terror clenched your heart and you screamed for him to get out of the line of fire, you would find him. 

Forcing tension into your shaky limbs you knew you would regret it if you never even tried to get to him. The air above you was filled with shouts and raindrops and gunshots but nothing could distract you; this was your only shot and you would not throw it away. A door to your right swung open and light flooded the ground and you took off pumping your legs as hard as you could to cross the muddy ground getting closer and closer to your goal. 

Breathe. You had to get to him, you were so close. 

Behind you bodies hit the ground and you had no doubt that Arthur had taken most of them out. He had incredible aim in the worst of times, and this was definitely one of those. Even Dutch couldn’t rival him and after a few competitions no one else had bothered. 

“YN! Over here!” 

“Javier!” 

You had never been so happy to see the dark haired man in your life. He grabbed your arm and pulled you inside, yanking you down to the floor immediately to avoid another spray of bullets from the gatling gun. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to help!” You pleaded with him. “Someone needs to take out that gun, what can I do?”

“Stay down, Dutch has a plan!” 

You both ducked to the floor as a window shattered above you. 

“It better be quick, we can’t hold out for long!”

From outside one of the agents yelled above the chaos. “There’s too many of them, we have to retreat!”

“No!” Your father bellowed back. His voice was too close for comfort. “We do not back down, we have the power of the law on our side.”

“The power of the law ain’t fighting two of the best shots this side of the Mississippi, boss! We are!”

Javier let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and shook his head. “Mrs. Adler’s out there too now, won’t be long. Between her and Arthur I don’t think the Pinkerton’s stand a chance.” There was a pause as Javier eyed you warily. “Your father, that is.”

“Javier -”

But you couldn't finish your sentence as the back door flew open and someone called out to him. He nodded at you and crawled his way to the door to see why he was needed, leaving you alone to hide from the debris falling all around. As the door shut behind him, you caught a glimpse of red coat tails that looked awfully similar to what Micah usually wore. 

More men were dying outside, you could hear the yells of defeat as the maxim gun came to a stop but you were running out of time. Something inside of you said the clock was ticking and you needed to move. 

Breathe. In, out. Breathe.

“Where did she go?” Milton bellowed from outside. The bullets had stopped and the air felt deathly still. “Where did that bitch go?”

“Don’t you talk about my wife like that!” Your heart swelled at Arthur’s words. 

It sounded like he was in the barn next door. If you could sneak without being caught this was your chance for a getaway. Perhaps the only one. 

“Get out here now before I blow this whole place to hell! Turn yourselves in and die with nobility.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Block him out, he’s bluffing. A ball of nerves formed in your stomach like a hard thing weighing you down and you fell to the wall for support as you gathered the courage to move again. 

“Agent Milton, I believe this is where we part ways. You are alone and outnumbered, give it up.” Dutch answered. 

“Never, Van der Linde. I am tasked with bringing you and the others in…” his voice tapered off as soft clicks rang out and you imagined from your hiding spot behind the wall everyone aiming in his direction,

“How about this,” the dark haired man suggested. “You and I can make a little trade. Me and my friends here will walk out of here safely and you will not pursue us if we give you something you want.”

A bark of laughter responded. Milton was not pleased with the child's play that interrupted his duty. “And what would I get out of this deal?”

“Your life?” Dutch shot back. “A chance to live another day? No?” There was a pause as Dutch walked forwards and you dared a peek out of a nearby bullet hole to observe the scene. “Maybe something a little more valuable. Your daughter for instance?”

Two rough hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders and yanked you upwards and you let out a cry of disbelief. They hadn’t made any noise walking up, or perhaps you were too trained on listening to the conversation outside to notice. 

“Get your hands off of me!” You cried out at the same time Arthur yelled something from outside. 

“Shut up, Princess Pinkerton. And walk.” 

You should have known. Did the man who walked you down the aisle really have no regard for your life? Micah gave you a shove to move forward and you hesitated for only a moment. All you wanted was to help your family escape safely and to keep your father from enacting his twisted sense of justice. You wanted to feel safe and free, but there were too many obstacles holding you back. Was this really all your life would be?

With dirty hands you wiped your cheeks, squaring your shoulders and preparing to face him again. It wasn’t going to be easy. But there didn’t seem to be another choice. 

“Dutch what in the hell are you playing at?” 

Falling rain once again met your face as you walked out and took in the tense scene before you. Dutch, Arthur, Bill, and Charles all had their pistols focused on your father who in turn stared down his barrel at Dutch. The two men were everything the other despised, and you were caught in the middle. 

“My daughter?” Milton still seemed shocked to see you. As if he hadn’t been the one to bring his own child to a gunfight and had simply found you there. 

Arthur was held back by the iron grip of Charles as he habitually tried to come to you. The look of pure sorrow on his face broke your heart but there wasn’t enough time to think about yourself and how you felt. Soon he would be out of sight. 

“That’s right. Take her, and the two of you leave and never come back to chase us around the country. Me and my friends will never cause another day of trouble for you and we all leave with our lives. Isn’t that what we want, after all? To live and go our own ways?”

It felt like he had slapped you across the face with his words. The fact that you were the bargaining chip was not lost as you stared down the man with newfound hatred. 

“Don’t I get a say in any of this?” You snapped back. “Or am I unimportant enough to both of you that my value lies only in my silence?”

“Oh Mrs. Morgan,” Dutch chuckled darkly. “I have missed your temper. But today, my dear, is not the day to fight like it's your last. Be a good girl and run along with your father.”

Something in his tone made you hesitate, the hatred pausing for just a moment. Was there something else going on? Had he not abandoned you just quite yet? It was a glimmer of hope but that was all you could find so you held it close. He gave a slight nod in return.

“Fine. But I won’t forget this.” 

Dutch’s gun slowly moved to take aim at your head and you caught your breath at the sight. He was filled to the brim with frustration and rage. But somewhere in his eye was a calm collection as he formed a plan. 

“Now get out of here. Both of you. And don’t come back.”

Milton’s free arm shot out and gripped yours too tightly, his eyes still focused on the outlaws escaping of their own design before him. His men were all dead. There were two horses left to ride out and no wagon. He had truly and utterly lost but he refused to admit it. 

Arthur’s eyes were dark as you tried to meet his but he wouldn't look at you. The flush in his cheeks gave away how worked up he was and you wondered if it was all too much and he had found his breaking point. You wouldn't blame him if he didn’t want you anymore, things were just so damn complicated. It hurt but his happiness came first. 

Your father took a step backwards and dragged you with him and panic hit your stomach.

“Dutch…Dutch! Don’t let him do this,” the tears started no matter how much you tried to keep them in. “You don’t know what it’s like, please.”

The small group watched you with hard eyes of confusion and hesitation and you didn’t blame them. Sadie had a mean look to her, but that was probably from the heat of battle. Charles looked sad and your heart ached for your friend. Even Bill looked hesitant to send you off with Milton, but no one moved against Dutch. Something whispered to you this might be the last time you saw them. 

You fought every step of the way but eventually Milton got you on a horse and tied the reins to his with a length of rope. Any last drops of hope were drained out of you at the sight of the others breaking away hurriedly. It was just Dutch, Arthur, Sadie, and Micah left that you could make out through your tears as your world fell apart. 

“Stop crying, I can’t think,” Milton muttered harshly. 

“Everything I love has been taken away from me, by you! And now I’m stuck with you again I think I have the right to be upset.”

“You have no right to anything,” he replied. “You are nothing in the eyes of anyone and that’s all you will be.”

The horses started moving and you looked behind you one last time. Without the rain the evening appeared softer; the firebugs had come out to blink to one another and the moss swung lazily around the canopy. Dutch had finally lowered his weapon but you noticed Arthur was gone from the group, no doubt off to chuck your wedding ring into the bayou and let the memory of you fade with the small metal object as it sank into the murky riverbed.

If only you could touch him, feel him, let him know that nothing was his fault and every mistake had been tallied in your name. Arthur had scrubbed his slate clean in your eyes, it was time he saw that too. You missed him more with each step your horse took away. 

It was torture to to ride on with your father as emotions swirled all around you. He pushed the horses at a fast trot to leave the swamps as quickly as possible, paranoia creeping up on him like the sounds of crickets at his back. You could no longer hold back the sobs that shook your body. Sorrow at losing everyone again. Nerves about going back to being a prisoner. Utter and complete heartbreak at the thought of Arthur hating your every fiber. It was all too much. How could one person cope with this much feeling?

“I ever tell you why I joined the Pinkertons in the first place?”

Milton’s voice caught you off guard and interrupted your sorrow. 

“N-no, and I don’t care -”

“I joined,” he continued on. “Because I wanted to put order where there was only chaos. The Pinkertons were a respectable organization I could put myself behind, gain respect myself and do something worthwhile for society. We left Boston after your brother...died and I couldn’t stand the pain. My work eventually came second to drinking and I knew then that was my lowest point.”

“But you kept drinking, you still do,” the thought of stale whiskey making you shiver. 

“Since you ran off I haven't touched a drop. You see, in the past I myself was the chaos and I needed order to save me. Our family was broken but I couldn't look past my own pain to see that you both needed me instead of the shell of a man I was parading around as. Your mother is a good woman and pulled me up when I needed it. She packed us up and moved us out all on her own. I was simply a shell.” You had never heard your father talk like this and wondered what brought about the nostalgia. It was strange to hear about a time you dreamed so often of but in reality knew nothing about. He looked softer as he spoke. “I never wanted to be like that again. Yes, I still drank to forget but I was finally in control where I belonged. We had a good house, in a good town. I had a good wife and a good daughter. Only when that bastard Van der Linde moved in did you start to get reckless, going to town with that dark haired woman and forgetting where you came from. It didn’t take me long to realize you were the only thing left I had to steer away from chaos. My little girl.”

His honey-covered words were hiding something but you couldn’t figure out what it was. The way he spoke of chaos and control sounded religious; he truly meant to save others the same way he found for himself. You sat in silence for a moment before thinking of something to say. 

“I’m not your little girl anymore,” your voice remained steady. “To be honest I’m not sure I ever was. Growing up with a daddy who drinks and hits you takes away any kindness he offers and twists it into something evil.”

“You see what I mean?” Milton’s temper flared for a moment and he carefully brought it back in. “All of them, they turned you away from what’s right. They worship savagery.”

“These aren’t things that changed because I met them, they were always wrong! Do you really not see that?”

Milton hesitated before answering. “The life you lived there wasn’t...These people are just playing pretend. They have no sense of contributing to something larger than themselves and it’s so small minded, you were raised to know better than that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to contribute to something,” you muttered. “Maybe I just want to know what it is to not live bound to any rules other than what I need. I’ve seen your justice, father, and I don’t want any part of it.” 

Weariness slipped into your bones at the conversation. It was the longest you two had spoken in months, almost a year, and his blind passion did nothing to sway your feelings towards the Pinkertons. 

“I’m sure you’ll change your tune. Your mother is too.”

Your head shot up at that. “Mother knows what you’ve done? And she agrees?”

Before he had a chance to answer, a horse came thundering up the road behind you. Squinting through the evening fog you couldn’t make out the rider but had a feeling in your heart that it was someone you knew. They drew closer and with each passing second you grew more anxious. Your father pulled out his pistol and kicked the horses faster. 

“Milton!” A feeling of relief washed over you at the sound of the voice. “You ain’t going anywhere with her. Give it up!”

“Arthur!”

The hose below you let out a nervous whinny. It struggled against you pusining to turn with your legs and the yanking from the rope as your father pressed it to go faster than before. You were desperate to get to your husband but it was nearly impossible with no control and you wanted to cry out in frustration. 

“Get back, Mr. Morgan. We had a deal but I’m not surprised you snakes went back on it,” your father spit, looking back. “You’ll get nowhere with this stunt.”

“Stop, please stop!” You begged. Arthur was gaining closer with every second.

Milton spun around to check on the pursuer’s progress and the look on his face was murderous. Rage flushed his face and the pressure to flee made the veins in his forehead stand out at a horrifying attention. He paid you no attention as he kicked his horse again. 

With less than ten feet between you Arthur kept one hand tightly on the reins and held the other out to you, reaching as far as he could to try and bring you to him. As if on its own, your arm stretched to try and meet his fingertips. You held on to the saddle horn and tried to ignore the sounds of protest coming from your father that drove the horses on somehow. 

“Just a bit more, darlin’. I got you. Don’t be afraid!”

“I’m not, I’m not!” 

The sound was bordering hysterical. The distance between you was all you had to overcome and then you would be safe and home in Arthur’s arms again. Your heartbeat matched the echoing of hooves around you at the thought of making it to Arthur and simultaneously what would happen if you didn’t. 

His blue eyes held yours with no malice and your own fears melted away momentarily. For a month you had been kept apart, by Dutch, by your father. It was time to end all of that. 

Just as your hands brushed one another in their first reunion Milton screamed and whipped around to face the two of you. 

“Enough! I’ve had enough of this!” The pistol in his free hand raised to take aim at the moving target. “Leave us now or die!”

“No!” You screamed, moving in front of Arthur as best you could to shield him. “Father stop!”

“Milton put the gun down!” Arthur’s voice was low and hard, anxiety weaving its way through at the thought of either of you getting hurt. By now he had a firm grasp on your wrist and the pressure of his hand on you gave you strength. Your mind ran wild trying to think of a way to get out of this alive. 

But there simply wasn’t enough time. 

The missing heat from Arthur’s fingers registered at the same time as your scream ripped through the muggy air. You clawed at the empty space next to you and watched in horror as a red stain blossomed across Arthur’s shoulder beneath his hand. He looked up almost bewildered. 

“Arthur! Arthur no!” 

You twisted out of the saddle and fell to the ground with a hard thump. The impact hurt but you pushed it aside. You had to get to Arthur. 

Milton stayed silent but circled back around. You ignored him and ran, if you could get far enough you could both still get away. But hope slipped out of your grasp as he came closer. 

The shot hit him right in the shoulder and he was bleeding. A lot. Harsh, ragged breaths pulled in and out of Arthur’s chest as he applied shaky pressure to the wound and cursed in agony. You knew there was no way he could ride both of you in that state. 

“How could you!” You screamed at your approaching father. “That is my husband you just tried to kill!”

“Milton -”

“Enough of this foolishness!” Milton shouted, spit flying in his desperation and rage. “I will not have you acting like a child any longer. This ain’t over Morgan. You tell Van der Linde -”

“YN -”

“We’re not leaving him! He could die!” Milton gave you a pointed look. Anger bubbled up inside of you. “No, I refuse to go with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. If he dies no one will come after us and you will stay with me. If not,” your father shrugged. “I’ll kill him later.”

Just as you went to join Arthur, Milton grabbed your arm. You struggled and pulled to no avail. He was stronger and dragged you further and further from your husband who held himself up precociously, blood covering his chest. 

“I said enough!” Your father yanked you one last time and looked down at you with rage and a hint of pity in his eyes. “You clearly need to be reigned in more than I thought.”

A blinding pain exploded on your right temple and radiated down your neck. Arthur cried out but the sound was lost as your father brought the flat end of his pistol down, hammering it into your temple to knock you out. Unfortunately it worked; you couldn't fight him anymore and Arthur was all but dead if no one knew where he was to help him. 

Your last fleeting thought before losing consciousness was that this had to end. The chasing, the fighting, the pain of losing good people who didn’t deserve their fate. It was time to take back the control others had over you and set everything right that had toppled into chaos around you. In a twisted sense your father’s words about disorder and structure were true. Just not in the way he wanted. 

You were no one’s pawn and never would be again.

[elizacornwall]

Vengeance is an Idiot’s Game  - Chapter 5 - Rabbit Ears

Read all the published chapters here. --------------------------------------------------   Eliza had counted five days now since Mr. van der Linde visited her, and she wondered how long the postal service usually took to deliver letters. How would they go about getting mail to a hidden outlaw camp in the middle of nowhere in the first place? She’d been keeping busy reading the never-ending flow of books Hosea provided and sketching in the journal, with the occasional visit of a member of the camp to bring her food or drink. On the third day of her imprisonment the girl of whom she thought was a servant had eventually introduced herself as Tilly Jackson, and asked if she could bring the other girls to meet her. Eliza had not had much female company since her mother died and she came to America, but seeing as there was little else to do for her, she agreed. Tilly had returned with two friends, Mary-Beth and Karen, and Eliza got along well enough with them. They had visited her a handful of times when they could steal away from their chores, and she welcomed the little bits of information about this group she would learn from them.

It turned out there weren't any servants in this camp and the girls were treated with respect by the male members of the gang, or a certain Miss Grimshaw would intervene. She sounded like a terrifying woman, and Eliza wasn't too keen to meet her herself. But the girls seemed thankful for the protection, that Micah guy and another, Bill, seemed to be regular trouble makers for them. They had gossiped about the gang members, and she had learned quite a bit about the rest of the people that stayed invisible, but not inaudible around her. Apart from themselves and Miss Grimshaw, there were two more women in the camp. Molly, who was chasing Mr. van der Linde's attention as his on-off bedwarmer, and Abigail, who had a son with one of the long standing members and seemed to be his girlfriend or wife, the three hadn't been able to agree on that. They had told her about how protective she was over her son Jack, and Eliza had once again been lost in bewilderment. A young kid, running with a gang of dangerous outlaws? It didn't fit the picture she’d always had of these sorts of groups. She had also learned the names of the rest of the crew, and even though she couldn't remember all of them, the five of the men who abducted her, stayed in her mind. Dutch van der Linde was the head of operations of course, his name still rang familiar in her ear but she couldn’t place it. Apart from him there was Javier Escuella, the man who stole her out of her bed so swiftly, Arthur Morgan, who's horses back end she was transported on and who brought her the journal, and the supporting lookout was made up of  Bill Williamson and Lenny Summers. She didn't have a face to three of them and only barely caught a glimpse of Mr. Morgan, but she imagined them all to look hideous in broad daylight, with grim scars and even worse eyes, and Bill being a reported sleazebag would look the worst of them. The girls had lent her some of their own books, Karen had brought her a couple of titles that made her cheeks flush hot with embarrassment at the sight of them and had laughed about her obvious flustering, calling her an innocent little girl. Eliza had laughed it off and acted not very interested in them, but when they left Karen's books were the first she'd opened and devoured, with a wicked curiosity. The never-ending noises of the camp felt familiar by now, and her despair at the situation had eased up a little. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be given back to her father, or if escaping this in a different way would be preferable. He would surely blame her for this, despite all sense and evidence. But on the other hand, where else would she go? She didn't have any useful skills, and the only jobs unskilled women could take on weren't really to her liking. She might as well have taken one of the rich men as her husband and provided him pleasure at his command. Eliza didn't know what to do.

The sound of Tilly’s giggle neared and she looked up from her journal where she had been sketching, lost in thought. Karen and Tilly entered, beaming from ear to ear. “Miss Cornwall, I believe you'll find it of interest that Dutch has taken a liking to your – how did he put it?” Karen looked at Tilly, who stepped in. “To your remarkably pleasant face, he said. We overheard him and Hosea talking!” “Ooooh Molly won't be too pleased with this, Miss O'Shea thought she just about had him reeled back in before they went to get you!” They both laughed and Eliza hoped her face didn't betray her. She wasn't keen on his admiration, frankly she'd have preferred if he found her hideous. The girls didn't seem to dislike him though, so she didn't want to be rude and smiled with them. “Well, he hasn't spoken to me much, but he was very polite in our last conversation.” She thanked the gods that her voice sounded light hearted. Before they could reply, someone called their names from nearby. “Karen, Tilly! Miss Grimshaw is on the hunt for you, and she ain't seem in too happy a mood! You better get to her as quick as you can.” They both cursed and shot Eliza an apologetic look, before stumbling, still giggling, out of the tent. Mr. Morgan entered just moments later, a flask in his hands. He pushed it through the bars towards her, barely looking in her direction. “ 'ere, got you some more water, Miss. Sorry to disturb your chat with them girls, they often forget they got chores to do.” His eyes fell on the journal in her lap, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He lifted his head and looked at Eliza directly for the first time, she had to pull herself together to not flinch. He didn't have the unkind, mean look she was expecting from a kidnapper, but his face was hard, weathered and unshaven. He smiled a half smile. “You like it then? To draw in?” His voice was a touch clearer than before and she gave her best to relax a bit. There were steel bars between the two of them and he didn't seem to want to do her any harm. “Y-yes, thank you. I'm not much of a writer, but drawing reminds me of sitting outside my home and looking over the valley.” “Mmh, sounds lovely. Shame we can't let you sit out here, there's a spot where the view over the river is beautiful, real nice to sketch there.” Eliza wasn't sure how to respond, so she just nodded politely and smiled back. He was looking at the journal again, tilting his head as if he was curious see what she’d been drawing, then quickly averted his gaze and lowered his head, as if caught. “Sorry, didn't mean to pry. I'll leave you to it now, one of 'em girls will bring you some dinner.” He turned around and left in something of a hurry. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the swaying canvas, then returned to her lap. The rabbit she had sketched there didn't look quite right, the ears weren't in the right place. She sighed and closed the journal. She yearned to sit outside, the sunlight caressing her skin, and wondered what the view he was talking about would look like.

[musicallisto]

G'morning :) Would a sweet, familial fic with our camp bby Jack Marston and prompt: "Look a shooting star! Make a wish!" be okay to write? Been feelin' low, nowadays. Need some fluff, if it's alright with you

I told my friend a few days ago that I really wanted to write some New Year's party with a Happy Gang(tm), and then your request came in. You must have read my mind! I would love to explore more parties in my writing because Happy Gang(tm) is all I long for. Anyway, hope you like this, even if the rest of the gang is not exactly central, and sending lots of love your way ❤

(F!Reader + would recommend listening to New Year's Day by Pentatonix because it's how I got the idea in the first place, and it made me emo)

"Thirty seconds left!"

"Everyone ready!"

"Ah-- crap! My-- where's my watch?"

"Shut up, Uncle, I can't hear Dutch counting down."

"Fifteen seconds!"

"Well I can't know how much time we got left if I don't find my--"

"Just listen to him, you goddamn fool!"

"Ten seconds!"

"Arthur, John, Uncle, will you please be quiet?"

"I'm quiet. They're bickering."

"Five!"

"Cheers!"

"Not yet, you dumbass!"

"Happy new year, everyone!" Dutch's powerful voice roars out to the night sky, discretion long forgotten, sorrows fed to the flames. A cheer erupts in response. Some grab their loved ones for a good luck charm - you think you see John try to nimbly evade Abigail's kiss, before sheepishly giving in when she pouts -, some down the remainings of their bottles in one big gulp - Karen is even faster than Bill, and her loud, careless laughter explodes like your own show of fireworks -, some embrace, a glint in the eyes that could be tears hidden in their sleeves.

"To another year," Dutch breathes out, almost disbelieving that he's still alive to utter the words.

"To another century," Hosea replies, repressing a grin as he pats his oldest friend on the back.

And some, like you, observe, chest filled with warmth and stars, as the minute right after midnight, the first minute of the twentieth century overflows with joy and wishes and fraternity and love. Your family, an odd one at that, but the closest thing to a safe place you've ever known, raises a glass and a cheer for the new dawn... and first, for the new night, clean of its old grime, ready to be made into whatever the Van der Linde gang imagines.

And you imagine it grand.

Even little Jack has stayed awake for the occasion, battling his drowsy eyes and the temptation of his mother's arms to witness the commencement of his world. Abigail, although reluctant to the idea of keeping the boy up way past his bedtime, with the rest of 'em hooligans, what's more, finally gave in after John convinced her that neither of them belongs in this era that starts when the sun rises, but Jack does. Still, you've been a reliable scarecrow, all evening, keeping Uncle away from the boy - Uncle and his so-called miraculous cures for sleepiness, Uncle and his brandy, Uncle and his "it's just a little sip!". In the fireflies that shine in Jack's little eyes, awestruck at the radiant energy that runs through his aunts and uncles, his mother and father, you have no doubt that it was all worth it. If this is the world Jack is meant to see, you'd rather it start with laughter, with hugs, with joyful tales of the old times, with Javier's guitar, with Charles's subtle singing, and with Mary-Beth and Tilly's sloppy waltzes.

"Y/N! Happy New Year!" an uncharacteriscally enthusiastic Arthur exclaims, going in for a hug before you can even register if his breath smells of alcohol. You laugh against his chest, though you recognize the happy fever of a man who has scraped death way too many times to be picky about what brings him joy.

"Are you drunk already, Morgan?" you playfully retort, but you can't contain your laughter at his falsely outraged expression. It's like on the moment that marks another year, he's lost fifteen in age.

"Course not. Who d'you think I am? I'm just... happy."

"Happy suits you, Arthur," you respond, an affectionate smile making its way on your face. Everything you've been through with Arthur and the others flashes before your eyes, and you decrete right then and there that you're owed some respite, and that joy is the color that compliments best the gang's eyes.

A few moments later, when the rest of the gang has lost itself in a frenzied and clumsy dance, the most dauntless attempting to balance their bottles as they move, you come to rest by Jack's side, sitting in the grass. The air is fresher in this part of camp, devoid of fear.

"Happy New Year, Jack."

"Happy New Year, Aunt Y/N!" he sings, nodding his head to the rhythm of the dancers' feet. "Look at my Pa and my Ma!"

Following his excited finger, your eyes find two silhouettes standing out in front of the campfire. Their feet are heavier than most of the others', but you can hear their tipsy giggling and softened hearts echo every time they twirl, even from where you're sitting.

"Your Pa can dance now?"

"No," Jack hastens to answer, prouder than he should probably be, "he's improvising. He told me earlier. He hates dancing, you know? But he said he wanted to make Mama happy. And they're happy! Everyone is so happy."

You can swear, now that you heard the little boy, that John and Abigail's movements grow in elegance, this touching and life-changing elegance that things bear when they are done with love. And a wind of this same grace weaves its way into your chest, hastily pushing the laughter out of your mouth. Jack doesn't ask why you suddenly laugh; instead, he mimics it, and soon you're two hunched figures in the dark, watching a party unfurl in a clearing somewhere in New Hanover, watching the people you love most meddle together, reminisce about the old times and trip over their own feet, and the only logical, sensible reaction you can muster is to laugh.

The air has settled again between the two of you, and Jack's eyelids flutter more and more frequently, when you suddenly point at the sky, way above the illuminated canopy.

"Look! It's a shooting star, Jack! Make a wish!"

His tiny frame sits up straight again, scanning the sky for the white tear in the navy blanket above your heads. His brow furrows in concentration, and after a moment he tightly closes his eyes, as if that could, somehow, catch the attention of the burning star so very far from you, make it listen to the dreams of a child among a bunch of criminals. You've passed the age of wishing upon stars, and yet the fact that you're all living and together to mark and celebrate this oh so special night is the very symbol of the impossible. Without averting your gaze from the star's resolute course across the sky, you murmur to yourself your utmost desire. Maybe you're wishing on yourself, more than the lightning bug.

You wish that as long as you breathe, you never stop fighting for nights like these.

"What did you wish for?" you ask Jack when he's back to his senses.

The wake of the star is now long gone in the night, swallowed by the ink, but something tells you that Jack will never forget its brilliance. He still sees it, anyway. Not above his raised head, but in the campfire where his family is assembled.

"I'm not telling you! Or else it won't come true."

Leaning in with an air of conspiracy, you murmur in his ear, a secret not even the night can hear:

"I'm friend with a few stars. I'll tell them to make your wish come true. You can tell me."

After a moment of hesitation for the safety of the most crucial and closely-guarded secret in the little boy's life, he finally gives in, his face mirroring the mischievous smile you offer.

"I said I want to be just like you when I grow up."

"Just like me?"

But his little arms encircle a space that is wider than just you, that engulfs the merry chaos above your shoulder, the quiet, observant birds in the trees, his aunt Sadie whirling her knife around her fingers, and his parents now huddled together in a remote yet familiar embrace.

"Like all of you!"

You don't let the twinge of remorse get the best of your heart. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, the ghosts of what Jack's life could have been, had he been born in a regular family, gone to a regular school, and scraped his knees on regular grounds, would haunt you in your sleep. But for now, all you do is ruffle his hair, and bring him close to your heart for a hug.

"Oh, Jack. You'll be a hundred times better, I'm sure of it."

When your breaths synchronize, you can't help thinking that you have no desire to die, but leaving for this little boy - dying for life itself would surely be the most honorable way a lowlife like you could ever go.

"Now, mister Marston," you break the silence with a grin, standing up and offering him your hand. "May I have this dance?"

[cowboahlemons]

familiar

quick lil imagine

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F reader

Warnings: none

——————————

Your boots crunch against the dry earth as you dismount from your horse after a postal run into Valentine. This has become your most common job since joining the gang a few months ago, a boring job but someone has to do it. Who better than the newbie. Your hands filter through the letters addressed to various members sorting them based on who you could see in camp. First port of call was always Hosea. He was the only person in camp who understood what an annoyance it was to collect everyone else’s mail and so it was always nice when he repayed you with a warm smile and a kiss on the hand.

A few letters down the pile and you land on the letter for Arthur Morgan. You can tell immediately by the handwriting who this letter is from. It is the kind of handwriting that seems taught, looks to be educated. Karen had told you all about the woman behind these cursive letters before, how Mary had stolen the heart of Mr Morgan years ago and still had a mighty hold on it. You make a beeline for Arthur’s tent, happy to find him laying down with his journal in his hand.

“About time you had a lay down, Morgan you must be exhausted” you smile at him, walking into his tent and extending the letter. “Picked up this letter for you today”

“Thank you darlin’” Arthur says, putting his weathered journal to the side and sitting up to grab for the letter.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Spinning on your heel, you walk out of his tent intent on delivering the remainder of your letters. Only a few steps out of the entrance to Arthur’s tent you hear him run out of his tent behind you, making his way to the horses. Your eyes follow him as you huff, watching him yet again make a fool of himself running to the aid of the woman who broke his fragile heart. The fragile heart you desperately want to heal.

You had developed a crush of sorts on Arthur very quickly after joining the gang. He was handsome in an unassuming way, and never failed to make you laugh every day. Most of all, he made you feel safe. The world was all but kind to you and upon learning about your tortured past Arthur seemed to make it his personal mission to integrate you into the gang. You had become so fond of seeing his smirk and dazzling blue eyes and just couldn’t help yourself falling for the broken cowboy.

“Y/N!!” Grimshaw shouted from across the camp, breaking your attention from the blue eyed cowboy for a moment. Hopefully, work will keep your mind off of what he could possibly be doing with Mrs Mary Linton.

——————-

The day trudged on with a lot of sweat on your part. Grimshaw had you working all around the camp, moving bales, helping Pearson, going on supply runs into town. You were absolutely exhausted by the end of the day and ended up falling asleep on your cot mid-afternoon for a nap. It was dark when you woke, Sean was singing his merry heart our by the campfire and most people were well and truly hammered. You can never help but laugh at this bunch of rejects finding family together. A family you’re so very grateful to be part of. You avert your eyes over to the horses, hesitant to see if a certain white Arabian belonging to Arthur Morgan was present in camp. You saw the familiar flurry of her trail and smile to yourself.

“He’s back” you mutter and the familiar warmth of the safety Arthur makes you feel fills you. Inquisitively your eyes scan the camp, wondering where the man is hiding. It’s clear he isn’t in his tent or around the fire with everyone else. Your eyes land on the outskirts of horseshoe overlook, right on the ridge line you see that unmistakable cowboy hat sitting on the broad shouldered man. You could see a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other which he alternated his use of. Internally you made the decision to go and talk to him, your feet deciding for you and leading you over to him before your mind had a chance to fight it.

The smell of cigarettes consumed you once you came close to him. He seemed to be chainsmoking from the number of buds strewn across the floor near him. You walk over to him and sit right next to him, at first he doesn’t pay attention to your presence but after a few minutes he hands you the bottle of beer in his hand and you take a swig.

“You okay Arthur? You seem down.” Your eyes meet his as you spoke for the first time in a few minutes.

“‘M a fool, y/n. Running after Mary doing her dirty work for her yet again. Wasn’t good enough for her then, never will be but why do I keep goin’ back” he replies, clearly frustrated.

“Arthur, can I say something you ain’t gon’ like?”

“O’ course” Arthur mutters, taking another drag of his cigarette. The fiery tip lighting up his face in the of the dark night.

“The future is mighty scary. But you can’t just keep running back to the past because it’s familiar” you feel yourself practically choking the words out, the words he has needed to hear for too long. “It’s painful to see you go back to someone who held your heart in their hands and made a choice to smash it on the ground.” Arthur turns his head to you, pink lips slightly agape and eyes sparkling despite the low light.

“I don’t even blame her. Nor should you. She wasted too many years on an outlaw, an’ now she’s just getting her times worth out of me.” The most heartbreaking thing is that he means every word he says, as he finishes his cigarette and tilts his head to look you deeper In the eyes. “It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have at all, I guess” he mumbles as his eyes avert to the floor.

“You’re wrong” you respond, quickly and sharply. Your tone makes his head whip back up and make eye contact with you again. “Arthur, if you’re looking for the word that means caring about someone beyond all rationality and wanting them to have everything they want no matter how much it destroys you, it’s love.” You shift your body to face him completely, placing a hand on the skin of his forearm. He shifts a bit at your touch, not used to the contact but it does nothing to deter you. “Mary didn’t feel that way about you. If she did she wouldn’t have tried to force you to consider who you are. I have no doubts she had love for you, or lust. But she wasn’t in love with you.”

Arthur is speechless as you finish, completely unmoving and a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well, she may have been. But she isn’t in love with you like I am” you say finally, unable to keep your nerve in the end and shifting your eyes to your hand that is resting on his forearm. Nothing could be heard between the two of you but your light breathing and the hustle of the gang in the distance behind you. Your mind races, wondering what he could possibly be thinking as he continues to stare at your face, like he was waiting for the punchline.

And of course, the punchline never comes.

—————————————

Heyyyy! That was my first imagine I guess, hope you liked it. Let me know what you think.

I literally don’t know how tumblr works so please be patient with me and my lack of tumblr knowledge.

I will take requests if you want. Anything and everything just let me know.

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Twelve

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Smooth As Tennessee Whisky

By candlelight, parts of her hair almost looked gold. He brushed his fingers over it, having learned minutes earlier that if he ran them through it they would just become tangled and she’d start giving him shit.

Now, she was quiet, lying on her side, her head on his stomach, facing him. Her eyes were closed, her hand tucked under her chin, holding onto the sheet he’d draped over his lower half and her, and his gaze lingered on her. It travelled over the faint scar on her left eyebrow, the light dusting of freckles across her skin, some darker than others, her swollen lips.

The last one brought a smile to his own.

She’d come undone again under his mouth and fingers, her hips bucking and rolling as she’d moaned freely and loudly. Then, she hadn’t wanted to stop kissing him, her fingers locked in his hair, her tongue dancing with his. It wasn’t until her legs had wrapped around his hips that he’d reluctantly drawn back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if they continued.

He’d lit more candles, poured himself a drink then settled back on the bed. She’d curled up, resting her head on him and he’d tugged the sheet over them and they’d been lying quietly since.

The saloon below had quietened, too, though there would be an occasional laugh or raising of voices, lasting only a few seconds. Hooves would sometimes sound on the cobbles outside but other than that the streets were silent.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace.

“What are you smiling about?” she murmured, making his gaze meet hers.

“Nothin’.”

“Really?”

“Nothin’ you need to know about.”

“Thinking about John?”

She laughed as he gently tugged on a curl, his lips pressing together to hide his smile.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Her head shifted a little, her smile now lingering. “My parents, actually.”

His fingers resumed stroking her hair. “What about ‘em?”

“They shared a night similar to this. My mother never told me the details, as you can imagine, but from what I gather that first night, when they ran away, they stayed at a hotel and probably got up to all kinds of mischief.”

She hummed softly as his fingers massaged her scalp.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask, how did they meet?”

“At a local dance.” Her hand moved out from under the covers, settling over his at his side. “He was passing through one night, on his way to New York to make a decent living, and he needed a place to stay. The saloon was holding a dance and he decided to have a drink before retiring for the night when he saw my mother. She’d been rebellious for the first time in her life and had snuck out of the house with a friend and gone to the saloon. One of the greatest nights of her life, she called it.” Her smiled widened a little. “’I danced so much, Adaline, I nearly wore the soles of my shoes down. Then I saw your daddy...’ He asked her to dance, she said yes and that was it. She knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. He made her laugh harder than anyone else she had ever met, and would have done anything for her.” Her finger tips idly brushed over his skin. “Her parents hated it, of course, so that’s why they ran away. She loved them but she loved him more. He was enough, she said.” She took in a quiet breath, her fingers tracing over his knuckles. “Then Thomas came along, then me. We were the only family she needed, she said, though she kept in touch with my uncle. He’d been exiled from the family for reasons she didn’t know before she met Daddy but she’d been writing to him secretly and he said he was happy for her, though he never visited.”

Arthur drew her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing against her temple. “Do you remember much about him, your daddy?”

She shrugged a shoulder, grazing her teeth over her lower lip. “There are pieces of memories, then some things that I don’t know whether I know because I actually remember them or because Thomas and Mama told me them.” Her hand moved to his chest, her fingers splaying. “What were your parents like?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, exhaling a long breath. “My father was a no good bastard, didn’t much care for me. I don’t remember my Momma very well, she died when I was very young, but from what I do she was a kind lady.”

“What happened to your father?”

“He was hanged for larceny. I went and watched... It didn’t come soon enough.”

His gaze had fallen to where her fingers were tracing gentle shapes over his skin, and she smiled softly.

“Look at us, two orphans with such tragic stories.”

He chuckled, his free hand rising to settle over hers, pausing her drawings. “I don’t think adults can be orphans, sweetheart.”

“Sure we can. People will feel more sorry for us, then.”

“From what I’ve seen, people ain’t pityin’ orphans a lot these days.”

She snorted, adjusting her head on him. “Well-bred people do. They all read Oliver Twist and suddenly developed a conscience.”

“What’s Oliver Twist?”

“It’s a story from an English author about a boy who’s an orphan and he gets taken in by a gang of thieves led by a very charismatic man...” She trailed off, her smile widening. “... Now I mention it, it sounds rather familiar...”

He chuckled again. “Yeah, yeah, what else happens?”

“Thieving, a grand plan and murder. Oh, but he ends up being adopted by a very rich man so don’t despair, there’s hope for you yet.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips. “I guess there is... You sure like to read a lot, huh?”

Her lips twitched. “You make it sound like it’s an undesirable trait.”

“Nah, I just... You just read so fast, you and Hosea is always swappin’ books and talkin’ about ‘em. I can never get into ‘em.”

“Well, between playing make-believe, thinking about my dead relatives and sewing, there wasn’t much else for a young lady to do.” 

He arched an eyebrow. “Weren’t those suitors takin’ up all your time?”

She licked her lips to hide the beginnings of a smile. “Not as much as you’d think.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it a moment later. “Did you really not accept their proposals out of practicality?”

“At first, yes... then it became up to my uncle when he realised he could make a good business arrangement if I were to have the right suitor. There aren’t many good arrangements in Strawberry, however, so the proposals stopped.”

He asked before he could stop himself. “Had a lot, did you?”

“I had six.”

“Six?!”

Her eyebrows shot up as a wide smile spread across her lips. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not that hideous and boring, am I?”

“No, I, I just—”

She cut in, deciding to spare him from having to search for a reply, still grinning. “I think it was just because I was new, at first, someone different.”

“Nah.” His fingers gently caressed the back of her neck. “I think it was somethin’ more than that.”

A fluttering sensation rose in her stomach as he gazed at her. Smiling widely after a moment, she lifted her head and leaned up on her elbow, the sheet slipping down her chest a little.

She didn’t know why she asked it.

“And what about you, Arthur Morgan, what ladies have you charmed in your life-time?”

His hand slid down her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her bicep. “Mary and I were engaged once, and... Well, you know already, it didn’t work out.”

“There’s been no one else?”

He gazed at her, wrapping his finger around a curl, then shook his head after a few moments. “Nah, no one else. Ain’t had the time, really.”

She tilted her head. “Not even with Mary-Beth?”

Arthur exhaled a breath, tugging on the curl slightly. “Nah, I ain’t ever done nothin’ with Mary-Beth. It sounds like you want me to have, though.”

“No, I just...” She shrugged a shoulder. “She likes you so much. I thought she would have tried to initiate something or...”

He arched an eyebrow. “Or I would have taken advantage?”

She pressed her lips together, a smile pulling at them. “No... She’s just a sweet girl, what’s not to like?”

“I know, I just... Ain’t been interested. You, however...” She got the feeling he was trying to distract her as he sat up, his arm wrapping around her back... and she allowed it, leaning into his hold with a widening smile. “... You have certainly caught my attention.”

She didn’t mind the distraction at all. “Mmh, and how have I done that?”

Arthur snorted, raising his eyebrows. “You lookin’ for compliments, darlin’? ‘cause I ain’t the best at ‘em.”

Her finger tips slid up his arm as his hand settled on her hip. “You don’t have to give compliments with words, Morgan.”

He laughed, half in awe, half in incredulity. “Miss Adaline, you’re quickly becomin’ insatiable.”

“That’s a big word for you.”

“Christ, let’s shut that mouth of yours...”

As she laughed, lying back on the bed, the sheet falling away, his mouth descending upon her, neither of them heard the movement on the balcony boards outside their room.

—

She awoke to his arm across her stomach and his mouth on her shoulder.

“I’m the insatiable one?”

“Be quiet, woman.”

He helped her dress, mainly as an excuse to have his hands on her. She said as much, grinning, and he didn’t bother to deny it, his lips finding hers. After returning the key to the bartender, who never seemed to sleep, they returned to their horses with their luggage, deciding to forgo breakfast as Arthur decided ‘we ain’t givin’ this place any more money’.

Once out of the already awake Saint Denis, they journeyed back to camp at a leisurely pace, smiling at passersby and offering greetings. It was a warm morning, the sun gently heating the earth. Glancing at Arthur occasionally, he would soon meet her gaze, a corner of his mouth lifting.

Javier greeted them upon their return.

“Well, good morning.”

“Hello, Javier, how are you?”

“Just fine, Miss Annie, just fine, and you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

His far too knowing grin at her reply had her eyes narrowing slightly.

They hitched their horses, Kieran appearing from somewhere with a quiet ‘Hello’ and a promise to brush Faithful and Ophelia down. After retrieving their luggage from their saddles, they walked side by side down the main path, trying hard not to look at one another.

Karen and Tilly sat on the empty fountain, cups of coffee in their hands, suspiciously expectantly. A wide smile spread across Karen’s lips as Tilly hid hers with her cup, taking a long sip.

“Hey, you two, how was your evenin’?”

“Hello, Karen, it was fine, thank you,” Arthur answered, his tone disinterested, searching the area.

“Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Turning to Ada, his features softened a touch. “I’ll see you later, all righ’? I gotta catch up with Dutch.”

She nodded, smiling, and watched him walk away for a few moments before she turned to the girls. Tilly’s lips were pressed against her cup, Karen’s mouth was open in a broad grin, and Ada exhaled a long breath.

“Miss Annie Sawyer, you—”

“Good day, Karen, I need to get some coffee.”

“I bet you do, you—”

“See you later, girls.”

Ada left them giggling to themselves, shaking her head. People had obviously been speculating the night before and she found she wasn’t agitated at their speculations being true, or the teasing that had already begun... Not yet, anyway.

Placing her small bags in her stand, she brushed her skirt down, her eyes landing on Arthur on the other side of the camp, talking with Hosea and Lenny. He was smiling at whatever Lenny was saying, and that made her smile. However, after a few moments, it faltered.

Away from camp he had seemed more himself, relaxed, his own person. Back at it... How would it go from here?

—

Arthur chuckled to himself as he made his way up the stairs of the house. Lenny always made him laugh, God damn, he loved that kid.

“Have a good night?”

Already knowing who it was and already wanting to beat the shit out of them, he glanced up as he reached the top floor, finding a grinning John Marston leaning against the wall.

“Are you still here?” Arthur retorted as he moved past him, heading to his room.

John followed him into his room, laughing. “Trust me, I ain’t goin’ nowhere for a while.”

Worse than the God damn girls...

“Get outta my room, Marston, go and teach your son to stay outta people’s business.”

“Oh, he’s plenty good at that.”

“Maybe he can teach you, then.” He narrowed his eyes at the younger man as he dropped his bags and took his jacket off, watching John sit on his bed, leaning back against the wall and still grinning.

“Interesting times...”

Oh, for Christ’s sake...

Turning his head to find Dutch standing out on the balcony between the open doors, cigar in his hand, also grinning, Arthur sighed heavily.

This is gonna be a long fuckin’ day.

“I guess,” he answered, arching an eyebrow as he rolled his sleeves up.  “So, what’s next? Dancing lessons? Deportment?”

“More along the lines of armed robbery.” Both John and Arthur looked at him, interested. Dutch smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Hosea’s handling reconnaissance on the bank. He and Abigail are gonna run some distractions, see how the law reacts.” 

John didn’t say anything, playing with a fraying section of his shirt sleeve.  

“Good,” Arthur said, running a hand down his face and holding off a yawn.

“Oh, and I spoke to Evelyn Miller,” Dutch said proudly, taking a seat on a crate. “A fine man. Here helping the Indian chief we saw.”

“Yeah, I met him, too,” Arthur said, taking a seat himself and stretching his legs out, “with the Mayor.”

Dutch nodded. “He’s lobbying officials in Saint Denis on their behalf. Maybe we could help.”

Arthur shrugged. It didn’t seem much like their area, in fact it was way off, it was a big issue, but... Dutch adored Miller and, well, ‘save people as need savin’’. “Maybe.”

“Now, I think there’s a lot of money on that riverboat in Saint Denis,” Dutch continued, probably having spoken about it the night before with Hosea. “A lot of money. And Trelawney, he’s investigating for us.” Dutch smiled, glancing at them both. “One big score down here, boys, and we disappear. We’re almost headin’ home.”

Arthur glanced at John as Dutch stood and walked past him, but couldn’t catch his gaze. He was just looking at Dutch.

“And where is home, Dutch?” Arthur asked lightly, looking to him.

The older man paused and turned back to them. “I don’t know, exactly.” Then, he smiled again. “But I can smell it.” Nodding, he moved out onto the balcony. “I’m gonna go investigate this trolley thing Old Bronte was talking about.”

“Okay.”

As Dutch departed, Arthur looked back to John who finally looked at him. Raising his eyebrows slightly, the younger man then suddenly broke out into a grin.

“So, you were gonna say how your evenin’ was?”

“I am gonna throw you off the fuckin’ balcony...”

—

"... Do you want the stick? Do you, Cain?”

The dog barked, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he seemed to be almost smiling.

“Go on, go and get it!” 

She flung the long stick away, the dog immediately racing after it. She placed her hands on her hips as she watched him leap up into the air, catch it and... continue on running, disappearing behind a shed. Lifting her hands in faint exasperation, Ada then dropped them and let her gaze travel the expanse of the land. It had turned into a very warm day, drawing nearly all activity to a halt, as usual, people taking the opportunity to nap or relax. She’d unpacked what little luggage she had, leaving her new, beautiful dress wrapped in cloth to keep it safe, had some coffee and stew, then read a few paragraphs of her book, then gone to find work, then helped Kieran feed the horses.

They were all good distractions from thinking about Arthur.

She was fine with it all now, anyway. It was all straight in her head. It wasn’t serious. They were just enjoying each other, and why not? It wasn’t for forever. It was fine.

She’d wanted to talk to Sadie, to fill her in, but she was out hunting for most of the day. Anyway, it was all fine.

Whilst brushing down Faithful, she’d heard Cain faintly barking at the back of the house and had gone to investigate. She’d found him digging a hole, several others close by, and had decided they both needed to keep themselves busy.

Cain had obviously decided otherwise.

Some people are just out for themselves these days.

Turning, her arms swinging slightly as she tried to think of what to do next, staring at the ground, she headed for her stand.

Sleep? No, her body felt too... restless. Read? No, same reason. Walk? Possibly, but in this heat—

She collided with something solid. Hands gently gripped her arms as her head whipped up and she raised her fists. Arthur snorted as she paused, her body relaxing.

“You really think you could knock somebody out?”

She smiled, raising an eyebrow as her hands dropped onto his chest before she swiftly remembered where they were, her hands falling to her sides. “I’ve yet to get into a fist fight so we could find out.”

“Well, I know you ain’t that strong.” 

Her mouth dropped open in good-natured indignation. “How dare you, you don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Your grip on my hair weren’t that strong.”

She pressed her lips together, involuntary heat rising on her cheeks as she fought off a smile. He hadn’t released her yet and she lifted her hands, knocking his arms away. He allowed it, following behind her after she’d side-stepped him and continued on.

“Well, maybe I didn’t want to hurt you, you’re very delicate.”

He snorted again. “Maybe. You can certainly bring me to my knees.”

For the love of God...

“Don’t you have important things to be doing, besides bothering me? Like robbing innocent people?”

“I like botherin’ you, though.”

“Obsession isn’t an attractive trait, Mr Morgan.”

“I can tell you what is attractive...”

Before she knew it, he’d caught her by the waist and pulled her to the side, pressing her against the wood of the house, one hand on her hip, the other by her head. A lazy smile broke out across his features as she huffed, his gaze sweeping over her.

“... The way you look today, Miss Sawyer.”

It was so hard not to smile. Folding her arms, she raised her chin.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Morgan, but I have things to be getting on with so please move.”

“Like what?”

“Things.”

“Such as?”

“Things.”

“From what I saw, I think you got some time to spare.”

“I am actually incredibly busy.”

“Too busy for a kiss?”

That made her pause, her breath catching slightly. He took the opportunity.

Cupping her cheek, he bowed his head and kissed her softly.

Oh, Lord...

She relented... for a few moments.

“Arthur Morgan...” she murmured in the best scandalised tone she could muster as she drew her head back, her gaze darting about.

His smirk returned. “What? Everybody knows.”

“Everybody thinks.”

“Everybody’s right.”

She huffed again, though he could see the smile beginning to form. “Still...”

“Still, what?” he prompted as she didn’t continue. Chuckling, he brushed his thumb over her parted lips, his fingers splaying across her jaw and neck. “I can’t stop thinking about how good you taste...” he murmured after a few moments, his tone significantly lower.

She inhaled a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder before meeting his gaze. “... I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”

She said the words so quietly she was surprised he heard her. His thumb settled under her chin, applying a light pressure, making her head tip back.

“Good.”

His lips were on hers once more, teasing hummed moans from her as he kissed her leisurely. His tongue stroked at her in a way reminiscent of how he had rendered her speechless the night before... three times... and that morning... She hadn’t had much of a chance to return the favour, but the next opportunity she had...

Her hands found their way to his chest, curling into his faded blue shirt and holding on. Lord, she wanted his hands on her again, this was just so—

A pointed cough had her head recoiling back.

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?” Hosea asked, smiling even as his eyebrows rose in innocence.

Annie met his gaze and swiftly released Arthur as her cheeks flushed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and Arthur sighed wearily, straightening. Hosea couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

Just like he’s a damn teenager again...

“You know you are, old man.” Arthur dropped his hands to his gunbelt as he turned with an arched brow, silently communicating a ‘what the hell’ to the older man.

Hosea raised his hands with a shrug. “My eyesight ain’t as good as it once was, I couldn’t tell if you were chokin’ her or not.”

Over Arthur’s shoulder, he could see Annie just about managing to hide a smile, her fingers pressed against her lips, but Arthur wasn’t as obviously amused.

“Righ’. What d’you want?”

“Josiah wants to see you in Saint Denis, at the tailor’s.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you go and find out?”

Sighing again, knowing exactly why Trelawney wanted him and cursing bad timing for it, Arthur muttered under his breath before turning to her. Hosea watched as his features softened and Annie smiled as their eyes met.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he murmured, intimately, and Annie nodded, her hands clasped in front of her belt as she tried to control her smile.

“Okay.” Her response was just as quiet, and Hosea almost felt guilty for his intrusion. Almost.

Arthur shook his head at him as he passed. “We need to talk about boundaries.”

Hosea chuckled. “I think it’s a little late for that, son.”

They both watched him stride past the fountain and towards Ophelia, each smiling in varying degrees of fondness. After a few moments, his gaze slid to her.

He liked the girl, she was bright, could talk about literature just as much as he could and she had proven herself to be a valuable asset to the group. And, perhaps, he could admit, some of his opinion was also influenced by the fact Arthur was sweet on her, most evidently... and that was good.

The boy deserved something of his own, something good to keep him going. Dutch had agreed with him on that.

“Sorry about that,” he finally said as her attention turned to him, “but duty calls, unfortunately.”

Her cheeks were still glowing a faint red. “Oh, no, it’s no trouble at all. I have my own things to be getting on with, too.”

“Come, then,” he beckoned jovially, “let me escort you to your duties.”

She smiled widely, inclining her head. “Why, thank you, sir.”

She really was one of the good ones.

“How are ya gettin’ on with that book I lent ya?”

“Oh, I’m really enjoying it!” She found her arm looping through his as they headed for the girl’s wagon, his hand patting her arm. “Far more than a book I bought myself, actually.”

“Have you got to chapter eighteen yet?”

“No, why?”

“Ooh, you’ll see.”

—

Arthur didn’t return for the evening meal and neither did Trelawney. Upon enquiring to Charles, she discovered they were to make a hit on a riverboat in Saint Denis along with Javier and Strauss.

“My God...”

“Yes, it does seem rather...”

“Ambitious?”

“I think we laugh at that word here.”

She gave a light chuckle at that, then half-listened to him explain how he made poisoned arrows.

Stop worrying. He’ll be fine. He’s done things like this a thousand times before.

The rest of the camp, bar Bill, Micah and Sadie who were on watch duty, and Molly, who was sulking somewhere, gathered to eat together, Ada seating herself beside Hosea so they could continue discussing the book she was reading. If she went more in-depth than they usually did in her analysis then Hosea didn’t comment, more than happy to answer her questions and talk for nearly an hour.

Karen carrying a small crate and grunting from the weight of it finally brought their attention back to the group.

“Now... why don’t we have some fun of our own tonight?” the blonde woman grinned, placing the crate of what they quickly identified to be whisky down by her chair.

“Karen, where the hell did you get that from?” Tilly was the first to ask.

“Saloon in town gets deliveries every Thursday and I’m good at makin’ friends,” Karen answered proudly, looking very pleased with herself, “Now, we got plenty so drink up, everyone!”

As she handed bottles to Mary-Beth and Pearson to pass around, her gaze flicked up to Ada.

“C’mon, Annie, even you, have a little drink with us.”

Ada considered it for a second. “Fine, but just one.”

Having expected a little more resistance, so very much delighted, Karen beamed as she gave her a bottle. “That’s a girl, let’s have fun tonight!”

Yes, please let’s.

They all stayed around the main fire, some sharing bottles, the rest having their own. Ada continued her conversation with Hosea for a little while before Lenny sat on the other side of him and initiated a discussion about Saint Denis, his eyes wide as he told them of what he’d seen being sold at the markets and the people that had sold them.

Half a bottle in, Karen claimed they didn’t need Javier to provide music, slapping her hands against her thighs as she began a rowdy song that Uncle, Lenny and the other girls soon joined her in bellowing.

Hosea excused himself shortly after with a light smile, claiming his ‘old bones were demandin’ rest’. She watched him walk to the house, noting how stiff he seemed.

Despite everything, they really are just human.

She nearly snorted at herself.

What a romanticism.

She’d only been sipping at her own bottle of whisky, now actually a little used to the taste, but those sips had been adding up and a lightness had spread through her, an urge to just smile all the time lingering.

“Is this seat taken?”

Her head tipped back and her eyes rose to meet Dutch’s.

Oh.

“No, go ahead,” she replied, glad her smile for Hosea had remained in place.

Dutch returned it, taking Hosea’s vacated seat with a quiet groan as he settled down.

“How are you, Annie?” he asked, settling his hands on his knees. “We haven’t had a real chance to talk since that unfortunate incident with the O’Driscolls.”

“Which one,” she joked good-naturedly.

He chuckled. “Indeed. Are you all right, though?”

She nodded, holding her bottle against her chest. “I’m fine, thank you, really. This is a wonderful group of people to be with.”

Dutch cast his gaze around, his features softening. “That they are. I feel very lucky.”

“As do I.”

His eyes found her’s again. “And we are very lucky to have you in turn. I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of your work at the party. Those papers you found will help us immeasurably.”

Something in her chest twinged slightly. She shrugged her shoulders, wondering faintly how long she’d been smiling for. “Oh, well, I just want to help in any way I can.”

“And bringing Arthur back? Ridin’ out to Braithwaite Manor with us? Hell, defendin’ yourself against O’Driscolls before you came to us? You are a hell of a woman, Miss Sawyer.”

She laughed, quite bemused by her own achievements now they were grouped together. “Thank you very much, Dutch.”

He patted her knee gently, and it was in no way similar to how Micah had once lain his hand on her. “Don’t mention it. I like to give credit where credit is due.”

She couldn’t find the words to reply, her mind slower, so she just nodded, offering him her bottle a moment after.

“No, thank you,” he declined politely. “I think I shall be headin’ up. I’m too old for this now.”

She chuckled. “All right. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Annie.”

She watched him as she had Hosea, a gentle smile lingering.

How nice...

Oh, you fool.

Her smile fell as her chest twinged.

That had been it. That was how he brought people on board with his ideas; seduced them with kind words and charm, not as obviously as the villains she read about in all her books, but in a caring, gentle way... a way that had a person glowing at his good opinion.

You stupid, stupid fool. Remember yourself.

“Lord, bounty hunters can probably hear this racket from three states over.”

Sadie. Good.

Turning her head to the woman as she sat beside her, balancing her rifle against the log, Ada offered her the bottle.

“Drink with me.”

Sadie arched an eyebrow as she stretched her legs out. “Nah.”

Ada pressed her lips together. “Come on, I don’t intend to get drunk for the first time in my life on my own.”

“You got these fools to do that with.”

Ada tilted her head, trying to imitate how Jack looked when he wanted some of Mary-Beth’s secret candy stash. “But you’re my favourite fool, Sadie.”

Sadie snorted, a smile breaking out. “Well, when you put it that way, I’ll sure as hell join you.” Despite her sarcastic retort, she did indeed take the bottle and have a long sip, wincing with a slight hiss after she’d swallowed. “God damn... Y’know, I ain’t been drunk in a long time, either.” A faintly mischievous expression covered her features. “How about a drinkin’ game?”

“I’ve never played one,” Ada admitted, accepting the bottle back.

“All right...” Sadie pushed her braid over her shoulder as she sat up, glancing around before she nodded over Ada’s shoulder. “How about we see who can throw a rock in to that pot from a distance?”

Ada couldn’t stop a snort. “That sounds easy enough.”

Sadie just smiled. “If you don’t get it in, you got to take a shot of whisky.”

The auburn-haired woman rose to her feet, looking vaguely smug. “Well, I’ve got rather good aim so I certainly don’t think I’ll be getting drunk for the first time tonight.”

—

"... we are the boys of Wexford! Who fought with heart and hand, to burst in twain the galling chain, and free our native land!”

Ada grinned at Uncle as they threw their arms up into the air and continued, half-singing, half-yelling, “To burst in twain the galling chain, and free our native la-and~!”

The group broke out into whoops, claps and cheers even before they’d finished the extended note and Uncle finally dropped his hands and descended into a coughing fit whilst Ada, still beaming, flourished into a bow so low she had to take a step forward to stop herself from toppling over.

“Thank you s’ much!” she called out over their adoring audiences’ cheers as she straightened, now having to take a step back to steady herself. “Thank you, thank you!”

Her aim hadn’t been as good as she herself had believed. Stones had bounced off the pot, gone slightly over or under, and nowhere near it. Sadie, comfortingly, was only a little better so it hadn’t taken long for the bottle to be emptied, and nearly another one. 

Falling down into her seat beside Sadie, she turned her head to the woman who beamed back.

“Jus’ wonderful, Annie, so good.”

“Annie, y—...” Her head swung to the side to look at Lenny to her right. “... You sing so good.”

“Oh, thank you, I jus’, I love singin’.”

“So do I, it’s so—”

“Look, they’re back!” Susan, who hadn’t had one drink, called out, pointing to the main path.

Bloodshot, squinting and glazed over eyes watched as Javier, Strauss, Trelawney and Arthur dismounted their horses, Kieran nearly tripping over his own feet to get to them.

Bill, who, after finishing his watch with Charles taking over, had quickly caught up with Karen where alcohol was concerned, stood, holding his arms out. “Gen’lemen! How was the misshon?”

“We’re still alive,” Arthur drawled, stroking Ophelia’s neck before he brushed the dust from the sleeves of his smart jacket.

“A success, I think,” Trelawney added positively, beaming at them all as they neared the group.

“Good! Come ‘nd celebrate with us, then.”

“Been havin’ your own little party, huh?” Arthur arched an eyebrow as he pushed his hands into his pockets, a smile beginning to form as he looked over all of them.

“Yeah, we though’ why should you have all the fun?” Lenny called out, drawing Arthur’s attention, and then his gaze landed on her.

Well, Miss Ada...

Ada grinned as the returning heroes settled amongst the group and Arthur moved behind them towards her, his smile widening.

“Hello.”

“Hullo,” she answered, her gaze sweeping over him and finally taking in his attire. He was in three-piece suit, one she preferred much more to the one he’d worn at the party, and his hair was shorter, neater, slicked back with pomade. His stubble was gone, too. Pushing herself up and stepping over the log to stand in front of him, she swayed a little as she folded her arms. “God, you look handsome. I mean, you always look handsome but I can see your face and it’s nice.”

Her hand went to his cheek, nearly involuntarily slapping him lightly with the unchecked momentum, caressing his smooth skin.

He chuckled, arching an eyebrow as he watched her, his hand settling on her lower back. “Josiah thought I better clean up to make a real impression.”

"An’ did you?”

“Yeah, I’d say I did.” The full story of their escapade could wait until the morning.

“Oh, good.” She’d continued to stroke his skin, her fingers finding their way to his neck, curling around to the nape.

“So, how’re you feelin’?” He tipped his head to the side slightly, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. Her smile hadn’t dropped once.

“Wonderful.” She closed her eyes for a moment to emphasise her conclusion. “Absolutely wonderful. I feel like...” Her other hand clenched in mid-air slightly as she searched for the right words. “... I just feel good. It’s all fine.”

"That’s good.” His fingers gently stroked at her back, holding her against him.

“Yes, it is.” Her teeth grazed over her lower lip as mischievousness crossed her features, her voice lowering. “Not as good as you make me feel, though.”

“Miss Sawyer...” Imitating her scandalised tone from earlier, a wide grin spread across his lips.

“Oh, shut your mouth,” she whispered, grinning in delight at herself, “like you said, everybody knows.” As if to prove her newfound nonchalance at their relationship, her arms draped around his shoulders. “Karen’s been tryin’ to get details out of me but I haven’t said a word.” A yawn suddenly rose from her, her stream of thought changing. “Christ, I’m tired.”

“Mmh, well, we didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“No, we did not.”

Lord, she was... His own smile hadn’t faltered either.

“Come on, then, Miss Sawyer.” Sliding his arm around her waist as he turned, Arthur gently guided her towards the house, the rest of the camp too engrossed in listening to Josiah’s magnificent retelling of their mission to pay attention to them.

It was surprisingly easy, and quiet enough, to get her into the house and up the stairs, her body leaning against his as a few more yawns escaped her. Reaching the top, he glanced habitually through the hole in the wall to see Jack and Abigail sleeping. Ada did the same, smiling fondly; both of them had retired, unwillingly in Jack’s case, a couple of hours earlier.

Opening the door to his room, he finally released her, hearing her step away as he closed the door. When he turned back to her, he took a few moments to just watch, it only a little difficult in the dark.

She yawned again, releasing a soft sound with it, and placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. She started at the table covered in various kinds of ammunition, her nose wrinkling slightly, before she moved to the smaller table, gazing down at a map of the land he’d drawn out himself, a smile pulling at her lips, her finger tips brushing over his drawings. He thought he saw her mouth the names of a few places.

Then, she looked to him, clasping her hands behind her back as she smirked faintly.

“Are you goin’ to ravage me again, Mr Morgan?”

He smiled softly, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it onto the nearest chair. “Not tonight, Miss Sawyer.”

“Are you sure?” she countered, arching an eyebrow as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, it joining the jacket.

He chuckled quietly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. “What did I say, Miss Adaline, insatiable...”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she murmured coyly as she kept her eyes on him.

Dropping the shirt onto the chair as he passed it, Arthur stopped before her and caught her chin between his fingers gently, tipping her head back and capturing her lips in a tender kiss. She hummed softly, her hands settling on his bare chest, sliding up to his shoulders a few moments after. His other arm wrapped around her waist, and he began to walk her backwards.

When the backs of her calves touched the side of the bed, she sank down and he leaned over, keeping his lips pressed to hers as her hands cupped his face. Then, he straightened, his hands sliding into his pockets as her’s fell into her lap, a smile pulling at his lips.

She caught on a moment later, her eyes narrowing.

“Mhm, seducin’ me into bed but not out of my clothes. Very clever, Mr Morgan, you really aren’t as dumb as they say.”

He chuckled as she lay back with a muttered grumble, rolling over to face the wall.

He so wanted to. Part of him felt like he needed to. To be back with her was... He hadn’t thought that the mission would go wrong, but it was the first time in a very, very long time that a quiet voice had whispered to him, ‘You have to survive this night’. Removing his shoes and running a hand through his hair to get rid of some of the pomade, he pushed the shoes aside and settled down on the bed behind her, his arm going around her as his chin rested on top of her head.

In order for both of them to fit, she had to be nestled perfectly against him, every inch of her pressed against him, and it was so comforting.

“This is smaller than the bed in Saint Denis,” she mumbled, her tiredness having caught up with her swiftly.

Yeah, it is,” he murmured, closing his eyes as his thumb brushed over her skin.

“Mmh... Cosier, though.”

“Yep.”

“Was this your plan all along?”

“My plan was to get you safe and horizontal before you fell over.”

She snorted. “How dare you, I have wond’ful balance.”

“Sure you do.”

She grumbled under her breath again, too tired to fully vocalise her retort, and he closed his eyes with a faint smile as, only a minute or so later, her breathing evened out and he knew she was asleep.

It felt... nice, to hold her. It wasn’t a grand enough expression for it but that’s what it was. It had gotten so familiar and so easy so fast and he didn’t mind at all. He didn’t want complicated. Christ, she was complicated enough on her own. 

Stop thinkin’ too damn much.

His chin rested upon her head, his own eyes closing, and he just listened to her breathing, feeling the warmth of her.

—

He awoke the next morning in exactly the same position, hair in his mouth and an elbow digging into his ribs. Being very careful to move so as to not wake her, he glanced down at her. Nah, she was dead to the world, her mouth open, her breathing even. He could’ve fired a gun and she probably wouldn’t move. Smiling, he gently moved her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear before he stood.

Stepping out of the open front doors and onto the porch, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up as he surveyed the camp. Everyone seemed rather sluggish, either from their revelry the night before or the heat of the morning. It was probably the warmest morning they’d had so far, he could already feel beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Maybe I do miss the snow a bit.

Stepping down onto the dirt, he headed for Pearson’s fire pit, seeking coffee.

God knows she’ll need it.

Sadie passed him and he grinned and nodded at her. She just grunted, feeling as bad as she looked. She already had coffee and was taking continuous sips of it. Shaking his head, he respected the small queue that had formed for the liquid of life and clasped his hands together.

“Good mornin’, Lenny!”

“Oh, don’t, Arthur...”

Sadie made her way onto the porch, her head pounding. Taking a seat, she sat back and closed her eyes, gripping her cup. A groan came from within the house, growing closer. Cracking an eye open, Sadie watched Annie step out, her features scrunched up, squinting and trying to shield her eyes from the brightness of the sun.

"Oh, God...” she heard her murmur.

“Hey,” Sadie greeted, her voice hoarse.

Turning her head slowly, Annie looked at her. “I feel like I’ve been hit over the head with several bricks.”

“Unfortunately, first time gettin’ drunk comes with first time feelin’ like you might actually die.”

Annie just groaned her agreement as she sat in a chair beside her, leaning back and closing her eyes, gripping the armrests. Sadie was delighted her friend didn’t feel like chatting. Though, when she felt more like a human being, they’d certainly have a lot to catch up on if camp rumours and plain observation was anything to go by.

“Mornin’, ladies.”

They both just made vague sounds as Arthur approached, a cup in each hand. Smiling, he gently touched Ada on the shoulder with a finger and handed her a cup when she opened her eyes. Mouthing her thanks, she sipped from it as Arthur leaned against the house, sliding a hand into his pocket.

“How was your night?” Sadie asked, her curiosity overcoming her throat’s desire for silence.

“Fine. Eventful.”

“Sounds like it was,” she snorted, then immediately regretted it as her head ached.

She was about to ask another question when Dutch appeared from within the darkness of the house, leaning out. “Arthur, if I could have you for a moment.”

Arthur nodded, looked at the two women to smile at them, found them both sitting back with their eyes closed and probably semi-conscious, and shook his head, smiling to himself as he followed after the older man.

“When you gonna let me come out robbin’ with you, Dutch?” Sadie called out, sipping from her coffee.

She heard Dutch laugh. “God, few more like her...” The rest of his response was lost as they moved further into the house.

The two women sat in silence, just drinking their coffee and waiting for it to work its magic. The usually peaceful sounds of nature, birds chirping and crickets trilling, were now just grating, and towards the back of the house they could hear Cain barking and Jack giggling. Sadie’s eyes cracked open again as the sounds grew louder, Jack chasing after Cain and coming round to the front.

Exhaling a long breath, she glanced at Annie, who could as well have been dead from how still she was. 

“Maybe you and me should go out robbin’, I reckon we’d be just fine,” Ada heard Sadie say. Peeling her eyes open, she glanced at her, the throbbing in her head now slightly better.

“I think we would, too.” Oh, Lord, her voice sounded like she’d been yelling for hours. Which she had, nearly.

“If you could rob anythin’ righ’ now, what’d it be?”

Ada inhaled a slow breath, her eyebrows raising slightly. “Goodness, I’ve never thought about that before.”

“I ain’t sayin’ we’re gonna, just what would you pick if you had to.”

Ada scratched her head before leaning it against her hand, her elbow propped on the armrest. “Uh... Probably a house. I think it might be easy. There’d be different things to take, too, money, jewellery, guns.”

Sadie nodded, stretching her legs out, her hands on her stomach. “Yeah, that’s a good one. I think a train would be excitin’, too.”

“A lot to think about, though, and dangerous.” Ada found herself smiling, enjoying the image her mind created of them both holding up a whole train. Sadie could probably do it single-handedly.

“Yeah, but excitin’.”

Ada opened her mouth to respond when she felt Sadie pause in the same moment she did, looking up the main path.

“What the hell...” Sadie muttered.

Realisation dawned on them as Mary-Beth screamed.

“It’s Kieran!”

Kieran’s body, his decapitated head resting in his lap, sat astride his favourite horse, the horse walking idly down the main path. All anyone could do was stare, the scene not sinking in. And it didn’t have time to.

“Everybody take cover! O’Driscoll boys are comin’!” Dutch yelled from the balcony above a split second before men emerged from the bushes and began to fire.

Sadie and Ada lunged forward, their cups tumbling to the floor, using the columns before them as cover as people began shouting and barking orders to each other.

“Jack!” Ada heard Abigail scream and her heart dropped into her stomach as she looked out and saw the boy running past the fountain, terrified. She was about to surge towards him when John suddenly appeared, sweeping the boy up into his arms and racing forward, hiding them both behind the stacks of sandbags beside Charles who was firing back at the attacking men.

“Shit,” she hissed as her gaze darted across the porch. She’d come down without a weapon, a grave mistake. 

Sadie had kept her’s beside her and was joining in the gunfight, cursing under her breath. All of them were firing back now and Ada, after counting to three, darted through the open doors behind her and grabbed the nearest gun, a Repeater, mercifully. Rejoining Sadie, she aimed and fired at the group of men. She couldn’t ascertain how many of them were there but for every one that was downed, another replaced him. 

O’Driscolls. She should have known they’d come sooner or later.

“God damn O’Driscolls...” Sadie hissed, echoing her thoughts, but before she could respond Dutch was yelling again.

“Women and children inside! The rest of you, hold your ground!”

Then Arthur was suddenly there, ducking behind the column on the other side of the steps. “Get inside!” he shouted as Susan, Karen, Strauss, Tilly and Mary-Beth ran inside. Charles and Javier covering, John ran to Abigail, handing her Jack and pushing them towards the house. They made it inside as John returned to his post without looking back.

“Don’t let anyone back through that door!” Arthur shouted to her and Sadie, both of them nodding as they reloaded.

He ran to where John was and said something to him, before turning his head and saying something to Charles. He nodded and shouted to Javier. Arthur shouted something she couldn’t hear to Bill, Micah and Pearson. They all looked up, though, as a wagon came rolling down the path, filled with O’Driscolls.

“We’re overwhelmed!” she heard John shout as they all began to fall back towards the house.

“We’re overrun!” Charles shouted in the same moment.

“What in God’s name is goin’ on?!” Arthur yelled.

Ada and Sadie covered them as they retreated, her heart pounding. The O’Driscolls in turn were just moving closer, boldly. The men headed in to the house, then John, and Arthur looked to the two women.

“Come on, inside!”

“Everyone get inside!” she heard Charles shout from beside him.

They obeyed after a moment and Arthur and Charles followed them in, the last. As soon as they were all inside, he, John, Javier and Karen began to barricade the door, pushing and pulling the nearest furniture towards it. 

“Everyone stay calm,” Dutch was saying as everyone kept low. The bullets from outside didn’t stop, and Ada heard a window in another room shatter. Once the door was barricaded, Dutch began to give instructions of posts they should go to. Waiting for her name, Ada then felt Sadie nudge her.

“Come on, this way,” she murmured, heading out of the room. Ada glanced at Dutch, who was too busy giving orders to notice them, and followed.

She followed her to the left, moving past Hosea’s room and out of the side door. A glance to her left showed her the O’Driscolls had some common sense and were keeping some distance. Fortunately, Sadie went right. Keeping low, they ran along the side of the house and—

“Watch out!” Sadie’s arm flinging out to halt her made her head whip up and she saw them.

More O’Driscolls. Coming from the south path. Coming from across the river. Firing. Making bullets fly over their heads and by her shoulder.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

Sadie surged forward.

—

What the fuck are they doin’ here and why are there so many of ‘em?

The last time the O’Driscolls had been this bold they’d kidnapped him and Ada. The time before that they’d killed Annabelle.

Was this it? The final battle between them? Why now, though, and how had they found out where they were?

Bronte.

It hit him like a fucking train.

Bronte must have spoken to him after the party, hell, Bronte more than likely knew they were staying here, but why cause all this? Something wasn’t adding up.

Ada.

Had Colm come just for her? Well, not just for her, but... Had the confirmation that she was still with the Van der Linde Gang been too much of an insult?

“Is everyone accounted for?” he called to John a few feet away, both of them firing out of windows.

“I think so,” John answered, distracted and for good reason; the men didn’t seem to stop coming.

“Sadie? Annie?” Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard Dutch say their names to give them instructions.

John just shrugged.

Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved to the window to his right, breaking it and firing out. An O’Driscoll was yelling something taunting and he swiftly silenced him, when he heard a scream.

Not of pain. Of fury.

His jaw clenching, he called to John, ”That’s Mrs Adler, she’s still out there!”

Knowing John would cover him, the men finally starting to thin out, he leapt out of the window and crouched at the railing. The cry had come from somewhere behind the shack before him, obscured. With his gang members firing at the remaining men behind him, Arthur leapt over the railing and ran. He could hear grunts of pain and Sadie yelling.

“Who the fuck’s this lady?!” he heard a man demand before there was another grunt and what sounded like a body falling to the floor. Rounding the shack, his breath caught in his throat.

Sadie was throttling a man, her features twisted in rage as she yelled savagely. The man’s eyes were wide as he clawed at her arms but she was driving him back, shoving him against the shack before he could recover enough to do something. Ada was stood with her back to them, firing at anyone approaching, protecting her friend. Her features were tight, and she never missed. 

Sadie released another wild sound and drove a knife into the man’s neck. Neither he nor Arthur had seen where she’d procured it from. The man, his eyes bulging, fell to his knees, but Sadie just fell with him and struck him again, and again, and again, plunging the knife into his chest, throat, stomach. Then she wrenched it out and stood, breathing heavily.

Arthur looked between them as Sadie stood over him, blood on her face and clothes, and Ada shot the last two men approaching.

“Why the hell didn’t you both get inside?!”

“And miss all this?” Sadie drawled, glancing at him as she searched the man’s body for anything useful.

Before he could respond, Sadie had turned and was jogging away. “Come on, you two!”

He caught Ada’s eye and she pressed her lips together. They both followed.

“Now we go back!” Arthur called after her. “We need you both back in the house!”

Ada’s gun firing drew his attention and he joined her, shooting the men that approached from a boat on the river.

How the hell do they know how to get to us?

“Get down!” Ada yelled and he ducked as bullets from the right flew over their heads. More men.

Ada was behind a large crate, he dove behind a tree and Sadie... Sadie was damn near out in the open, hurling insults and calls as she fired. Her head whipping to the side as they finished dealing with the oncoming men, she then ran towards the house.

“Come on, they need us!”

He heard Ada hiss out something but she rose and ran after Sadie. He reloaded as he followed. O’Driscolls had circled the back of the house and were trying to get in, but John was still firing from within and doing a damn good job, as were Karen and Abigail from the upper level. With Sadie’s, Arthur’s and Ada’s help, the men didn’t stand much of a chance.

They had got the upper-hand. Damned if he knew how, but they had.

Maybe Sadie and Ada’s jaunt back here weren’t such a bad idea after all.

“Die, why don’t ya,” he heard Sadie say as they neared the house, her casual tone sending a slight chill down his spine.

I hope I never piss her off.

He ran ahead of Ada, wanting to advance on the men and see how the others were doing towards the front. Then, the side door burst open from the force of two men tangled in a fight and he raised his gun. Luckily, it was Charles who had the advantage. Arthur passed him as he plunged his knife into the man’s neck. Two men appeared suddenly from around the front of the house and he shot them, or believed he had at least; Ada was beside him once more, firing.

“Follow me!” he heard Dutch say from somewhere as Charles and Sadie joined them.

“Come on, Charles!” Sadie said, racing ahead.

At the top of the main path there were a group of men, using a wagon as cover. They joined Sadie at the sandbags. He fired and fired until he needed to reload, but he needn’t have bothered, really; Sadie and Charles were doing a fine job and from the silence behind him these seemed to be the last of them.

There was silence to his right, too. Glancing at Ada, he found her just crouched there, holding her gun at her side, her eyes darting between the remaining men.

A bullet passed over his head and he returned his attention to the priority. Firing at the three men left, watching them fall from one or all of their bullets, there was then no one else. They all paused. Waited. 

Rising, Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Cowards!” Dutch spat from behind him and they all stood, keeping a grip on their weapons.

“We okay?” Hosea asked, stepping down from the front porch, sounding a little out of breath.

“I think so,” Dutch answered, looking between everyone for confirmation as they regrouped. Then, he looked down at one of the bodies on the floor. “... ‘cept for Kieran here.” He shook his head. “Poor kid. Mr Swanson, would you take this boy and bury him, someplace near but not too near.”

Arthur felt someone at his side, and he glanced at Ada again. She was looking at the decapitated body, expressionless.

“Of course,” Swanson was saying, rather dazed, “Charles, help me with the body.”

“We need to get this place cleaned up,” Hosea said as he lifted the boy’s head. “Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw—”

“Already taking care of it!” Susan called, before directing a pale Mary-Beth and a weary Tilly to the side of the house. “Come on now, work!” she added to the rest of them.

Everyone moved, picking up the nearest bodies to them, dragging them somewhere. They’d done this before.

Ada stood for a moment, then turned sharply on her heel and followed after Susan. Arthur inhaled a breath, watching her, then moved closer to Dutch who was shaking his head as he surveyed the carnage with John.

“Colm O’Driscoll...”

“That man can really hate,” Arthur muttered, the only reason for this he was sure on. 

“So can I, Arthur,” the older man said, looking to him. “So can I. We need to get movin’. Away from here.”

“So we should start lookin’ for another camp?”

“You ain’t thinkin’ big enough, Arthur,” Dutch said, “You ain’t seein’ the vastness of our problems, and our opportunities.”

“I’m not sure I get you.”

“You will, son. You will.” Dutch patted his shoulder as he smiled. “Meet me near the trolley station once this has been cleared up, and bring Lenny!”

He watched him walk away, heading for his horse. John blew out a breath. Looking at him, Arthur then glanced at a body near them and raised his hand.

“Shall we?”

John sighed.

“Yep.”

— 

After she’d asked, Susan had told her they’d collect all the bodies together and then dump them in the swamp for the alligators. Good. That gave her some time.

She didn’t recognise any of them, but... how could she know what Thomas would look like now? One had black hair and green eyes, but didn’t have curly hair, but maybe his curls would have gone with age. He’d be 29 now, he could have changed so much.

If he even is fucking alive.

She looked to Sadie, who was searching the body of the man they’d just carried over to the growing pile, drenched in blood from how close she’d been to the men she’d killed. She’d practically been pressed against them, had probably felt the life leave them. Probably revelled in it. Should that be how she should be behaving? An unstoppable force in her want for revenge against O’Driscolls, in her search for the truth about Thomas?

“You want this?”

Pulled from her thoughts, she found Sadie offering her a gold pocket watch. “I got three.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She pocketed it.

Maybe I could sell it and buy passage to the other side of the world.

Licking her lips as Sadie stood, she smiled lightly. “So... How’s about a warning next time, huh, Black Belle? Before you leap into action.”

Sadie laughed, sliding another ring she’d taken a shine to onto her finger. A trophy. “Ah, you did more than all right, lady.”

A familiar sharpness twisted at her stomach as she watched Sadie walk away to retrieve another body, smiling, wiping the blood from her face.

Should that be how I am.

Arthur smiled as he saw Sadie, having come from the other side of the house.

“Easy, killer,” she heard him say to her, raising his hands slightly.

Sadie laughed again. “That’s rich from you.”

“Oh, I ain’t tryna rile you, believe me.” 

Sadie’s cackle carried on the wind as she disappeared from view, and Arthur met her gaze. His smile softened.

"You okay?” he asked as he neared, his hand settling on her arm gently.

She returned his smile. “Yeah. You?”

His brows raised for a moment as he nodded. “Fine, somehow.” His thumb stroked lightly. “I gotta go and see Dutch in town, look at this trolley thing he’s worked out—”

“Now?” She frowned.

“Yeah...” He paused for a moment, then smiled. “I won’t be long. I’ll see you after.”

She managed a smile, folding her arms. “Okay.”

Ah, shit... There’s gonna be a conversation later.

“You did good today,” he murmured, squeezing her arm lightly.

“So did you.” Then she added, a corner of her mouth lifting a little, “Thank you for not dying.”

He exhaled a laugh. “Likewise.”

Lowering his head, he pressed a brief, firm kiss to her lips before turning and leaving.

Her smile faded as she watched him go, then her eyes dropped to the corpse Bill had just dragged over.

Searching.

—

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[clareguilty]

Charles/Javier/Reader Fic

Read it here on AO3 Rating: General | No Warnings (reader is gender neutral but masc) Word Count: ~4500

"I know, old girl," you patted your horse reassuringly as she let out a worried snort. "We'll find them soon."

The sun was sinking over the Grizzlies, and Flat Iron Lake was turning from purple to inky black as you carefully made your way along the shore.

You knew how important it was that camp remained well hidden, but you had hoped that you would at least be able to find the gang with nothing but Mary-Beth's letter to go off of.

Dearest Cousin,

The weather is growing too hot here now that spring is in full bloom, so we've decided to move somewhere cooler. Your uncle has found a great place for us to pass the season right on the shore of Flat Iron Lake, not too far from Rhodes. Just head East from town. Come visit us as soon as you get the chance, the whole family can't wait to see you again. I hope this letter finds you well.

Warm regards, Leslie Dupont

P.S. We passed through Valentine. It is a disgusting and rotten town, and the sheriff is very unhelpful.

The girl was clever. She had sent you the location of the new hideout without giving away anything else about the gang in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. You had guessed that the law had caught up with them around Valentine, and that the sheriff was on the lookout for any trouble. You had no need to go back there anyways. The past few weeks, you had been working a job at Emerald Ranch.

It was your first real job. Your first time being out on your own since you joined the gang. The freedom and independence meant a lot to you, not to mention the fact that Dutch trusted you enough to send you out on your own. You were tired of feeling like dead weight, and this was your chance to prove yourself. Hosea had set everything up for you, and you had gone undercover as a ranch hand for nearly a month as you gathered information and put all the pieces in place that allowed you to steal away in the dead of night with $800 and a satchel full of valuables.

But that $800 dollars would never make it into Dutch’s hands if you couldn’t find the goddamned camp. It was getting dark, and that wouldn’t help you any.

Or would it?

As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, you noticed a flicker of light through the trees. That fire had better belong to the gang.

You picked your way through the thinning trees, stumbling upon a pack of familiar horses.

“Oh, thank god,” you hitched your old girl and stripped her of as much tack as possible before striding determinedly towards a familiar white tent.

Arthur looked up from his journal as you passed his cot. “You’re back!” he grinned, pushing to his feet to follow after you. “Did you get on alright?”

“Yeah. Everything was fine for once.” You made your way to where Dutch was sitting. A few other gang members had noticed your arrival and were heading over to meet you.

Dutch greeted you with open arms and a boisterous cheer. “How great it is to see you,” he pulled you in for a chaste embrace.

You pushed your stuffed satchel into his arms. His grin widened as he hefted it, feeling the sheer weight of your score. He shot you a look of pure admiration. “You’re always so good for me.”

You flushed and smiled. Dutch was kind, and he cared for you. It felt good to be home.

A hand closed over your shoulder and you turned to see Hosea smiling just as wide. "Thanks for setting up that job for me," you clasped your hand over his.

"I should be thanking you for bringing my ideas to glorious fruition," the older man grinned. "You did good."

It was the warmest welcome you could imagine. A celebration was quickly under way, rejoicing at your return as well as the money you brought with you.

"You must be tired," Susan flitted over, "let me show you where we've got you set up." She led you to a spot by the fire. Your bedroll was laid out among the others, but that was all you could see.

"Where's my trunk?" You asked, unstrapping your gear and setting it neatly nearby.

Susan's brow creased. "It should be right over here. I had them unload all of your stuff already."

You circled the tent. Swanson's, Charles', and Javier's trunks were all neatly lined up, but no sign of yours. "It's not here."

"I'll have Bill double check the wagons. He was the one responsible for picking up your things." She strode off, and you wanted to feel sorry for poor Bill. Susan was a force to be reckoned with. But you couldn't muster up any sympathy at the moment; you wanted your trunk.

The sharp cadence of Susan's voice could be heard as you grabbed a beer and settled in by the fire. Uncle had pulled out his banjo, and Pearson was on the accordion, leading Sean and Lenny in a drunken and out of tune rendition of some old navy song.

You watched as Bill lumbered over to the wagons, peering in each one. He grew more and more frustrated as you watched him. At last, he threw his hands up and returned to where Susan and Dutch were sitting. You made your way over there as well.

"-must have gotten lost somewhere along the way," Bill was saying. "I swear I loaded everything up."

"Where's my trunk," you demanded.

The three of them turned to you. None of their expressions showed any promise.

Bill was the first to own up. "I promise you I packed it before we left Horseshoe Overlook. I don't know what happened, but I can't find it."

"My clothes are in there. My things are in there."

"I know," Dutch attempted to placate you. "We'll keep looking for it. I'm sure your things will turn up."

"I want my clothes," you were growing angry now. You had more than just your clothes in that trunk: a bottle of nice brandy, a bag of coins, and some jewelry you had stolen from some asshat in Strawberry, but Dutch didn't need to know about any of that. You had worked your ass off for weeks only to come back and find all of your things were missing. Not to mention you had to leave your spare shirts behind at Emerald Ranch to make room for everything you had stolen.

"We'll find them," Dutch raised his hand, "and if not, I'll set aside some of your most recent score so you can replace what you lost."

You took a step forward, glancing wildly between the three of them. "I just rode all the way from Emerald goddamn Ranch, stumbling through the woods to find this place. All I want is a clean shirt and a night of rest, but what do I find? My things are gone."

You could hear the camp fall silent around you, watching your outburst as you jabbed a finger into Bill's broad chest.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind you and large, warm hands closed around your shoulders, pulling you back a respectable distance. "Easy, Little Bear," Charles was grinning; you could hear it in his voice. "Let's wash what you've got on and hang it to dry overnight. You can borrow some of my clothes in the meantime."

You acquiesced, knowing it was useless to try and argue with Charles. He was more level-headed than you and always so damn reasonable. He steered you away from Dutch and Bill, towards the shore of the lake where the water lapped gently against the muddy bank.

"Your clothes will be too big on me," you complained. Charles was easily twice your size.

"Yes, but they'll be clean." He pointed a warning finger at you, a silent command to stay still while he went to grab something for you to change into.

You sulked and stared out over the water, watching stray boats drift across the horizon. Charles returned, a bundle of familiar fabric draped over his arm. You recognized his blue button down.

"Wash up and get changed. I'll help you wash your things." He handed you the clothes.

The polite thing to do would have been to turn him down; you could wash your own clothes. Instead you stepped behind the wagon, stripped out of your things, and tossed them in the general direction of Charles. He didn't say anything, but you heard his footsteps retreating towards the wash basin.

You waded into the lake. The water was still warm in the shallows, heated from the afternoon sun. The mud was soft and cool beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes until it dropped off into cold darkness. You swam out a few yards, scrubbing through your hair as best you could and trying to rub all of the Heartlands' dust from your skin.

The quiet of the lake was soothing, and you floated in the water until your fingers wrinkled and pruned. Finally, you waded to shore, drying off with a spare cloth before pulling on the clothes Charles lent you.

He was right; they were clean, and soft, and they smelled good. Charles must have stored herbs with his things because everything smelled like oregano and mint and thyme and leather.

They were also far too large on you. You rolled the sleeves up as far as you could and resorted to simply tying the bottom hem at your hips to keep the shirt from reaching to your knees. You rolled the pants to your ankles, working your belt through the loops with only a little difficulty.

You spotted Charles hanging your things out to dry. He looked you up and down as you approached.

"I look ridiculous," you groaned, helping him pin your trousers to the line. He made a soft sound, but didn't say anything.

"Thanks for loaning me some clothes," you placed a hand on his arm as the two of you walked back towards the fire.

"It's nothing," Charles shrugged. He passed you a beer and steered you towards the fire where Sean was giving a slurred, impassioned speech about what you assumed to be the beauty of a woman's breasts. You took your seat, waving off any comment about the fact that you were drowning in Charles' clothes.

The party continued on even as you laid down for the night. The younger men carried on and on without any care, much to everyone else's annoyance as things refused to quiet down.

Just as you fell asleep, you thought you heard the distant rumble of thunder, but that might have just been Uncle snoring.

It was thunder.

You woke to a sheet of rain coming out of nowhere, jolting you awake as well as Javier next to you. Thunder rang out over the water and the wind began to pick up more quickly than you could understand.

Javier cursed and began grabbing anything he didn't want to get soaked, dashing for the nearest wagon. A flash of lightning broke you out of your stupor and you jumped to your feet.

"My clothes," you whined. You ran to the line where Charles had hung them, but it was empty. The wind had taken everything. Not even the pins remained. "Aw, shit," you cursed, stomping in the mud.

Camp was in a state of chaos behind you. No one had anticipated the rain and people were running left and right to try and keep the storm from causing too much damage. The girls were all huddled in John's tent, sheltering Jack as best they could. Hosea and Lenny were trying to keep the ammunition dry, pulling a waxed tarp over the crates. It was a surprise the gang had dealt with many times before. Rain was nothing but an inconvenience.

Charles found you staring wistfully at the empty clothesline.

"They're gone," you said lamely.

"I'm sorry. I should have seen the storm coming," he tried to pull you at least under the bough of the tree so you weren't standing under the downpour.

"It's not your fault." You shook your head.

"Come on," he tried again to usher you towards some shelter, "there's no need to stand out in the storm." You followed along begrudgingly, settling in across from Javier in one of the covered wagons.

The storm passed, and everything was mostly dry by the next evening. You were now stuck in Charles' clothes indefinitely. Sean and John wasted no time in teasing you. You looked ridiculous.

"Please, Dutch," you begged, "just let me go into town and buy some clothes. I'll head straight to the general store and nowhere else."

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "Our presence, or lack thereof, in this town is of the utmost importance. We have an in with this Sheriff Gray and his family, and I'm not going to risk it for anything."

You stormed off, throwing your hands up in disbelief. Sadie shot you a look that could only be described as commiserating. She was in the same boat as you, forced to remain in camp until someone decided to escort her to town.

Javier waved you over before you could get too far. He must have sensed your plan to steal away into town without anyone noticing, because he forced you to go out fishing with him on the lake.

You let him row the boat out onto the water, too petulant to even take your rod out for the first 20 minutes. Javier was unfazed. He baited his hook and cast his line like you weren't even there.

You eventually gave in and cast your line beside his, bringing in a few small bluegill while Javier managed to hook a bass. "Not bad," he clapped you on the back. "Much better than Arthur."

The compliment made you feel better, and you offered to row back to shore.

Charles was waiting for your return. He took the bass from Javier and told you to give the bluegill to Pearson.

"This can be our dinner tonight," Javier grinned. "We catch it, he cooks it."

You had no objections to that, following the two of them over to one of the smaller fires where Charles immediately set to work preparing the fish.

"You know," Javier spoke up, "you can borrow some of my clothes if you need to. They'd probably fit better, and we all know I'm the best dressed one around here."

Charles didn't appear to take any offense to the suggestion, so you grinned at Javier. "Thanks for the offer. I can't believe Dutch won't even let me go into town."

The three of you shared a meal of fish and mushrooms. Javier and Charles were easy to be around, and they never hesitated to put another serving on your plate. You envied the easy familiarity between them, the soft touches and gentle smiles they exchanged. They had a bond stronger than any men you had known before, and you enjoyed this invitation into their comfort and intimacy.

Another sunrise, another day of Dutch refusing to let you go into town. Fed up with his nonsense, you wandered over to where the O'Driscoll boy was resting among the horses.

He was eager to help, especially since he didn't know you were going against Dutch's orders. He helped you saddle up one of the Morgan horses, cooing to the beast as you mounted up and slipped quietly into the forest.

You pushed north until you broke the treeline, and then turned west towards the road. It was a straight shot to Rhodes from there. Sure, you looked ridiculous in Charles' oversized clothes but you weren't going to let that stop you. You could change once you got to the general store and then everything would be right as rain.

Except you didn't even make it to the general store. You were hardly at the edge of the farmlands before the thunder of hooves sounded behind you. Your pistol was in your hand before you had even turned.

Charles and Javier were gaining on you, and this borrowed Morgan would never be able to outrun them. You let out a groan of frustration, rearing to a stop and giving up before the men had even reached you.

They overtook you on either side. Charles scooped you up in one arm and deposited you onto Taima in front of him. Javier rounded up the poor horse you had borrowed from the O'Driscoll and began leading it back to camp.

"Little Bear, what were you thinking?" Charles was scolding you. "You're in Dutch's good graces after that job at Emerald Ranch, would you really want to ruin that by defying him?" You slumped forward. Charles threw an arm around your chest to keep you upright. "I don't understand why you can't just be patient. Javier and I can look out for you until Dutch says it's okay to go into town." He was right, but you certainly weren't satisfied with it.

You let them sneak you back into camp. For the rest of the night, neither one let you out of their sight. Whenever you strayed too far from the gang, Javier was there, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

Even more embarrassing, Charles moved his bedroll to be on the other side of you. You were trapped between him and Javier with no way of sneaking out in the night. Despite your frustration, you felt safe between them.

The days wore on with no chance of going into Rhodes. Javier took great pleasure in dressing you up, forcing a multitude of accessories on you and laughing to himself as he made you look 'proper.'

Arthur and John stood by with amused smiles on their faces, snickering every so often. You glared at them, but you doubt the expression carried any weight when you looked like a goddamned fool.

"They're just jealous that they can't look this good," Javier scoffed. "Let me comb out your hair."

If you thought you looked ridiculous in Charles' oversized clothes, you felt like a clown in Javier's. Sean and Uncle began to lay into you instantly, and you quickly grew too irritated to be around them.

The girls were the only ones who had anything nice to say about how you were dressed, but they turned all of their compliments to Javier and his impeccable sense of style. You were nothing more than a pretty doll for them to look at.

"You look fine," Charles assured you. "Javier’s look suits you. Maybe you should consider adding a waistcoat to your new wardrobe."

You rolled your eyes at the suggestion, but he didn't miss the way your hands smoothed over the fabric. You were considering it.

Javier followed you around constantly, showering you with praise that was really just him complimenting his own work.

"If you don't cut it out I'm going to take this off right now and throw it in the lake," you turned on him.

"But then what will you wear?" Javier countered.

"I'll borrow something of Arthur's," you waved a hand to where the older outlaw was scribbling in his journal.

"Huh? Me? Why can't you wear John's stuff?" Arthur immediately shot you down.

"Because none of Marston's stuff is ever clean," you said. Arthur and Javier both nodded in agreement at that. Marston was always filthy, and his clothes were worn and threadbare.

Remembering the true source of your anger, you turned towards Dutch's tent, fury in your eyes. None of this would be an issue if the bastard would just let you go into town. Javier quickly stepped in front of you, seeing how poorly this could end.

"Hey, hey -- easy, Osito," he backed you up a few steps, "just wear my stuff for a few days. I promise we'll get you something soon."

Ignoring Javier, you took a step toward Dutch’s tent. His arms locked around your chest and shoulders and he began dragging you away. “Dios mio,” he muttered under his breath, “Te amo, pero puedes ser mucho.”

You had no clue what he was saying, but you didn’t care unless he was taking you into Rhodes. Javier dragged you up the hill, past the horses and into the trees. You didn’t fight him, but you certainly didn’t make it easy on him. He dropped you in the leaves once you were you of sight of camp.

“What’s your problem, huh?” he demanded. “Dutch gives you one order -- una orden -- and you have to fight him at every turn? He has a job lined up for us. You can’t jeopardize that. Why can’t you just wait until he gives you permission to go into town?”

Javier’s scolding made your blood boil. You pushed to your knees, staring up at him. “He’s being ridiculous. Even you have to see that. I’ve lost everything. I hate being so dependent on everyone for everything all the time, and now I don’t even own the clothes off my back. I just want to have something of my own again.”

Javier opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the approach of someone else. You both turned to see Charles; he had probably heard everything. He walked straight towards you, helping you to your feet. You glanced between him and Javier.

“I understand you’re upset,” Charles spoke first. “You lost more than just your clothes in that trunk. Was there anything important?”

You looked to your boots. Charles wouldn’t tell Dutch that you were hiding money from him, but you weren’t as sure about Javier. Sighing, you spoke up. “A bottle of brandy -- the good stuff. Some jewelry I had stolen. A, uh, a bag of coins. Those don’t really matter thought, they can all be replaced. There were some letters from my mother -- heirlooms and things too. I can’t get those back.” You kicked at the underbrush.

“I’m sorry,” Charles smoothed a hand over your hair.

“Sorry won’t bring them back,” you hated that you couldn’t stop fighting. You didn’t want to argue.

“Can you do something for me, Little Bear?” Charles gently nudged your chin with his thumb and you looked up at him. Against your instincts, you nodded. As much as you wanted to take care of things yourself, it would be better to trust Charles. “Can you wait three more days?”

You frowned and turned to Javier, eyes pleading. He just shrugged and shook his head. This was between you and Charles.

“Three days,” you agreed. “After that, I’m doing things my way.”

Charles nodded.

The next morning, he was gone. You searched all over camp, but you knew he was nowhere to be found; Taima was missing as well. Several other horses were missing as well, The Count and Silver Dollar were nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Charles?” you asked Arthur.

“No clue. He left before I woke up this morning. Must be riding out pretty far, I reckon.”

You were tempted to break your promise. Who knew when Charles would be back? Three days was nothing. He likely wouldn't be back until next week. No one would notice or care if you left camp now.

Except Javier. Loyal Javier, who had watched you give your word to Charles. Javier, who was letting you borrow his clothes. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you dug in and did your chores, helped cook and clean and sew, always one ear to the ground for any word from Dutch or Charles. Damn that van der Linde and all his planning. You just wanted to be reckless for once, to run in without thinking. What did it matter, all these Grays and Braithewaites?

Night fell on the third day, and you slumped into the seat next to Javier. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Don’t worry,” he grinned. “Things will start looking up again soon.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, but Javier made a satisfied sound next to you. You narrowed your eyes and pointed a finger at his chest, “You know something, don’t you?”

“Who? Me?” Javier laughed, “I am not in the habit of knowing things.”

You knew you would never get a straight answer out of him, so you leaned into his side and watched the flames lick up towards the sky. You dozed off without meaning to, unsure if you imagined the feeling of Javier’s lips brushing against your forehead.

The sound of an approaching horse woke you. Someone had returned to camp.

Taima’s white flank shone in the moonlight and you raced to meet Charles as he dismounted. He scooped you into his arms, spinning you around before setting you on your feet. You couldn’t help but match his wide smile.

“I’ve brought you something,” he retrieved a rather bulky parcel from his saddlebags. “Let’s move closer to the fire.”

You tore open the twine and paper, running your fingers over the soft fabric inside. “You didn’t…” you held up the shirt in the firelight. It was nicer than anything you had owned before, and it must have cost a fortune.

“I spoke to Dutch, and he agreed to let me ride to the tailor’s in Saint Denis. You should thank him when you get the chance.”

You didn’t think Dutch deserved any thanks for all his ridiculous impositions, but you threw your arms around Charles’ neck. It was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for you.

“There’s more,” he turned you back to the parcel. “I’m sure Javier wants to see them as well.”

You held up each item, letting both men feel the fabrics and admire the craftsmanship. There were shirts, trousers, a jacket, and even a tie. When you reached the last item, you let out a bark of laughter. It was a waistcoat, not unlike the one Javier had leant you.

“Muy hermoso,” he nodded in approval. “You’ll look almost as good as me.”

You rewrapped the items and tucked them next to your bedroll.

“You don’t want to change right now?” Charles raised an eyebrow. You were in his shirt and Javier’s pants. They were comfortable and worn.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” you shrugged. "Thank you… for taking care of me," you stared at the bottle in your hands. "I know I've been difficult to handle."

"You would do the same for us," Charles smoothed a hand over your hair.

"There's one more thing," Javier shot you a coyote grin. He reached into his own pack and pulled out a bottle. The firelight caught in the glass and glowed amber. "The good stuff," he passed it to you. It was brandy, nicer than the bottle you had lost.

You hugged him tight, uncapping the bottle and taking a drink before offering it to Javier. He drank and passed the bottle to Charles. It was some of the smoothest, sweetest liquor you had tasted.

[squidproquoclarice]

This is a bit of fic for @prairiemule, since her exchange piece unfortunately got delayed, and she’s awesome and deserves all the love.  She requested some Arthur/John bro-times, so hopefully this fits the bill! ~~~~~~~~~~ April 1890 Rathelind’s Ford, Wyoming Spring had finally arrived, and they’d emerged from the melting snows, soon to say goodbye to the cabin.  Dutch and Hosea were busy making the year’s plans, deciding what fools and gullible sorts they’d go target this season--he’d overheard talk about Oregon banks.  Bank jobs he wouldn’t be involved in, of course, though he was more than ready.  Soon enough they’d be off again, on the move like the geese winging their way overhead in an almighty commotion.  Back home, John supposed.  Wherever home was for geese, anyway.  Maybe those birds had no more of a settled place than their family did, and home was wherever they stayed for a time.  Didn’t seem to hurt them living like that. Today, Susan and Bessie had sent him and Arthur with the wagon to go get supplies.  Arthur was engaging in his favorite habit, as usual--namely, trying to torment John.  Never seemed to be a thing that John tried to do that Arthur didn’t casually come along and make him look the fool by doing it with ease. Including driving a wagon and team.   Including growing a stupid beard.   He’d sprouted up another six inches in the last year, bones aching and stomach constantly rumbling, and when he’d shown pride in those few whiskers gracing his chin, Arthur promptly went and stopped shaving.  Claiming it kept his face warmer in the cold anyway.  Kept the damn beard the whole winter, keeping it close-cropped, just to annoy John with it.  Mute testimony of I’m a grown man, you’re still a little boy. He wouldn’t always be, though.  Things were changing.  He’d be a man soon enough.  Though he could only hope he’d grow another few inches and be taller than Arthur at least.  Have that one thing to call his own.    He glanced over at Arthur, holding the reins with casual competence.  “I can drive, you know.” Arthur shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  Handed them over, and sat back on the seat, though John saw how he kept the repeater close at hand, just in case of trouble, or dinner.  That went far too easy.  Most everything felt like a big argument to show he could do something, but Arthur had yielded without any fuss at all.   His big mouth ran away with him, as it often did, before his brain could catch up.  “What, you gonna finally admit I ain’t some snot-nosed little boy no more?” Arthur took that in a strange sort of silence for a moment, and when he spoke, there was something heavy and dark, like a rough lump of lead, in his voice.  “Maybe.  Not sure we ever really was kids.” Peculiar remark, at least at first.  Arthur had been in short pants once, though John could barely imagine him as the whiskerless, high-voiced, half-grown brat Hosea and Dutch sometimes talked about finding in some San Francisco alley.  Of course they’d been kids.

But then he thought he understood it.  He’d killed a man before they found him.  Hadn’t intended it, but all the same.  He hadn’t been running around playing tag, painting fences, tugging at girls’ braids, and whatever other silliness people wrote about boys doing in the books Hosea kept pushing at him.  “Maybe.”  It sounded grown up, being able to agree and say he saw what Arthur meant.

He saw that Arthur’s mouth twitched for a moment, as if unsure whether he wanted to smile or frown at that.  “Guess you are growing up, then.”  

He couldn’t help but feel a golden swell of pleasure at that, an inner warm glow like a swallow of good whiskey nicked from Dutch’s hidden supply.  Hosea was kind, and Dutch said a lot of things, but outside of jobs, Arthur didn’t deal in bullshit.  For him to say a thing like that, he meant it.  “Took you long enough to see it.”

Arthur gave a little snort of amusement.  “Don’t get too cocky.  Being a man’s about more than growing whiskers and outgrowing your clothes.”  There it was--the usual casual shove to push John back down a bit.  But even that couldn’t dim the happiness.

He couldn’t resist firing back, “Even Dutch says it.”  He knew how much Arthur idolized Dutch, how Dutch was probably the only man in the whole world who could send Arthur wrong-footed and scrambling like a fool with just a few words.  “Last week he took me to town for a drink and some...uh…”  What to call it though?  A screw?  A poke?  A fuck?  Scratching an itch?  Dutch’s phrase: making a man of you?  He could say those things, but saying it now, knowing what he did, having done all that, he wasn’t sure which the right one was.

“Company?”  Arthur suggested.  He nodded, glad for a more polite word.

Arthur’s mouth thinned into a straight line for a moment.  John felt a squelch of fear up his spine--had he done something wrong?  Soft and gruff words from Arthur then, not quite looking at John.  “If you didn’t--like it, John, there’s no need for you to do it just to please Dutch’s notions, or anyone’s.  You understand?”

He didn’t.  Arthur went upstairs with women too, didn’t he?  Dutch said he’d treated Arthur to time with a woman himself when he was about John’s age.  “No, I think...I did.  I liked it.”  He’d been curious, and nervous as he’d been, the woman--Doreen--had been almost sweet to him.  Laughingly invited him to come back sometime.  Being with her felt good.  Felt wonderful, in fact.  Small wonder men sought that kind of feeling out on the regular. 

“Oh.”  Arthur blinked, nodded, just for a second looking awkward, rubbing his chin with his thumb.  “Well then, never mind.”   

Arthur’s strangeness there made no sense, but it felt like some elusive thing, a mere flash and blur seen from the corner of his eye, something he could never hope to grasp quickly enough to capture it.  He wasn’t brave enough to ask either, though it was on the tip of his tongue.  You mean you don’t like doing it?  Why?  There were questions he could ask, and sometimes Arthur talked about something trying to teach John, and sometimes he could poke a hole in Arthur’s implacability with the right words and glean things from it.  But this felt like something that wore boots far too big for him to step into them.

So he dodged aside from that, into something else.  “You off to see that girl again, now that the thaw’s in?”

It felt sad, Arthur still chasing after some girl who’d jilted him five years ago, hoping to make things right between them.  Susan and Bessie had both sighed, John overhearing them while playing dominoes one night, saying he’d never gotten over her, some soft silly miss who’d never have him, and yanked him along like a puppy on a leash.

Maybe that explained it, if he didn’t go upstairs in saloons.  Trying to prove something to this girl who thought she was too good for him.  John now couldn’t imagine going without that, especially to prove something to someone who didn’t seem worth it. But it seemed like Arthur had kept it up.  Five years of riding off now and again, sometimes for a couple of weeks, to go pursue a woman who’d be like that, who’d strung him along so long with silly hopes of someone he could never be.  Usually coming back looking forlorn as a week-old newspaper in the gutter.  If that kind of helpless stupidity was love, by God, Arthur could keep it.  Stupid.  It felt smarter and more honest to be with someone like Doreen who just enjoyed a man’s...company...and didn’t put up some silly shrieks about what was being proper.  If he ever loved a woman he hoped she’d be sensible and funny, rather than some kind of haughty lady.    

He’d heard Dutch say the name Eliza once, and Hosea quickly corrected him, with a glance at Arthur--Mary.  Seemed incredible that one girl could upend Arthur like that so much, and be so little to the rest of them that Dutch couldn’t even be bothered to recall her name right.  Then again, Dutch ran through women like a string of racehorses himself, so him not remembering a girl’s correct name didn’t seem too far off the mark.  

Hadn’t intended it as a jab, more to tease, but he could see something go closed and careful in Arthur’s face.  “I’ll be gone a bit, yeah.”

There were things he could say then.  About how some part of him worried that the worst-kept secret romance ever, Little Miss Mary, might just go crazy enough to run off with Arthur, and they’d never see him again.  About how things seemed that much emptier without him there, and how Bessie and Hosea especially seemed more downcast, and how they lit up to see him come back.  

But he’d never been good with words, never would be, not like Dutch or Hosea.  Besides, that kind of stuff wasn’t what he and Arthur said to each other.  He managed an awkward, “Be careful out there.”

Arthur laughed at that.  “Don’t you worry, runt.  I’ll be fine.”  He shook his head, giving a wry smile. “Might not be able to call you ‘runt’ much longer, though, the way you went up and grew.”

“I’ll whip your ass soon enough in a fight, just you wait.”

Arthur gave one of those fondly amused snorts of his.  “Never gonna happen.”

“Never’s a long time, old man.”  Familiar territory here, and one they both enjoyed, the fond bickering of brothers.

“Never mind, I take it back, you ain’t too big for me to catch you and drown you in the lake.”

“Hey!”

 “Just...don’t hurry to grow up too fast, John.  It’ll catch up with you soon enough.”  Left to meditate on that particular nugget of solemn-sounding wisdom, they passed the next few minutes quietly.  Eventually Arthur gathered the reins in one hand, and took out a crumpled packet of cigarettes, Jolly Jack’s, from his jacket pocket.  He struck a match on the rail of the wagon, and lit one, holding it out to John.  John reached out and took it, as Arthur lit his own, and then reached a hand out.  “Gimme the reins again, I ain’t letting you drive one handed while you got a smoke going.”

“All right.”

“Also, you want to be a man, remember a man pays his debts.  You owe me at least a packet.  Don’t think I don’t know who it was pinching them from me all winter.”

He could almost imagine Hosea saying, We’re thieves, but we don’t take from each other.  He scowled, looking away, but knowing he’d justly been called out, and in a way that was good too.  It was fair and calm, and Arthur wasn’t mad.  He’d respected John enough to tell him to make it right like a man would, rather than reporting it to Hosea like he was still a kid.  That warm feeling welled up within him again.  “Fine.”   A/N: For some context, especially for those that haven’t read Sunrise, this takes place shortly before Isaac dies in May of 1890.  I tend to believe John couldn’t know about Eliza and Isaac, given that context would have given him a much better understanding of Arthur’s angry reactions to John’s failures with Abigail and Jack.  So I HC that Dutch, Hosea, Bessie, and Susan all knew, but as John was still so young, they all just gave him the implication Arthur’s absences to go see Isaac were him still desperately and futilely trying to court Mary.  They all respected Arthur’s privacy, and didn’t want John brashly prodding him on a touchy and uncertain subject.