#and that's why i am just making more and more sleepy fellers

[tdutb]

sleepy feller

@oobilygoobilyweezerbeezers

[assless-chapstick]

Who pulls the all nighters in the couch AU? Who has the perfect sleep schedule? Who slams down a coffee made with red bull instead of water and says they've been awake for 3 days?

Oooh feller, we was just talking about this on the server, and I am PRE PARED, let me tell you!!

I have a sleep disorder, so I think about sleep A LOT, and this is the shit I am ABOUT. MAXIMUM CATHARSIS BABY!! Anyway…

Arthur is definitely one of those bastards that can fall asleep anywhere. Sitting down, standing up, crowded bus, IMAX movie theatre, it doesn’t matter – Arthur wants to sleep and he simply wills it into existence. He doesn’t need to keep to a strict sleep schedule, really, because he can just… sleep whenever he wants, really. He needs like a minimum 6 hours to be a happy camper the next day, but usually gets 8. He’s an early bird, and is usually awake before the rest of the boys – 6 am, every day. He treasures the dawn hours, cuz that’s his like, alone time, when he thinks and writes and makes coffee so that the others can have it right when they wake up.

On weekends when he doesn’t work, he wakes up at 6, spends 30 minutes on twitter, gets up to make coffee, and returns to bed around 7 to cuddle with Charles and sleep some more until 9.

This all drives John absolutely insane, of course. John is the all-nighter boy, the one who stays up until 6am, sleeps for 45 minutes, then goes to class. It’s not that he just doesn’t sleep, or drinks too much caffeine – he definitely drinks too much caffeine, but that’s the symptom, not the cause.

John hasn’t slept the whole night through any time in recent memory. He has trouble falling asleep and staying asleep, and even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t enjoy sleep. The nightmares he has are so intense and so frequent and terrifying that he has a really hard time convincing himself to go to bed at night, and the anxiety of dreams keeps him up.

I think he used to take medication to help him sleep, a couple years ago, but that only made the nightmares worse, more vivid and real and he would wake up feeling out of breath, choked and strangled and scared and that just made the panic worse. That was a really dark time for him, too, before they got his medication all sorted out; he’s much better now, bur the medication doesn’t really help with the dreams.

That’s why he spends so much time in Arthur’s bed, right? The sound of Arthur's (and nowadays, Charles’s) slow, soft breathing, how he can tuck his perpetually chilly hands into Arthur’s armpits to keep them warm, the way he can feel Charles’s heartbeat against his back as he lies awake (Charles is a clingy cuddler, will grab whatever is closest and not let go til dawn); all of it helps John feel at ease, helps relax him enough he can get to sleep, and when the nightmares wake him up, the same presence of another person beside him and their steady breathing help him calm down.

His favourite sleep is that deep, dreamless sleep where you sink into darkness for a couple hours and wake up feeling a little less tired than when you went down. Problem is, dream-sleep is the restful sleep, right, so he doesn’t get a lot of rest. That’s why he’s always pounding energy drinks and chasing them with black coffee, that’s why he’s taking naps at like 7pm in front of the tv (if he fills his dreams with TV noise, it keeps the bad shit at bay), and that’s probably why he can be a bit of a bitch a lot of the time. He’s just fucking tired all the time.

(I think once, after a particularly bad night, around exam time, he’d just crawled into Javi’s lap and had a long, frustrated cry about it, really let it all out as Javi held him and rubbed his back and made soothing noises as John just says like, “Im so tired, Javi, I’m just so fucking tired.”)

I think that’s a cause of friction in John and Javi’s relationship, too. For a long time, John wouldn’t really let Javi sleep over. He wouldn’t say no or tell Javi what was up, he kind of just always had an excuse for Javi to not stay the night, and it made Javi feel kind of like John didn’t want him around. Eventually, though, John had to admit that like, yeah he wants Javi to stay over but he doesn’t want Javi to see that side of him, know just how fucked up he is…

They’re past that now, though, and Javi is really good about it. He’s a pretty average sleeper, but he definitely doesn’t have a problem falling or staying sleep. He has a pretty solid before bed routine, though, I think; changes into his pajamas (t-shirt n pj pants), brushes his teeth (electric toothbrush), lies down in bed and reads or listens to a podcast for a half an hour while sipping on a glass of warm water (something he would do with his mom as a kid).

Charles on the other hand… Charles could use a good dose of Sleep Hygiene, starting with any semblance of a bedtime routine. There are nights where he falls asleep at his desk while studying and wakes up with a sore neck when the alarm on his phone goes off, or he’ll take one of his textbooks to bed to read and end up dropping it on his face or something. He pushes himself really hard, and sometimes that means he doesn’t get the sleep he needs.

He also has a lot of anxiety, I think, and that can tend to keep him awake at times. When it’s quiet and dark and his mind has time to wander, that’s when all the worry starts to set in and he finds it really hard to sleep when that happens. He used to get out of bed and go do something, like stress-clean or drive to McDonald’s or something but now that he spends so much time in Arthur’s bed, he doesn’t do that; it’s kind of hard to get out of bed to go on a YouTube binge when you’ve got 180lbs of sleepy man meat drapped over you, drooling like a dog, and John has just managed to fall asleep and if you wake him, he will not get back to sleep for another hour or two. So in a way, that’s helpful, cuz Charles can kind of focus on like, counting Arthur’s breaths or running his hands through John’s hair (braiding it so John wakes up with waves that make him look a little like a stretched-out Shirley Temple) and that helps ease his mind.

I think that’s about it, feller!! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to blatantly project my issues onto these good good boys, mister!

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 39)

Country Pursuits

Reader’s art dealer job has some unfortunate (but is it really unfortunate..? You’ll see) results. Arthur starts making plans. The bank job is looming on the horizon, y’all... Enjoy!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

The men were out doing the art dealer job. My art dealer job. I felt full of nervous energy, sitting by the campfire with my sketchbook and pencil, tapping the end of it against the page as I looked around for something to draw that'd take my mind off of it. 

The day had been pretty uneventful until then. Arthur and I had returned to camp with a pair of pronghorns for Pearson and the gang, so nobody commented on the fact that we'd spent the evening away from camp. I thought that was a nice trade. Food for their silence. Not even Dutch had anything to say, only stopping to tell Arthur that he had been thinking of how to deal with Bronte, and that he'd need to talk to him once he, John and Lenny returned from stealing those paintings. 

That was so long ago, it felt like. The boys had only been gone a couple of hours and realistically it was going to take a few with how far they'd be travelling to Valentine, then Emerald Ranch provided everything went correctly (Hosea had spoken to a friend of his over there, Seamus, who'd be taking the art off our hands). Even so, I was restless the entire time. 

I focused my attention on Javier's guitar where it was leaning up against a barrel, and started drawing it. I sketched it to fill up a page, giving it plenty of detail in a bid to stretch out the process, have it consume more time before the boys got back. I could only pray that the job went well, considering I'd brought it to them. If anything went wrong, I wouldn't be able to stomach it.

"You, uh, you ever drawn me in that book o' yours?" The log I was sitting on shifted unsteadily as someone dropped in beside me. Micah. I froze for a moment, eyes going wide with shock.

Micah hadn't been particularly friendly with me as of late, given our quarrels and the whole Arthur kicking his front teeth in thing. He either didn't speak to me at all or he barked some order at me, got me to do something for him. A lot of which, I simply didn't do. I wanted to be useful, not a damn servant. 

"Why, you gonna demand that I do so if I say no?" I asked, not taking my eyes from the guitar, carrying on sketching. Micah chuckled, and my throat itched from cigarette smoke as he exhaled it, not bothering to direct it away from me. 

"Well, would be nice if you did. Show a little friendliness, make out like you might just be able to stand me," it was all spoken in jest. I finally looked at him. 

"I stood you for a long time, remember? More than that, thought you were a decent feller if you tried."

"Well, I told you you was wrong, that this is just who I am."

"Yeah and I never believed you. Though, that was 'bout the only thing that came out of your mouth that's true, so I should've."

"You saying I'm a liar, princess?" He questioned and my mood withered further, eyelids lowering in irritation. 

"I ain't gonna waste my breath asking you again, Micah. You know I don't like you calling me that," I deadpanned, and I heard him exhale a drawn out breath. "And lying might not be the right word for it. Twisting things, though, that you do plenty of."

"Still think I was going 'round trying to convince people I'd fucked you? That's all rather conceited of you, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. Not half as conceited as you thinking me showing you the barest of kindnesses means I must want you to kiss me," I quipped back, and there was a pause before he made an unconvincing chuckle. 

"Whatever," he breathed, sucking on his cigarette hard enough to hollow his cheeks, the end glowing bright before ebbing again when he exhaled the smoke; once again in my direction. It made my eyes water.

"I don't wish to be unfriendly with you, Micah. I never was one for conflict."

"Then I guess you chose the wrong business, this ain't a life that comes free of conflict. That pretty gash in your neck's some pretty solid evidence of that," he muttered, gesturing to my throat. 

Every time someone mentioned it, it burned. 

"I can't argue with that. I guess I could be more clear; conflict with people that once upon a time I got along with, dare I say liked," I replied, snapping my sketchbook closed when I became too distracted to carry on. 

"You liked me?" He smiled and spoke in a sickly tone that was completely condescending and not in the least bit pleasant or sincere. "First time I've ever been told that. Truly, I am touched."

"Maybe it'd happen more often if you didn't go 'round treating people like crap."

"I've never treated you like crap," he told me in all seriousness, brow forming a heavy line above his eyes. I cocked a brow at him and snorted. 

"You ain't? How about dumping all your shit on me, telling me to wash this, fix that, I stood in horse shit, scrub my boots? And saying all those dirty things to Arthur right in front of me?" I provoked and he laughed, shaking his head. Anger fizzed up and over inside. "And telling me that all I'm worth is my unsullied body, and you only wanted to fuck me 'cause I'm a virgin?"

Micah's eyes snapped to me at that, and it was a fair bit of time before he responded. 

"If I'd've buttered you up real good, would you have been up for it? If I whispered sweet nothings in your ear and called you beautiful and scattered rose petals on the bedroll? Would you have fucked me then?" He levelled his gaze to me, looking directly at me after flicking his spent cigarette away.

"No!"

"Then what's your problem? So what if that's all I wanted you for, if I weren't gonna get you anyway?"

"Well, I suppose you would look at it that way."

"What way do you look at it? Educate me."

"It just weren't nice having that spat at me like I was nothing, like I was completely useless to you since I weren't gonna give you what you wanted. Especially with how well we worked together, how we got along whenever you weren't in one of your moods."

"Well, I guess I figured I owed you the truth. Otherwise you'd be walking 'round thinking you'd hurt my feelings, feelin' guilty, and we can't have that," he shrugged and I rolled my eyes, looking away. "You got an attitude somewhere in you," he added at that. He was smirking. 

I didn't respond, opening up my sketchbook again and flicking through it absentmindedly, opening it to a blank page.

"Well, you should know," he began, "I ain't got no hard feelings. It's pretty clear the ship has sailed, anyway."

"I'm sorry?" I questioned, looking at him. 

"You think nobody notices when you walk in here with Morgan, acting like he ain't been pokin' you all night? The bags under your eyes are as tellin' as they are unflattering, my dear," his tone was low and dirty and I screwed my face up in distaste. "You ain't no virgin no more."

"Whatever," I hissed, though my face felt hot. 

"Those marks on your neck, too, you didn't get those from that O'Driscoll's knife, did you, sugar plum? Likes doing that, does he? Marking what's his," he added, and I stared at him, mouth agape. He was unbearably audacious!

"I don't know. But he sure liked kicking your teeth in," I reminded him, narrowing my eyes. His lip curled up, revealing the gap in his teeth, and he wriggled his tongue between them crudely. I wrinkled my nose. "Just leave me alone," I eventually sighed. 

His nasty little laugh petered off as he surprisingly did as he was told.

-

I must have dozed off at some point when I was supposed to be darning a pair of socks, leaned up against the large tree by the fire. I woke with a start when something tapped my arm; for a moment I was ready to receive a lecture from Miss Grimshaw for sleeping on the job, but instead a hand holding a bundle of cash was in front of my face. My eyes travelled up the arm it was attached to and settled on John.

"Here's your share, sleepy head. Get up before someone sees you, I know Hosea don't take kindly to people doing what you're doing," he advised me, and I took the cash from him, my brows raising. 

"Wow, this is my cut? Just for setting it up? You must've got a lot."

"Yeah, we didn't do too badly at all," John nodded. 

"Did it go okay?"

Amusement twisted his features. 

"Yeah, went off without a hitch. We all rode off without having to fire a single bullet, no one was hurt on the job," he began, and I was about to voice my relief when he continued, "didn't stop Lenny from fucking his leg up somehow on the way back."

"What?" I balked, sitting up. John stepped aside and gestured to where Arthur was helping Lenny down off his horse. Well, dragging him off of it with control while Lenny clung to him, wincing at every jostle of his leg.

I bolted up and raced over there, John hot behind me.

"Lenny! What happened? Are you alright?" I asked uselessly holding my arms out towards him and Arthur in some vague attempt at offering to help. Arthur managed to get him on the ground, balancing on one foot. 

"Sure," Lenny said, face frozen in a grimace, "don't worry, ain't nothing to worry about."

"The kid's horse threw him," Arthur informed me, mild amusement on his face too. Neither Arthur or John seemed too concerned, which brought me some relief. 

I looked at the horse in question. Little, tiny Maggie. 

"She threw you?" I murmured. 

"She saw a snake and got spooked, that's all."

"Was pretty impressive, the way he landed on his feet," Arthur mused. 

"Till he hit the floor, screaming bloody murder," John added and they both chuckled. 

"Glad it's so amusing," Lenny sighed, looking nothing short of mortified. 

"We just robbed a whole bunch of valuable artwork from a serious collector without a single problem, but you can't manage to ride home? Yeah, it's a little amusing. Don't worry, it don't look broken, you probably just sprained it," John said. Lenny shook his head, leaning heavily on both Arthur and John as they helped him towards the house. Arthur called Hosea over, who immediately joined us. 

They set Lenny down on a chair inside, and Hosea kneeled down in front of him. He inspected the injured ankle, asking him about the pain; where it was, how bad it was, if he felt anything snap. Hosea seemed satisfied after some investigation that no bones were broken, but he needed to rest it. He sent me off to fetch some medical supplies, and when I returned he bandaged up the ankle firmly to support the joint, and Arthur gave Lenny some whiskey for the pain, patting him on the shoulder. 

"Now, you just take it easy for a few days, keep your foot up. You keep moving around on it, you'll make it worse," Hosea explained, tying off the bandage before pushing up to his feet, leaning on Lenny's good knee for support as he did.

"What about the bank?" Lenny queried, and Hosea went quiet for a moment. Arthur and John looked to him for his response. 

Bank?

"Well, I'm sure we can manage without you, son," Hosea started, and Lenny sighed and leaned his head back, face a picture of disappointment. "Hey, don't be like that. How irresponsible would it be of us to have you along on a bank job when you can barely walk?"

"I know," Lenny grumbled, "I just wanted to be along for that. Show you fellers I can do a good job."

"I trust you would. Don't worry, there'll be other opportunities, I'm sure."

"'cept Dutch keeps saying this'll be the last big score," John noted with a humourless chuckle. Hosea looked at him, unamused and with a certain look in his eye. 

"Well, I ain't got much to say about that," Hosea replied, his tone abrupt. It was clear he believed as much as they did that their scores were numbered. "Anyway, you stay here, Lenny. Rest up. Can we bring you anything?"

"If I'm gonna be sat here on my ass for the foreseeable future, some books would be nice," Lenny snorted, slumping glumly in the chair as Hosea dragged over a crate and had him rest his foot on it. 

"Books," Hosea repeated with a nod, "certainly."

With that, he headed off. John left too, with a parting sympathetic pat on Lenny's shoulder, leaving just the three of us behind. I immediately turned to Lenny, fiddling with my own fingers, chewing on my lip a moment before speaking. I felt Arthur's eyes on me the whole time. 

"Lenny, I'm so sorry," I began, and Arthur laughed. 

"I was waiting for that," Arthur said, and I frowned at him in confusion. 

"Huh?" Lenny simply grunted, looking at me cluelessly. 

"I'm sorry about your ankle, I was praying all day that none of you'd get hurt, but…"

Lenny looked at Arthur, a hint of a smile curling his lips. 

"Is she for real?" Lenny shook his head and I flushed a little, feeling foolish. Was I missing something?

"Just tell her it's okay," Arthur put an arm around my waist and carefully began leading me away.

"You think this is your fault?" Lenny called to me, then laughed, "hey, don't worry about it. I forgive you for making Maggie throw me, I don't appreciate it, but at least you're sorry," he teased.

I stopped in my tracks and turned back to him, resisting Arthur's tugging. 

"It was my job you got hurt on, that's what I meant. I mean, obviously, right?"

"Listen, somethin' I came to learn real quick. Shit happens. Sometimes it's somebody's fault, but most of the time? It's just shit," Lenny snickered, shaking his head and grinning at me. 

"You're speaking to the lady who felt bad over killin' an O'Driscoll who was about to slit her throat, just let her say what she's gotta say," Arthur explained and I frowned deeper. 

"Hey, don't tease me for having… morals and– and guilt. You were the one blaming yourself for that O'Driscoll ordeal just 'cause you didn't make me leave the gang, Arthur, so you're one to talk," I snapped.

"That was a whole different thing," Arthur frowned, going serious, "I still think about that, you know."

"Well, don't!"

"How long you two been married?" Lenny asked and we swivelled our heads to look at him, observing his mischievous grin. Hosea walked back in then, a bundle of books in his hands. 

"Here you go, son. These were by your tent, but I can ask around, see if anyone can lend you something different?" He began, putting the books down next to his foot on the crate. 

Arthur took the opportunity to lead me off again, with that marriage comment ringing in my ears I didn't try to resist. Oh, to be married to Arthur Morgan… I stopped myself before I got carried away. 

He led me outside and we took a seat at the front of the house, on the edge of the fountain. He groaned as he sat down, sighing in exhaustion. He looked about as tired as I'd felt all day. 

"You alright?" I asked. Arthur nodded, yawning. "Wow. I hope last night was worth it," I said light-heartedly, smirking. 

"Oh, it definitely was. Much better than a restful night, princess," he chuckled. "That job went well, John give you your cut?"

I nodded. "It's a lot."

"Yeah, we did real well. I'll tell Dutch… I gotta speak to him at some point. Wants to talk about Angelo Bronte. Dutch is on about robbing a bank in town, so something's gotta be done about him; the man who seems to run the whole damn city."

"You're gonna rob a bank in the middle of the city?" I balked, eyes going wide and bile rising uneasily in my throat. 

"Apparently. Hosea thinks we can do it, couple of the girls have been out scoping the place. Doesn't look too heavily guarded," he explained, though it didn't quell my fears at all.

"Yeah, but what about after? Fleeing through the city? It ain't like Valentine, where you run for thirty seconds and you're out on open plains," I exclaimed and Arthur shook his head, agreeing with me.

"It's a risk. I know. But Hosea says the place is full of cash and gold, so if we get away…" he trailed off, looked up towards the house. Hosea and Dutch were sitting up on the balcony above us, talking. 

With a sigh, Arthur took my hand and led me away, over towards the edge of the water, out of earshot from any of the camp. I went along with him wearing a concerned frown. He turned to me, then, taking both of my hands and looking down at them. 

"If we get away," he continued, not yet meeting my eye, "we should have a lot of money. Enough for the whole gang to get out."

I stared for a moment, wondering why he needed to tell me that in secret. "That's great, but–"

"Not only that, my cut… my cut would be big enough that – put together with what I have saved – you and I might just be able to– to– we could get away," he finally met my eyes at that. "You and me, princess. We could leave, we'd have enough to support ourselves. I could keep you safe."

My lips parted. I had to admit, that all sounded rather wonderful. A totally fresh start, far away from Dutch and the Pinkertons and the O'Driscolls… with Arthur. Just him and me. I must've started smiling a little because Arthur smiled too, pulled me into a hug. 

"We could do it. We'd see that the others made it out alright; Charles, John, Mary-Beth, all those people you've grown close to. We'd have peace of mind and then we could leave, be done with all this getting shot at and knives held to our necks. Start leading a proper life," he whispered against the top of my head, swaying me from side to side in his arms. 

"You gotta do the bank, first," I reminded him, "oh, please be careful, Arthur."

"I'm always as careful as I can be," he told me, then pulled back to look at me, "I want this. I'm so certain of that."

"Me too," I nodded, cupping his cheeks. 

"All that's holding me back is not knowing what'll happen to these people. I want to make sure they're gonna be okay," he whispered and I nodded in understanding. "This bank could be it, princess."

"Arthur!" Dutch yelled across the camp. I looked over Arthur's shoulder to see him leaning over the edge of the balcony, waving him over. Arthur held a hand up in acknowledgement, then let out a soft breath. 

"I'll see you later," he said, kissing my forehead and squeezing my hands. I watched him walk back to the house, a feeling in my stomach a bittersweet combination of hope and dread. 

-

I awoke the next morning in my bedroll, laying on the floor of Arthur's room. I knew he'd be returning at some point in the night after heading out with Dutch, so I'd left his bed free. I had to smile to myself, then, when I felt his presence behind me, a hand softly resting on my hip. 

The next thing I registered was the smell. Wet, stagnant, musky… unpleasant. I shifted, looking over my shoulder at Arthur to see him lying asleep in just his union suit. His clothes were in a pile nearby, and I realised they were the source of the smell; his jeans and shirt sodden with filthy water, his boots caked in mud. What on Earth had he been doing last night?

I laid back down, lacing my fingers with his on my hip, lifting his hand from me as I rolled to face him, replacing it on my other hip. Arthur woke up a moment later, either stirred by my movement or sensing my eyes on him. His eyes creased with a smile when he saw me, but before he could say anything, I couldn't help but ask;

"Have you been swimming around in the swamp?"

Arthur only paused for a moment before answering. "Yes."

I quirked a brow, utterly perplexed. 

"Dutch had us helping out some feller with a boat, reckons he'll get us to Bronte's house so we won't have to go in through the city," he told me sleepily. He started to appear more alert until it all seemed to come back to him in a rush and his face shifted to urgency. "You should'a seen the goddamn alligator out there. Big as a damn bison, I swear."

I nodded in understanding. "Yeah, some big ones out there. You couldn't pay me to set foot in the water, and I grew up there, what on Earth were you doing out there?"

"It's a long story. Ended with me in the water saving some kid, almost had his leg torn off. This alligator… there's big, and then there's big,” he shook his head in disbelief. 

I stared at him, a little bit horrified. "You were in the water with a bloodthirsty gator?"

"I still got all my fingers and toes, don't worry," he chuckled, but it quickly faded off, "this kid weren't so lucky. Well, everything's still attached, I just hope he don't get gangrene. Could be pretty bad…"

"Goodness. And where was Dutch during all of this? It was his thing, getting the boat, right?"

"He was in the boat, yelling, but otherwise being unhelpful," he said drily, moving to sit up with a groan. He stretched out his back and I watched the muscles work through the clingy material of his union suit, my head propped up with my arm. "Still, I reckon he was shittin' himself. Course he weren't getting in to help."

"Course," I tutted. "I'm so glad nothing happened to you. Gators, they can be real vicious."

"You're telling me," he snorted. 

"When I was a kid, my closest neighbour's son met his end that way," I started, Arthur looking to me with widened eyes, "was out there fishing, waded in too deep and didn't see this big guy in the water."

"Shit…"

"Yeah… all I know is, his dad started firing his gun at the gator, but ended up aiming at his son just to– well, it was the kindest thing to do, apparently," I murmured solemnly.

"Jesus. This ain't filling me with confidence about getting back in that boat, heading out into the swamps again tonight," Arthur breathed, shaking his head. 

"Just make sure everyone keeps their limbs inside the boat this time. You'll be fine," I offered him my most comforting smile.

"Noted. I don't particularly feel like watching someone get torn limb from limb by some dinosaur-looking bastard," he sighed. "Anyway, I best get dressed."

"Me too. And I'll wash those nasty clothes of yours. They stink," I laughed, sitting up and reaching for my suitcase, pulling it over to me and retrieving my corset.

"They do? I'm sorry. I can't smell it, must be used to it. Either that or I stink too," he snorted. 

I leaned over and sniffed him, amusement worming its way onto my face. I held my thumb and index finger an inch or so apart and gave him a sheepish smirk. He dropped the clean shirt he was about to put on before nodding.

"I'll wash up first."

[johnmarstoned]

I’m feeling marston lately. Maybe he was caught by bounty hunters and you find him tied to a post at their camp, saving him?

I love this!

SFW this time except for language and violence.

They’ve been on me for days. Every time I arrive in a town, I can’t stay more than a night without having to slip away from under the noses of the group of bounty hunters asking around about me.

If there’s anything I’ve learned over years of having my face on a poster, it’s that a person can only run for so long before getting caught up to. 

All it takes is changing my course one night, throwing them off my trail and then turning back on myself to hunt for where they have surely made camp. 

It doesn’t take me long, because they aren’t very smart bunch, and I scope them out from a sandy brush through my binoculars, and make my approach when I see that only one is actually awake, keeping a sleepy watch on the opposite approach.

There’s another figure too, seated on the ground with his head hanging and his arms tied to the post at his back. Clearly these men are after a better payday than just me alone. 

I approach the camp on quiet feet, and take the guard out with some ease, an arm around his throat to choke him unconscious and lay him down. 

The sound perks up the head of the bound man, who looks at me bleary and confused, a nasty cut on his cheek. 

He opens his mouth to speak, and I put a finger to my lips to indicate him to be quiet. The two remaining bounty hunters are asleep in the tent, and I hope to god they are heavy sleepers when I crouch inside to carefully remove their knives from their belts. 

When I duck out again, and unroll the flaps of the tent to tie it closed, the bound man whispers to me:

“The hell are you doin’?”

“Shut up a second, goddamn.” From the case beside their fire, I take a bottle of moonshine, and set about dousing the tent, followed by the rest.

“Shit, they’re bastards but you don’t have to-”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” 

“No, you just added a ‘fuck’ in there.”

I have to glance at him for a second, busy as I am, because a surprised laugh almost reveals my presence. Long jet black hair, cropped beard, deep looking scars that give him a rugged look. His clothes are battered - a worn red shirt that looks like it has been grabbed and jeans with holes in.

I look away from him and knot the ties of the tent from the outside before going to the tied up man.

“Why they got you?” I ask.

“Bounty on my head.” He says simply, wincing as he adjusts his shoulders.

“You a killer?”

“Sometimes. Only them that needs killin’ though, miss.”

“So I untie you - you aren’t gonna shoot me in the back of the head?” 

“I don’t shoot folks that save me from the noose, even if I did have my gun on me.” He says, looking at me straight, and I think I have a good enough read on people to be able to tell when I’m being played. 

It’s definitely not because he might be the best looking feller I’ve laid eyes on in a good long while. 

“Okay.” I say, keeping my voice low. “But-”

“I know, I know, ‘shut up.’”

I smirk a bit and take my knife from my boot, and cut the rope at his wrists. He groans in relief when his arms finally lower, and I get back to work while he looks in their packs for his things. 

With a sigh at how long this night is getting, I remove my revolver from my gun belt and fire a shot into the air, almost laughing at the way the black-haired man jumps. 

“Y’all might want to wake up in there!” I rattle on the animal skin of the tent.

“What the fuck!?” I hear a voice shout inside.

“I’m the lady you’re following, and I wouldn’t tire yourself out trying to get out of there, mama taught me how to die a good knot and I got your knives.” They push on the tied flaps of the tent anyway and I roll my eyes. 

“Now if you inhale you might get a whiff of the moonshine I’ve doused your tent in, and I wonder if you fancy burning alive tonight?”

“Shit, you’re nasty.” The man has sidled up to me warily, thumbs in his gun belt and hat back on. 

“God, no woman! C’mon! We can talk about this!” They’re still desperately trying to get themselves out. 

“Sure we can, but I don’t wanna hear you talk.” I approach the tent and lean on the side. “You’re gonna stop following me, and my friend here. What’s your name?” I ask him.

“John Marston.” He says, following my lead. 

“Me and John Marston.”

“Okay, okay! Shit, you have our word!”

“Good, and I’ll take you at your word. But you take me at mine and know that I will find out if you get back on my trail, and I will not hesitate to kill you in your sleep next time.”

I whistle my horse, not waiting to hear their response, and while she gallops over to me I feel John’s eyes on me as I go to the horses of the bounty hunters and untether them, slap their behinds to get them to flee. Even if their word is worth nothing, it will be far more trouble than it’s worth to follow me on foot. 

“You sure are thorough.” John says, and rubs his wrist. “I don’t suppose you could extend me another favour and give me a ride to the next town? Bastards have had me for a few days now.” 

I eye him for a moment, not usually one for doing favours.

“If you’re after somethin’ in return, I feel I could get you some decent work if you need it.” 

“Oh yeah?” I raise my brow and tap the neck of my horse when she nudges my arm. 

“You heard of Dutch van der Linde? I run with him and he’s always on the lookout for folks with your kinda guts.”

“That my payment for saving your life? A meeting with a feller I’ve never heard of?” 

“Not my fault you ain’t ever picked up a newspaper, lady.” He puts his hands on his hips, and I have to laugh at his cheekiness when I pull myself up into my saddle. 

“You can get on, I suppose, but any funny stuff and I will dump your ass out here and let you walk, you got me?”

“Yes, miss.” He tips his hat, and I hold out my hand to help him up on the horse behind me. 

“Me holdin’ your waist while you ride don’t count as funny stuff, does it?” He asks, doing so as I kick the horse into action.  

“Shut up.” I smile a bit as we ride off, and I let him tell me all about his gang.