#Sadie thinkin

[blaithnne]

No idea why there’s so much debate over Hilda’s last name when it’s clear that her full name is Hilda The Series

[beentobeetle]

Sadie gets killed in a gunfight and gets reincarnated as a mountain lion. Her first thought is to go find the Marston family and mess with them, with the help of Wolf!John ofc (There’s fur everywhere :/)

[wildlcck]

UNDERLYING MOTIF x

the dog

whether it’s the way you bare your teeth when backed in a corner, your loyalty, or your tendency to act on instinct, your reoccurring theme is the dog. like mitski said “i get mean when im nervous, like a bad dog” or how halsey said “i won’t smile but i’ll show you my teeth” the essence of the dog runs through you. you’re tough and a quick draw on the outside, but if we got down to it we’d see you’re acting the only way you’ve ever known how. it doesn’t make you bad, survival is natural, your loyalty and determination is commendable.

[potterhead2207]

Fic Recommendations Masterlist 14

Marvel

@thyme-in-a-bubble - Teamwork

Stucky

@marvelavengerspovs1 - Double Trouble

@buckys-wintersoldier - Little Perv

Bucky Barnes

@ramp-it-up - All I Know It Feels So Damn Good

@jobean12-blog - Easy Ride

@gogolucky13 - Office Hours

@likeahorribledream - I Think I Wanna Marry You I Know I Wanna Marry You

Steve Rogers

@ronearoundblindly - Alone Time

@ronearoundblindly - A Kiss As An Apology

@ronearoundblindly - Midnight Kiss

@ronearoundblindly - Steve x Lloyd Hansen x Reader

@ronearoundblindly - Not-Baker!Steve

@ronearoundblindly - Untitled

@ronearoundblindly - Your Dog, His Tricks

@ronearoundblindly - Old Dog, New Tricks

@ronearoundblindly - The Game

@ronearoundblindly - Big Pharma

@violentdelightsandviolentends - Untitled

@rogersideup - Nice To Be Kneaded

@navybrat817 - By Any Other Name

@espinosaurusrexex - Revision

@thiswillbecomesomething - Let’s Try This

@sarahwroteathing - It’s The Great Pumpkin, Steve Rogers!

@justyouraverage-simp - Daddy Day Care

@the-iceni-bitch - Plain To See

@the-iceni-bitch - Always On My Mind (Plain To See Sequel)

@notyetneedcoffee - Take Care Of You

@notyetneedcoffee - Date Nights 1

@notyetneedcoffee - Date Nights 2

@notyetneedcoffee - Date Nights 3

@kidney9-9 - Trick or Treat!

@hansensgirl - Untitled

@hansensgirl - Salt In The Wound

@evansbby - Steve’s Bunny

Ari Levinson

@cevansbrat0007 - In Sickness & In Health

@cevansbrat0007 - What’s Eating You, Mr. Levinson?

@imyourbratzdoll - Untitled

Lloyd Hansen

@stargazingfangirl18 - Expectations

@the-iceni-bitch - Lookin’ At You Got Me Thinkin’ Nonsense

Andy Barber

@cevansbrat0007 - Untitled

@cevansbrat0007 - April Fools’ Day

Ransom Drysdale

@likeahorribledream - New Guy

Chris Evans

@babyjakes - Ruined Innocence (this is also posted in Fic Recommendations Masterlist 1 under their former username)

@babyjakes - Perfect Little Things

@lives-in-midgard - Taking Care Of You

@dreamtinblackandwhite - A Dog’s Best Friend

@cevansbaby-dove - Making Cookies With Chris

Jack Grealish

@blondie20000 - Kisses For Breakfast

Harry Potter

@dracoxsworld - What Dating Harry Potter Would Be Like

Miscellaneous

@blue-sadie - Kiss The Cook

@boxofbonesfic - Doppelgänger

[sheriffaxolotl]

Bleed, Survive, Remember (Chapter 13) Arthur Morgan x Reader

Start: Chapter 1 Previous: Chapter 12 Next: (TBA)

Summary:

You looked down at your hands, the weight of her question settling in. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been on my own for so long. It’s just hard to picture it any other way.” Sadie studied you for a moment, then let out a soft sigh, her expression softening. “Look, I ain’t gonna pretend I know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours. But I do know this—you keep thinkin’ like that, you’re gonna push away somethin’ good before you even give it a chance.”

Chapter 13: Doubts and Worries

Word count: 12.6k

  ︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻ The dawn crept slowly over the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of orange and pink, a delicate masterpiece that heralded the start of another day. The camp stirred awake around you, the soft clinking of tin mugs and hushed murmurs of early risers forming a quiet symphony against the backdrop of the fading night. You sat by the lookout point, hours already lost to your thoughts, the world moving on without you. Cradling a lukewarm cup of coffee, you let the faint warmth seep into your hands as you watched the first rays of sunlight chase away the lingering chill.

Arthur’s departure had come before the sun fully claimed the sky, marked by the soft crunch of his boots on dirt and a low, muttered explanation to Dutch. “Bringing…,” he’d said reluctantly, the name swallowed in his clipped tone, “back from Strawberry.” His words carried an edge, a hesitation that felt out of place—or perhaps too telling. He hadn’t looked your way, hadn’t offered so much as a glance. The weight of the previous night lingered heavily, thickening the air between you. As he disappeared into the pale light of dawn, a shadow of unease trailed after him, leaving you alone to wonder what—or who—awaited him there.

The name Strawberry tugged at the edges of your memory. It was a town you’d passed through once, years ago—dusty and quiet, its charm subtle and fleeting. At the time, it hadn’t seemed important, just another stop along the road. But now, the name carried a strange weight, as if it held more significance than you could yet understand. What business Arthur had there—or who might be waiting for him—remained a mystery that gnawed at the back of your mind.

You lingered near the fire, your coffee forgotten and growing cold as the camp stirred around you. The sound of horses being saddled and low voices exchanging plans for the day was little more than background noise. Your thoughts were fixed elsewhere—on him. On the way his presence seemed to command every inch of space, even when he wasn’t there. On the brief, electrifying touch of his hand against yours as you passed Tater’s reins, and the cigarette he’d shared with you like it was a secret meant only for the two of you.

And then, the word: Pretty.

It echoed in your mind, soft yet unshakable, its weight pressing against your chest like a brand. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—hearing it from him, or how much it had mattered to you. That single word had cracked something open inside you, a vulnerability you weren’t used to feeling. You traced the rim of your tin cup absently, the memory of his voice replaying in your head, his rough yet sincere tone resonating as if he were still standing beside you.

The camp slowly came to life around you, but the gnawing feeling in your chest only grew. You glanced toward the direction Arthur had ridden, the pale morning mist swallowing him whole. Whatever awaited him in Strawberry, it felt as though some part of you had gone with him—pulled along by unanswered questions and the pull of something you didn’t yet dare to name. 

You had planned to speak to Arthur once he returned, to explain your silence, to quiet the doubts he seemed to carry. But now, as the day stretched on, you began to wonder if any of it would matter. His absence, coupled with the lingering weight of your own thoughts, made the hours feel longer, more oppressive. Every glance toward the road leading to Strawberry felt like a question unanswered.

For now, though, you needed a distraction—something to pull you away from the gnawing uncertainty, from Miss Grimshaw’s sharp eyes and sharper tongue. The older woman had already noticed your restlessness, her gaze cutting like a blade as she appraised you. You weren’t about to let her rope you into another round of chores disguised as punishment. No, you needed to be out there, moving, doing something to clear your mind.

Hunting felt like the perfect escape. The woods had always held a kind of solace for you, their quiet vastness offering a reprieve from the weight of human complications. There, amidst the trees and the earth, your worries always seemed smaller, more manageable. Besides, bringing back a fresh kill would silence any grumbling about your absence and prove your usefulness. But practicality lingered—if you managed to bring down something big enough to feed the camp, you’d never be able to haul it back alone.

Your gaze swept over the camp, taking in the familiar scenes of daily life. Karen and Tilly laughed near the wagons, their light-hearted banter a stark contrast to the tension simmering inside you. Hosea and Abigail were deep in conversation, the older man gesturing animatedly as Abigail nodded along. Bill was busy with Pearson, the two of them muttering about supplies, and John had disappeared on one of his usual, mysterious errands.

Then your eyes landed on Sadie. She was seated in her usual spot, a tin cup of coffee cradled in her hands, her sharp gaze fixed on something far beyond the camp’s edge. Even in moments of stillness, there was a ferocity to her—a quiet intensity that made her seem like she was always on the verge of action, like a blade just barely sheathed.

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of her presence giving you pause. Adjusting your coat against the lingering chill of the morning, you took a slow, deliberate step toward her, the soft crunch of your boots on the ground breaking the stillness. As you approached, her gaze didn’t waver, though you could feel the subtle shift of her awareness, a quiet acknowledgment of your movement.

“Mrs. Adler?” you ventured, your voice carrying just enough volume to reach her without startling her. The words felt tentative in your mouth, not out of fear, but respect.

Her eyes flicked toward you, narrowing slightly as she took in your presence. “What is it?” she asked, her tone guarded but not unfriendly.

“I was thinking about heading out to hunt,” you explained, nodding toward the tree line in the distance. “Could use the help if you’re up for it. Thought it might do us both some good to stretch our legs.”

Sadie raised an eyebrow, setting her coffee down with a soft clink. “You askin’ me along for the company, or because you don’t trust yourself out there alone?”

A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. “If anything, I’d trust you to keep me out of trouble. Besides, I figured you might want a break from camp, same as me.”

She stared at you for a moment, the weight of her gaze heavy, as if she were sizing you up. Then, without a word, she stood, brushing her hands off on her skirt. “Alright,” she said simply.

Relief and excitement mingled in your chest. You nodded, already turning toward the hitching post to ready the horses. Sadie followed behind you, her boots crunching softly against the dirt. You passed by Pearson’s wagon, where the cook was already bustling about, grumbling as he chopped vegetables for the day’s stew. A couple of the boys loitered nearby, exchanging quiet conversation, but they didn’t spare you more than a brief glance.

You adjusted your hat against the low-hanging sun, its rays stretching long shadows across the camp as you reached the hitching post. The horses stood tied there, restless, their breath rising in plumes of steam in the cool morning air. As you saddled Tater, you couldn't help but glance toward the road where Arthur had ridden off earlier that morning. The ache in your chest lingered, a dull, persistent reminder of the conversation left hanging between you, unfinished and unresolved.

“You ain’t gonna be much good out there if you’re distracted,” Sadie said, her voice cutting through your thoughts like a whip. She was watching you, one hand on her hip, her sharp gaze unrelenting. “Are you good, or do I need to turn back and let you mope on your own?”

You straightened up, shaking your head quickly. “I’m good,” you said firmly, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. You noticed Sadie glancing toward the horses again. “Still no luck with one of your own?” you asked, voice softer now.

She shrugged, a flash of frustration crossing her face. “Guess I’ll be riding with you for now.”

Without a word, you offered her a hand, just a simple gesture. She hesitated for a moment before grasping it, swinging herself up behind you with practiced ease.

The two of you set off toward the treeline, the morning sun climbing higher in the sky as the camp faded into the distance behind you. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and damp earth filling your lungs. It was quiet at first, the only sounds the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

Finally, Sadie broke the silence. “So, what’s eating at you?”

You glanced at her, startled. “What makes you think something’s eating at me?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Please. I might not be one for small talk, but I know a distracted mind when I see one. You’ve been staring off into space all morning.”

You hesitated, the weight of her observation pressing down on you. It wasn’t like you to open up easily, but something about the way she carried herself—steady and unapologetically real—made it easier to speak.

“It’s that Mr. Morgan fella, ain’t it?” Sadie said suddenly, her tone light but edged with curiosity.

Your head snapped toward her, startled again. “What? No—why would you think—”

Sadie gave you a side glance, one brow raised. “Don’t play dumb. I might not know him all that well, but I can tell he’s got a soft spot for you.” She smirked faintly. “Men like that don’t look after just anyone.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly on the reins. “Arthur’s just… kind, that’s all,” you mumbled. “He’s the type to help anyone if they need it, even with what you said...”

“Kind, huh?” Sadie’s voice held a hint of skepticism. “Well, sure. He’s kind enough, I’ll give you that. Helped me out back in them mountains when I thought my whole damn world had ended.” Her gaze turned distant for a moment, a flicker of something heavy passing over her features before she shook it off. “But I’ve seen the way he acts around you, and trust me, it ain’t just ‘kindness.’”

You felt your cheeks heat, her words hitting a little too close. “You’re imagining things,” you muttered, your gaze falling to the trail ahead.

Sadie let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe. But if I am, then explain why he’s always got that quiet look about him when you’re around. Like he’s thinkin’ on somethin’ he doesn’t quite know how to say.”

You didn’t answer right away, your mind spinning. Sadie barely knew Arthur, but her words carried weight. She had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things, and it unsettled you how easily she seemed to see through the walls you tried to keep up.

“I’m just saying,” Sadie continued, her voice softening slightly. “He seems like he ain’t the kind of man to show his hand often. So when he does? You might wanna pay attention, that’s all I’m suggesting.”

Her tone was lighter, almost teasing, but there was a sincerity in her eyes that made it hard to brush her off.

“It’s complicated,” you admitted after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sadie snorted at that. “Course it is. Nothin’ worth anything ever ain’t.” She dismounted from behind you, her boots thudding against the dirt. “But complicated don’t mean impossible.”

Her words hung in the air as you dismounted, the crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound for a moment. Sadie glanced back at you, her expression softer now.

“Now,” Sadie said, her tone shifting to something more pragmatic. “Let’s see if we can bag ourselves something decent, huh?”

You nodded again, grateful for the distraction, but even as the hunt began, her words lingered in your thoughts. The gnawing feeling in your chest remained, now accompanied by the weight of her insight.

Sadie moved with purpose, her sharp gaze scanning the ground and the tree line as she led the way deeper into the woods. You followed close behind, rifle in hand, but your mind wandered. The conversation you’d had back at camp—more accurately, the things left unsaid—still hung heavily on you. Sadie hadn’t pushed further, but you knew it wasn’t over. Sadie Adler wasn’t the type to leave things be if she thought there was more to the story, and that was something you were starting to understand about her.

She crouched low, studying a faint trail in the dirt, the outline of hoofprints barely visible amongst the scattered leaves. “Deer,” she said quietly, motioning for you to come closer. “Looks like it’s headin’ east. Fresh tracks.”

You nodded, following her example, and you both moved quietly through the underbrush. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the occasional snap of a twig, and your steady breaths. It didn’t take long for Sadie to break the silence.

“So, you gonna tell me what happened to put you in such a funk back at camp? Or am I just gonna have to keep throwing guesses at you?”

Her question was blunt, casual, but there was no mistaking the sharpness behind it.

You stiffened, your grip tightening on your rifle. “I’m not in a funk,” you said, a little too sharply.

Sadie snorted, not even glancing your way as she stepped over a fallen branch. “Sure you’re not. That’s why you’ve been moping around like a kicked dog all morning.”

You opened your mouth to protest but shut it again, realizing it wasn’t worth the effort. “It’s… complicated,” you said finally, the words heavy with hesitation.

Sadie straightened up, glancing back at you with a knowing smirk. “You already said that. Complicated how? He say somethin’? Do somethin’?”

You hesitated, eyes darting across the forest, but the weight of her gaze was unyielding. There was no avoiding it now. Sadie wasn’t going to let it slide.

“He just... he said something last night,” you admitted reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Something I wasn’t expecting.”

Sadie’s brow arched, her curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’d he say?”

You paused, the memory of Arthur’s words still fresh, lingering like the smoke from a spent fire. “He said I was pretty.”

Sadie stopped in her tracks, turning fully to face you now, a mixture of disbelief and amusement in her expression. “That’s what’s got you all twisted up? The man called you pretty?”

Her words hung in the air, and you felt your cheeks warm, a flush creeping up your neck.

Sadie’s lips twitched, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, she gave you a long, steady look, her eyes narrowing with that quiet intensity she had a knack for. “You really are somethin’ else, you know that?” she said softly, the teasing tone now absent from her voice. “The way you’re acting, you’d think he slapped you instead of callin’ you pretty.”

You felt your cheeks warm again, your fingers curling tighter around the rifle. “It’s not just what he said,” you murmured, barely meeting her gaze. “It’s how he said it. Like he really meant it… and I didn’t know how to handle that.”

You glanced away, pretending to scan the horizon for any sign of movement, though the weight of Sadie’s gaze burned into you. It all sounded so absurd when you said it out loud—worrying over a word like “pretty” as though it were some foreign, dangerous thing. You’d faced down bounty targets, crossed paths with men twice your size who wanted you dead, but here you were, feeling undone by a simple compliment. And not just any compliment—a quiet, sincere one, spoken by a man who rarely gave much of himself away. It wasn’t just silly; it felt embarrassingly small, like a crack in the armor you’d spent so long building around yourself.

Sadie studied you for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. “Let me get this straight. Arthur Morgan—big, quiet, probably thinks too much for his own good—tells you you’re pretty, and instead of takin’ it as a compliment, you’re out here second-guessin’ the whole damn thing?”

You averted your gaze, feeling the heat of your face spill down your neck. “It’s not that simple.”

Sadie let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head as she folded her arms. “Sure it is. Man like him don’t go around sayin’ things like that unless he means it. Trust me on that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Sadie raised a hand, her expression turning alert. “Hold that thought,” she murmured, motioning toward a break in the trees ahead.

You followed her gaze and saw it—a deer grazing in a small clearing, its ears twitching as it nibbled on the grass.

Sadie gestured for you to take the shot, stepping back slightly to give you space. You steadied your rifle, your breath slowing as you took the time to line up the shot. But even as you focused on the task at hand, Sadie’s words continued to echo in your mind, cutting through the fog of uncertainty you’d been lost in.

You exhaled slowly, and the shot rang out, sharp and true. The deer dropped instantly.

Sadie nodded in approval, clearly not expecting you to have such a steady hand. “Good shot,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Now, let’s get this back to camp. And on the way, you can tell me why the hell you’re so scared of somethin’ good for once.”

You sighed, shaking your head, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Leave it to someone else to get straight to the heart of things, whether you were ready for it or not.

Sadie led the way toward the downed deer, her steps sure and confident as she pulled her hunting knife from her belt. You followed behind, slinging your rifle over your shoulder.

She crouched beside the deer, inspecting it briefly before starting the process of field dressing. “You’re lucky it dropped clean,” she said, her voice casual as she worked. “Would’ve been a damn sight harder to haul back if it’d run too far.”

You crouched beside her, your hands slower than usual as you helped where you could. Your mind kept circling back to her earlier words.

“Why do you think I’m scared?” you asked finally, your voice quiet.

Sadie didn’t look up, her hands steady as she worked. “Ain’t it obvious? You’re overthinkin’ it, tryin’ to find all the ways it could go wrong instead of just lettin’ it be. I’ve seen plenty of folks do it—hell, done it myself more times than I care to admit.”

You frowned, her words striking closer to home than you wanted to admit. “I just… it doesn’t feel like it’s that simple, Sadie. It feels… complicated.”

She let out a dry laugh, glancing up briefly. “There’s that word again. Complicated. Seems to me you’re makin’ it complicated all on your own.”

You sighed, sitting back on your heels as you watched her work. “It’s not just about what he said. I mean… I don’t—well, I don’t feel like I’m the kind of person people look at like that. I can’t imagine myself fitting into someone else’s life, I guess.”

Sadie paused, wiping her hands on her skirt before turning to meet your gaze directly. Her sharp eyes locked onto yours, piercing yet steady, and there was no trace of judgment in them—just the blunt honesty she wielded like a weapon. “And what kind of person is that, huh?” she asked, her voice low and firm. “The kind who’s too good for a little happiness? Or the kind who’s so stubborn they can’t see when someone’s tryin’ to let ‘em in?”

Her words stung, not because they were harsh—but because they were true.

You looked down at your hands, the weight of her question settling in. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been on my own for so long. It’s just hard to picture it any other way.”

Sadie studied you for a moment, then let out a soft sigh, her expression softening. “Look, I ain’t gonna pretend I know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours. But I do know this—you keep thinkin’ like that, you’re gonna push away somethin’ good before you even give it a chance.”

You looked away, your fingers brushing over the edge of your rifle absentmindedly. “It’s not about … well…” you muttered. “I just… I don’t know how to let someone in. I’ve spent so much time on my own, it’s hard to picture it being any other way.”

Sadie studied you for a beat longer, her expression softening ever so slightly. “You think that makes you different from the rest of us?” she asked, her tone quieter now but still laced with conviction. “You think you’re the only one who’s had to learn how to let someone in after livin’ alone too long?”

You didn’t answer right away, her words hanging in the stillness between you. The faint rustle of the wind through the trees filled the silence, and you could feel her watching you, waiting for your response.

When you finally looked up, her gaze hadn’t wavered. There was no pity there, no softness meant to coddle—just the unflinching truth of someone who’d lived it herself.

“Look,” she said, her voice steady but gentler now. “It’s not about bein’ perfect or havin’ all the answers. It’s about tryin’. Lettin’ someone in doesn’t mean you’re weak, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean you gotta have it all figured out. You just take it one step at a time. That’s all anyone can do.”

Her words sat heavy in the air, not suffocating but grounding, like a weight you hadn’t realized you needed to feel. You nodded slowly, unsure of what to say but knowing she wasn’t wrong.

She paused, her gaze drifting to the horizon for a moment, her expression tightening just slightly. “You think Jake was perfect for me when we first met?”

The mention of her late husband took you off guard, and you stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

“He wasn’t,” she said plainly, though there was a softness in her voice that wasn’t there before. “He was too quiet, too damn stubborn for his own good. Took me months just to get him to say more than two words in a row. But he was good, y’know? He saw me for who I was, not who I thought I should be.”

Her hands stilled for a moment as she glanced down at the deer, her expression momentarily distant. “I almost let him go once, early on. Thought I wasn’t the kinda woman he needed. But Jake? He didn’t care about what I thought I was or wasn’t. He just… wanted me.”

Sadie’s voice softened further, her tone almost wistful. “And now, after everything… I’m damn glad I didn’t push him away. I didn’t know how much I needed him ‘til he was gone.”

You swallowed hard, her words settling heavily in your chest. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Adler. About Jake.”

She shook her head, her usual fire returning to her voice. “Don’t be sorry for me. Just don’t be stupid. If there’s somethin’ real between you and that man, don’t let it slip through your fingers ‘cause you’re too scared to see it for what it is.”

You nodded slowly, her words resonating in a way you hadn’t expected. Sadie returned to her work, the sound of her knife cutting through the quiet.

After a moment, she spoke again, her tone lighter. “Tell you what. Next time that man says somethin’ nice to you, try this—don’t overthink it. Just take it for what it is. You might be surprised what happens.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly, her bluntness oddly comforting. “I’ll think about it,” you said softly.

Sadie snorted, shaking her head. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

The two of you worked in a steady rhythm, finishing the task at hand. The deer was packed securely onto Tater, and you walked alongside Sadie, the weight of the animal resting between you. The silence that stretched out now felt companionable, not strained.

After a while, curiosity got the better of you. “How’d you get so good at this? Hunting, I mean.”

Sadie glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Jake and I, we shared the work on the ranch,” she said, her tone softening. “Life wasn’t easy, but we made sure we both pulled our weight.”

You followed her gaze ahead, the quiet woods unfolding in front of you like an endless trail. “Sounds like you had a good life.”

Sadie exhaled, the fire in her voice dimming to an ember. “Mm, that I did,” she said, her words laced with a quiet affection. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. And he knew me better than anyone ever could. We ran that ranch like a team, no matter how hard it got.”

You studied her for a moment, noting the way her expression softened when she spoke of him. It stirred something in you, a curiosity mixed with a tinge of yearning. “You and him must’ve had something special,” you murmured.

Sadie nodded, her eyes distant, focused on something only she could see. “We did. Never doubted each other, not once. We shared everything—the good, the bad, all of it. Didn’t matter what came our way.” Her voice dipped lower, taking on a wistful note. “He didn’t care what I could or couldn’t do. He just… trusted me. And I trusted him.”

Her words settled in the air between you, heavy with meaning. They made you wonder what it would feel like to have that kind of bond—so steady, so sure. “Sounds like he was a good man.”

“The best,” Sadie replied softly, the words almost a whisper. “And I know how lucky I was to have him, even for the time I did. But…” She paused, her voice faltering just slightly as her gaze drifted downward. “I miss him every damn day.”

The weight of her admission pressed against your chest, a pang of sympathy tightening your throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Adler,” you said quietly.

Sadie blinked rapidly, her jaw tightening as unshed tears glistened in her eyes. She wiped at her face roughly with the back of her hand, her usual sharpness cracking just enough to reveal the raw grief beneath. For a moment, the walls she’d built around herself faltered, letting you glimpse the depth of her loss.

 You stepped closer, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, offering your presence instead of words. Grief hung thick in the air, raw and unrelenting, like it had nowhere else to go but here, between the two of you.

“I…” Sadie started, her voice catching. “I ain’t used to this.” Her tone was rough, her eyes staring blankly ahead. “Ain’t used to… to letting it out like this.”

“Oh, Mrs. Adler,” you said softly, keeping your hand steady on her shoulder. “It’s alright. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Sadie drew in a shaky breath, her composure fraying further with every exhale. Despite her efforts, tears streaked her cheeks, glinting in the soft light. “You don’t know what it’s like. Losing someone like him…” Her voice broke, and she let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “It feels like… like I don’t know how to live on from here, without him. Don’t know who I am without him.”

You didn’t speak right away, letting the silence linger—a quiet space for her to fill. Your hand remained firm on her shoulder, a grounding presence. You understood more than she might realize. The ache of your father’s absence was still sharp in your chest, a wound that time hadn’t fully healed. There were mornings you still expected to hear his voice, to feel the steady comfort of his guidance. But this moment wasn’t about your grief; it was about hers.

Sadie trembled slightly under your touch, her composure unraveling with every word. She took another ragged breath, shoulders shaking as she struggled to contain the storm inside her.

When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, stripped of its usual edge but no less resolute. “He was… my everything. My partner, my family. The only man who ever really saw me. And now… now I don’t know how to go on without him.”

You squeezed her shoulder gently, a touch firmer this time—a reminder she wasn’t alone. “You don’t have to go through it alone, Mrs. Adler. I’m…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I’m planning to stick around a while longer. So, please, talk to me. About anything you need. You don’t have to carry this on your own.”

Sadie’s breath steadied slightly, her gaze finally meeting yours. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but a flicker of something warmer broke through the grief—gratitude, fragile but genuine.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice raw and unguarded. “For… this.”

 “I’ll be here,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Whenever you need.”

Sadie nodded slowly, wiping her face one last time as she straightened her shoulders. “Let’s finish what we came here for,” she said, her voice steadier now, though a faint tremor still lingered beneath the surface. “We’ve got work to do.”

You nodded, falling in step beside her as she turned back toward the deer. The silence between you grew almost comfortable, weighted with shared understanding rather than tension. After a while, Sadie broke it, her tone lighter but carrying a trace of the vulnerability she’d just revealed.

“Thank you… for bringing me out here,” she said softly. “Haven’t done anything like this since… well, it feels good. To be out again.”

You glanced at her, catching the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m glad,” you said honestly. “Sometimes getting out of camp is the best way to clear your head.”

Sadie nodded, her gaze drifting to the treetops as a wistful expression crossed her face. “Jake and I used to do this,” she murmured. “Hunt together, get away when the ranch got to be too much. It wasn’t just one of us pulling the weight—we did it all together. Work, worries, everything. But being out here…” She gestured to the trees, the deer, the sunlight dappling the ground. “It’s like it was just us. Away from the noise. It felt right, y’know?”

You watched her, noting how her sharp edges softened as she spoke, the harshness in her tone replaced with something tender. “I think I understand,” you replied quietly. “Out here, it’s different. Simpler. Easier to breathe.”

Sadie looked at you, her lips curving into a faint smile, brief but genuine. “Yeah. Easier to remember what matters. What’s worth fighting for.”

Her words lingered in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You hesitated, unsure if now was the time to speak, but her openness felt like an invitation.

“My father and I used to come out like this, too,” you began, your voice softer than usual. “Not hunting—he wasn’t much for game. But we’d walk for hours, sometimes just tracking something to see where it led. He said it was about knowing the land, understanding it.” You paused, a faint smile touching your lips. “But I think it was his way of keeping me out of trouble.”

Sadie chuckled softly, the sound rough but sincere. “Smart man. Sounds like he knew how to handle you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “He tried, anyway. Taught me everything he could. Shooting, tracking, survival—all the things he thought I’d need to get by. Didn’t think I’d end up using half of it.”

Sadie glanced at you, something thoughtful in her expression. “Bet he’d be proud, though. Seein’ how you’ve made it this far.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced down, unsure how to respond. “Maybe,” you said after a moment. “He always told me to keep moving, no matter what. Said standing still was worse than failing.”

Sadie’s smile widened slightly, though her expression softened with a touch of wistfulness. “Sounds like my kinda man. No nonsense, practical. Bet you gave him hell as a kid.”

You laughed quietly, the sound light and easy, a contrast to the stillness around you. “Oh, I did. More times than I can count. But he always managed to reel me back in. Even when I didn’t deserve it.” Your voice dropped a little as you added, “Losing him… felt like losing the ground beneath my feet. Like I didn’t know where I was supposed to stand anymore.”

Sadie nodded, her expression turning more serious. “Yeah. That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? Like the whole damn world shifts, and you’ve gotta figure out how to walk again.”

You met her gaze, the raw truth in her eyes echoing your own grief, making the ache in your chest swell. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It does.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was no longer uncomfortable—it was shared, a quiet understanding hanging in the air.

Finally, Sadie broke the stillness, her tone lighter but the emotion still there. “Y’know, Jake used to say I was better at hunting than him. Always made me laugh, ’cause the man couldn’t track a damn thing without me pointing it out first. But he was better with the horses, better with people. We balanced each other out.”

You smiled softly, picturing the way she must have worked alongside Jake. “Sounds like you were a good team.”

 “We were,” she said simply, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “And it’s hard not having that anymore. But… talking about it helps. Surprised me, but it does.”

“I get that,” you said, your voice quiet but understanding. “Sometimes it feels easier to keep it all in, but when you finally let it out…” You glanced at her, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s like you can breathe again.”

Sadie nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Been holding my breath since, I guess.”

You gave her a gentle smile. “Well, I’m here to remind you when you need to let it out. And I don’t plan on going anywhere just yet.”

Her lips quirked in a small smirk, and the familiar fire returned to her eyes. “Good. Someone’s gotta keep me from losing my damn mind. God knows I'll lose it when they bring that brute Micah back.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head. “Micah? Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”

Sadie snorted, a bitter edge to the sound. “Pleasure ain’t the word I’d use. That man’s a piece of work, through and through. Cocky, loud, thinks he’s the smartest one in the room when he’s really just…” She paused, her tone hardening. “Well, you’ll see soon enough.”

You frowned, sensing there was more beneath her words. It wasn’t uncommon for folks in the gang to butt heads—life on the run had a way of rubbing people raw—but the way Sadie spoke of him made it clear there was something deeper than mere annoyance. “He’s really that bad?”

Sadie pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, the wind tugging at the fabric as it passed through the trees. “I only spent a little time with him, back up in Colter. That was enough. The way he talks—like he’s got the whole world figured out. But it’s all just noise. And he’s got a temper. Not the kind that burns out quick—the kind that lingers, festers.”

You raised a brow, processing her words. “Sounds like someone to keep an eye on.”

Sadie gave a curt nod, her lips tightening. “You’d better. I didn’t spend much time with the gang at first—was too busy trying to stay afloat—but even then, he rubbed me the wrong way. It’s like he’s always testing folks, pushing to see how far he can go before they push back.”

You leaned in a little, intrigued. “Did he ever push you?”

Sadie’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not exactly, but the first time I met him…” She shook her head, a humorless chuckle escaping her. “Practically chased me around my own damn house when I was frantic and out of my mind. Thought for sure he was an O’Driscoll come to finish me off.”

You blinked, taken aback by the image. “He really did that?”

“Yeah,” Sadie replied, the disgust in her tone unmistakable. “Barged in like he owned the place, yelling about how I should calm down, like I hadn’t just watched my whole life burn to the ground. He might’ve been tryin’ to help, but the way he handled it…” Her hand tightened into a fist for a moment before she released it. “Let’s just say it didn’t exactly make him my favorite person.”

You frowned, imagining the scene vividly. “Doesn’t sound like the most tactful introduction.”

Sadie huffed, the corner of her mouth twitching into a bitter half-smile. “That’s one way to put it. He’s got a knack for making everything worse, even when he thinks he’s helpin’. Or maybe he just doesn’t care if he does.”

You mulled over her words, storing them for later. “Sounds like a real piece of work,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Sadie smirked faintly, the fire in her eyes never fully fading. “You’re not wrong. Just… keep your wits about you when you meet him. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

You sighed, glancing up at the sky as the sun dipped lower, painting the trees in a golden light. “Well, no use worrying about him for now. We’ve got bigger things to handle.”

Sadie adjusted her coat and glanced back toward camp. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

The two of you fell into a quiet rhythm as you made your way back through the woods, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot mixing with the distant calls of birds. The peacefulness of the forest contrasted with the weight of the conversation, but it was a welcome change.

After a few moments, Sadie broke the silence, her tone lighter but still laced with her usual sharpness. “You know, you and Arthur…” She paused, her words seeming to weigh on her. “You two need to figure things out. Whatever this is between you, I mean.”

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Truth was, Arthur had been on your mind more often lately, and it wasn’t as simple as just putting those thoughts into words. Every moment spent with him felt steadying, grounding, and a little too comfortable for someone like you. The way he looked at you, the way he was there in the silence, made something stir in you that you weren’t entirely ready to name.

But you weren’t sure what to say to Sadie, not when the weight of it still felt so unfamiliar.

“We’ll figure it out when we need to,” you said, keeping your voice steady, though the words didn’t come as easily as you hoped. “I’ll speak to him once he gets back to camp.”

Sadie shot you a knowing look, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Good. But don’t wait too long, alright? The longer you both dance around it, the messier it gets.”

You nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. There was truth in what she said—something you’d already known, deep down. The tension between you and Arthur had been building for a while now, unspoken but palpable. Each shared glance, every quiet moment between the two of you, was becoming harder to ignore. It wasn’t just about the moments—it was what they meant, the space that had been carved between you, and the silence that had grown too loud.

As you rode back to camp, with Sadie seated behind you on Tater, the woods stretched out around you, the soft rustling of leaves a gentle backdrop to your thoughts. Sadie’s words lingered in your mind, stirring a quiet sense of possibility. Maybe—just maybe—letting someone in wasn’t as complicated as you’d made it out to be.

And maybe, when Arthur Morgan finally returned from Strawberry, you’d find a way to stop second-guessing and allow yourself to believe in the possibility of something good. 

                    ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The journey back to camp felt slower than usual, the weight of the deer heavy between you and Sadie as you both guided Tater along the path. The crisp air carried the sounds of distant birds and rustling leaves, but there was a quietness in the way the camp came into view, like a hush had settled over everything.

Once you arrived, you went about unloading the deer, the camp already beginning to take notice of your return. Sadie stepped off Tater’s back, gesturing for a couple of the men to help with the carcass, but your attention quickly shifted to Arthur as he dismounted from his horse.

He was back from Strawberry, but something about him was different. The usual calmness that accompanied his return had been replaced by a tense energy, his movements sharp and more abrupt than they’d been before. The camp, usually filled with chatter and the occasional laugh, seemed quieter now, the air heavier.

You overheard bits of conversation—Micah, something bad had happened in Strawberry—but Arthur remained unusually tight-lipped. His eyes flickered with something darker than usual when anyone dared approach him, and the weight of his silence told you everything. There was something wrong, something heavier hanging over him now, and you couldn’t ignore the shift.

Whatever had happened in Strawberry had changed him. And it had changed him in a way that wasn’t easy to overlook.

The mention of Micah in connection with Strawberry only deepened the mystery. From what little you’d gathered, it wasn’t just some ordinary run-in. Whatever had happened in Strawberry had left a mark on Arthur, a stain that only seemed to deepen the hardened quiet that surrounded him now.

You had seen Arthur in moments of doubt before, but this felt different. The camp, once lively with talk and laughter, seemed to mirror his turmoil. People whispered, their voices lower than usual, glancing toward Arthur as he busied himself with camp tasks. He kept to the edges, his shoulders heavy, as if carrying a weight that none of them could see.

The way he avoided your gaze when he passed you made your chest tighten, a pang of something you couldn’t define twisting through you. His usual quiet presence had turned into a distant hum, an almost unbearable silence hanging between the two of you.

The moments you’d once shared with him—the stolen glances, the quiet moments by the fire—felt like memories now, distant and unreachable. The silence between you now wasn’t the comfortable kind that you’d grown used to. This was different, like an invisible wall had been erected, and no words, no actions, could seem to break it.

You watched him from a distance as he moved through the camp, his movements slower, more deliberate. The memory of the vulnerability he’d shown you the night before still lingered in your mind, but now it felt like a lost thing, buried under a fortress of silence he had built.

As the evening drew near and the fire crackled low, you found yourself standing near the edge of camp, your thoughts tangled in the same rhythm of tension that seemed to hang in the air. Arthur walked past, his boots crunching over the gravel as he made his way to his tent. His broad shoulders were hunched against the evening chill, his back rigid.

Your hand brushed against the cigarette tucked in your pocket—the one you’d kept from the night before. It was a small reminder of something unspoken, a piece of something that now felt far out of reach.

“Arthur,” you murmured softly, the sound of his name more of a breath than anything else.

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t turn.

The weight of the day pressed heavily against you—Micah’s name still lingering like a bad taste, and Arthur’s distance had left an ache you couldn’t name. Things had shifted, fractured, and the cracks felt deeper now, the distance between you and Arthur more daunting than ever.

For a while, you gave him space. You understood the need to pull away, to regroup, and you tried to busy yourself with the familiar rhythms of camp life—tending the fire, checking the horses, preparing meals. Each task felt mechanical, a distraction from the gnawing ache in your chest.

As the hours passed, the sun dipped lower in the sky, bathing the camp in hues of orange and gray. The usual camp chatter was reduced to a quiet murmur. Even the horses seemed restless, their movements mirroring the unease you felt.

But the silence couldn’t stretch forever. The weight of it pressed down harder with each passing hour, until it became unbearable. You knew Arthur needed space, but leaving things unspoken risked letting the distance between you grow irreparable.

With a deep breath, you finally made your way to his tent. The fire outside crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the ground. The camp was nearly deserted, most of the others lost in their own routines.

You paused at the entrance, the faint smell of leather and tobacco wafting out. The lantern inside cast a soft glow, just enough to make out his silhouette. There he was—sitting on the edge of his cot, his back to you, his posture stiff, like a man carrying the weight of the world.

The silence between you seemed to stretch, a tangible thing, suffocating the air. You knew you needed to bridge the gap between the two of you, but something held you back. The distance felt too vast, the moment too fragile.

Finally, you took a step closer, your voice soft, almost tentative. "Arthur."

He didn’t move at first. His shoulders were rigid, his head bent slightly, as if lost in thought. For a moment, you thought he might pretend he hadn’t heard, might let the silence grow between you.

But then, he shifted, just enough to turn his head, his profile catching the light. His eyes were tired, shadowed with something you couldn’t quite read, and his expression was closed off—guarded, like he was bracing for something.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low, gravelly, like he hadn’t used it in hours.

You hesitated for a beat, your heart hammering in your chest. This wasn’t how you imagined it would go. But now, standing in front of him, you knew you couldn’t leave things as they were. Not anymore.

"We need to talk," you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

There was a long pause. The kind of silence that stretched into discomfort, heavy and unyielding. When he finally turned to face you fully, his gaze was unreadable, a mix of weariness and something darker—something that hurt to see.

“What’s there to talk about?” he muttered, his voice rough, like the words themselves carried a weight that pained him.

“You know what,” you replied gently but firmly. “Last night—what you said.”

His eyes flickered, the briefest flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he quickly looked away. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion restless, as if trying to brush off the thoughts gnawing at him. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” he muttered, his voice distant. “Didn’t mean to burden you with it.”

“You didn’t,” you said, stepping closer, the sincerity in your voice unwavering. “What you said… last night, Arthur. That’s not something you just… say and then forget about..”

Arthur sighed, his gaze distant again, as though lost in his own thoughts. The weight of the day’s silence hung between you both, thick and suffocating. “It was just whiskey talk,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice lacked its usual steadiness, wavering with uncertainty.

“That’s what you keep telling yourself?” you asked gently, your voice quieter now, softer. “I don’t believe that.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more guarded, the walls rising again. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was resigning himself to the way things had to be. “I say things when I’ve had too much—things I don’t mean.”

You couldn’t help but take a step closer, the distance between you both narrowing, but the emotional chasm between you felt impossibly wide. “You… didn’t mean it?”

Your words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, like a thread about to snap. Arthur’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension between you was almost unbearable. He looked lost, his uncertainty etched into every line of his face. The weight of his words seemed to press down on him, and you could see the battle raging inside him—whether to retreat further behind his walls or let you in.

I didn’t mean to—” he started, his voice faltering, but his gaze dropped to the ground, the sentence left unfinished, hanging like a door half-open, waiting for something to push it all the way.

You took a slow step forward, the flickering light from the fire outside casting dancing shadows across his face. The space between you narrowed, but the emotional distance felt like an insurmountable mountain. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, but you pushed past the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt.

“I want…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “I want you to mean it.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched tightly, as though the truth was something he couldn’t bring himself to face. “Didn’t I just tell you—”

His eyes darted back to you, his expression tense, his brows furrowed. The words you spoke had caught him off guard, and for a fleeting moment, he looked more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable under your gaze, as though unsure how to handle the weight of the moment.

The silence stretched again, each second feeling heavier than the last.

Arthur cleared his throat, looking down at his hands before glancing back at you. His voice was rougher now, laced with confusion. “You… what now?” The disbelief was evident in his tone.

“I—” You stumbled over your words, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve said it like that.” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It just felt like… maybe you didn’t want to forget what you said last night. Like maybe you meant more than just… ‘whiskey talk.’”

Arthur frowned, his expression darkening as he processed your words. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned away again, his restless movements betraying his discomfort.

“I meant it,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But not in a way you probably want.”

The surprise of his admission caught you off guard. You hesitated, blinking at him. “Not in a way I want?” you echoed softly, unsure of what he was trying to say.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again, his frustration evident. “Look, I’m not good with this kind of thing,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. “Never was.”

You stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking, your heart thudding louder now. “Neither am I, Arthur. But if what you said meant…”

Arthur’s head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sharp intensity. There was a flicker of confusion and surprise, his usual composed demeanor faltering for a moment. “What?” His voice was quieter now, the edge replaced by something raw.

You stumbled slightly, your breath catching as you tried to gather your thoughts, the awkwardness of the moment pressing down on you. “You said—” You paused, your pulse racing, unsure how to finish. “You said you felt like a fool around pretty girls. That part, Arthur… it surprised me.”

Arthur frowned, his jaw tightening as if bracing for some sort of verbal attack. “What, you’re surprised? That a dumb outlaw like me can feel stupid around women?” His tone was dry, but beneath it was something defensive, like he didn’t want to show any vulnerability.

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “No, that’s not what I meant.” You stepped even closer, your voice soft but firm. “It’s just… that, you, um… damn it.” You mumbled, the words heavy on your tongue before finally forcing them out. “That meant you really think I’m pretty?”

 Arthur stared at you, his brow furrowing in confusion, as though your words didn’t quite make sense. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes scanning yours, trying to figure out why you’d ask such a question. The wall of defensiveness he carried cracked, his expression softening, uncertain.

“Pretty?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost to himself. “You’re—what? You think you’re not?” His usual composed facade slipped, replaced by something more vulnerable. “I don’t… what are you gettin’ at?”

You held his gaze, unwavering. “I don’t know. I just never thought about it. It’s not something I pay much attention to.” You shrugged slightly. “I just never thought I fit that picture—the one people expect, where women are supposed to be soft or delicate.” You met his eyes again, firm but unafraid. “That’s not me.”

Arthur stood still, his gaze softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You fit more than you realize,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I never figured you for nothin’ but strong.”

Your heart stuttered at his words. “Strong, yeah,” you said, forcing a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But strong doesn’t mean pretty.”

Arthur took a deep breath, his thoughts visibly churning. “Strong’s prettier than you think,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he seemed to catch them. His dark eyes remained locked on yours, his expression thoughtful. “There’s more to you than you let on.”

Your chest tightened, a strange mixture of discomfort and warmth spreading through you. His gaze was intense, unguarded now, and there was something about the way he was looking at you that made it hard to breathe.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly.

Arthur blinked, surprised by his own vulnerability. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve figured somethin’ out,” you said softly, stepping back, the warmth of his gaze too much to hold onto.

Arthur stood there, quiet, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension lingering in the space between you.

Arthur let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as he watched you step back. The tension between you eased, but the weight of the moment remained. He studied you, disbelief still evident in his expression, but there was a quiet relief that you didn’t seem entirely thrown off by his words as he’d feared.

“I thought… after last night,” he began, his voice low, hesitant, “I thought maybe I’d messed it up. Said somethin’ I shouldn’t have, made you feel uncomfortable.” He ran a hand through his hair again, the familiar gesture grounding him.

 You shook your head softly, a small smile touching your lips. “You didn’t mess it up,” you assured him, your voice steady. “I just—” You paused, thinking carefully before continuing, “I guess I just didn’t realize you saw me that way. That you’d see me as…” You glanced down for a moment, then met his gaze again, your eyes clear. “…pretty.”

The word felt awkward on your tongue, almost childish in its simplicity, and you couldn’t help but feel a little silly for saying it out loud. Was that really what had you so tangled up inside? You’d faced danger head-on, stared down bounty targets, and traded bullets with outlaws without batting an eye, but admitting this—letting yourself be vulnerable in front of him—made your stomach twist with nerves. You felt almost foolish, like a girl baring her heart for the first time, even though you knew you weren’t that naive anymore.

Arthur’s gaze softened, but the confusion remained, like he wasn’t quite sure how to process what you’d said. His brow furrowed again, the vulnerability in his eyes shifting to something more uncertain. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again, chewing over his thoughts. You watched as he tilted his head back slightly, his fingers scratching through his stubble as his brows knotted in sync with his thoughts.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’ either, you know?” he murmured, his voice quiet, as if admitting it out loud somehow made it all the more real. “Never thought I'd be standing here, sayin' this stuff.” He took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his words. “I ain’t good with… well, this.” He half-laughed, though it was strained, his eyes briefly looking away. “Never been good at it.”

You looked at him, your heart aching, unsure of how to respond. “Same here,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I’ve spent so long just keepin’ my distance, tryin’ not to get caught up in… any of it. Guess I never figured I'd be standing here either.” Your gaze shifted downward, unable to meet his eyes for a moment, as if the honesty between you was something too intense to hold.

Arthur studied you for a long beat, his eyes searching yours, as though looking for the answer to a question he hadn’t quite asked yet. “But somethin’ is there, ain’t it?” His voice was low, hesitant, but the quiet intensity in it made it feel like he’d already known the answer. “I can’t ignore it.”

You exhaled slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah. There’s somethin’ there,” you whispered, barely able to breathe as the words hung in the air between you. The acknowledgment felt both terrifying and liberating, like stepping into a new reality you hadn’t been prepared for.

Arthur let out a quiet breath, his gaze never leaving yours. He didn’t know what to say next. Neither of you had the words to make sense of it, but somehow, it didn’t matter. The silence stretched on, comfortable but heavy with the weight of all the things you both knew but weren’t ready to voice yet.

“You think this is... somethin’ we can figure out?” he asked quietly, as though the answer might be something that would change everything.

You hesitated, the weight of the question settling deep inside you. “Maybe,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really not sure how to even start.” Your gaze met his again, steady now, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and something that felt like hope.

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, the weight of his thoughts evident in the way his jaw tightened and then relaxed. “Reckon there ain’t no guidebook for this kinda thing,” he muttered, his tone laced with a wry humor that softened the intensity just a little. “Not for people like us, anyway.”

A faint smile touched your lips, though it was more of a reflex than anything else. “No, I guess not,” you said, the words carrying a quiet honesty. You weren’t sure what "people like us" meant exactly, but you understood all the same—two people who’d spent more time fighting their way through life than being civilized.

The silence between you lingered again, but it felt different now, less heavy, though still filled with the uncertainty of what came next. You looked down for a moment, letting your gaze fall to the ground, before lifting it back to him. “I guess we don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Arthur’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice soft, almost relieved. “Ain’t no rush.”

And yet, neither of you moved to step away. The space between you, small as it was, felt like it carried the weight of something fragile and new. The tension was still there, but it wasn’t the kind that begged to be resolved. It felt like it could sit there for a while, quietly growing, waiting for the right moment to take shape.

“You know,” you said finally, your voice a little steadier, “for all the things I’ve gotten good at—keeping my head down, staying out of trouble—this…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, a rueful smile playing on your lips. “This isn’t one of them.”

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, easing some of the nervous energy between you. “Join the club,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes still held that quiet, searching intensity. “I’ll admit I ain’t had much practice at it either. Not for awhile.”

That small, shared moment of levity helped to ease the weight of the moment, and you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Guess that’s one thing we got in common,” you said, your voice quieter now but still carrying a faint trace of humor. “We’re both terrible at this.”

Arthur’s smile deepened, a rare softness settling over his rugged features. “Reckon there’s worse things to be bad at,” he said, his voice low and warm, like the crackle of a campfire on a quiet night. “Long as we’re bad at it together, might not be so terrible.”

You tilted your head, studying him, the gentle humor in his words striking a chord somewhere deep inside you. “Together, huh?” you said, the word feeling foreign but not unwelcome as it rolled off your tongue.

Arthur’s smile lingered, his eyes catching yours with a flicker of something unspoken but undeniable. “Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying the hint of a grin. “Together. Ain’t such a scary word, is it?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Depends on who you’re stuck with,” you replied, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Could be a real nightmare.”

Arthur chuckled, the low rumble of it grounding the moment. “Guess I’ll just have to do my best not to make you regret it, then.”

“Mm-hmm,” you mused, pretending to consider it. “Well, so far, you’ve been tolerable, Arthur. Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

“Tolerable?” he repeated, mock-offended, placing a hand over his chest. “And here I thought I’d been downright charming.”

You smirked, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Charming, huh? When was that?”

“Think it was when I was dancin’ with ya,” Arthur said, his voice dropping just slightly, the warmth in his tone stirring something deep inside you. He took a careful step closer, the space between you shrinking. “Holdin’ ya close…”

Your smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t teasing now—not really. The memory of that moment, of his arms around you, came rushing back, and you suddenly felt hyperaware of how close he was. The air between you shifted, crackling with a tension that was both familiar and new, like the quiet before a storm. You couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from him, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The space between you felt too small, too charged with something unspoken.

 “Oh, is that what you were doin’?” you managed to quip, your voice a touch breathier than you intended. “I thought you were just tryin’ not to trip over your own boots.”

Arthur chuckled, the low, rich sound making your pulse quicken. “Maybe I was,” he admitted, his smile easy but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. “But you didn’t seem to mind much.”

Arthur’s hand lingered against yours, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing your knuckles, sending a quiet shiver up your spine. His dark eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, searching yours as though trying to memorize every detail. “You didn’t mind,” he corrected, his voice low, almost disbelieving. His thumb ghosted over the back of your hand, the gentleness of the gesture belying the tension in his frame.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t.” The words were simple, but the way they hung between you carried so much more—an unspoken acknowledgment of everything you’d been holding back.

His breath hitched, and his hand moved, calloused fingers brushing your cheek now, so careful it made your chest ache. Arthur’s gaze flicked down to your lips and back again, his brow furrowing slightly, like he was afraid of doing the wrong thing, of breaking the fragile connection between you.

You remembered Sadie’s words in that moment—‘you’re gonna push away somethin’ good before you even give it a chance’—and right now, you didn’t want to do that. Didn’t allow yourself to overthink for once.

Instead, you remained still, allowing yourself to give what might happen a chance. When you didn’t pull away—when you tilted your head just the slightest bit, leaning into his touch—it was as if a dam broke inside him. His hand, already trembling from the restraint he’d been holding, moved more confidently now, cupping your cheek as his thumb traced the curve of your jaw. His gaze flickered to your lips again, but this time, there was no hesitation in the way he slowly leaned in, his breath mingling with yours.

You shifted subtly, closing the space between you, your gaze flickered to his lips. The moment hung precariously, fragile and electric, the air around you charged with a tension that made your pulse race. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned in further, your hand brushing against the front of his jacket, fingers lightly grazing the worn fabric as if seeking an anchor. His presence surrounded you, the faint scent of tobacco and leather filling your senses, grounding you even as the rest of the world seemed to blur.

Arthur’s lips met yours gently at first, his kiss tentative, testing. The sweetness of it, the quiet reverence, made your chest ache in a way that felt both overwhelming and inevitable. His other hand found your waist, steadying you, his thumb tracing a feather-light line along the curve of your hip, as though anchoring himself to the moment. His lips moved against yours slowly, unhurried, savoring each second like it was a fleeting dream he didn’t dare wake from.

But then you responded. You leaned in closer, your fingers curling tightly into the front of his jacket, a soft sound escaping your throat—a sound that seemed to unravel him. The tenderness gave way to something deeper, something more raw and urgent. The kiss deepened, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as though trying to etch this moment into his soul. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his touch igniting something inside you that you couldn’t ignore.

The world outside of the small bubble of warmth and connection seemed to vanish. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heart through the fabric of his shirt, the way it matched the frantic thrum in your own chest. His breath quickened as his hand moved, fingers tracing the curve of your back, making your spine arch involuntarily. You could now taste the faintest hint of whiskey on his lips, grounding and familiar, yet new in a way that left you dizzy. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel, all at once.

Your breath hitched as the intensity between you grew, the air around you seeming to heat in an instant. Arthur kissed you like a man starved, years of restraint crumbling as he finally allowed himself to take what he’d been holding back for so long. His hand moved to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as his lips claimed yours with a fervor that made your knees weak.

You clung to him, your hands fisting his jacket as you pressed closer, the feel of his broad chest against yours grounding you even as the world seemed to tilt. His mouth was hot and demanding, the taste of tobacco and faint traces of coffee lingering on his lips—intoxicating and entirely him. There was nothing hesitant in the way he kissed you now; it was raw, consuming, and utterly unapologetic.

When you gasped softly against him, he didn’t hesitate. He angled his head, deepening the kiss further, his grip tightening on your waist as though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, tentative yet deliberate, seeking entrance. The soft, teasing motion sent a spark through you, making your breath catch and your resolve crumble.

When you parted your lips, he took his chance. His tongue slid against yours, the movement slow at first, like he was savoring the moment, before becoming bolder, more insistent. It was a dance, each motion drawing you deeper into him, leaving you breathless and lightheaded. The intimacy of it sent shivers down your spine, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as you melted into him.

Arthur finally broke the kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a heartbeat before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was ragged, matching the rapid rise and fall of your own chest, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your jaw as though grounding himself in your presence.

“Been wantin’ to do that for so damn long,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly, thick with emotion.

You let out a shaky laugh, your lips still tingling from the force of his kiss. “Me too,” you admitted, the words soft but resolute, a confession that felt long overdue.

Arthur’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, though it couldn’t quite disguise the hunger that still simmered beneath the surface. His hand slid down from your neck to rest on your shoulder, his fingers brushing against the curve of your arm as though trying to commit the feel of you to memory. “Reckon I don’t know what I did to deserve you lettin’ me,” he murmured, his tone a mixture of awe and disbelief, “but I ain’t about to let it go to waste,” he murmured, leaning in again.

Just as Arthur's lips hovered inches from yours, the sharp crack of a branch snapping in the distance shattered the moment. Hosea’s voice followed soon after, calling your name from somewhere across camp, cutting through the heavy stillness like a knife.

Arthur stiffened, his body tensing as though the sound had yanked him out of a dream. He pulled back slightly, his breath still unsteady, and his gaze lingered on you. The fire in his eyes softened, replaced by a flicker of frustration and resignation. The moment you’d both been tumbling toward unraveled in an instant.

Before you could catch your breath or gather your thoughts, Hosea’s measured footsteps drew closer. Arthur stepped back fully now, a faint crease forming between his brows. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but instead, he settled for a quiet, “We’ll finish this later.” His voice was low, more promise than question, but tinged with a reluctance that mirrored your own.

The approaching footsteps stopped just beyond the edge of Dutch’s tent. Hosea appeared, his ever-calm demeanor intact, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. In his hand, he held something you immediately recognized: the stolen satchel. His gaze flicked between you and Arthur with an unreadable expression before settling on you. He raised the bag slightly, its contents swaying like a pendulum, heavy with implication.

“Thought you might want this back,” Hosea said evenly, though there was a subtle edge to his tone, a warning beneath the politeness. “Figured it might explain a few things.”

Your stomach dropped like a stone, the weight of the satchel a stark reminder of everything you’d been trying—and failing—to keep buried. The heat from your moment with Arthur dissipated, leaving behind a cold knot of dread that settled deep in your gut. You had forgotten about the damned thing.

Now, with it thrust between you and Hosea’s probing gaze, there was no more running. Every careful lie and half-truth you’d told to protect yourself felt like they were unraveling all at once.

Arthur’s gaze snapped to the bag, his jaw tightening. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture shifting subtly, protective but cautious. His eyes moved to you, searching for an answer that you couldn’t yet give. You felt his silent question as surely as if he’d spoken it aloud: What the hell is going on?

“I think it’s time we talk about this,” Hosea continued, his tone unflinching but still calm. He set the bag down on the crate beside him, the weight of it thudding softly. It wasn’t just a satchel anymore—it was a ticking clock, and you could feel time slipping away with every passing second.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you struggled to pull your thoughts together, to decide what to say or do. The lingering warmth of Arthur’s kiss felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the stark reality of what Hosea was asking for. No more delays.

Arthur broke the silence first, his voice gruff. “What’s in there?” His question was directed at you, but his eyes never left Hosea. There was no anger in his tone, just a quiet demand for the truth.

You hesitated, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. Your throat was dry, and every word you tried to form seemed to dissolve before it reached your lips. Finally, you exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet Hosea’s gaze. “Guess we’re gonna need more than just a seat for this,” you murmured, your voice tight but steady.

Hosea’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over his face. “I’d say so,” he replied, gesturing for you to follow him toward the fire. “Let’s start with the truth, shall we?”

Arthur’s hand brushed your elbow briefly, a silent reassurance, before he followed. You didn’t dare look at him, too afraid of what you might see in his eyes. Regret? Anger? Or worse—disappointment.

As you moved toward the fire, the weight of the satchel seemed to grow heavier, as if it carried more than just stolen goods. It carried your past, your choices, and the dangerous truths you’d been avoiding for so long. And now, with Arthur and Hosea at your side, there was no more room for evasion.

The campfire flickered ahead, casting long shadows across the ground. You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for what was to come.

One way or another, this was the moment everything would change.                                 ︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Hello, 2025! The start of the new year really knocked me off my feet—university work has been non-stop, and my job has me absolutely wiped. 😮‍💨 But hey, I finally made it through!

I think I’ve edited this chapter about five times before I was truly happy with it. (Perfectionism? Maybe. Worth it? Absolutely. 😌) Hopefully, you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it—after all that effort, it’s gotta be worth it, right?

Oh, how I love Sadie. I absolutely adore her, and I knew I had to give her and the MC a moment to connect. Building their friendship is something I’m so excited about—it feels like such a natural dynamic, and there’s so much potential for camaraderie and mutual understanding between them.

And—finally! We’re seeing some progress with those pesky feelings. Can you tell that we (the MC) are terrible at dealing with emotions? Yeah, not great. But! A kiss! A moment of vulnerability, before... well, before that interruption from Hosea. Leave it to him to have perfect timing, huh?

What did you think? Let me know—I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[alessiathepirate]

Red Dead Redemption 2

OUR MOST HONEST SELVES: John Marston x fem!reader

Summary: In which John Marston falls off the train - but he isn't alone.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistakes I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: swearing, guns and violence, injuries

●●●

It felt like time slowed down as she watched John fall off the train. Seconds turned into minutes; thougths ran through her head faster than ever.

Arthur shouted John's name just as the ache she recognized as fear of death began to burn her chest. Sadie shot the damn fool who caused John's fall - and during those moments her feet somehow took the first two steps. Arthur must've known what she was about to do - even if she herself didn't completely understand her upcoming actions -, because he tried to grab her arm while shouting her name; yet it was too late - she made that jump already.

As she got closer and closer to the ground, to the tracks, she could hear Micah's laugh as the damn rat had his fun watching her stupidity. He already gave her shit for her obvious feelings for John Marston - so of course he would laugh as she fell to her very possible death.

She collided with the ground, the rifle on her back pushing into her ribs painfully. Her shin hit the traintracks and she screamed as the burning sensation took over her left leg. Still, the pain was easily ignored as she crawled toward John's body.

After she reached him, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and her hands were on him in an instant. She put pressure on his shoulder wound as she shook him, begging him to say something - anything.

"John... John!" she cried as tears ran down her face.

He had been attacked by wolves, caught by Pinkertons - and she took all of those moments badly. Horribly. Yet after all that she won't fucking let him die by being shot off a damn train!

"Marston, you fool, open your eyes!" she begged and when he began to stir she felt like she could breathe again - she leaned in even closer, her chin almost reaching his chest. "John?"

He moaned in pain, one of his hands touched hers to try and put even more pressure on his wound as he opened his eyes. His gaze met hers and she suddenly felt the urge to use her free hand and wipe away her tears - and she did that as soon as she could.

"Y/N?" he said as he tried to push himself up - she pulled her hand away from the wound, but pushed his onto the place instead, to stop the bloodloss. "Where are the others?"

She sat back down and whined quietly from the pain.

"They ain't coming for us, John." she said softly as her heart ached - Arthur would if he could. "Micah laughed at me when I jumped after you, so I think they ain't coming."

John pushed himself into a full on sitting position and his gaze darkened at her words.

"You did what?"

A bullet landed only inches away from her and that stopped her from answering. She reached for her revolver as soon as she saw the first Pinkerton appear on horseback, and she was ready to shoot, but before she even had the chance to pull the trigger John pushed her behind himself as he shot the man dead.

She was breathing heavily as she landed face first on the ground, small stones breaking the skin on her face. She looked up, peeking out from behind John's thigh, and raised her gun just in time to shoot a Pinkerton who came in from the left.

She pushed herself up - ready to fight even if John didn't want her to.

Not many of them were left; they put down three more men before the whole patrol team was dead. Her heart was beating fast; adrenaline making her feel hot.

She slowly put away her gun and John did the same - then he turned to look at her and the only emotion she could see in his eyes was anger. And she felt the tears in her own eyes appear again when she realized that he was angry at her.

"What were you thinkin' jumpin' after me like that?" he asked her as he grabbed onto her shoulders - and he groaned in pain. "You coulda died! You almost got shot!" John's eyes softened a bit and his voice became less firm as he watched her tears run down her face. "Why would you do something so stupid?"

She looked at him, then averted her gaze as she pushed his hands off her shoulders.

"What does it matter?" she asked and she hated how rough and weak her voice was. "If I'm not here those Pinkertons would've shot you dead!"

"And now they almost shot you dead!" John argued. "Why didn't you stay on the train?"

"Oh, because that would've been so much better!" she felt the muscles in her cheeks twitch as she held back her tears. "I don't know if you noticed or not, John, but Dutch and Micah sent the most expendable people to hop on the damn train! Sadie, Cleet, Arthur, you and me - we are either the least useful ones or those who ask the most questions! So it doesn't matter where the Hell I am!"

She felt all the frustration leave her as she shouted -- Hell, she didn't mean to argue with John over something so stupid, but the situation itself and Dutch's recent decisions brought out the worst in them.

She tried to stand up, ready to go after Arthur and Sadie, because they truly deserved the help, but pain stopped her from doing so. She whined and touched her knee -- her leg hurt so bad...

As soon as she groaned in pain John's eyes were on her leg - or more precisely on her bloody trousers -, but before he could touch it, he decided against it. All anger and frustration disappeared instead, and worry took their place. Pure worry - and her heart melted.

"Shit, what happened to your leg?"

"Stupid traintracks got me." she answered.

John sighed and repeated what he had said earlier - but this time more calmly. "You shoulda stayed on the train. With Arthur."

She wiped her tears away as all her wrath disappeared. There was no time for arguments - she knew that for a fact. They had a job to do, people to keep safe.

"Well I'm sorry, but I love your immature ass too much to just watch you fall off a train, Marston." she said, not even realizing that the words left her mouth. "Next time I'll just leave you, if you're this ungrateful, I promise. Now help me stand up, will you? We gotta go back to camp. Arthur will need our help."

When John didn't move she turned to look him in the eyes - and his shocked face confused her even more.

"What?" she asked.

John swallowed as he looked at her.

"You, uh-- you mean that?"

She didn't understand what he meant at first, so she looked at him in confusion with her head tilted. Then realization hit her - oh, God, no she didn't...

"Shit, I didn't-- I didn't mean to say that." she felt her whole face burn hot from embarassment. "Just-- forget it. Now help me up, will you?"

But John stayed still as he continued to look at her, watching her every move like a hawk. He looked surprised, but not at all confused or upset. He acted as if they were on one of their many robberies and he just found something very valuable.

"Damn it, Marston, if you don't want to move a muscle than just fucking say s--"

Her sentence was left unfinished - since John suddenly held onto her with both of his hands, his hold on her cheeks both firm and gentle. He hissed in pain from the shoulder wound, but regardless of the discomfort he still put his lips against hers, kissing her.

She felt her whole body tremble and it took her some time to finally close her eyes and kiss back as she grabbed onto his arms for support.

Kissing John Marston felt good -- great. Sure, he tasted like whiskey and smelled like cigars, but she finally got to do what she wanted since forever.

After it ended John put his forehead against hers as his fingers played with her hair. She leaned into his touch, appreciating all of him even if it wasn't really the best time for it.

"I, uh-- Thank you." he began after he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "I-- appreciate it. Really. What you did; the Pinkertons, the train and all that..."

She chuckled as her whole face burned from what he said. "Woah, Marston, the girls were right! You really are bad with words."

"Oh, shut up!" he said dismissively as he stood up and reached a hand out for her.

She gladly took it, letting him help her get up - even though she groaned a lot from the pain in her leg.

"John?" she asked as he put one of her arms over his neck and held onto her side gently, getting ready to help her walk - until they can find one of the Pinkertons' horses at least. "Anytime." she continued when he looked her in the eyes and John smiled at her.

"That leg looks pretty bad."

"Feels worse." she tried to let out a laugh. "How's the shoulder?"

"Could be worse." he answered. "We need a horse."

"You read my mind."

John let her rest against a tree when they noticed one of the horses not so far away. He did his best to calm it down, even if his face seemed pale and he was barely standing. Both of them were in a bad shape with cold sweat running down their foreheads from their injuries.

Still, John helped her up onto the horse's back and then sat behind her, keeping her safe as he held onto the reins.

Despite their situation, despite the pain, despite the stress to get back to camp and help Arthur who was surrounded by back-stabbing rats; John looked out for her -- like she looked out for him.

And when he kissed the back of her neck she thought that her injury be damned, it was fucking worth it - jumping after him...

...because she finally knew that John felt the same. He might not have said it with words, but the way he held onto her waist told her everything she needed to know.

[wildlcck]

❛ little jack marston... ❜ she pats both his shoulders with a wide and warm, disbelieving grin, holding him in place by his upper arms for a moment to get a better look at him (and the scratch on that strangely familiar jacket of his). it's like she's holding the past in her hands. ❛ 'course, you ain't so little now. last i saw you, you was barely knee high to a grasshopper. when i first laid eyes on you here, i thought my mind was playin' tricks on me. why, you're the spittin' image of your daddy. but, you got your mama's looks, too. ❜ her smile falters a little at that. ❛ your ma an' pa... they was good people. they was always real good to me. i wish i knew what to say... or how to damn well say it. ❜ of course, she'd say say nothing of the tears that stained the pages which brought the news. or the sleepless nights. nor the restless days. didn't feel like they were her tears to cry. she reaches out an uncertain hand, settling on patting his forearm and clearing her throat. ❛ but, now... well, now i think you look just about the right age to do some drinkin' an' catchin' up with an old family friend. i feel it's only right i give you some warnin', kid- you might have a few years on me. but, i will drink you under the table. or, maybe we could get us some grub- get you fed up. you're built like the side of a dollar bill. ❜ she signals to the barkeep and speaks with him briefly, downing a shot of whiskey from the tray he soon brings them. ❛ so, tell me, jack. what brings you down these parts? just what are you doin' with yerself these days, now that yer grown? what, uh... what about the ranch? ❜ another shot. ❛ i remember your mama sayin' somethin' about you wantin' to be a lawyer or a lawman or somethin'? i remember you bein' quite the storyteller or storywriter too, back in the day. you still writin' stories? can't imagine you'd be short of one or two. ❜

Finding Miss Adler wasn't that hard. He'd heard she was down South, so South he went. She was a bounty hunter, he remembered that much from the time she stopped by Beecher's Hope and asked his Pa and Charles to ride with her, they was going to find Micah. His Ma had been against it but John went anyway, he now knew he felt like he owed it to Arthur to put Micah down. Jack couldn't judge his Pa, he had the same plans for Ross. Evil son of a bitch he was.

It'd been a few days, then weeks of riding, but leave it to Jack to be able to make a fool of himself when meeting her for the first time in years. He'd gotten into a gunfight, bullet had grazed his jacket... ARTHUR'S JACKET. One of the precious few things he had left of his family, he was more annoyed than anything. He'd have to sew it back together. At least he was decent with a thread and needle.

@wildlcck. ❝ you alright? you’re not hurt, are you? ❞

Her voice was familiar. Like a half-forgotten dream, it was. He looked up at her from his spot in a nearby saloon where he was busy patching up the jacket. He gave her a half-smile and nodded. "This? Don't worry 'bout it, Miss Adler—just a scratch. I'm Jack Marston. You knew my Pa." Best to get the introductions out of the way. It'd been seven years, he'd changed a lot in those years.

And yet, she was still Miss Adler. Couldn't bring himself to call her Sadie. His Ma insisted on proper manners, and so had Dutch and Uncle Hosea, or at least that's what he remembered.

[razzafrazzle]

been thinkin about... little shop of horrors alt pantheon au.........

[image description: a page of drawings of four original characters, rusty, chela, sadie, and sara, as characters from little shop of horrors. rusty, a tan-skinned woman with medium-length dark blonde hair, is seymour, and is looking nervous while carrying sara, a large cherry-like plant with sharp teeth, as audrey 2. there are two other drawings of sara, one where she has her mouth open, and another where she is a sprout. next to rusty is chela, a lanky pale-skinned woman with short teal hair and round glasses, as orin, dancing with the text "white woman jumpscare" written next to her. finally is sadie, a bulky demon woman with short purple hair, as audrey, who is waving shyly at the viewer with her other arm in a sling. end id]

[purelyfiction]

from knockout’s spotify: if we ever tried ;; hangman & knockout playlist 

jaded - aerosmith

runaround - van halen

you proof - morgan wallen

only angel - harry styles 

tourist in this town - maddie & tae

two ghosts - harry styles

the tide - niall horan

wonder - shawn mendes

do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys

could’ve just left me alone - alexa cappelli 

devil doesn’t bargain - alec benjamin

all at once - the fray

lose somebody - kygo & onerepublic

r u mine? - arctic monkeys

865 - morgan wallen

8 letters - why don’t we

always - bon jovi

remember you young - thomas rhett

how not to - dan + shay

cruel summer - taylor swift

the way i loved you (taylor’s version) - taylor swift

breathe - kansh

muscle memory - kelsea ballerini

chain smokin’ - morgan wallen

if he wanted to he would - kylie morgan

burn - carrie underwood

small doses - bebe rexha

7 summers - morgan wallen

dangerous - morgan wallen 

wyd now? - sadie jean

leave your life - ed sheeran

still into you - paramore

friend - gracie abrams

please notice - christian leave

fuck up the friendship - leah kate

friends don’t - maddie & tae

that way - tate mcrae

if i didn’t love you - jason aldean, carrie underwood

when you’re gone - acoustic - shawn mendes

feel like shit - tate mcrae

see you later (ten years) - jenna raine

thinkin’ bout me - morgan wallen 

money on me - morgan wallen 

death by a thousand cuts - taylor swift

mr. perfectly fine (taylor’s version) (from the vault) - taylor swift

green eyes - JOSEPH

heartbeat - childish gambino

[blaithnne]

If Hilda season 3 involves Johanna getting back together with Hilda’s biological dad I think it’ll be over for me. Sadie dead thousands injured

[allzelemonz]

Warm Welcome: Micah Bell X Gender Neutral Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Reference to sex Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, reunited, post-Guarma, mentions of cannon character deaths, confessions of love Summary: Micah is the first to find the group after Guarma and he’s been thinking about you for weeks.

When news hit that the robbery went bad you weren’t completely surprised. You and Sadie got everyone out of camp as quickly as possible, finding Charles and a new home. Sadie left a note behind, coded so only one of you would understand it. Between Abigail and Charles’ accounts of the job everyone pieces things together. Whispers circulate as people try to figure out why things really went wrong. Dutch, Javier, Micah, Bill, and Arthur are central parts of the group and are sorely missed. Getting the bodies of your fallen friends would have been much easier with the others here, but you manage.

Just as things really start to look bleak and people are starting to lose hope, you spot something in the distance. You’ve taken the late watch for the past few days, finding peace it it despite the creepy nature surrounding you. Nothing is ever there, nothing of note. But tonight there is a rider on the path. A lone rider coming into camp and you’re the only one awake.

You raise your rifle. “Who’s there?”

The rider stops a few yards from you, dismounting. “Now is that any way to greet your ol’ pal Micah?”

He walks into the light of the lanterns. It is, in fact, Micah. His face is sunburnt, his hair is dried out, and his clothes are ragged, but it’s Micah.

“You’re alive?” You say, lowering your rifle. “What happened?”

He sighs. “I was gone for weeks and all you got is questions?”

“Welcome back, Micah.” You say, mockingly. “Where the hell were you?”

“Ya really know how ta charm a fella.” He says, stepping closer. “We was stuck on an island, nearly died.”

“We found Lenny and Hosea, is everyone else okay?”

“They’re fine.” He clears his throat. “Ya know, cowpoke, all that time got me thinkin’.”

“Don’t you want to go see everyone?” You ask. “Nevermind, I know you don’t care.”

He chuckles. “There’s only one thing I been thinkin’ about since I washed up on that island.”

You shoulder your rifle, giving him a curious look. He steps forward, further into the light, and you can see more of his rough state. His shirt is halfway buttoned and the skin underneath is settling into a tan as the sunburn peels away. He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him.

“Jeez, Micah.” You sigh. “You okay?”

“I will be in a minute, Darlin’.”

He closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours, his hands cupping your face and holding you in place. His lips are chapped, badly, and his hands are tough with calluses. He leans into the kiss, putting all of that pent up thought from his time on the island into it. He only lets you go once he needs to breathe, holding your forehead against his as you both take much needed breaths.

“That was a much better welcome, cowpoke.” He presses a short kiss to your lips and hums as he lets his hands fall to his sides.

“That’s all you could think about?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a few steps back. “Oh, I thought about plenty more, but we got time for all that later.”

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts and refocus. “I’ll, uh, I’ll show you where they put your stuff.”

You turn and walk towards the main house, tip-toeing around the others to grab Micah’s bag and a cup of water. He takes the water from you first, chugging it with a sigh. You hand him the bag and he takes it, opening it right away to get at his hat which he places on his head.

“The washing barrel is around the corner.” You say. “You wanna see the others or do you still not care?”

He chuckles, digging through the bag for his usual clothes. “I’d much rather stay out here with you, Darlin’.”

A shiver goes through you. “Just don’t distract me from watch.”

He steps closer and presses his lips to yours again. “I ain’t promisin’ anything, darlin’.”

You steady your breath as he steps away and disappears around the corner towards the washing barrel. The relief finally comes over you, knowing that your friends are alive and on their way home. Things might finally get back on track.

[pinkysberg]

It makes me crazy when people say that Sadie's arc does not link back to the theme of no glory revenge. she did not get her revenge then have a happy ending, she ended the game alone and unable to connect with anyone even her friends and saying she wanted to die, and we don't know what happened to her after that. At least Arthur was remembered.

(not a knock personally against your post I just I spend a lot of time watching RDR lore videos on youtube a lot of people in the comments do not understand the characters or themes of this story and it drives me crazyyyy. and yeah your Sadie post got me thinkin)

love your Dutch video btw. your name is funny bc I have a horse in RDR2 named pinky haha💖

my post was very much a joke but yes i agree. a lot of ppl seem to think sadie betrays the themes the game sets forth about revenge and i sincerely disagree. my joke was more i think she should be allowed to get revenge without being criticized lol (one: bc her reasoning is more than fair, but two: shes a girl hehe) anyway, you're right she ends her arc in rdr2 in a significantly worse place than she starts and i also argue she's almost perfectly set up for a redemption arc and wouldn't be shocked at all if a new red dead project focused on her. and would welcome it!

[wildlcck]

THE ANGEL THAT IS SUNSHINE (@soughtserenity): Sadie did you ever want kids before everything happened or were you and your Jake happy with things just as they were ?

━━━🥀━━━

the shot glass from earlier lies empty, long abandoned now. she's started helping herself to some generous sips from the bottle instead- one. then, another. ❛ we thought about it. talked about it. we tried our fair share o' times. but... it wa'n't on the cards for us. ❜ lighting a cig with a small, faltering, faraway smile (one of the few she knows now). ❛ i know he woulda loved bein' a daddy, my jakey. he never did say all that much about it. he always said i was all the world he was ever gonna want or need. that our little world, this life of ours we was buildin' together... that was big enough, more than enough, for him. but, he thought about it. i know he did. i knew what he was thinkin', what was on his mind... without him sayin' nothin'. always did. ❜ she can remember fretting something fierce about it. 'cause they'd have this other mouth or mouths to feed and care for on their hands. and how would any kid of hers, with her having this cold stone for a heart, who'd come from a woman like her momma, who'd come from a momma like hers before her be any different? how could she or they be anything other than cold- hard? then, feeling some relief. a little sadness somewhere, too. for him. maybe some for herself. she did get to wondering. thinking if maybe she, if they, couldn't do it different. so, maybe she wasn't the mothering kind. but, in a warm, loving house, a home, with a man who's all love and heart? it could be different. they could do it different. so, she'd started thinking and they'd started talking about a stubborn-hearted, wild thing of a girl running 'round, one with unruly blonde hair. just like her. playing to her and teaching silly old nursery rhymes on the harmonica. or maybe a boy, with his kind eyes and heart. them reading to him and him always with his head stuck in some book. how different it'd be. she lost track of the tries, eventually. stopped counting, talking or wanting about it. got a little angry. a little sad maybe, too. she never did like having nothing taken from her, taken out of her hands. she always wanted to not want something. or to want to. then, she came across that little lopsided donkey-horse again, tucked away someplace, a little dusty now. the one he'd been trying to carve for what seemed like forever (she'd picked splinter after splinter out of his hands- he never was all that handy or practical, her jake). she was always saying how it looked more like an ass. he always laughed at that. but, he was determined, all right. he told her he was gonna make a whole ranch, even if it killed him (and his damn hands). how they'd learn their girl or boy all about theirs. how she could teach them to ride someday. one night, when they was doing the washing up, she wanted to tell him how she loved that stupid little horse. and him. about everything and all the nothing. then, a plate slipped from her hands. and then, she wanted nothing more than to break, to shatter them one after the other. so, she did, sobbing or screaming or something in between the two. he didn't say a word, her jake. just tended gently to her bloodied hands, all ridden with cuts. wiped carefully at the tears. held her in his warm, loving arms. he didn't say nothing when she replaced the plates a day or so later. just held her a little tighter at night, in the dark and quiet. ❛ he woulda made a great daddy, ma jake. the best. ❜

[eisforeidolon]

Q: When you have to get into character, like a crying scene, like when Dean's crying on the rock because spoiler alert Mary dies -

Jared: Wow!

Jensen: Wait, when I'm what? When Dean's crying on the rock? [fan repeats] Oh, yeahyeahyeahyeah. [pause] Right.

Q: How do you get into - both of you - how do you get into that character - or, not character, like zone, I guess? Into that crying role? And then when it's over, are you like, [fake tough voice] 'I'm ready to go fight somebody', are you in the feels all day after?

Jensen: Yeah, that's how I am in real life. I'll watch a - a commercial and I'll be like [exaggerated distressed inhale, gets up and walks off], 'I wanna go fight somebody!' No, I just go to the bathroom for some tissue.

Jared: I just think of the saddest moment of my life. No, I think he and I are similar. One of my least favorite things I can see on a script is stage direction saying they break down, or they cry. Or something. And so many scenes in Supernatural - I can't necessarily name one right now - but so many scenes that didn't say Dean cries or Sam cries or Dean breaks down or Sam breaks down? We did, you know? And so many scenes also, vice versa, say Sam sheds a tear, Dean breaks down - it just didn't, it didn't feel right? So we just kind of - I think we just let the scenes happen? I feel like as the seasons progressed, when we get to like 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and so on and so forth? [points to baby crying in audience] You feel me! I feel like it was just one of those things where we'd do a scene and we'd rehearse it and be like, 'Oh, wow! That felt more powerful than I anticipated looking at the page.' [Jensen nods] So then you get to set and one of the characters kinda breaks down a little bit - okay, go with it! And vice versa. It'd be a really sadly written scene where they're talking about loss or fear or something, but it didn't feel like the characters would approach it with sadness as much as frustration? So it's - I think by - pretty quickly we had a pretty good idea of who Sam and Dean were, and then as the show progressed, the writers kind of wrote Sam and Dean to Jared and Jensen, and so they trusted us with like, 'Hey if this is a scene where y'all make a joke, we're not gonna write Dean says kiddingly yadda yadda or Sam says, you know, emotionally yadda yadda. They just kinda wrote our dialogue. And, like, y'all do y'all's thing! So I feel like that's more how I approach it.

Jensen: There's also a large capacity of confidence within the character that we have as actors. [Jared: Right.] And I mean I - to brag on him a bit [hits Jared's knee] - I remember watching him, cause in the first season, a little episode called Heart. Sam loses - what was her name? [Audience: Madison!] Madison! Yeah, and has a really, y'know, emotional scene. And Jared really got into a headspace that day, and I remember watching him on set and he was - I mean, just in a corner, just like sittin on the floor, just kinda rocking. And these lighting setups can take half hour, forty five minutes sometimes. And he was staying in this emotional - you can't do that for ten hours a day. [Jared shakes his head no.] And I remember asking him, I was like, 'Dude, what are you thinkin about?' And he was like, 'I'm thinking about my dog Sadie dying.' And that's, that's - and I mean, my God, like how emotionally taxing that must have been for him to do that for several hours, just to stay in an emotional state so that when they yelled action, he could shed tears. And -

Jared: That was the last time I did that.

Jensen: That was the last time he did it. And I watched him as not just as a scene partner and a friend, but I got to watch him as an audience member and see Jared figure out a way to tell Sam's story through actual emotion that he had for the character. And so when we got to season 15 and we had that barn scene, those weren't two actors thinking about something else that made them emotional so that they could put on an emotional face for their character. These were two actors who were so deeply invested and confident in their character that all we had to think about was Dean dying and Sam losing his brother. And the tears, and the emotion, just kind of swept us up. So yeah, it evolved over the course of the show. And getting out of it when they yelled cut? Sometimes - you know, you're essentially tricking your body into thinking that something horrible is happening? And your body is reacting by -

Jared: Your body doesn't know.

Jensen: Your body is - I remember, there were several times but I remember the one time when I was recounting Dean's experience in hell to Sam and they yelled cut and I had to walk away, because my body was shaking, because my body was thinking that I was going through something very traumatic. And it's interesting because those leave little scars on your heart. Those leave little impressions on your soul, because your body reacted to what they thought were real. And even though we knew in our brain it wasn't - we went through that process, physically. And so yeah, I had to go and walk that off because I couldn't stop - the tears just kept coming and my body was shaking and I was like [exaggerated blinking, shaking out his hands]. And so, you know.

Q: So you weren't ready to go fight anybody after?

Jared: He would've.

Jensen: Yeah, you know, I went and boxed a tree.

Jared: And we're not, like, woo-woo guys. We're southern. We're both Texans, born and bred [audience cheers] - yeah, thank you. The idea that someone's like, 'Oh, well if you do a crying scene you're gonna go home and you're gonna feel exhausted cause your body was just crying.' I'm like [loud scoffing noise]. Surrrre. Like I'm acting, I memorized the lines. But it's legit. Having done it now for 23 years, done 450 episodes of television? Yeah, you do a scene where everybody's having a good time and riding horses or laughing or joking or you're - nutcracker whatever? You gotta go home and you're laughing. You feel like you should invite friends. You do a scene where someone's, where your brother is dying? I slept for days after we shot that barn sequence. I just had no energy, I had no dopamine in my body. And I was like, this is really weird, I slept eight hours last night, I never sleep eight hours, why can I not get out of bed to go to the bathroom or whatever?

Jensen: It's strange that an emotional scene is more physically taxing on you than a day of fight scenes. It's strange but it just is, it's coming from within and it just exhausts you.

Jared: Yeah, yeah.

Jensen: It's also one of those things - just like a day of fight scenes - where at the end of it? Man, you really feel like you hung your hat on that day. Like I put in the work today. [Jared nods along and mouths yeah and same] Like I felt that, and that's always a good feeling when you know you - when you feel like you really delivered.

[forbiddenwestern]

all the ppl hc’ing sadie adler as a lesbian got me thinkin about when ppl did that to me bc I was afab and masc and they never believed I could like men bc of that (like sadie obviously loves jakey in the same way I love my boyfriend, I genuinely dk how anyone can doubt that unless theyve never had reciprocated love) like ppl never consider egg headcanons bc they like to pretend trans ppl don’t exist and make every masc afab person a lesbian to erase us (so fkn typical for trans men esp ones who like men like we can never ever escape erasure) but sadie’s a whole egg to me. every typical transmasc trait in a person but ppl read it as butchy bc they are unacquainted with trans men and we make them uncomfortable bc how dare a pussy haver possess masculine traits but be too defiant to accept simple tomboyism. like the phenomenon of ‘we lost a lesbian’ about elliot page, they trivialize what we’re actually like to reduce us to our genitals so they dont gotta question too much if they think we’re hot as a girl. and u can be afab and edgy and still like men idk why so many people have gotta pretend like thats impossible

[fandomficsnstuff]

Redemption For All - 17

(Warnings: FLUFF, fluff everywhere! Fluff for you, fluff for your family, fluff for your friends, everybody gets fluff!<3)

Notes: I do NOT speak spanish but I think it is a very beautiful language and sadly all I can say in spanish is ‘I can’t speak spanish’, so I used google translate, sorry. Some words are in Italic, which is the translated words, and others are just straight up spanish.

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

Arthur’s large hand felt like a blissful anchor on her belly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the growing bulge, his eyes trained on it as he sat near her stomach. He’d told her about Isaac, briefly, he’d told her about how he found them, what happened… it still left him shell shocked that she stayed with him after hearing that, how he failed to protect them... She knew what kind of man he was, what their life would be, and still she said yes to marrying him and now she was carrying his child. A part of him hoped it was a girl… he’d like that… he could picture the baby as a little girl. He wondered if she’d have his hair or Leah’s. Maybe she’d have his hair but Leah’s eyes, those beautiful green orbs. No matter what, he’d be there for this baby, and Leah. He’d be there for them both, no shortcuts, no delays, they came first and always would. He was already thinking about names when he felt her stir, his eyes moving up to Leah to find her looking down at him, a smile on her lips “you’re adorable” she mumbled, still half-asleep, yawning tiredly, stretching her arms above her head before looking out the nearby window. It’d been two weeks since she told him, which put her around three months now, the bulge a little more noticeable through her clothes, already causing some irritation for her due to her pants not accommodating the new size.

“I was thinkin’, maybe you could go into Saint Denis and get somethin’ more… comfortable” he muttered, Leah raising a brow at him with a small smirk “without you?”

“I ain’t got no sense ‘bout that, sweetheart, ain’t got not sense ‘bout anythin’ to do with style or clothes” he admitted and Leah chuckled briefly “hmmm. I’ll go into Rhodes, it’s less expensive, and I’ll take Abigail with me-”

“And Sadie.”

“Why?”

“I’ve seen her with a gun, darlin’. She’d fight the devil, and win” Arthur pointed out with amusement and Leah rolled her eyes “fine, if she wants to, she can come with us” Leah decided and Arthur smirked at her, moving up further to kiss her gently, Leah enjoying the kiss, eagerly kissing him back. “So… I heard something about the bank in Saint Denis?”

“Oh, you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that, sweetheart-”

“I’ll always worry, Arthur” she pointed out with amusement before reaching a hand up, gently running it through his hair, Arthur turning to kiss her wrist and she smiled at the soft feeling. “Hey, I was wondering… maybe we should get our pictures taken?”

“You’d want that?”

“Yeah, I do…”

“Well, if it’ll make you happy” Arthur stated with an easy smirk and Leah chuckled, shaking her head “already spoiling me.”

“‘course I am” he teased, kissing her softly before leaning back, kissing her bump and getting up to get dressed, Leah watching the sight with a smirk. “I’ll go find Sadie. Maybe when you get back, we can go into Saint Denis to get our likeness taken” Arthur stated with a smirk over his shoulder, Leah sighing softly “unless Dutch has you running off somewhere on some job. Or Pearson sends you out to get food. Or Hosea needs your help scamming some idiots” Leah stated casually, giving Arthur a soft smile to silently let him know that she wasn’t complaining. “We’ll see if you’re free” she stated with a smirk and Arthur nodded, walking over while buttoning up his shirt, leaning down and kissing her before taking his hat and leaving, Leah humming quietly, enjoying the comforts of her bed for a while longer before getting ready for the day.

------------------------------------------------------------

Leah nervously shifted in the new clothes. It was more like what Sadie wore than anything the girls in camp wore. The shirt she wore was a soft cotton white, a soft corset tied gently around her waist underneath, held up by small straps over her shoulders, the last few top buttons undone on her shirt, the sleeves rolled up her arms, the ends tucked into the new pants she were wearing, they were loose and a light dirt brown, held up by dark leather suspenders. Her boots were more comfortable despite the small heel on the back, her clothes mimicking one of the boys, or Sadie, who had happily come along, already knowing where to find the clothes. “Well, look at you, Doc!” Saide called out when Leah walked out from the changing room, a smirk on her lips as she nodded to herself and looked down “I like it… it’s so much more comfortable than I thought” she admitted, looking down at herself and Sadie nodded, arms crossed over her chest with a smirk “damn right it is. What do you think, Abigail?”

“I think you look like a real outlaw now” she whispered with giddiness and Leah giggled, a grin on her lips as the girls both kept fussing over her, adjusting the smallest things while complimenting her, it felt nice… “alright now, let’s get you to Saint Denis!”

“What?”

“We’re meetin’ Arthur there, silly” Sadie revealed and Leah turned to Abigail who nodded with a smirk “c’mon, he’s waiting at that photo place. Can’t believe you’re ‘bout to have your picture taken!” Abigail revealed with amusement, sitting in the back of the wagon with Leah as Saide sat at the reins, steering them out of Rhodes and towards Saint Denis.

The trip was filled with laughs and jokes, making it seem much shorter than intended and suddenly they were outside the small shop, Sadie parking the wagon, the girls noticing Arthur’s horse and Leah grinned, almost jumping down the wagon, Abigail smiling at Sadie at Leah’s giddiness and joy. Leah peeked her head inside, looking around, the different screens set up for different backgrounds so that people could choose their background, everything from lake-side to desert plains, lush forests to sunny plains. “Ma’am, can I help you?” Leah turned around at the voice, the man raising his brows at her in an expecting way and Leah nervously fiddled with her fingers “I’m meeting someone here, his name is-”

“Ah! You must be Mrs. Kilgore!” he exclaimed, Leah hesitating before nodding with a forced smile “that I am. Uhm, where’s-... Mr. Kilgore?” she asked, the man gesturing to a room in the back “he’s just getting ready. Are you-... wearing… that?” he asked as politely as possible with his question and tone, Leah looking down at herself, Sadie stepping forward “Why? You think somethin’ wrong with what she’s wearin’?” she asked, the man blushing “no! No, no, of course not, it’s just… people usually chose to dress-”

“It’s in the back, Mr. ‘Kilgore’ took it with him” Abigail spoke up, Leah frowning at her but she just smirked. “Ah, that must’ve been what arrived in the-” he cleared his throat “yes, of course. Well, Mrs. Kilgore, you’re free to change if you want, your attire is in the second room to the left” he stated, going back to the old camera to set everything up and ready, Abigail and Sadie guiding Leah to a separate room, Leah’s eyes widening in shock at the dress that hung up and ready to be put on. “Did you really think I’d ever let you forget about that dress? I’d kill you to have it” Abigail half-joked, walking over to the dress to get it ready, Sadie smiling fondly at Leah “well go on then, ain’t no way I don’t get a chance to look at you in that dress” she half-joked, Leah letting out a shaky breath. At first, she’d been very hesitant, even loathing the dress and the evening she had to wear it, but after throwing up that night… after the idea of being pregnant came to her, while in that dress… it brought tears to her eyes. “We can leave and come back-”

“No. No I need help getting into that, there’s no way that I’m getting into that hellish thing on my own” she half-joked, Abigail and Sadie chuckling before helping Leah out of her current clothes and into the fancy ball gown, the jewelry laying nearby and while Sadie helped her put them on, Abigail began on her hair, but instead of pulling it up, she took the front of her hair and tied it softly at the back of her head, twisting the strands gently to create a rolling pattern, tugging them loose a little so that it didn’t look as tight and looked a little more natural and comfortable, a few hairs hanging around her face, framing it perfectly, her hair a little curly and wavy after being in braids for so long, every day and night. “I don’t have any makeup-”

“Good, you don’t need all that” Sadie stated with a smirk, Leah giving her a shy smile before nodding. There was a knock on the door, making Leah flinch but Abigail responded “we’re ready!” she called, opening the door for Leah, Sadie walking out and Leah was after her. In front of the camera stood Arthur, fiddling with the fancy suit he was wearing, standing near two chairs with a small round table in between them, the background a lake-side view with the sun shining on the horizon. “Ah, fantastic, you look absolutely stunning, Mrs. Kilgore!” the cameraman complimented, Leah’s cheeks turning dark with a blush and Arthur looked up, his eyes widening, neck, cheeks and the tip of his ears all turning red, his heart racing in his chest as his eyes moved over her figure. She looked just like that evening, except for her hair, and this time her face seemed more… natural. No blush, nothing on her lips or her eyelashes. Just her. And on her left ring finger, the diamond ring that he’d bought her, sitting proudly there, announcing that she’d said yes. She wanted to marry him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, by his side, through sickness and health, for good or for worse, she was with him. His wife.

“You look….”

“Dolled up?” Leah asked nervously as she approached, Arthur reaching out, greeting her and taking her gently by the hips, Leah placing her hands on his shoulders, admiring the suit he was in. It was the same from the night he came back after the poker game. “You look beautiful” Arthur corrected softly and in any other circumstance, she would’ve fake barfed from how sugar sweet it all was, but it felt different… good… It felt different in a good way when it was him. When it was her. When it was both of them. “Mr., Mrs. Kilgore? You ready to have your likeness taken?” the man asked, snapping them both out of their trance and Arthur cleared his throat, nodding as he stepped back a little, taking her hand “I am if she is” he stated politely and Leah smiled at him “I see now why you brought this dress with you. You look handsome, Mr. Kilgore” she stated the name teasingly and Arthur chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck shyly “c’mon” he urged her closer, turning to the cameraman awkwardly “s-so, uh… how you want us?” he asked nervously and the man studied them, narrowing his eyes before humming “it’s up to the two of you. I could suggest a few poses but it will be your likeness, you have to be comfortable” the man advised and Arthur nodded, guiding Leah to the chair, moving to stand behind her awkwardly, a little off to the side, his body stiff and nervous “l-like this?”

“Are you comfortable?”

“No, but…” Arthur trailed off and Leah looked up at him, giving him a soft smile, Arthur looking down at her, his nerves fading and he smiled softly, their eyes locked, his hand on her shoulder and she lifted her hand, holding it tightly on her shoulder. Suddenly, there was a snapping sound, a flash of light and smoke rising from some sort of rod and holder, the picture taken and the man stepped back with a large grin “perfect!” he proclaimed and Leah blushed, smiling at the ground before getting an idea “can we take one more? One for each of us” she asked softly and the man nodded with a smile “of course, same as before, get comfortable” he suggested and Leah looked up at Arthur “maybe you could sit down? If you’re comfortable with it?”

“What ‘bout you?”

“I could stand-”

“Seems a bit… demeanin’” he muttered nervously, Leah grinning up at him “you’re just about the sweetest person I’ve ever met. I don’t mind standing” she whispered with a smirk, already getting up, Arthur awkwardly sitting down on the chair, Leah taking his place, a little behind the chair and off to the side. “Good, good. Could you possibly place your hand on his shoulder?” the man behind the camera asked and Leah hesitantly did as told, her left hand on Arthur’s left shoulder, her right hand behind his back at the nape of his neck, just out of view of the camera, her fingers gently playing with the short strands, feeling Arthur relax under her hand at the small gesture. “Perfect, now, hold still…” there was a snap and a flash of light again, some smoke rising from the stick and the holder and the man walked around the camera again “magnificent! You two are honestly one of the most inspiring, genuine subjects I have ever worked with!”

“You’re just saying that because we’re paying” Arthur muttered jokingly and Leah chuckled, leaning down and kissed his temple before straightening up again. She looked at Abigail and Sadie, waving them over with a grin, the two women approaching awkwardly and Arthur got up from the chair, Leah frowning at him. “But-”

“It’s alright, darlin’” he whispered in that deep, raspy voice, making her nod with a grin, kissing him softly before turning to Sadie and Abigail, facing the camera “I ain’t ever thought I’d have my likeness taken, other than that one of the-... family” Abigail whispered with excitement, Sadie chuckling briefly “ain’t had my likeness taken since my wedding day…” she mumbled and Leah smiled at her, wrapping an arm around her and then an arm around Abigail. “To unlikely friendships” she stated softly, Abigail and Sadie mimicking her, wrapping their arms around her, the picture being taken and Leah giggled, holding up a finger “hold on” she hurried to the changing room with Abigail, a grin on her lips. Soon after, she emerged in the new clothes she’d bought this day, approaching the camera, taking place in front of it like before, in between Abigail and Sadie, holding them close as another picture was taken, Arthur watching from the sidelines. It didn’t seem like she knew that each photograph cost something but he didn’t have the heart, nor the will, to tell her, not when she smiled like that…

The whole way back from Saint Denis, Leah was fawning over the pictures, going through them with Abigail, Sadie driving the wagon with Arthur riding next to the wagon, a smile on his lips as he took note of how happy Leah seemed. She seemed more at ease in her new clothes, like she was meant to be wearing them all along, and not the clothes she had arrived in a little over a year ago. As they arrived at camp, Leah couldn’t wait to show the pictures to everyone, her glee shining out of her like a bright star and Arthur chuckled at her eagerness. “I ain’t never seen her like that” Sadie whispered, Abigail having already gone with Leah, Arthur just smiling at Leah “me neither… guess that means today wasn’t horrible” he joked and Sadie scoffed “you kiddin’? Look at her, she’s like a little kid waitin’ on Christmas” Sadie stated half-jokingly, Arthur chuckling as he saddled off, Sadie getting down from the wagon. “You really love her, don’t you?” Sadie asked softly as they walked towards the others, Arthur looking down with a smile before nodding, glancing at Sadie as she nodded. “I ain’t ever had a friend… I mean, one that I could tell everythin’ to, one I could go to with anythin’... that was always my Jake… but she… she’s my friend…”

“Yeah, she has that effect on people” Arthur half-joked and Sadie scoffed with amusement “so… you really believe her, ‘bout the whole… 1899 thing?”

“I do… her clothes, that weird light stick of hers, those doctor things in her bag, that bag of hers, the way she talks, acts, all the stuff she knows… it all seems like… like things that aren’t meant to happen yet” he admitted, Sadie watching Leah closely. She’d never seen someone be so… informal when getting their likeness taken, simply huddling together in front of the camera… and her clothes, the clothes she’d worn every day up until now, were strange to say the least. Her bag that no one quite seemed to know how to open, the way she carried herself, talked, acted. She was a female doctor, the things in that bag of hers too strange to make up as a fantasy…

“How’d she get here? She ain’t ever talked about it.” “She hasn’t talked about it with anyone, I think… she was out driving, something she calls a ‘car’... it ain’t a wagon, per say, but I suppose it’s a bit like it… it was snowin’ and at night, there was a deer in the road so she tried to drive around it to avoid hitting it, she crashed into a tree… hit her head… she says she walked some after getting that bag of hers but then passed out… me ‘n Charles found her out on the plains, cold as ice…” Arthur admitted with a frown, Sadie thinking it all over before nodding “well… she showed up for one reason or ‘nother… I ain’t one to believe in fate, but… there’s just somethin’ about her” Sadie admitted and Arthur chuckled again “she also has that effect on people” he stated and Sadie chuckled, nodding. “Alright now, go on, go to her” Sadie ordered and Arthur nodded, tipping his hat to her before walking over to Leah, wrapping an arm around her midsection, taking the picture she offered him of the two of them, leaning into his side as she looked at her own picture of them, the two other pictures under the one she was looking at now, no doubt next in line for the admiring.