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The Beauty of the Redeemed

Chapter 3 • Even In My Dreams

masterlist:

Chapter One • You Ain’t Slick

Chapter Two • We’re Not the Saviors

chap. synopsis: a plan had been made, but an unfortunate encounter seems to throw them off

a/n: hope y’all enjoy! trying to reveal a little at a time, hopefully it doesn’t get too boring

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64158559/chapters/164852089

🃁🃜🃚· · · 𐂂 · ༺ ༻ · 𓃗 · · ·🃖🂭🂺

Arthur brought you here for a reason, and it wasn’t just to pester you and interrogate your reasonings and actions. Yes, he found some joy in calling you out on your bullshit, despite your stubbornness, but he had other plans. Though, they weren’t his plans, but he found them to be somewhat of a good idea.

He began a short walk through the small town, focusing on the sights and the sounds that surrounded him. He’d placed a hand on his belt, the other only being used to hold a freshly lit cigarette that he brought to his lips every now and then.

This part of the job was always the most tiring. Gunfire and fighting hadn’t sounded too bad by the time two hours had passed and all Arthur had heard was about how constipated one person had been, or how a group of men were in trouble with their wives.

Buffoons, all of them.

Arthur didn’t hate his line of work, he knew this was what he was and was born to do, and nothing would change that. He’d been an outlaw ever since he could walk, stealing and robbing when the situation prompted.

His father was a bad man, worse than anyone would ever know. Arthur had done better, better by Hosea and Dutch, though he’d still killed more than he'd like. The built up tragedy that was his past is the foundation of his unwavering soul, the way he’d look a man in the eyes and not even blink when he’d pull the trigger, or the way his fists would speak for him when getting into an argument.

He took a few more drags until it was about gone, huffed, and then threw the cigarette out into the muddy streets. He continued to walk a bit around some of the houses, scratching the back of his head and yawning out of boredom.

The town was quiet, only a few people roaming about. A couple was laughing around the corner, their eyes shifty when Arthur nodded to them and continued walking. A man was smoking against a pole, the dimly lit light shining down on his suspicious expression. Arthur paid no mind to whatever their ideas held.

He’d give it a little while longer before heading back, hoping you’d rested up enough. The cold air seemed to hold no secrets tonight, and he was tired anyway.

He recalls the previous conversation with Dutch and Hosea, knowing it was all trouble and would probably be a pain in his ass. Dutch was certain, eager even, and Hosea had it all planned out, so who was Arthur to tell, he’d only follow what they’d told him.

It’s been a couple of months, they all had their suspicions.

Hosea had talked a bit with Arthur a few days prior to this mission, giving him information about her, where she came from, who she was with. Hosea wasn’t able to get too much, but it was still helpful nonetheless. It was almost as if she didn’t exist, there was only word about her from the town they had came from—Blackwater.

A sudden knocking sound had him stopped in his tracks, where he heard what he could interpret as a deal happening just right around the corner.

“Open up, it’s me.”

The low voice was almost a whisper. Arthur sunk into the shadows under the nearby house, settling next to the edge of the concrete wall for a better listen.

“Took you all damn day, now, where is it?” another voice asked, sounding more frustrated by the minute, all dependent on the other persons action.

“Relax, I got it right here,” another voice replied. Arthur tried to peek around the corner, hoping to put some faces to the desperate voices. He could barely make out the figures, but the stacks of cash caught his eye. There was some illegal business going on within the town, and he was already feeling accomplished by his findings so far.

Now all he needed was a plan.

The next deal most likely will happen again at night, he now knew the location, he only needed to wait until the next bust. Whichever poor soul decides to show their face around that door again will be the key in.

He waited until the men dispersed, and then made his way back to the hotel. The sun would be rising shortly, and he needed to get bit of sleep before continuing on with the day.

———

The gun at your temple wasn’t even trembling. Your hands sunk into the rain-soaked dirt, one long gash causing blood to pool under your palm. The torture wasn’t enough. The eyes that glared into your soul were too familiar, the smirk lifting any ounce of hope out of your body, and you were terrified. The cold metal was almost hissing at the sweat on your skin, burning with uncertainty, only wishing for it to be quick, painless, and that you’d be found eventually. The gun clicked, teasing you. The barrel rotated, ready for the next load, if there was one. You felt the breath in your lungs leave while your chest seemed to tighten, tears cascading down your cheeks while you stared him in the eyes.

“Look at me while you kill me you coward.”

The gun clicked again, white piercing through your head—

Upright in your bed, you shouted, but it was barely audible, your voice shaking and your lungs empty.

The window was cracked, the curtain blowing gently. A mirror was conveniently placed across the room, showing you as disheveled and panicked as you had felt. You felt around the blankets to ground yourself, hands shaking while you gripped the soft comfort that was once placed atop your cold body. Your hands squeezed the cushion between your fingers, the deep scar bulging over your bones.

The details of your horrid nightmare circulated through your head, you felt heavy while you digested everything slowly. You picked out pieces of your dream that made you shudder, and let it play over and over again, almost as if you were reliving the moments.

Just then, a knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts. You frantically examined your room, and remembered one key aspect of the reason as to why you were even here.

“It’s me,” a distant voice range against the wooden door, and you felt yourself move regardless of your instinct to hide.

You opened the door slightly, and Arthur looked at you with a tired expression. You let him in.

“Where’ve you been?” you asked quietly, finding it difficult to relax your voice.

“Out,” he replied, walking across the room, then sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hand. He looked exhausted.

“Real specific,” you remarked, settling next to him. “Find anything?”

“Only a small bit of information, it’ll get me to where I need to be.” he laid back on the bed, legs out stretched, placing his hat over his face.

“Give me about an hour then we’ll hit the road,” he said quietly, “we got an errand to run before we need to be back here later.”

You were curious. Lying back on the bed, you faced him while propping your self up on your side, taking his hat.

“Where are we goin’?” you asked, and he turned his head to glare at you, reaching for his hat that you wouldn’t give back. “And why do we gotta be back?”

“You’ll see, but we ain’t goin’ no where til I rest, or I’ll be passed out in the middle of the road while you’re lost and scared,” he replied, finally able to snatch his hat back. You scoffed and laid on your back, staring up at the decorative canopy.

He sighed. “And I told you, found some information.”

“You still haven’t given me much of an idea as to why I need to be here,” you pointed out, “and I can’t recall any reason as to why you’d drag me in the first place if it isn’t anything you can’t do yourself.”

“Told you, you’re our getaway driver,” he sighed, “and we were havin’ that discussion, to which you decided to lie your way through,” he finished.

You hit his arm. “Every word of that was the truth, what is so unbelievable about it?” You exclaimed.

“Let me sleep woman, and I’ll tell you the plan after, how about that?” Arthur then said, and with that, you knew the conversation had ended.

You listened to him breathe, the rise and fall of his chest was noticeable without looking, and you realized how trusting he believed you to be. He was here, lying on part of the bed and sleeping despite the accusations the hours before. He hadn’t known you for too long, and most of the interactions you and him had were distrust and bickering nonsense. You’d only been on a couple runs with him, most of which turned out to be silent except for when he chose to talk, and the talking was directional, in-plan with the situation.

The entire trip wasn’t making much sense. Usually Arthur would give firm instructions, he’d guide you and be your eyes. You’d distract and he’d steal, even so, you’d be ready for any gun fight the situation could warrant. He was treating you as if you were just luggage, and it bothered you.

The last job both you and him had been sent on was a trip into town just as it is now, only Arthur had stopped by the sheriffs office to pick up a bounty. There was only one night you two had stayed in town before setting off to hunt down the head presented in the poster, and it had reminded you of the very bounty you’d been riding with. You had discussed the plan and carried it out effortlessly with him, cornered the wanted while he looted the dead. It was a quick job, the targeted returned and a hefty payment delivered, in which you and him split.

You turned your head again, the hat covering his face just right to where you couldn’t catch his eyes.

“Fine, I’m goin’ to the store then,” you said, waiting for him to object. He said nothing, a sign that he’d truly succumbed to slumber, and so you left.

———

Your morning walk was fruitful and helped clear your mind. Though you were still exhausted, felt dirty, and your clothes were wrinkled, the rising sun and parsing clouds brought a bit of joy.

You walked through the general store, hoping they would have coffee grounds available. The store was quiet, with only the low sound a nearby employee humming. You’d taken your time, reading the labels for each product, considering which might be better tasting than the other. You eventually found the coffee grounds, relieved and assured that you’d be able to keep some energy up today despite the ache in your body.

You paid for the coffee grounds and walked out the door where you were immediately stopped by a couple of men—one in which was discretely holding a gun within his coat, aimed right are your stomach.

“You’re comin’ with us, little lady,” one of them smirked, grabbing your arm forcefully to walk you away from the store.

[noxsspace]

i’m at the point where when i play rdr2, i have Arthur gamble, take baths, sleep, and hunt the majority of the time. Forget everything else i chapter six, he needs to practice self care‼️

[noxsspace]

going to start a joel miller fic chapter series, been playing tlou and he hasn’t left my mind😔💔

slow burn, post apocalyptic world, eventual smut, yknow, all that good stuff. wink wink.

[noxsspace]

The Beauty of the Redeemed

Chapter 3 • Even In My Dreams

masterlist:

Chapter One • You Ain’t Slick

Chapter Two • We’re Not the Saviors

chap. synopsis: a plan had been made, but an unfortunate encounter seems to throw them off

a/n: hope y’all enjoy! trying to reveal a little at a time, hopefully it doesn’t get too boring

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64158559/chapters/164852089

🃁🃜🃚· · · 𐂂 · ༺ ༻ · 𓃗 · · ·🃖🂭🂺

Arthur brought you here for a reason, and it wasn’t just to pester you and interrogate your reasonings and actions. Yes, he found some joy in calling you out on your bullshit, despite your stubbornness, but he had other plans. Though, they weren’t his plans, but he found them to be somewhat of a good idea.

He began a short walk through the small town, focusing on the sights and the sounds that surrounded him. He’d placed a hand on his belt, the other only being used to hold a freshly lit cigarette that he brought to his lips every now and then.

This part of the job was always the most tiring. Gunfire and fighting hadn’t sounded too bad by the time two hours had passed and all Arthur had heard was about how constipated one person had been, or how a group of men were in trouble with their wives.

Buffoons, all of them.

Arthur didn’t hate his line of work, he knew this was what he was and was born to do, and nothing would change that. He’d been an outlaw ever since he could walk, stealing and robbing when the situation prompted.

His father was a bad man, worse than anyone would ever know. Arthur had done better, better by Hosea and Dutch, though he’d still killed more than he'd like. The built up tragedy that was his past is the foundation of his unwavering soul, the way he’d look a man in the eyes and not even blink when he’d pull the trigger, or the way his fists would speak for him when getting into an argument.

He took a few more drags until it was about gone, huffed, and then threw the cigarette out into the muddy streets. He continued to walk a bit around some of the houses, scratching the back of his head and yawning out of boredom.

The town was quiet, only a few people roaming about. A couple was laughing around the corner, their eyes shifty when Arthur nodded to them and continued walking. A man was smoking against a pole, the dimly lit light shining down on his suspicious expression. Arthur paid no mind to whatever their ideas held.

He’d give it a little while longer before heading back, hoping you’d rested up enough. The cold air seemed to hold no secrets tonight, and he was tired anyway.

He recalls the previous conversation with Dutch and Hosea, knowing it was all trouble and would probably be a pain in his ass. Dutch was certain, eager even, and Hosea had it all planned out, so who was Arthur to tell, he’d only follow what they’d told him.

It’s been a couple of months, they all had their suspicions.

Hosea had talked a bit with Arthur a few days prior to this mission, giving him information about her, where she came from, who she was with. Hosea wasn’t able to get too much, but it was still helpful nonetheless. It was almost as if she didn’t exist, there was only word about her from the town they had came from—Blackwater.

A sudden knocking sound had him stopped in his tracks, where he heard what he could interpret as a deal happening just right around the corner.

“Open up, it’s me.”

The low voice was almost a whisper. Arthur sunk into the shadows under the nearby house, settling next to the edge of the concrete wall for a better listen.

“Took you all damn day, now, where is it?” another voice asked, sounding more frustrated by the minute, all dependent on the other persons action.

“Relax, I got it right here,” another voice replied. Arthur tried to peek around the corner, hoping to put some faces to the desperate voices. He could barely make out the figures, but the stacks of cash caught his eye. There was some illegal business going on within the town, and he was already feeling accomplished by his findings so far.

Now all he needed was a plan.

The next deal most likely will happen again at night, he now knew the location, he only needed to wait until the next bust. Whichever poor soul decides to show their face around that door again will be the key in.

He waited until the men dispersed, and then made his way back to the hotel. The sun would be rising shortly, and he needed to get bit of sleep before continuing on with the day.

———

The gun at your temple wasn’t even trembling. Your hands sunk into the rain-soaked dirt, one long gash causing blood to pool under your palm. The torture wasn’t enough. The eyes that glared into your soul were too familiar, the smirk lifting any ounce of hope out of your body, and you were terrified. The cold metal was almost hissing at the sweat on your skin, burning with uncertainty, only wishing for it to be quick, painless, and that you’d be found eventually. The gun clicked, teasing you. The barrel rotated, ready for the next load, if there was one. You felt the breath in your lungs leave while your chest seemed to tighten, tears cascading down your cheeks while you stared him in the eyes.

“Look at me while you kill me you coward.”

The gun clicked again, white piercing through your head—

Upright in your bed, you shouted, but it was barely audible, your voice shaking and your lungs empty.

The window was cracked, the curtain blowing gently. A mirror was conveniently placed across the room, showing you as disheveled and panicked as you had felt. You felt around the blankets to ground yourself, hands shaking while you gripped the soft comfort that was once placed atop your cold body. Your hands squeezed the cushion between your fingers, the deep scar bulging over your bones.

The details of your horrid nightmare circulated through your head, you felt heavy while you digested everything slowly. You picked out pieces of your dream that made you shudder, and let it play over and over again, almost as if you were reliving the moments.

Just then, a knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts. You frantically examined your room, and remembered one key aspect of the reason as to why you were even here.

“It’s me,” a distant voice range against the wooden door, and you felt yourself move regardless of your instinct to hide.

You opened the door slightly, and Arthur looked at you with a tired expression. You let him in.

“Where’ve you been?” you asked quietly, finding it difficult to relax your voice.

“Out,” he replied, walking across the room, then sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hand. He looked exhausted.

“Real specific,” you remarked, settling next to him. “Find anything?”

“Only a small bit of information, it’ll get me to where I need to be.” he laid back on the bed, legs out stretched, placing his hat over his face.

“Give me about an hour then we’ll hit the road,” he said quietly, “we got an errand to run before we need to be back here later.”

You were curious. Lying back on the bed, you faced him while propping your self up on your side, taking his hat.

“Where are we goin’?” you asked, and he turned his head to glare at you, reaching for his hat that you wouldn’t give back. “And why do we gotta be back?”

“You’ll see, but we ain’t goin’ no where til I rest, or I’ll be passed out in the middle of the road while you’re lost and scared,” he replied, finally able to snatch his hat back. You scoffed and laid on your back, staring up at the decorative canopy.

He sighed. “And I told you, found some information.”

“You still haven’t given me much of an idea as to why I need to be here,” you pointed out, “and I can’t recall any reason as to why you’d drag me in the first place if it isn’t anything you can’t do yourself.”

“Told you, you’re our getaway driver,” he sighed, “and we were havin’ that discussion, to which you decided to lie your way through,” he finished.

You hit his arm. “Every word of that was the truth, what is so unbelievable about it?” You exclaimed.

“Let me sleep woman, and I’ll tell you the plan after, how about that?” Arthur then said, and with that, you knew the conversation had ended.

You listened to him breathe, the rise and fall of his chest was noticeable without looking, and you realized how trusting he believed you to be. He was here, lying on part of the bed and sleeping despite the accusations the hours before. He hadn’t known you for too long, and most of the interactions you and him had were distrust and bickering nonsense. You’d only been on a couple runs with him, most of which turned out to be silent except for when he chose to talk, and the talking was directional, in-plan with the situation.

The entire trip wasn’t making much sense. Usually Arthur would give firm instructions, he’d guide you and be your eyes. You’d distract and he’d steal, even so, you’d be ready for any gun fight the situation could warrant. He was treating you as if you were just luggage, and it bothered you.

The last job both you and him had been sent on was a trip into town just as it is now, only Arthur had stopped by the sheriffs office to pick up a bounty. There was only one night you two had stayed in town before setting off to hunt down the head presented in the poster, and it had reminded you of the very bounty you’d been riding with. You had discussed the plan and carried it out effortlessly with him, cornered the wanted while he looted the dead. It was a quick job, the targeted returned and a hefty payment delivered, in which you and him split.

You turned your head again, the hat covering his face just right to where you couldn’t catch his eyes.

“Fine, I’m goin’ to the store then,” you said, waiting for him to object. He said nothing, a sign that he’d truly succumbed to slumber, and so you left.

———

Your morning walk was fruitful and helped clear your mind. Though you were still exhausted, felt dirty, and your clothes were wrinkled, the rising sun and parsing clouds brought a bit of joy.

You walked through the general store, hoping they would have coffee grounds available. The store was quiet, with only the low sound a nearby employee humming. You’d taken your time, reading the labels for each product, considering which might be better tasting than the other. You eventually found the coffee grounds, relieved and assured that you’d be able to keep some energy up today despite the ache in your body.

You paid for the coffee grounds and walked out the door where you were immediately stopped by a couple of men—one in which was discretely holding a gun within his coat, aimed right are your stomach.

“You’re comin’ with us, little lady,” one of them smirked, grabbing your arm forcefully to walk you away from the store.

[noxsspace]

The Beauty Of The Redeemed

Chapter Two • We’re Not the Saviors

another chapter! a bit more insight to her backstory…but there’s still more to come.

chapter 1 • You Ain’t Slick

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64158559/chapters/164754934#workskin

🃁🃜🃚· · · 𐂂 · ༺ ༻ · 𓃗 · · ·🃖🂭🂺

The morning woke you startlingly, where you heard the chatter and laughter from the nearby campfire that pulled you away from your sleep. It was a harsh reminder of what the day held in store for you; cleaning, shopping (if allowed), planning, and hunting. You weren’t assigned to rob anyone’s house today, and every other gang member had their own busy assignment, so the loneliness persisted.

You got up from your uncomfortable cot, stretching and immediately hissing at the searing pain in your back. Each day there seemed to be a new type of pain in a new area of your body, and you’ve become more and more distraught.

I had stayed in better camps than this.

Nevertheless, it was a temporary home. And these were temporary people.

You began your day by retrieving a cup of freshly brewed coffee, greeting some of the members that loitered around the pot. You hadn’t exactly made any friends, and you’d prefer to keep it that way, but it was still a nice gesture to greet and be greeted.

After your boost of energy in a cup, you made your way to the haystacks where you then spent the next hour dispersing the food.

———

Arthur followed Hosea back to camp, enjoying the bit of peace and quiet that the landscape and Hosea himself had provided, taking in the time to admire the scenery. He’d been exhausted and irritable just about every hour of the day, the severity of his emotions depending on who decided to bother him at that given time.

Last night was something else.

He felt unsure of your intentions, yet drawn to what you were gonna do next, and he didn’t like it one bit. He’d never felt more frustrated with a person in a short specific amount of time, yet he’d also never found his frustrations to be curiosity. He hated how he wanted to know you, and he hated you in general. At least, that’s what he thought. You confused him the majority of the time, and what he didn’t understand about you made him want to ask you every single question he could think of until he got an answer that described your mysterious self. No question with a plausible answer would be enough to capture your essence, and that bothered him.

Once breaching the entrance to the camp, his focused was turned to Dutch and whatever mission he’d be sent on today.

“Gentlemen! Welcome back,” Dutch greeted both Arthur and Hosea, followed by details Arthur had been bracing for. “Hosea, Arthur, follow me.”

Dutch’s tent was extravagant to say the least, decor and fancy furniture that Arthur couldn’t even remember where it was obtained. Dutch began discussing the scenario and ideal outcome of whatever mission he’s sending Hosea on, while Arthur noticed you tending to the horses out of the corner of his eye. His eyes narrowed while he watched you handle the hay, handle the horses with such care it almost drove him crazy.

You’d done nothing but get on his nerves the day you’d arrived. He could see it in your face, at the exact moment you’d place the hay, there was a dark shadow that fell over your eyes, where the glare was still visible yet couldn’t be described. It wasn’t kindness, but it wasn’t anger. He could tell you were tired, but each time he’d seen you, it was like you were holding back something, almost as if you were a firework yet to go off.

You had smiled at one of the horses, patting it gently while your teeth shone in the sun. You walked through the grass to the door of the enclosed makeshift stables, locking it before making your way to Pearson’s wagon, where you had greeted him while a smile.

None of the other members had commented on whatever facade you were presenting, Arthur noticed. They’d treated you equal, you were friends with the women, kind with Jack, you helped out in any way you needed to. Nevertheless, he could feel something was off. Your interactions never felt genuine, your smile was never in your eyes, your voice never faltered. He felt irreparable irritation, followed by his eyes rolling in a very noticeable fashion that had Dutch ask if he was all right.

He swore that there was something off about the whole idea of you being here. The couple months haven’t felt anything other than odd, almost as if you fit right in without anyone noticing.

He waved him off and Dutch only continued discussing his master plan.

Jesus Christ, what is her problem.

———

The day was finally coming to an end and you felt hot and sweaty with every chore you had managed. You had helped Karen fill Pearson’s dispensary, cleaned all the horses with Kieran, and went hunting with Charles for what felt like days. You wanted nothing more than a bath and a few drinks.

You sat on your cot in exhaustion and was only then startled by Arthur, who you hadn’t noticed walked in right behind you.

“What are you doing in here, Arthur?” You asked, and the question felt like a shout. You were irritable after the long day and wanted to be left alone.

“You’re comin’ with me, woman,” He said, then pulling you from your cot. You both made your way to the stables, his hand on your arm guiding you.

“And why exactly am I comin’ with you?” You were beyond frustrated, his lack of communication wanting you to put a gun to his head right then and there.

“By the way, I have a name, unless you’re incapable of comprehending a short word even a toddler could pronounce.”

He ignored your smart remark, and instead helped you up on his horse, where he followed shortly after, grabbing the reins and preparing for the journey. You despised every second of this moment, you were uncomfortable and tired, your dress was sticky and your eyes felt heavy. He adjusted himself and started to lead the horse away from the hitch, when he felt your hands instinctively hold his sides, and it was, in a sense, reassuring, despite your sharp tongue that had cut his thoughts deeper than he could’ve known.

“There better be a good reason as to why I have to come with you, Arthur,” you said quietly, where you were ignored yet again.

He felt like he knew what you’d be capable of right then and there; you could hold a knife to his throat, stab his side, his thigh, you could kill him at any moment. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed his vulnerable position. Your hands were warm through his vest, a complete contrast to the cold wind. For now, it was acceptable to let you steady yourself, even if he was the only thing you could hold onto.

He wasn’t, but neither you or him cared.

“Just keep quiet and enjoy the ride.”

———

The descent to Valentine turned out to be a comfortable ride, where though the wanted outlaw could take you to an alley and shoot you dead in the night, you’d felt his figure to be solace in a way. He hadn’t told you to remove your hands, or to get off his back when you’d rested your forehead between his shoulder blades. You were too tired to even think of whether or not he would have said anything about it anyway. He let you be.

The silence wasn’t unbearable, and the quiet night with bustling trees put you at ease. The wind felt cooling, better than the heat you’d been wrapped in all day.

“Alright, we’re here.”

You felt as if you’d just been woken up, and you started to glance around the small town.

“What’re we doin’ here, Arthur?” You asked quietly, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

“Stakeout.”

Those words were the last thing you wanted to hear for the next month. You immediately felt all your troubles come back twice as horrid, suddenly more aware of how you appeared and of how much your body was crying for help.

“Oh for fucks sake,” you exclaimed with a grunt, getting off the horse not so gracefully, to where Arthur held your hips to keep you steady. He laughed a bit at your exasperation. “What, it’s not like you’ve had anythin’ to do all day, right?” He remarked, which was instantly followed by a slap in his arm.

“Damn you, it could’ve been anyone else.” You felt nothing but anger and exhaustion. How dare he drag you out here in the dark of night, ripping you away from any bit of slumber you might have been able to get.

“Relax, I’m the one investigating a lead,” he said while leading you to the nearby hotel. That caught you off guard, and you’d felt distrust, suspicion, although more intrigued now by his ulterior motive rather than a good nights sleep. “You just go on and bathe and sleep, not like you’re much use anyways,” he then said sarcastically. You wanted to punch him, but the second the words bath and sleep let his lips, you felt excited.

“What’re you investigatin’?” You asked, hoping you wouldn’t have to pry an answer from his smirking mouth.

“Just a lead Hosea and Dutch discussed earlier, somethin’ about a house holdin’ a lot of gold,” he assured, “One room, please,” he then said to the employee, who granted him a key promptly. Arthur paid for the room, thanked the man who looked like he could barely stay awake himself, and then continued to lead you where you both walked up the stairs.

“But wait,” you started, confusion circulating through your mind, “why am I here?”

He said not a word until the arriving in front of the room he’d reserved.

“Because, if all goes well, I’m gonna need a second hand,” he stated, allowing you to walk in the room first, where he then followed, shutting the door with a sigh, “in addition to you being our getaway, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you some questions ever since you’ve been staying with us.”

Of course.

You raised a brow in surprise, but not by his words, more by your own self and how you hadn’t seen this coming from miles away.

You’ve been getting distracted lately, and have let down your guard more times than you realize.

“Well, lay it on me then, Mr. Morgan.” You say on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, awaiting a reply that will have you astounded, perhaps excited.

“When you joined a those couple months ago, I had no care in what ever sob story you were gonna throw at me, at the gang,” he started, his hands on his belt while he began to pace, “You see, Abigail, Marston, hell, even Pearson have felt somethin’ off about you,” he continued, “Instead of takin’ it up with Dutch, I decided to do ask you straight.”

You’d seen through his words, you could tell he was lying.

“That’s a cheap way to get me to talk, Arthur,” you’d cut in.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” he looked at you with his head tilted to the side.

You rolled your eyes. “How about instead of interrogating, you ask me nicely.”

He stepped over to you, looking down at you while you maintained your posture, your expression.

“What do you want with us?”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, your eyes tracing every aspect of his face in search of vulnerability. His eyes were stern, his mouth unwavering, words sharp as they had cut the air cold.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” you laughed a bit. You could tell he seemed to be at a breaking point.

“Oh please, you’re actin’ as if this was all part of some evil scheme,” Arthur continued, shaking his head.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Morgan,” You stood abruptly, meeting him almost face to face, short of a few inches. You didn’t falter, and you let him have the spotlight. You’d admitted that messing with him was enjoyable, amongst the other times you’d thrown him off a trail. You’d poked and prodded him, usually resulting in a small smile and a shake of his head.

“That’s shit and you know it,” he laughed a bit, not breaking away from your stare. This opportunity let him see you in a new light, where your freckles shone and your eyes were glossy. He waited for a rebuttal, but your lips never moved.

“No stranger just shows up at a coincidental time during a robbery, helps us take out a couple of them O’driscolls, and tells us you’re joinin’ our gang,” he started again, adjusting his posture by leaning his head back, his shoulders taught. “No woman, hell, no man has the audacity to even think that were a good idea. What’s wrong with you?”

You began to laugh at that, not because of his stupid drawl, or the way he leaned closer like his interrogation was working, but because he’s right. What is wrong with you?

Fighting out in the open gun fire, using each and every last bullet you’d stashed for weeks on end, so determined to keep him alive. You then remember the look on his face when you’d shot one dead right before he’d got the chance to, the way he turned to see who dared to try, and then it hit you.

That same expression was the one on the poster for all to see, and all your tracking had paid off. The outlaw feared by many, killed by most, worth five thousand dollars for his head alone.

It was like the wind had been knocked out of you. You had immediately ceased fire and held your hands up.

“I-I’ve been searchin’ for you, I want to join!”

Arthur could remember the laughter that erupted from Dutch, and the way he was so eager to accept your proposal. He’d said that anyone eager enough would at least be a useful decoy. Hosea had his suspicions, but was curious enough to see how it would play out. They’d recognized your desperation, Dutch himself had his questions that you happily replied. Arthur had found is insane, and would have killed you right then and there if it weren’t for Hosea and Dutch, especially after those words; “I’ve been searching for you.”

“What’d you mean by that?” He asked, figuring a different angle on the question would pose a useful response.

“Just meant I’d been lookin’ for you, I’ve been wanting to be with a gang of outlaws since mine broke apart.” You put a hand on the middle of his chest, and your mind told you not to remove your hand, and you wished you hadn’t moved it when you pushed him back slightly to move from his presence. He was warm, strong, and you swore for a split second that his heart raced.

You then made your way to the side of the bed where you began to take off your jacket and settle in to sleep.

“How’d you hear ‘bout us?”

“Heard about you through town, heard about a gang on the run, wanted for murder and such, thought I’d fit right in,” you stretched your arms out and yawned, wanting nothing more than to rest your head on the what looked to be the softest pillow you’d ever come across. Arthur wasn’t done.

“Who told you?”

“Please, your posters were everywhere where I was, everyone fears you, heard nothin’ but gossip from every other towns person,” you laid back, resting against the pillow while eyeing Arthur as he circled back to your side of the bed.

He leaned down, hand on the headboard with a stubborn look.

“You’re one of the best shots I’ve ever encountered, you could’ve lived a life out somewhere where you’re valued, and you choose here?”

Your eyes didn’t leave his, their focus clinging to the blue that shone under the lamplight.

“My family went their separate ways a while back,” you started, then breaking eye contact to instead focus on the hem of your shirt. He was close, you felt your heart begin to pick up the pace.

He hummed in response, and you sensed a bit of disbelief. It’s not like you were fully lying, so you’d hope he’d see this as debt repaid for the trouble you’d caused him. You’re always lyin’ to my face every chance you get.

“I really had no where else to go, and found myself in trouble one fateful night where a few people took me in, showed me some stuff, mostly thievin’, and helped me get back on my feet.”

Arthur kept quiet, letting you spill the weight you’d been carrying for so long. You were too tired to care about whether or not he cared, your head felt heavy and your body could not move. Talking was the least of your worries, and it’s not like Arthur would turn on you at this moment, at least, you’d assumed.

“Few months went by and we got split up during an awful job, lost a couple of people, lost money, it was hell,” you continued, “and I’d heard about the Van Der Linde gang by a few people at bar. They recognized you as the most feared gang in Blackwater. Figured it was my best shot at continuing to live the way I was meant to.”

“What do you mean, meant to?” he asked softly. You looked up the second his voice emerged from his lips.

“I’d done some things I ain’t proud of Arthur,” you began, hoping he’d hear the edge in your tone, hoping he’d leave it at that and walk away. Your wishes had been heard, as his lips grew thin and he tapped your leg before he stood.

“We all have, none of us are the good guys in anyones story, woman,” he stepped toward the door, cracking it slightly before turning back.

“Get some sleep, I’ll be outside.”

And with that, you could not have found any reason to object, and closed your eyes.

[noxsspace]

HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM (pls fuck me)

[noxsspace]

The Beauty Of The Redeemed

Chapter One • You Ain’t Slick

in which the mysterious new camp member has something to hide, and Arthur is determined to figure out what.

tags: slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

its been a while since i’ve posted! i hope to be posting frequently with new chapters of this creation, be sure to look out for updates :)

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64158559/chapters/164637475

🃁🃜🃚· · · 𐂂 · ༺ ༻ · 𓃗 · · ·🃖🂭🂺

You flipped the page, eyes tracing the words slowly while you took in the abstract of the sentence. Your mind was focused entirely on the plot, intrigued with each word, only then to divert to a real life scenario when you read of the sudden embrace the main character received from the love interest.

Immediately then, you had to shut the book.

It was not worth day dreaming over a fantasy that would never occur.

That’s why it’s a fantasy.

You set the treasured object on your nightstand and laid back on your cot, staring up at the blanket that covered you and your belongings—a sad excuse of a tent. You then noticed a hole right in the corner of where the blanket was held up by a pole, possibly due to the tight wrap you’d made to ensure it wouldn’t fall.

Frustrated, you huffed and stood from the cot, walking to the issue to remedy, even just temporarily. You were exhausted from a prior trip to town, only to be pushed into chore duties when you had returned, all you wanted was a peaceful night to yourself.

You wanted the blanket to be the least of your worries, but that seemed to change when you heard a crash from what seemed to be a couple tents over.

You tensed, reaching for the gun that stood against the pole, while then slowly making your way to the slitted opening. You peered out and took in the camp, quick to identify any potential intruders.

Glancing by Arthur’s tent, you noticed him tending to his boxes that were on a high shelf—and then noticed the spill of materials that lay in the grass. You felt relieved, but obligated to help considering you were the only one nearby that seemed to have heard.

And it was a chance to talk to him.

You set your weapon down gently, then quietly made your way to his tent. “Arthur,” You started, letting him know you were near. He turned abruptly, seemingly startled until his expression changed to what seemed like relief for a split second.

“Need somethin’?” He asked lowly, going back to adjusting the box that held supplies. “Just wonderin’ if maybe you did,” you pointed at the mess of supplies that was scattered within the grass. He looked at you and raised a brow.

“That’s not why you’re here,” he narrowed his eyes. “You askin’ for a favor?”

You rolled your eyes and began to pick up the supplies without permission, setting them inside the box that had broke open. “No, just couldn’t sleep and wanted to make use of myself.”

He eyed you carefully, watching as you delicately placed the ammo in the box, noticing the details of your hand under the dim lamp light.

“My damn tent is fallin’ apart, and I was up when I heard your troubles over here,” You continued, thoughts roaming for small talk. “Not like I thought it would last, but still, it’s frustratin’, yknow?” You sighed. You mindlessly rambled on while he stood back and continue to watch.

A scarred mark on your hand piqued his interest, and made him squat down next to you, while he mimicked your actions, reaching for other boxes of ammunition that had fallen. He let you talk on, his own focus was on you. The way your arm stretched out and your freckles became visible, the way you handled the items with care, the gestures you made while you talked though you were facing away from him.

He decided to break your rant.

“Your hand, what’d you do?” He asked, and you turned to face him, shocked by his decision to talk and also about how close his face was to yours.

You noticed the scar on his chin, and precariously wanted to ask about his own scar. He saw your dumbfounded expression, and nodded to the scar that went across the back of your hand. You immediately forgot what he had asked until he broke your stare by poking your forehead, snapping you from the hold his features had on you.

“You sure you ain’t tired woman?” He smiled, watching as you begin to stutter. You then stood, placing your hands on your hips.

“Fine, you clean this yourself then.” You firmly started to walk back, face feeling as hot as if you’d had a fever, only getting warmer when you felt him reach for your hand.

“I only asked a simple question, and I think I deserve an answer considerin’ the amount of nonsensical questions you ask me.” He pulled you back to where you had stood, and then held your hand up by the light to examine it further.

“My hand? Just an accident, was playin’ with my knife and, uh, dropped it on my hand.”

You sounded real convincing.

He gave you a look and almost said you’re full of shit but he held his tongue.

“You can’t even give me a sensible answer?” He remarked. You smiled to yourself.

“Maybe if you had told the truth when I indeed questioned you, I’d give you that same sentiment too, Mr. Morgan,” you replied.

He let go of your hand while you gestured to the remaining materials. You’d started to bend down to grab them when he tilted your head up, and you were immediately struck by his stare.

“You can play that game with me, but just know I’d been tellin’ the truth, and you’re the one that seems to be lyin’ to my face every second you get.”

You didn’t exactly feel scared by his words, or how his figure seemed to grow while he talked in a demeaning manner, almost as if he was a mountain that no one could climb.

You felt his finger under your chin, but you weren’t being held with endearment, rather it was of suspicion, like he was searching for the truth in your eyes. You couldn’t do anything else but stare back, absorbed in the way his eyes darted back and forth between yours, and you wanted to catch them each time.

“Someone tried to kill me.”

That made his expression less harsh, his features softened and his hold on your chin was delicate, his thumb brushing your bottom lip as he seemed to contemplate your words.

“Now that makes more sense than whatever that half-assed story you told me was.” He let you go and then picked up the box, setting it gently on his cart, investigating the latch. You waited for further comment, any sort of response in regard to your statement.

You rolled your eyes. This man was trouble and liked to give you a hard time any time anywhere.

That bounty would be worthwhile, you thought to yourself, almost dreaming of the day you take him in and receive that pile of cash. You’d be set for life, you’d be able to flee once and for all, but it will be difficult coming close to that.

Long treacherous days of working close with him and others from the gang would send you into a spiral, but the money would be worth it.

“‘Night, Arthur,” you said softly, walking back to your tent. You could make out a soft “Night” from him, though it was almost drowned by the clatter of tools within his tent.

It would all be worth it.

[noxsspace]

The Beauty Of The Redeemed

Chapter Two • We’re Not the Saviors

another chapter! a bit more insight to her backstory…but there’s still more to come.

chapter 1 • You Ain’t Slick

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64158559/chapters/164754934#workskin

🃁🃜🃚· · · 𐂂 · ༺ ༻ · 𓃗 · · ·🃖🂭🂺

The morning woke you startlingly, where you heard the chatter and laughter from the nearby campfire that pulled you away from your sleep. It was a harsh reminder of what the day held in store for you; cleaning, shopping (if allowed), planning, and hunting. You weren’t assigned to rob anyone’s house today, and every other gang member had their own busy assignment, so the loneliness persisted.

You got up from your uncomfortable cot, stretching and immediately hissing at the searing pain in your back. Each day there seemed to be a new type of pain in a new area of your body, and you’ve become more and more distraught.

I had stayed in better camps than this.

Nevertheless, it was a temporary home. And these were temporary people.

You began your day by retrieving a cup of freshly brewed coffee, greeting some of the members that loitered around the pot. You hadn’t exactly made any friends, and you’d prefer to keep it that way, but it was still a nice gesture to greet and be greeted.

After your boost of energy in a cup, you made your way to the haystacks where you then spent the next hour dispersing the food.

———

Arthur followed Hosea back to camp, enjoying the bit of peace and quiet that the landscape and Hosea himself had provided, taking in the time to admire the scenery. He’d been exhausted and irritable just about every hour of the day, the severity of his emotions depending on who decided to bother him at that given time.

Last night was something else.

He felt unsure of your intentions, yet drawn to what you were gonna do next, and he didn’t like it one bit. He’d never felt more frustrated with a person in a short specific amount of time, yet he’d also never found his frustrations to be curiosity. He hated how he wanted to know you, and he hated you in general. At least, that’s what he thought. You confused him the majority of the time, and what he didn’t understand about you made him want to ask you every single question he could think of until he got an answer that described your mysterious self. No question with a plausible answer would be enough to capture your essence, and that bothered him.

Once breaching the entrance to the camp, his focused was turned to Dutch and whatever mission he’d be sent on today.

“Gentlemen! Welcome back,” Dutch greeted both Arthur and Hosea, followed by details Arthur had been bracing for. “Hosea, Arthur, follow me.”

Dutch’s tent was extravagant to say the least, decor and fancy furniture that Arthur couldn’t even remember where it was obtained. Dutch began discussing the scenario and ideal outcome of whatever mission he’s sending Hosea on, while Arthur noticed you tending to the horses out of the corner of his eye. His eyes narrowed while he watched you handle the hay, handle the horses with such care it almost drove him crazy.

You’d done nothing but get on his nerves the day you’d arrived. He could see it in your face, at the exact moment you’d place the hay, there was a dark shadow that fell over your eyes, where the glare was still visible yet couldn’t be described. It wasn’t kindness, but it wasn’t anger. He could tell you were tired, but each time he’d seen you, it was like you were holding back something, almost as if you were a firework yet to go off.

You had smiled at one of the horses, patting it gently while your teeth shone in the sun. You walked through the grass to the door of the enclosed makeshift stables, locking it before making your way to Pearson’s wagon, where you had greeted him while a smile.

None of the other members had commented on whatever facade you were presenting, Arthur noticed. They’d treated you equal, you were friends with the women, kind with Jack, you helped out in any way you needed to. Nevertheless, he could feel something was off. Your interactions never felt genuine, your smile was never in your eyes, your voice never faltered. He felt irreparable irritation, followed by his eyes rolling in a very noticeable fashion that had Dutch ask if he was all right.

He swore that there was something off about the whole idea of you being here. The couple months haven’t felt anything other than odd, almost as if you fit right in without anyone noticing.

He waved him off and Dutch only continued discussing his master plan.

Jesus Christ, what is her problem.

———

The day was finally coming to an end and you felt hot and sweaty with every chore you had managed. You had helped Karen fill Pearson’s dispensary, cleaned all the horses with Kieran, and went hunting with Charles for what felt like days. You wanted nothing more than a bath and a few drinks.

You sat on your cot in exhaustion and was only then startled by Arthur, who you hadn’t noticed walked in right behind you.

“What are you doing in here, Arthur?” You asked, and the question felt like a shout. You were irritable after the long day and wanted to be left alone.

“You’re comin’ with me, woman,” He said, then pulling you from your cot. You both made your way to the stables, his hand on your arm guiding you.

“And why exactly am I comin’ with you?” You were beyond frustrated, his lack of communication wanting you to put a gun to his head right then and there.

“By the way, I have a name, unless you’re incapable of comprehending a short word even a toddler could pronounce.”

He ignored your smart remark, and instead helped you up on his horse, where he followed shortly after, grabbing the reins and preparing for the journey. You despised every second of this moment, you were uncomfortable and tired, your dress was sticky and your eyes felt heavy. He adjusted himself and started to lead the horse away from the hitch, when he felt your hands instinctively hold his sides, and it was, in a sense, reassuring, despite your sharp tongue that had cut his thoughts deeper than he could’ve known.

“There better be a good reason as to why I have to come with you, Arthur,” you said quietly, where you were ignored yet again.

He felt like he knew what you’d be capable of right then and there; you could hold a knife to his throat, stab his side, his thigh, you could kill him at any moment. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed his vulnerable position. Your hands were warm through his vest, a complete contrast to the cold wind. For now, it was acceptable to let you steady yourself, even if he was the only thing you could hold onto.

He wasn’t, but neither you or him cared.

“Just keep quiet and enjoy the ride.”

———

The descent to Valentine turned out to be a comfortable ride, where though the wanted outlaw could take you to an alley and shoot you dead in the night, you’d felt his figure to be solace in a way. He hadn’t told you to remove your hands, or to get off his back when you’d rested your forehead between his shoulder blades. You were too tired to even think of whether or not he would have said anything about it anyway. He let you be.

The silence wasn’t unbearable, and the quiet night with bustling trees put you at ease. The wind felt cooling, better than the heat you’d been wrapped in all day.

“Alright, we’re here.”

You felt as if you’d just been woken up, and you started to glance around the small town.

“What’re we doin’ here, Arthur?” You asked quietly, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

“Stakeout.”

Those words were the last thing you wanted to hear for the next month. You immediately felt all your troubles come back twice as horrid, suddenly more aware of how you appeared and of how much your body was crying for help.

“Oh for fucks sake,” you exclaimed with a grunt, getting off the horse not so gracefully, to where Arthur held your hips to keep you steady. He laughed a bit at your exasperation. “What, it’s not like you’ve had anythin’ to do all day, right?” He remarked, which was instantly followed by a slap in his arm.

“Damn you, it could’ve been anyone else.” You felt nothing but anger and exhaustion. How dare he drag you out here in the dark of night, ripping you away from any bit of slumber you might have been able to get.

“Relax, I’m the one investigating a lead,” he said while leading you to the nearby hotel. That caught you off guard, and you’d felt distrust, suspicion, although more intrigued now by his ulterior motive rather than a good nights sleep. “You just go on and bathe and sleep, not like you’re much use anyways,” he then said sarcastically. You wanted to punch him, but the second the words bath and sleep let his lips, you felt excited.

“What’re you investigatin’?” You asked, hoping you wouldn’t have to pry an answer from his smirking mouth.

“Just a lead Hosea and Dutch discussed earlier, somethin’ about a house holdin’ a lot of gold,” he assured, “One room, please,” he then said to the employee, who granted him a key promptly. Arthur paid for the room, thanked the man who looked like he could barely stay awake himself, and then continued to lead you where you both walked up the stairs.

“But wait,” you started, confusion circulating through your mind, “why am I here?”

He said not a word until the arriving in front of the room he’d reserved.

“Because, if all goes well, I’m gonna need a second hand,” he stated, allowing you to walk in the room first, where he then followed, shutting the door with a sigh, “in addition to you being our getaway, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you some questions ever since you’ve been staying with us.”

Of course.

You raised a brow in surprise, but not by his words, more by your own self and how you hadn’t seen this coming from miles away.

You’ve been getting distracted lately, and have let down your guard more times than you realize.

“Well, lay it on me then, Mr. Morgan.” You say on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, awaiting a reply that will have you astounded, perhaps excited.

“When you joined a those couple months ago, I had no care in what ever sob story you were gonna throw at me, at the gang,” he started, his hands on his belt while he began to pace, “You see, Abigail, Marston, hell, even Pearson have felt somethin’ off about you,” he continued, “Instead of takin’ it up with Dutch, I decided to do ask you straight.”

You’d seen through his words, you could tell he was lying.

“That’s a cheap way to get me to talk, Arthur,” you’d cut in.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” he looked at you with his head tilted to the side.

You rolled your eyes. “How about instead of interrogating, you ask me nicely.”

He stepped over to you, looking down at you while you maintained your posture, your expression.

“What do you want with us?”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, your eyes tracing every aspect of his face in search of vulnerability. His eyes were stern, his mouth unwavering, words sharp as they had cut the air cold.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” you laughed a bit. You could tell he seemed to be at a breaking point.

“Oh please, you’re actin’ as if this was all part of some evil scheme,” Arthur continued, shaking his head.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Morgan,” You stood abruptly, meeting him almost face to face, short of a few inches. You didn’t falter, and you let him have the spotlight. You’d admitted that messing with him was enjoyable, amongst the other times you’d thrown him off a trail. You’d poked and prodded him, usually resulting in a small smile and a shake of his head.

“That’s shit and you know it,” he laughed a bit, not breaking away from your stare. This opportunity let him see you in a new light, where your freckles shone and your eyes were glossy. He waited for a rebuttal, but your lips never moved.

“No stranger just shows up at a coincidental time during a robbery, helps us take out a couple of them O’driscolls, and tells us you’re joinin’ our gang,” he started again, adjusting his posture by leaning his head back, his shoulders taught. “No woman, hell, no man has the audacity to even think that were a good idea. What’s wrong with you?”

You began to laugh at that, not because of his stupid drawl, or the way he leaned closer like his interrogation was working, but because he’s right. What is wrong with you?

Fighting out in the open gun fire, using each and every last bullet you’d stashed for weeks on end, so determined to keep him alive. You then remember the look on his face when you’d shot one dead right before he’d got the chance to, the way he turned to see who dared to try, and then it hit you.

That same expression was the one on the poster for all to see, and all your tracking had paid off. The outlaw feared by many, killed by most, worth five thousand dollars for his head alone.

It was like the wind had been knocked out of you. You had immediately ceased fire and held your hands up.

“I-I’ve been searchin’ for you, I want to join!”

Arthur could remember the laughter that erupted from Dutch, and the way he was so eager to accept your proposal. He’d said that anyone eager enough would at least be a useful decoy. Hosea had his suspicions, but was curious enough to see how it would play out. They’d recognized your desperation, Dutch himself had his questions that you happily replied. Arthur had found is insane, and would have killed you right then and there if it weren’t for Hosea and Dutch, especially after those words; “I’ve been searching for you.”

“What’d you mean by that?” He asked, figuring a different angle on the question would pose a useful response.

“Just meant I’d been lookin’ for you, I’ve been wanting to be with a gang of outlaws since mine broke apart.” You put a hand on the middle of his chest, and your mind told you not to remove your hand, and you wished you hadn’t moved it when you pushed him back slightly to move from his presence. He was warm, strong, and you swore for a split second that his heart raced.

You then made your way to the side of the bed where you began to take off your jacket and settle in to sleep.

“How’d you hear ‘bout us?”

“Heard about you through town, heard about a gang on the run, wanted for murder and such, thought I’d fit right in,” you stretched your arms out and yawned, wanting nothing more than to rest your head on the what looked to be the softest pillow you’d ever come across. Arthur wasn’t done.

“Who told you?”

“Please, your posters were everywhere where I was, everyone fears you, heard nothin’ but gossip from every other towns person,” you laid back, resting against the pillow while eyeing Arthur as he circled back to your side of the bed.

He leaned down, hand on the headboard with a stubborn look.

“You’re one of the best shots I’ve ever encountered, you could’ve lived a life out somewhere where you’re valued, and you choose here?”

Your eyes didn’t leave his, their focus clinging to the blue that shone under the lamplight.

“My family went their separate ways a while back,” you started, then breaking eye contact to instead focus on the hem of your shirt. He was close, you felt your heart begin to pick up the pace.

He hummed in response, and you sensed a bit of disbelief. It’s not like you were fully lying, so you’d hope he’d see this as debt repaid for the trouble you’d caused him. You’re always lyin’ to my face every chance you get.

“I really had no where else to go, and found myself in trouble one fateful night where a few people took me in, showed me some stuff, mostly thievin’, and helped me get back on my feet.”

Arthur kept quiet, letting you spill the weight you’d been carrying for so long. You were too tired to care about whether or not he cared, your head felt heavy and your body could not move. Talking was the least of your worries, and it’s not like Arthur would turn on you at this moment, at least, you’d assumed.

“Few months went by and we got split up during an awful job, lost a couple of people, lost money, it was hell,” you continued, “and I’d heard about the Van Der Linde gang by a few people at bar. They recognized you as the most feared gang in Blackwater. Figured it was my best shot at continuing to live the way I was meant to.”

“What do you mean, meant to?” he asked softly. You looked up the second his voice emerged from his lips.

“I’d done some things I ain’t proud of Arthur,” you began, hoping he’d hear the edge in your tone, hoping he’d leave it at that and walk away. Your wishes had been heard, as his lips grew thin and he tapped your leg before he stood.

“We all have, none of us are the good guys in anyones story, woman,” he stepped toward the door, cracking it slightly before turning back.

“Get some sleep, I’ll be outside.”

And with that, you could not have found any reason to object, and closed your eyes.

[noxsspace]

might post another chapter of The Beauty Of The Redeemed tonight 👀

[noxsspace]

The Beauty Of The Redeemed

Chapter One • You Ain’t Slick

syn: She’s one of the greatest outlaws in her time, her story not well known. A new addition to the Van Der Linde gang with a few secrets locked away, Arthur is determined to find the key.

tags: slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

its been a while since i’ve posted! i hope to be posting frequently with new chapters of this creation, be sure to look out for updates :)

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64158559/chapters/164637475

🃁🃜🃚· · · 𐂂 · ༺ ༻ · 𓃗 · · ·🃖🂭🂺

You flipped the page, eyes tracing the words slowly while you took in the abstract of the sentence. Your mind was focused entirely on the plot, intrigued with each word, only then to divert to a real life scenario when you read of the sudden embrace the main character received from the love interest.

Immediately then, you had to shut the book.

It was not worth day dreaming over a fantasy that would never occur.

That’s why it’s a fantasy.

You set the treasured object on your nightstand and laid back on your cot, staring up at the blanket that covered you and your belongings—a sad excuse of a tent. You then noticed a hole right in the corner of where the blanket was held up by a pole, possibly due to the tight wrap you’d made to ensure it wouldn’t fall.

Frustrated, you huffed and stood from the cot, walking to the issue to remedy, even just temporarily. You were exhausted from a prior trip to town, only to be pushed into chore duties when you had returned, all you wanted was a peaceful night to yourself.

You wanted the blanket to be the least of your worries, but that seemed to change when you heard a crash from what seemed to be a couple tents over.

You tensed, reaching for the gun that stood against the pole, while then slowly making your way to the slitted opening. You peered out and took in the camp, quick to identify any potential intruders.

Glancing by Arthur’s tent, you noticed him tending to his boxes that were on a high shelf—and then noticed the spill of materials that lay in the grass. You felt relieved, but obligated to help considering you were the only one nearby that seemed to have heard.

And it was a chance to talk to him.

You set your weapon down gently, then quietly made your way to his tent. “Arthur,” You started, letting him know you were near. He turned abruptly, seemingly startled until his expression changed to what seemed like relief for a split second.

“Need somethin’?” He asked lowly, going back to adjusting the box that held supplies. “Just wonderin’ if maybe you did,” you pointed at the mess of supplies that was scattered within the grass. He looked at you and raised a brow.

“That’s not why you’re here,” he narrowed his eyes. “You askin’ for a favor?”

You rolled your eyes and began to pick up the supplies without permission, setting them inside the box that had broke open. “No, just couldn’t sleep and wanted to make use of myself.”

He eyed you carefully, watching as you delicately placed the ammo in the box, noticing the details of your hand under the dim lamp light.

“My damn tent is fallin’ apart, and I was up when I heard your troubles over here,” You continued, thoughts roaming for small talk. “Not like I thought it would last, but still, it’s frustratin’, yknow?” You sighed. You mindlessly rambled on while he stood back and continue to watch.

A scarred mark on your hand piqued his interest, and made him squat down next to you, while he mimicked your actions, reaching for other boxes of ammunition that had fallen. He let you talk on, his own focus was on you. The way your arm stretched out and your freckles became visible, the way you handled the items with care, the gestures you made while you talked though you were facing away from him.

He decided to break your rant.

“Your hand, what’d you do?” He asked, and you turned to face him, shocked by his decision to talk and also about how close his face was to yours.

You noticed the scar on his chin, and precariously wanted to ask about his own scar. He saw your dumbfounded expression, and nodded to the scar that went across the back of your hand. You immediately forgot what he had asked until he broke your stare by poking your forehead, snapping you from the hold his features had on you.

“You sure you ain’t tired woman?” He smiled, watching as you begin to stutter. You then stood, placing your hands on your hips.

“Fine, you clean this yourself then.” You firmly started to walk back, face feeling as hot as if you’d had a fever, only getting warmer when you felt him reach for your hand.

“I only asked a simple question, and I think I deserve an answer considerin’ the amount of nonsensical questions you ask me.” He pulled you back to where you had stood, and then held your hand up by the light to examine it further.

“My hand? Just an accident, was playin’ with my knife and, uh, dropped it on my hand.”

You sounded real convincing.

He gave you a look and almost said you’re full of shit but he held his tongue.

“You can’t even give me a sensible answer?” He remarked. You smiled to yourself.

“Maybe if you had told the truth when I indeed questioned you, I’d give you that same sentiment too, Mr. Morgan,” you replied.

He let go of your hand while you gestured to the remaining materials. You’d started to bend down to grab them when he tilted your head up, and you were immediately struck by his stare.

“You can play that game with me, but just know I’d been tellin’ the truth, and you’re the one that seems to be lyin’ to my face every second you get.”

You didn’t exactly feel scared by his words, or how his figure seemed to grow while he talked in a demeaning manner, almost as if he was a mountain that no one could climb.

You felt his finger under your chin, but you weren’t being held with endearment, rather it was of suspicion, like he was searching for the truth in your eyes. You couldn’t do anything else but stare back, absorbed in the way his eyes darted back and forth between yours, and you wanted to catch them each time.

“Someone tried to kill me.”

That made his expression less harsh, his features softened and his hold on your chin was delicate, his thumb brushing your bottom lip as he seemed to contemplate your words.

“Now that makes more sense than whatever that half-assed story you told me was.” He let you go and then picked up the box, setting it gently on his cart, investigating the latch. You waited for further comment, any sort of response in regard to your statement.

You rolled your eyes. This man was trouble and liked to give you a hard time any time anywhere.

That bounty would be worthwhile, you thought to yourself, almost dreaming of the day you take him in and receive that pile of cash. You’d be set for life, you’d be able to flee once and for all, but it will be difficult coming close to that.

Long treacherous days of working close with him and others from the gang would send you into a spiral, but the money would be worth it.

“‘Night, Arthur,” you said softly, walking back to your tent. You could make out a soft “Night” from him, though it was almost drowned by the clatter of tools within his tent.

It would all be worth it.

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obsessed

omg the arthur and john ones 🔥

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If your still looking for stuff to do in rdr2, you should go find the giant dead snake out in Lemoyne's abandoned town if you havent seen it yet, you don't get anything but it's creepy and neat,

omg i’m excited to do this

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give me some things to do in rdr2

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i’m proud of these shots

i’ll have more soon 🤩

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i!! cannot !!! wait! to play!! red dead redemption 2!!! this weekend!!!

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photo mode in rdr2 is a blessing

look!! at!! him!!!

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more arthur pics

he’s so beautiful ugh