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coltermorning · 1 day ago

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Of Love and Loss Ch. 21 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: In the small town of Ogallala, you and Arthur nurture feelings for each other that become increasingly hard to deny with each passing day and each word spoken.

Author’s Notes: Sorry this one took me so long. I couldn’t get it quite right for weeks, and part of me hates to part with it anyway because I’m getting so close to the end 🥲 Sexual content in this chapter. Chapter twenty-one of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Twenty-One: Love

Word count: 3726

This room was unlike the others. That airy barn had the memory of your childhood home and Beth on it, the last hotel room the sharpness of fear. You’d thought that that room would be the one to stay with you, but you tried to forget it now. Now, there was only this room, the safety in it, and Arthur. Maybe the latter two went hand in hand.

Your eyes found said safety in the growing darkness, watching him reverently in the low light. He’d lit a lamp earlier, and its golden glow reflected in his shining hair, his exposed skin, his gemstone eyes. You would never tire of that gaze. Normally, you found a smirk beneath it, but now his mouth matched his heavy stare—thoughtful and filled with something very close to desperation. It wasn’t difficult to guess why. Love did that to a person.

You had thought there would never be a feeling stronger than grief, stronger than the helpless agony that came with it. But love was the one thing to outweigh it. Rather, requited love was. Feeling wanted again was all your heart needed to stitch itself back together. To be loved was to be needed. And that triumphed grief every time.

You weren’t only thinking of yourself as you studied the man beside you. You thought of him and of how unlikely a match he was for you. But it was beginning to make sense. He, like you, was all wild animal, untamed, worth more than mankind could give. He wasn’t defined by the constructs of a normal personhood just as you weren’t. Neither of you were made for fleeting little relationships, if any at all. And perhaps that’s why it worked so well to be together, the feeling as natural as breathing. Because there were no expectations. He made sure of that, and you were too inexperienced and fond of him to form them. Being with a man emotionally or physically scared you before because it had always seemed confining. But you knew without a doubt that if you chose to go alone to the next town and never look back at this trip and all it brought between you, Arthur would let you. He wouldn’t hesitate. And because of that, he was freeing in a way no one had ever been to you. Not even your parents.

You were so caught up in his gaze and your thoughts that you were startled by the sudden sound of bootsteps opposite the door, flinching in his grasp as deputy badges and blood flashed across your vision.

��Easy,” he said lowly, pulling you in closer on the bed as the sound faded.

“Just…jumpy over the last time that happened.”

“Ain’t no law here to worry about,” Arthur said, stroking your hair.

He was right. And you were again reminded that this hotel room was very different from the last.

“I know,” you replied, though you couldn’t quite convince yourself after having lived through the hell that was the last town. That ringing gunshot that would never leave you be sounded again.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin so you would meet his eyes. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

Those words hit you like a physical blow. His protectiveness made you feel loved, but it was the truth of it that drove his point home. Because you had no doubt he would tear apart the world to keep you safe. Just as you had. You’d broken every moral you had just to keep him from harm. But you would do it all again. And, knowing Arthur, you bet he felt the same thing tenfold.

You smiled against his hand. “I know.” This time, you meant it.

After a moment and a smile so sure you wanted to keep it there forever, Arthur shifted. “Sit up.”

You did as he asked, watching as he reached for his journal. Thinking he meant to draw you again, you blushed. Especially as there was no coat this time, just bare skin between you only partially covered by a blanket at your hips. But to your surprise, he reached for your hair and tugged on that horsehair braid he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of, flattening it so that he could see the contrasting colors better.

“What is it with you and this braid?”

He shifted again so that he was far enough away to get the general picture of you sitting there, though that wasn’t saying much in the tiny bed. He was still close, and you watched his eyes focus in on your braid as he flipped to a blank page and readied his pencil, ignoring your question completely.

Wanting to know what it meant to him, you pushed. “Hard of hearing?”

“I heard you,” he said, still focusing hard on your hair. A few seconds passed as he began drawing. You didn’t think he would answer you until he shook his head, continuing to look down at his journal as he spoke. “I draw things so I don’t forget ‘em. There are a few moments I’ll never forget when it comes to you, but that braid, I want to remember even after it’s gone.”

You were warmed by the sincerity in this, but your curiosity got the better of you. “What moments will you never forget?”

Again, he took a beat to answer. “Looking at your side all bruised and bloody and my shitty attempt at stitches holding it all together. When you said ‘how could you’.”

You’d forgotten that. It had been months, and somehow his words had you remembering how the wagon you’d woken up in after he had stitched you up made your skin crawl. He went on, dispelling any further thought about it.

“The first time you let me touch you. The way you said ‘don’t stop’.”

This one made your heart race. He still pushed on.

“When I killed those wolves and came back in the tent to find you with that look on your face, like you were ready to die. The way you pulled me to you.” He stopped drawing and looked up at you. “That was the first time I felt like you really cared whether I was there or not. The first time you wanted my comfort.”

It was true. It was the first time you’d relied on him in your brokenness, the first time clinging to him felt like healing.

You smiled at him.

He went back to penciling in his journal. “And,” he said, drawing the word out in that drawl of his. “You asked me for that horsehair like it was the last gift you could give that horse. I knew it right then, the kind of woman you was. Thoughtful and tough as hell.”

You’d thought nothing of the act at the time, at least not in the way it would be viewed by Arthur. It was natural. Maybe that was why he admired you for it.

He went on. “I didn’t realize I enjoyed getting to know the woman you was before all this mess until then. Until I thought you would slip away again. But then you came out of that tent with this braid in your hair…”

He stopped and admired it, a smile turning his lips. “And you was still with me. And I was…relieved. Happy, even. That braid shows that strength of yours.”

For the first time since arriving in this town, you felt like crying. But not over any sadness. He had a way with words that surprised you. Your eyes fell to the page, to the way he had drawn part of your braid with such tenderness. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he meant every word.

Unable to voice your thoughts, or perhaps wanting to hold what he’d said in your heart a little longer, you teased him instead. “So, when you drew me in that barn, what were you trying to remember then?”

His smile turned into a smirk, one you were all too familiar with. “How good you looked in my coat.”

His gaze was hot on your skin, growing wanting as he watched you. And in seconds, his journal was pushed aside and forgotten, traded for his want of you, his need to touch you, his desire. To be that desire meant so much to you that your heart pounded a heavy beat in your chest, like it wanted to be loved by him too, craving that closeness.

Falling into him, you granted your heart exactly what it asked for.

The days bled together, and Arthur had no intention of moving on to the next town. As long as you wanted to stay here, he would stay with you. The only bit of business he attended to in the meantime was sending a letter back to the gang, thinking it was likely they’d made it to Denver a while back and would stay until they heard from him. The thought made Arthur smile—that wild bunch on the edges of town, restless and ready to bound out of there at a moment’s notice. They weren’t meant for staying in a big town like that just as he weren’t.

The only trouble with the letter had been what to put in it. Arthur hadn’t known what to say to the group he considered family. He was torn between staying with you and going back to them, knowing either would serve him well. But he was leaning toward staying, starting a life he had only ever dreamed of. Every time he considered it though, it felt too good to be true. It always was when he was younger, and who was he to deserve it now? Had he really changed at all? The truth to that was no, he hadn’t. Maybe he could be decent, but he still had a past on him that he didn’t want catching up to you. But so did you now, killing that deputy. All things considered, he was left feeling even more confused every time he pondered it. So, his letter had been short and nondescript, stating where he was and to write back when and where the gang inevitably moved. He posted the letter and left all thought of it behind him, knowing going in circles about it all wouldn’t do him any good. Instead, he returned to you and vowed to keep his mind on you, on this time you shared together and how right it felt. No matter that, like always, the town and its memories would soon be behind you both.

It wasn’t difficult to keep you in the front of Arthur’s mind. You were a gift, something he didn’t deserve. And all this time spent with you kept him sated like he never had been, his restless heart daring to settle for the first time since he was a boy.

The day had reached its end with the two of you still in bed. Arthur had done exactly what you’d asked of him those days ago, teaching you all the ways he knew how to pleasure a woman. But this was perhaps different, as there never was any meaning behind it until he met you.

Even worse was your blunt curiosity and the things you asked that got him so hard he could hardly see straight. He figured the worst of it was when you’d asked him to teach you how to pleasure him. He was wrong. It was moments ago, when you’d turned to him with a blush on your face and asked if you could ride him. Well, those hadn’t been your exact words, but that was all Arthur could come up with now as you made to do the very thing.

His hands found your hips in seconds upon you climbing on top of him. It took everything in him to be gentle.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” you said in a voice close to a whisper.

He found a lazy grin sneaking its way across his face, for the way your shyness showed, for the way you climbed on top of him anyway. Sure as ever.

“What?” you said upon seeing his smile.

“I like you on top of me,” he said honestly. Because he did. Nothing turned him on more. But he couldn’t go on without teasing you at least a little. “I like you wantin’ to ride me.” He squeezed your hips with his fingers, tugging you closer. Your face went bright red at those words.

“What’s the matter?” he teased.

You kept looking from his eyes to his mouth like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. The smile on your face was timid, but it was blatant as the day was long that he’d called you out and you wouldn’t well deny it.

You wouldn’t meet his eye as you said, “I like it too.”

Arthur’s grin went wide, and he bucked his hips underneath you for good measure. Pure pleasure met him as he did, the movement against your slick like heaven.

You let out a little moan, bracing your hands on his chest as you made to line yourself up with him. He would never tire of the distracted look you got on your face, like his body and what he was doing to yours was all you could think about. It made a pride he could hardly contain take hold.

You reached your hand down and fisted him so gently he couldn’t stand it. That is, until the head of his cock slid into you, and you met his eye and sat completely, making him suck in a sharp breath. He still held your hips with gripping fingers, but it was all he could do not to focus solely on how deep he was buried in you, on moving fast and hard. Instead, he let you set your own pace as you watched him with a heavy gaze, your lips parting when you began to move up and down on him.

It was downright sinful, the feeling it brought him. He pulled you in tighter, moving his hands with your hips. Ignoring all else. He didn’t give a shit what he looked or sounded like, so long as you didn’t stop.

“Arthur?”

He met your eye, only able to do so since your tone had the hint of a question in it. You kept riding him, grating and slow, as you spoke. “I want to- oh…”

You drug the word out, your head falling back in your pleasured state. It was so goddamn arousing Arthur couldn’t take it anymore. He held you down against him and bucked upward, hard, making you moan for him as your breasts started bouncing with how fast he moved. Fuck, that did it.

“Want to what?” he gritted out.

You looked downright erotic, your heavy eyes falling over him like sex given form as you answered, “Want to feel your release inside of me.”

Arthur slowed his pace, your words hitting him so hard he knew he would spill inside you anyway if he weren’t careful.

“Ain’t too smart, darlin’.”

“I don’t care.”

In this moment, he didn’t either. He didn’t care about the consequences, even though it would normally bother him after Isaac. If anything, he was in a place to be with you, to raise a child with you if it came to that. So to hell with all his usual fear and regret.

“You sure?” he grimaced, still pumping his cock into you as deep as he could.

“Yes. If you are.”

Surprising himself, he was.

Arthur lifted you up and off of him, needing to do what he’d been wanting to for some time now. Of all the pleasure the two of you had wrought from each other, there was one remaining untried thing Arthur felt was a bit selfish but knew you would get just as much enjoyment out of as he would. And he did that now, turning you so that you remained facing the bed as he crawled behind you.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please…”

“Please what?” Arthur pushed your shoulders down to the bed gently, the head of his cock meeting your slick again. He nearly shook in anticipation.

“Please take me. Hard.”

If that weren’t encouragement enough, Arthur slid into you so deep you tightened around him. “Christ,” he grimaced. Then he moved. And he had to close his eyes and focus hard to keep his release at bay.

Arthur rocked his hips fast, knowing the second he watched how perfectly your bodies met, this would be over. So he focused on you first, on the sounds you made and what you seemed to like best. You moaned the loudest when he gripped your hips again and fucked you harder, so he kept on, letting you feel just how much you affected him as he drove deep.

“Arthur,” you whined, his name so needy on your tongue he almost lost it.

“That’s it,” he said lowly, taking one hand away and moving it around you, his finger coming down on those nerves that made you buck against him.

That really made you cry out. And Arthur felt a pride like none other, a protectiveness and a possessiveness that made him want to spend inside you, make you his. His grip on you tightened as his finger swirled against you.

In seconds, your pleasure rocked through you, making those inner muscles of yours flutter and work against Arthur’s cock. His eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure took over. Then it was all feeling, all you at his mercy, pleading his name like he was actually worthy of this.

For once in his life, Arthur let go of all the control, all the responsibility and sense he held so close. He released it like a breath and took you like a man should take a woman, for the sheer purpose of desire and need and maybe even love. He shuddered then slid home one last time with your name on his lips, spilling inside of you as you continued to come down around him. It was comforting and fitting and so incredibly right that his chest caught at the feeling.

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

He wanted to repeat it back to you. But he stayed there silent, finally daring to look down at where you were met. And Christ, was it a sight, almost like he was meant to be there. He rolled his hips, unable to resist wanting to keep his spend deep inside you. It was primal and perhaps idiotic of him, but he couldn’t help it. He already wanted to do it all over again.

You both breathed heavy and refused to separate, caught there in this moment that, if you were lucky, would never have to reach its end.

But end it did, only because your body was giving out. He hadn’t realized how hard he took you until then, until your muscles protested enough to make you begin to fall to the bed. He slid out of you and caught you, letting you down slowly. He rolled you onto your back, meeting your satisfied gaze. “You okay? I didn’t mean to-”

“That’s all I ever wanted. And all I’ll ever want again.”

A smile turned his lips, catching him off guard. He never expected to smile after doing something so reckless, hope filling him where regret normally would.

“Good,” he replied. And you smiled back, the sight a tired thing. He leaned down and kissed you. When he broke away, the look you gave him hit him just as hard as all his arousal had. It was a look of complete trust. Like you’d found a home in him. He never thought he’d see the day a woman looked at him like that.

“Don’t know about you,” you said laboredly, “but I’m spent.”

He chuckled at just how spent he was, not bothering to reply as he wrapped you up in his arms to sleep. Nothing more than a man and the woman he loved, as normal a life as he could have ever imagined.

You and Arthur very much overstayed your welcome in the small town of Ogallala. Both of you mentioned leaving a time or two but could never quite convince yourselves to saddle up and do it. So you stayed, carving out a little life for yourselves filled with the ease of routine.

Eventually though, you could tell money was getting tight when Arthur began choosing dried meat over his preferred canned goods from the general store. It made you guilty enough to know it was time to move on. Maybe your end destination would be as kind to you as this town had been, and you wouldn’t have to worry about ending this precious time together. You hadn’t talked about it, but you were beginning to believe that Arthur would stay with you. So, holding onto that hope, you finally gave in to leaving.

“What, tired of my company?” he’d teased when you brought it up, both of you already at the stables visiting your mounts.

You shot him a look that warned of a swat to the arm but said, “Not even a little.”

That earned you one of those genuine smiles he rarely gave, like your words were healing him stitch by stitch. But he agreed, and the pair of you gathered up and mounted.

You watched the town slowly fall away into the distance as you left it, turning to look at it so many times Arthur laughed at you. “It ain’t going nowhere, you know.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s true.”

“That’s what you’re always saying.”

He shot you a smirk that could tear down the world and every forlorn woman in it. How lucky you were that he was yours. You thought of telling him so, of telling him how much you cared for him, but your heart began racing, and the words died on your lips. Instead, you opted to tease him right back—his and your form of endearment. And his resulting happiness made you know that it was just as special to him as saying those three precious words.

_________

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#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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hihomeghere · 20 hours ago

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What does your post tb domestic Arthur look like? And same for domestic Charles?

I’m SO glad you asked! Arthur was pretty weak for a while, Baptized by fire is set a few years after the events of rdr2. Arthur had to give up smoking, his lungs were too damaged. Everytime he would light up a smoke he’d be coughing and gasping for breath. It terrified Charles, and he made him quit. Which was REALLY hard at first. Like he was so irritable, just itching for a smoke. He took to toothpicks, it was the only thing that helped. Charles had to hide when he’d smoke his pipe, since Arthur would stare at him longingly like a dog looking at a piece of meat. Since Arthur was so weak at first, Charles did most of the dirty work. Arthur went pretty stir crazy and they had a lot of fights over it. This led to them getting a routine that would help Arthur get out his… frustration. I headcannon Arthur as a pleasure dom. He needs to feel in charge, but he doesn’t want the pleasure. He wants to give the pleasure.

Arthur never got his full strength back, and during the warmer months he helps out as best he can. He can’t build his full muscle mass back, and can’t move like he used to. He’s out of breath from a short jog across the property, the dull ache returning to his chest.

He gets tired more often too, just fatigued all the time. But he’s stubborn and fights through it most days. He loves a good bath, when Charles will drag in the tub and they can just soak in the warm water.

They love to wash each other, especially Charles�� hair. Arthur will take such good care of it, knowing how important it is to Charles’ heritage. Charles had to teach Arthur how to braid, and he’s proud to say he’s gotten pretty good at it. Grooming each other is a big deal in their relationship. They’re big on acts of service.

I think Charles worries for Arthur more than he shows it. One he knows that Arthur is stubborn as hell, so he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

I think Charles struggles with staying in one place. Not that he doesn’t love the cabin and love that he doesn’t have to be on the run anymore. But he still finds himself thinking about what he would take if they suddenly had to leave. Because of this, he has very few things that mean something to him. Charles does have a few wooden figures that he has whittled, that’s about the closet he gets to knick knacks. Arthur is more sentimental, especially .

There’s a lot that’s said without words. They understand each other on a deeper level. It comes in handy when they’re hunting together, one of the few times Arthur gets out of the cabin for more than doing chores.

I have one last chapter in the works for this arc, but don’t worry there will be more to come with these three

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #Charles smith #baptized by fire #arthur morgan x reader x charles smith #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith x reader #charthur #charthur x reader #hihomeghere

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chucksaveragefan · 1 day ago

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Are biting kinks allowed?

Why nah? Go on, make your request!

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photo1030 · 3 days ago

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Oh man!!! Such drama! The flower was such a delicate touch, loved it. And I like the vulnerability you showed with the train robbery, adds some humility to her.

The fighter between them and then his reaction to the shootout was a great way to show that there are not perfect and he does not regard her with rose colored glasses.

Oh but the final scene! I gasped!! What will the next morning bring?!

Take Me Home

6. Down The Road

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: i just was scrolling through tumblr and saw a post that a girl on twitter made and it was talking about a hot dad and I was like 'that's so me' and then at the end of the post it talked about how he called her miss aven and I threw my phone across the room because my name is also aven and i guess I am not the only one but anyways yeah all aven's are hot if ur name is aven ur hot.

Summary: The men of camp have begun to act strange, and Arthur seems to be the only one standing out... until a particular train job goes terribly wrong, then all bets are off.

Warnings: Not many, just some angst, canon typical violence, misogyny, and arguing... oh and some blood :)

WC: 12.5k (I went very insane last week)

He sensed your awkward reaches, even if he didn’t see them. He adjusted himself on the saddle before meeting your hands behind his back and pulling them around his sides to hold on. Your breath caught in your throat from how casually he’d done it, and how softly he touched you. “That’s a nice flower in your hair, by the way,” he muttered, not even looking back before grabbing the reins and leading the horse out of camp.

It was nearing fall again, and a year since you first arrived at camp, but things were beginning to get hectic. Not just with the attitudes of people in camp, but with the local law of Agua Fria getting more involved in the jobs the gang was pulling. You weren’t quite sure if you should be thankful for the distraction, or worried that it could make things worse for you. As far as you know, there’s not been bad feelings towards you, but there certainly weren’t friendly ones, either. It’s strange, since right after everyone found out your secret, they almost revered you in a way they hadn’t before. You supposed the walking on eggshells had to cease eventually.

The only people brave enough to talk to you now are Arthur and Hosea… you can’t say you don’t understand why. The lies finally caught up with most people, and it seemed to only get worse as time went on.

The men weren’t the only ones shunning you, either. The women, minus Tilly, were very straight and to the point if they had to speak with you, and if they didn’t, they just avoided you at any cost.

It was beginning to feel more lonesome, almost like before you joined up with the Van Der Linde’s.

The moment that all of it came to a head was around the campfire one night. You hadn’t spoken a word in fear of being over-talked or interrupted. You wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of cutting you off.

Bill was the first to become irrationally drunk. Sean and Mac were next. You could swear Javier was drunk, too, but with every drink he took, his guitar rhythm never stuttered. Arthur was teetering on the edge of drunkenness, but the man was a unit, and it took a lot of alcohol to turn his mind.

You felt relaxed enough to hit the bottle that Sean had set down, but then all eyes were on you.

You forgot. The women don’t drink unless there’s a special occasion, though you aren’t quite sure why. You set the bottle down and let your eyes stay on the ground when you do until the conversation starts back up again.

Arthur doesn’t really participate, he stays out of most of it, as do you. If you’re being honest, you don’t know why you sit at the fire with them anymore, because they don’t seem to give a shit if you do, and don’t seem to revere you like when they hadn’t been exposed to your secret.

When the drunken chatter of the Agua Fria women comes up, you’re glad you took enough of a swig to boost your confidence.

“I think they’re fine and what not,” Bill stumbles over his wording, barely making any sense. “Them girls in Charleston Town were better…”

“Better at what exactly?” You chimed in, finally taking part in the conversation.

“Screwin’, mostly… other things too I guess,” he coughed a little after speaking, taking yet another drink out of his mug.

“Why’s it matter?” Sean started in, and though you understood he was a good kid and just mildly outspoken, you hated how these little talks seemed to only have started now that they knew about you. Almost like they’re pushing it in your face.

“Maybe because it don’t sit right with me, comparin’ girls like that,” you shook your head. It’s like talking to a sack of bricks, and it won’t change anything, but you try anyway. It angers you, how they used to talk about interesting things around the campfire. Sure, sex came up from time to time, but it was never just about their views of women and the only things they’re good for.

“You don’t needa worry, we ain’t comparin’ you,” Bill laughed, and even got the Calendar boys snickering under their breath. They should be keeping their mouths shut, since they were out of camp when everyone found out about you in the first place. They didn’t even realize it when they came back.

“That’s because you’ve never had me,” you argued, and you could feel Arthur tense up beside you, almost like he was bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

“I could if I wanted to.” The pure audacity, and all because of some drunken words. Bill was never your favorite amongst camp goers, but he’d grown on you when he got to know you as Charlie… Now it seems he hates your guts and will do anything to antagonize you. “I bet you’re nice n’ easy, huh darlin’?”

“You’re the last person in camp I’d let have me, jackass.”

Some colorful words for a pretty girl like you. At least Bill thought so.

“You say that now… but I bet it didn’t take too much convincing to get you to spread 'em’ for Arthur,” he motioned to the gruff and stone-faced man beside you.

“Knock it off, Bill,” Arthur chimed in, knowing that if he didn’t, the man would push you to your limits and then maybe you’d shoot him. Knowing that you didn’t miss your shots was a good reason to step in, even if he knew you could hold your own.

“You can tell me, ol buddy,” Bill kept on, leaning forward. “Was it smooth as silk, or drier than the texas desert?”

Everyone else in the circle was pretty damn quiet by this time, just watching as Bill repeatedly made a bigger fool of himself. They had participated, but only to a certain degree… but this felt too messy, and they didn’t wanna chance stepping in it. Especially where Arthur was concerned.

“I said knock it off,” Arthur was more stern, but felt the need to defend your honor further, and clear your name. “She ain’t done nothing with no one in this camp, ya hear me?”

Bill let out a low and long whistle, looking back to you and seeing that your face was flushed. You were thankful for Arthur sticking up for you, but with the look on Bill’s face, it may have been just a touch too far.

“Alright, Arthur… I believe ya,” he chuckled, eyes narrowing in while everyone still watched on. “You know, seein’ things clearly makes me think you’re the opposite of what I said.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brow in concern. You should have never asked.

“Boys,” he laughed out, nudging Mac to his left and slapping his knee in gleeful manner. “I’d say we’ve got ourselves a virgin.”

Your eyes widened, and immediately you were panicking. You’d never felt unsafe in the camp until right now, with the gaze of half the men in camp beginning to take you in as if it were for the first time. The way you reacted, they knew it to be true, and you weren’t sure what you could even say or do to hide it at this point.

“You ain’t got any idea what you’re talkin’ about, Williamson,” you tried to defend, and Arthur jumped on the bandwagon.

“That’s enough,” he grumbled, standing to his feet, offering you a hand to yours. “You’re all too damn drunk to even be livin’ right now.”

He issued a few less kind words that ushered them off to bed, and they dispersed from the circle, most of them to their sleeping arrangements.

Arthur went with you to your tent, and at first you weren’t sure why he stayed so close. When you went inside and he tried to close the flaps you stopped him.

“I can close up, I’m not quite tired yet…”

He gave you a respectful nod, but still held the flaps in his hand. “I just think that maybe you should close ‘em. I’ll stay outside here for a while just to make sure nothin’ happens,” he explained, but now you were fearful.

“What would happen?” You ask with the same amount of fear creeping into your voice.

“Nothin’, I won’t let it,” he assured you, but even though he brought some ease to your mind, he didn’t answer your question.

“Arthur, what would happen to me?”

“I don’t know… I don’t think they’re stupid enough to try anything, but…” he trailed, his voice leading off into a soft spoken tone.

“But?”

“Bill is very drunk right now, and he’s had some problems in the past,” he didn’t want you to think Bill was some sort of evil man, but if only for right now, he wanted you to be cautious of him. “Just want you safe, is all.”

You looked at him for a moment before concocting an idea. Probably a bad one, but that remains to be seen.

“Would you come sit with me a while?”

He looked back outside the tent, where across the camp, a few of the men still lingered, watching from a distance. Looking back to you, he couldn’t say no. It’s been part of his new curse, unwilling to see you upset or in need of anything at all. He doesn’t even know why, but his brain won’t let him function like he used to.

“I s’pose, but it’ll fuel their rumors that we…” he let his words fall off, but you knew what he was getting at.

“That’s the point,” you told him, a nervous smile on your face. “If you don’t mind the rumors, that is.”

“M’not understandin’,” he shook his head. Wasn’t that the whole reason he had to interject in the first place? To clear your name of any intimate relations with him that had been suspected?

“Even if it’s just lyin, maybe they’ll leave me alone,” you explained. The thought of people thinking you were impure was a strange one, but you’re sure it beats the feeling of being hunted like prey.

“Alright,” he nodded, looking at you with a decent smile. “Yeah, it’s alright with me, Red.”

You smiled in relief, suddenly all too focused on how he was looking at you. His hat was tipped slightly, so the brim framed his eyes in the moonlight from outside. You closed the flaps and sat back down with him, trying to think of something to say.

“How long do you think we oughta stay in here for?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the furthermost tent pole. “For them to actually believe it? I’d say a few hours…”

“Oh, really?” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a cynical look.

He smirked, nodding his head around some. “I’m only kiddin’... mostly. But you can kick me out whenever it suits you.”

“So long as you’re willin’ to help me, stay as long as you want.”

He smiled again, genuinely, and though he could barely see your face in the dim light of the closed tent, the small hole in the fabric ceiling made for the prettiest glow in your hair. He got to thinking, and of course that’s a dangerous thing, but he had to ask.

“If you don’t mind sayin’ so… why haven’t you uh-?” His gesture towards the campfire outside, still going but soon to be snuffed out by the desert winds.

“Honestly?” you searched the files of your mind for something that didn’t sound too privileged. You knew you had it good growing up, and no one here could compare, but you still had issues that eventually changed your entire life. “My mother taught me to save myself for my husband.”

“Oh,” he furrowed his brow. Your wild and careless nature didn’t match what you were saying. “I didn’t take you for someone who would.”

“I’m not… but, I’ve been Charlie Brooks ever since I ran away, and no one ever knew me otherwise until you.”

He seemed surprised, but it did make sense when he pieced it all together. You’d gotten so good at playing the role of a young man, that countless people believed it. So much so, that you’d never been able to take a lover, though multiple women tried.

“And what about now? You ever thought of it?” He asked gently, his questions, though a bit intrusive, didn’t feel hard to answer. You knew he was curious, and after what just took place, you felt you owed him at least a few things to be resolved.

“I have, a few times,” you admitted, your voice becoming softer when you realized what you were about to share. It didn’t really matter, though, you trusted him more than anyone else in this world as it were, and knew he wouldn’t mock you. He acts all tough, but he’s a soft and gentle creature deep down. “I think I’m still gonna wait until I can give it to someone I love.”

He dipped his head. He definitely understood, and only wished he’d been wise enough to do the same. There was a time in his life before where he wishes he’d waited for a certain girl… but that was ages ago, and he knows his count is higher than it should be.

“Do you think you’re close to findin’ that someone?” his voice was just above a whisper, now, and he knows that the question he’s asked is risky. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer, but without thinking, you give it to him.

“Real close,” you told him, looking down at your hands when his dim-lit stare became too much.

“Yeah?” he smiled, genuinely and with a hope he hadn’t felt in a while.

You nodded to him, tilting your head as you took him in. Not tonight… you’re not ready, and you know you won’t be for a while. It’s just then, however, that you’ve decided it will be him. You nearly decided that on the day you first arrived at camp. That day when he teased you and you swore on your life that you didn’t like him all that much… but then the very next day he went and surprised you. His kindness and gentleness will never be forgotten.

“Thank you for doing this, Arthur. I know I’m probably dooming you to a whole list’a questions tomorrow, but I’m grateful.”

“You don’t needa thank me,” he shook his head, being his generous and benevolent self. “I’ll always help you, whatever ya need.”

You stayed silent for a moment until he chuckled under his breath. “What?”

“Oh nothin, just thinkin’ of the look on Bill’s face tomorrow.”

You gave it a single thought and it made you laugh, too. It would probably be a terribly inappropriate slew of nasty questions after a round of congratulations, but he would deal with it, not you.

You crawled over next to him, sitting on the ground by his side, and leaning your head on his shoulder. He didn’t mind, nor did he say anything. He just picked up your hand that was laying strewn on your lap, and threaded your fingers together. It was a silent action, but both of you understood immediately what it meant. We’re gonna be something, just give it time.

You sighed in contentment and turned your head to look at him. His profile stared on into the edge of the tent wall, until he could feel your eyes on him. He looked back down at you, but didn’t make a move. That’s not what tonight was about, and there would be plenty of time for all of that soon, he was sure of it. He squeezed your hand and turned back to face the tent wall, dipping his hat a little. Maybe he’d fall asleep here, and it would be the perfect crime scene for everyone to experience the next morning. You’d no doubt let him slumber here throughout the night, but you’d likely drag him into the bed, knowing how sore his back got every now and then.

You wanted to make sure he was comfortable, you wanted to take care of him. You knew by now all of his little quirks and strange necessities, and were willing to bend over backwards to make sure he got them. You were willing to do anything it took to make sure he smiled at you like he’d just done seconds ago, to keep that look on his face whenever your eyes met, even in a crowded room.

You’d lasso the moon for him if he asked, and pull it down so he could know its beauty from a closer perspective. You’d come to the conclusion that no matter which way you framed it, you were in love with Arthur Morgan. Had been for some time, but denial was a strong presence within you, and you were stubborn as hell when it came to admission.

You both eventually fell asleep like that, leaning against each other on the ground, and no effort of getting into the bed came about.

Bill’s face was indeed priceless, but you think you got more of a laugh from Sean. You didn’t even need to see his face, you heard his hollering from across the camp. You’d been cleaning rifles when the other redhead’s bellowing voice made you giggle. You’re sure that Arthur was annoyed as hell, but you’ll thank him for putting up with everything later.

The strangeness of the men lingered only a bit longer, but when a few days passed, and Arthur started acting more protective out of nature towards anything that was said about you, they backed off. In their minds, you were Arthur’s girl… Off limits to everyone else.

There were of course more than just the men who had heard about your ‘all nighter’ with Arthur.

The women, albeit a bit nosy, were actually quite fun to gossip with. It seemed like faking the loss of your innocence with Arthur did wonders for the whole camp and their acts of shunning you. Did it bother you? Only slightly… it would have been worse if you’d actually gone through with it and appeased the camp

“Is he a good kisser? He did kiss you, right?” and “Did it hurt? I bet it hurt, he’s a big man…” were your favorite contenders for questions asked. You did as you needed to, alluding to the facts without actually saying anything of substance. To be very clear, nothing happened in the tent that night, or in the morning before he left. You had no actual idea if anything you were hinting at was true, but that was the fun of it.

“You measured your cycle, didn’t you? You don’t wanna end up like me,” Abigail chimed in, Jack thrashing around on her hip while he cried. He was a sweet baby, but sometimes he was just a mess to deal with, and being in a camp full of outlaws didn’t help anything.

“Yeah, I did…”

“Did he uh… prepare you first?” Karen chimed in with her own curiosities, and a small giggle followed. They knew that Arthur was the best of the men, and he was good to women… but none of them had gotten up close and personal proof of that fact.

“Yes?” You answered with a bout of confusion… preparation? Your mother never mentioned nothing about damn preparation.

“Lucky girl,” she sighed out, her eyes rolling dramatically. “You really are, I hope you know. Arthur’s the best of the men.”

“Oh I know, trust me,” you snickered at just how lucky you were. These girls were drooling over the details you gave them. All were false, but you knew he’d own up to every single one of them, because he was just that good and kind to you. He was like a loyal dog, Dutch said, and he was right. You were more than lucky to have his care and protection, and it started to feel intimate in a way that sex never could.

There was a word for that, you think… devotion.

“So, are you Arthur’s girl, now?”

That one caught you off guard, because even with a fake answer, you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you answered truthfully for the first time that morning, and it was almost refreshing to speak something that wasn’t just a blatant lie.

“It was just a one off, then?” Abigail furrowed her brows. Since she’d rejected Arthur’s offer, she’d been starting to feel some regret. He was indeed the best of the men, and she’d turned him away in favor of a man who left her. How silly that was… but she knows it’s too late, now.

“I hope not,” you said nervously, again with truth.

“You’re fond of him, we can all tell…”

You looked at them with surprise and a bit of alarm. “Since when?”

Karen leaned in on her elbows with a small giggle at your reaction. She quieted herself as to not draw more attention to this side of camp, in fears Miss Grimshaw would come force them all to start back on the chores.

“It’s funny, when we found out you weren’t a boy, everything kinda made sense,” she chuckled.

Abigail kept nodding along, her smile broadening. “You used to follow him around like a puppy, we all thought it was because you looked up to him, wanted to be like him.”

“Even I could tell, and I’d been pretty blinded by my own fondness of you,” Tilly joked, nudging you in the arm as you’d come to the realization that even under the guise of Texas Red, you had absolutely no subtlety.

“Was it that obvious?” you asked in annoyance with yourself. You dipped your head into your hands when they all nodded in the affirmative.

The girls were about to start round two of questions when Dutch and Hosea came out of the center tent, Dutch commanding the attention of all the members in the camp.

“Everyone, listen up!” His large and brutal steps seemed angry, and you waited patiently to find out why. “We’re moving camp!”

Everyone was immediately caught up in the new announcement, conquests of nights past becoming completely forgotten. Questions of ‘Why?’ and ��What happened?’ were uttered, as this seemed very sudden. The cash flow from Agua Fria was rather booming, and it didn’t seem like there needed to be a move.

“I’ve just gotten word from Davey that the Pinkertons know we’re here. They’re looking for the camp as we speak, so we’ve got to go.”

His intense speech was followed by everyone leaving where they were, running around and trying to get things packed into the wagons, tents included.

You were new to the ‘being on the run’ part of outlaw life, as even before when you were just a gunslinger, the law never chased you. You’d earned a reputation for killin’ folk, but the law deemed you harmless when they found out that you only shot those who wanted to shoot you first. You’d not ever committed a real crime among the citizens, and even paid your way for everything. It was only after becoming a Van Der Linde that you figured you were about to be in trouble.

You had your entire living situation torn down and packed up within the hour, tying it all together and slinging it in the back of Arthur’s wagon. You came around the corner and saw that he was still packing up. Being here longer meant he had quite a few more belongings to take care of.

“Need some help?” You smiled at him, ready to lend a hand.

“You done already?” He responded to your question with one of his own, pleasant surprise in his expression.

“Not much to pack away,” you reasoned, no longer waiting for him to answer you as you started dismantling his cot and rolling up the canvas around the iron bar pieces.

You were happy to help him get done faster, you’re sure with his strength and size he’d be needed elsewhere soon. You did have a few questions for him, though.

“I don’t think I ever asked… When did you all get here?”

“Not long before you did, I reckon. We used to be able to stay years in the same spot, the law would never catch us…” he shook his head, tossing some picture frames he had into a sack. “Times are changin’ for folk like us.”

“You were here before me?” You asked in confusion. Obviously they were at the camp before you… but you’d been in Agua Fria for over a year yourself.

“Yeah, and we’d all heard the stories about Texas Red before we even met ya,” he chuckled, his speed increasing the more he saw other members of camp rushing with panic to get moving before sundown. “The day Dutch brought you back, I almost thought he was kiddin'.”

“Glad to know I made a good impression,” you teased, a laugh being huffed out with slight annoyance while you heaved his clothing chest up and into the wagon. Probably a heavier item you should have left for him, but then that wouldn’t be helping.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He assisted you in shoving the chest further in the wagon, since you struggled just slightly, and didn’t want to bend over in your skirt. “I just had it in my head that you’d be all big n’ scary.”

“You mean more like you?” you taunted, giving him a smirk to show you didn’t actually think he was big and scary.

“I guess so,” he shook his head, throwing his sack of belongings in with the other junk. “But then I first saw you, talkin’ with Tilly and Abigail… you looked all scrawny and what not. I thought, this can’t be the kid I’ve been hearin’ about.”

“And what do you think of me now?” You asked honestly, stopping the haste of the afternoon for only a moment to share a gaze with someone special to you. He stopped too, a side smile pulling at his lips when he answered.

“I think you’re much scarier, now…” he trailed, reaching his hand to touch your hair where it had grown just below your ears.

“You think I’m scary?” You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, his eyes meeting yours.

“Terrifyin’...”

He started to get closer, and in the setting light of the day, you almost thought he might close the small gap, but then-

“Arthur!” Pearson’s shrill voice rang out loudly, and you flinched away from the moment, coming back to reality. “I need you over here!”

“Just give me a damn second!” He shouted back, but by the time he’d turned his attention to you again, you’d jumped away from him from the startle, and the moment was cut short. “I better get over there…”

“I’ll finish up for you,” you waved him off, moving to the barrel with his shaving kit. It was one of the last things that needed packing.

“I’ll owe ya,” he nodded, tipping his hat forward before having to run off.

He wouldn’t owe you a damn thing.

The gang traveled north and west for several days, until coming to a clearing in a nice little town called El Paso. What could be so great about this town? Well, for starters, the law was mighty thin in this region, and there were roads nearby that had rich folk traveling as well. Dutch said it was like an outlaw’s paradise…

He’d also mentioned there was a railway station in the next town over, something to look into.

Arthur had done so right away, leaving the newly set up camp for a few days to scope out the area and put on a good cover. He was always the best man for the job, so you couldn’t complain about him being away, but there was of course a downside. Neither you nor Arthur pulled a stunt in the new camp like you had at the old one, and with him being gone, it gave the men a bit of leeway to behave as they did before.

It wasn’t as sexual as it had been, but their bad attitudes towards you, and now that you’re seeing it, the other women as well, was atrocious. You’d been so blind to it all when you didn’t have to deal with it first hand, but now that you did, it was constant.

Bill was the worst, as you knew him to be. He often didn’t even wait for Miss Grimshaw to collect the laundry anymore, just throwing dirty shirts and trousers in your direction and telling you he needed it cleaned the next day.

“Not my job, not my problem,” you threw the articles of clothing at him every time, and every time he’d just scoff and go to the next woman, who would do as she was told because, even though you’d lucked out in skill, the others still had to earn their keep somehow.

Lucking out in skill didn’t even seem to be helping you recently. Every job you suggested you could help with, Dutch turned you down. It had even caused a fight with Hosea, who wanted you to go in his place.

Hosea had kept his distance with you when your secret was first revealed. Not to be cruel or unfair, but because you’d been embarrassed about the whole thing, and he could sense you didn’t want to open up to anyone right away.

He did, however, become far more acquainted with you on the journey to El Paso.

“I think you’re a mighty brave person, you know,” he’d struck up the conversation.

“Me? Brave? I just shoot folk,” you shook your head, watching the horses in front of you both as they towed the wagon you sat on. “Ain’t nothin’ brave about that.”

“Not for shootin’ folk… I think you’re brave for bein’ on your own as long as you were. Especially a young woman.”

“Well, I appreciate you sayin’ so… but nobody knew I was a young woman, it sort of helped.”

He’d nodded sweetly, giving you a smile and a pat on the shoulder. The gentle and comforting talks between you became common from then on.

Arthur had come back to the camp one morning, when everyone had woken, bringing a few different things. His first stop was Dutch, obviously, giving the intel over so a plan could be formed. The next job was going to be important. If it went down well, then this little town could be a great place to settle for the months to come, but if not, it would allow you all to know just how involved the law in this town actually was. You’d heard it wasn’t much.

When Arthur came out of Dutch’s tent, he made a beeline to you… or more specifically, your tent. He actually didn’t even see you sitting across from your living quarters when he approached it, but you watched him with great curiosity on what he was doing. He’d been distant since leaving Agua Fria and arriving here, and you wondered if he was trying to rectify that.

He left your tent just as quick as he went in, and met your eyes with a small nod and a soft smile. He’d been caught. He just went on his way after that, and didn’t even bother to greet you properly.

You furrowed your brows, dropping the rifle you were cleaning before going inside your tent. He obviously didn’t take anything, you knew that. You didn’t keep anything of value except for your pistol, thirty-two notches now carved into the stock, but you always kept it on you...

When you looked at your cot, you found only one thing out of place. A pretty orange flower laying against your rolled up woolen blanket. Its bottom petal was slightly bent, and you wondered if he had kept it in his satchel on the ride back to camp.

It was very sweet of him to think of you, and bring it back. You don’t think you’ve ever told him how much you like the color orange, but you reckon he just brought back the flower without even thinking about the color.

You wanted to go and thank him, to talk with him for the first time in several days. You missed him whenever he was gone… you always hoped he missed you, too. He probably missed everyone, but he brought you an orange flower.

He was somehow already on the other side of camp, hassling Pearson about something nonsensical you’re sure, getting the man riled up over probably nothing. Pearson was a decent guy, but he was a little obnoxious, so teasing him was something you could definitely condone. You thought about just marching up and breaking up the scene, but then thought it might be better to instead make a lesser deal of it, just like he did.

The men left the flower with no words to be said, so you’d thank him for it the same way… unless of course he broke the silence first.

You tucked the flower behind your ear, letting the orange color sit nicely against the similar shade of your hair. You ran over to Arthur’s shaving barrel, close to the edge of your living area, and checked how it looked before walking nonchalantly towards Pearson’s kitchen.

They were still grobbling over nothing, but when you came to the table, leaning forwards on it they both stopped.

“What can I do ya for, miss?” Pearson asked, having become a much kinder, albeit a little bit more sarcastic person to you since your secret came out.

“Just wondering what’s for dinner tonight…”

“How about that, Arthur, she wants to know what’s for dinner,” the man laughed, hands on his hips when he looked back to the younger counterpart.

“I’m goin, I’m goin,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, clearly knowing he was the one responsible for hunting today. He’d just gotten back, but of course they made him do damn near everything. “You wanna come with me, Red?”

“Me? Huntin’? I’ve never been, I’d probably scare ‘em off…” you resisted slightly, but knew that if he asked you a second time there would be no hesitation.

“I’ll teach ya,” he offered, nodding his head towards the horses. “Not like they’d get far with your shootin’, anyway.”

You followed him immediately, picking up your skirt and rushing up behind him. Hunting with Arthur seemed like a mighty good idea at first, until you realized Dutch would probably be upset with you for not finishing the rifles… Tossing it over in your head for only a moment more, you neglected the prospect of the rifles.

You could tell that Dutch was slowly trying to keep you out of the shooting jobs, even if you were the fastest gun in camp. Somehow learning you were not a man had tainted his idea of you… the one he’d spoken so highly of that first day to Arthur and Hosea. You supposed that going along with Arthur could only help you in the long run.

You went to saddle your horse, but he stopped you, a gentle hand on your wrist, letting go as soon as he had your attention. “We don’t need ‘em both, just ride with me.”

You nodded, doing as you were told and trying not to make a big deal out of it. He’d helped you up first, hands placed carefully at your waist when he heaved you upwards. He climbed up in front of you, and suddenly you didn’t know where to put your hands. You’d never ridden behind a saddle before, you never needed to.

“That’s a nice flower in your hair, by the way,” he muttered, not even looking back before grabbing the reins and leading the horse out of camp.

The train job had been decided, but not without long and strenuous arguments about the roles to be played.

The first draft of said plan excluded you, and you didn’t even have to wonder why. None of the other women were included, either.

The second draft of the plan included both you and Abigail, but as mere pawns instead of actual roles.

The final plan will go as follows:

Abigail is going to make it so that a certain man never boards the train with his colleague. Fair enough, she is definitely the woman for the job, as even having her in the near vicinity of a man is distraction enough. You will board the train with the colleague, and lead him to believe that you’re frightened of the journey ahead, getting him to drink with you and become more ‘comfortable.’ After that, it’s up to you to lure him to the back of the train, where Arthur, Bill, and Dutch will be waiting to interrogate this man, and find out where his private safe is. From there, Javier, who will be at the front of the train, will cause it to stop by sticking up the enginemen so you all can hop off at a designated point.

From there you’ll go find the man’s safe, and rob him before he even has a chance to understand what’s happened to him. This is the only chance you will have at this job, since the man in question will be leaving El Paso once and for all.

It sounds like a solid plan, except for the fact that it was suggested you don’t even need a gun.

“Of course she needs a gun, Dutch, she’s the fastest one here,” Hosea argued, a hand running over his face.

“If we’re not planning on shooting, what makes you think she needs to bring it with her? It could blow our cover,” Dutch insisted, arms waving around for emphasis. He didn’t even make a good point, because as it were, you always kept a gun on you in the holster on your thigh, a little present from the man you gave you flowers.

“You’re sending her to do the most dangerous part of the job, she needs a weapon.”

“If Abigail doesn’t need one, then she doesn’t need one, either,” Dutch reasoned, but that just made you chime in.

“Abigail should have one, too. Everyone involved on a job should have protective assurance, just in case,” you shrugged, uncrossing your arms and leaning on the table. “I don’t even leave camp without my pistol.”

Dutch sighed, having dug himself into a deeper hole the more he kept on talking. He was smart, and he had a way with words, but he wasn’t going to be able to pull something like this and now he knew it. You’d been attached to that pistol for far longer than you have been to the camp.

“Alright,” he nodded, continuing his explanation of what happens after they find the man’s personal safe.

The man in the plan was named Albert Templeton, and he apparently was a very wealthy man, looking to make it big in the west by covering as many territories as he could with his canning factories. From what Dutch says, he seems to be a very selfish, very ambitious, and very rich man.

You agree to this job, unknowing of the way it will unfold, but when you finally board that train, handing over your ticket with your hands shaking, you don’t know what to do, suddenly.

Everything is going according to plan, except for the fact that you have absolutely no experience in trying to get a man drunk on purpose.

“You look, a bit frightened, miss, are you alright?” Mr. Albert Templeton asked, right after you ‘accidentally’ bumped into him.

“Yes… Well, no… I’ve never been on a train before,” you huffed out, your stressed tone coming across perfectly for the job. “You seem like you’ve been on many.”

“That I have, my dear,” he smiled eerily, moving an unwanted hand to your hip to try and guide you to the bench he was sitting at. “Come and sit with me, perhaps I can ease your mind.”

“How gracious of you,” you played along, sitting down beside him in the seat closest to the window. You didn’t like feeling trapped between him and the wall, but there was no difference. You still had a gun up your leg if he tried anything stupid.

“So, where are you headed?”

“Oh,” you had forgotten to think of a backstory, so as quickly as you could, you made one up. “I’m going to visit my aunt. She’s very Ill, otherwise she would have come to see me. She knows I don’t like trains.”

“How unfortunate for her,” he nodded, snaking his arm behind you on the back of the bench seat, caging you in further. “I’m sure she’ll be happy for your company.”

“I hope so, we’ve always been a great comfort to one another.”

The conversation kept on like this for a while, until you realized you were getting closer and closer to the point of which Dutch needed him in the back, but he hadn’t even gotten to the bar of the train car yet.

“Would you have a drink with me, sir? I feel that maybe it would ease my nerves a bit.”

He laughed, a smile on his face when he leaned back to you. “I never drink on trains. But I would be much obliged to buy you one, yourself.”

You started to panic from there.

You smiled at him and nodded, getting him to stand up… however, before you got him to the bar, you tried to carefully and quietly take your gun from its holster, pressing it against the rib of the man before you. He froze, knowing what was happening immediately.

“Don’t make a sound. Just keep walking until I tell you to stop, you hear?”

He nodded, making his way to the end of the car, going into the next one, and the next one after that until you could see three familiar faces sitting and waiting for you.

“What the hell is this?” Dutch asked, his eyes narrowing in on the gun in your hand.

“He wouldn’t drink, had to come up with something else.”

Arthur ran a hand over his face. This is why you usually rode with him. You did things the way he would, and not with the gentle and intelligent touch of a female outlaw like Abigail. For all intents and purposes, you'd always been a man, and this was breaking the cycle for you.

“Please don’t hurt me, I have nothing you could want.”

“The hell you don’t,” Dutch manhandled Albert onto a cargo box, pulling his own gun and holding it to strike fear into the man. “We’ve heard about the safe.”

“What safe?” He played dumb, and then Dutch immediately got angry.

“You see? This is why he needed to be drunk!” Dutch took out his anger for the situation on you, even though the majority of this was not your fault.

“Told ya, she should be back at camp fixing buttons and shit with the others,” Bill shook his head, and you were about to pull your gun in his direction if he said another word.

“He wouldn’t drink, it ain’t her fault. She still got him to us… I say we make him talk,” Arthur stood up, clenching his fists and intimidating the man by coming closer. “S’nothing I ain’t used to.”

“Do what you can, Arthur… and you,” Dutch pointed in your direction, his brow still angry. “Go back up there and make sure no one saw you pull that gun.”

You nodded, taking yourself away from the scene in order to keep your composure. Arthur stood up for you, but you could tell that even he was upset about straying from the plan. This was a big job, with many key elements. One thing going wrong could ruin it all.

You made your way back, but saw Javier rushing towards you in the bar car, his gun out as he tried to reach you.

“Brooks,” he started to shove you back to the car you came from, and just over his shoulder you could see the men trailing not too far behind, looking like train security. “We have to go, they know we’re here.”

You started rushing for the last car again, tripping over your skirts here and there. This dress was not practical, and was far too formal for a job like the one you were pulling. You much preferred the one Arthur bought you, but Dutch insisted it didn’t ‘sell the story’ that you were trying to tell.

“Why in God’s name are you back here?”

Dutch didn’t have a minute to grill you, because Javier took the floor first.

“They know we’re here, there’s about five men heading this way, now. Maybe more.”

Arthur sighed heavily, pulling his fist back to his side. He’d only hit Mr Albert Temlpeton a few times, but it seemed the job was going south, and he hadn’t said anything anyway.

“Arthur, turn him loose, the rest of you, find cover… we’re gonna have to shoot our way out.”

Albert taking off through the doors only allowed the train guards to know exactly where you all were hiding. With guns blazing, the five of you were able to get past the small group that had headed for you… but once you got to the civilian travel cars, there were more, and they had bigger guns, too. You got scared to pull a gun in a heavily crowded train car, especially one that had innocent men, women, and children inside. You held your aim, like always, but got scared when the second round of guards came for you.

“Drop your weapons!” The man at the front of them shouted. “Get on the ground, now!”

“Or maybe we could walk right through,” Dutch was the first to shoot, nailing the man right in the face. It was challenging to stay focused on the task at hand, when so many people were screaming.

A child was crying, and most everyone was just trying to duck in their seats as the bullets flew. You were too scared to shoot at first, seeing the windows break around you, and the high speed of the train causing the winds to blow inside the car, making it hard to hear anything.

You tried to hold your ground, knowing you were a better shot than anyone here… but there comes a time in everyone’s life, when the chaos prevents them from doing the one thing they know how to… this was that moment for you. Everything was caving in. You’d completely ruined this job, and it was going haywire because of you. You put your friends, no, family, in a very dangerous position, and most of all, you put innocent men, women, and children on the front lines to fend for themselves. All because you strayed from the plan.

You saw it, but it was too late… the man had pulled his gun directly towards you, and you barely had any time to react this time. You still fired first, and still shot him dead first, but his bullet still left the barrel, skewing downwards because of your own shot, and hitting you directly by your left hip.

You collapsed into a seat, trying to get yourself back up. You started bleeding profusely with every steep movement you made, and once the last Guard had been shot down, Arthur saw what happened to you.

“Red!” he shouted, reaching for your body, making sure you’d not been hit badly. He was relieved to see it was a hip shot, but the amount of blood concerned him greatly. “Can you stand?”

“I can try,” you groaned out, holstering your gun before using him as a lift.

The others went to the front of the car, not wasting any time, but as soon as they looked through the broken window, they could see more men quickly approaching.

“Shit, we can’t stop the train.”

“We’ll have to jump from the back of this car,” Javier responded to Dutch, who was pacing back and forth, glaring daggers at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“Are we close enough to the exit point?”

“It doesn’t matter, the ground is even now, we need to jump before the bridge.”

Arthur was freaking out, trying to hold pressure to your hip and hold you upright, while they were talking about jumping off a train. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so stressed out about a job before.

You start to get light headed suddenly, and sway in his hold, trying to keep yourself balanced, though the train is making it hard to do that anyways.

The sound becomes fuzzy, but you can here when Dutch calls everyone back to the door of the cabin car.

“Stay with me,” Arthur tells you, watching your head tilt forward and your eyes get heavy. He knew you would pull through, because even though you were losing a decent amount of blood, you were still on your feet, moving along with him. You were a fighter, he’d known since he met you. Probably because you liked fighting him on damn near everything he said.

He stood at the edge of the rail, the only thing separating the gang from jumping the transport was a little dingy chain that hooked onto the edge of the cabin car.

“It’s up here!” Javier shouted, removing the chain and getting ready to disembark.

“We gotta jump, Red,” he tried to keep you conscious, and you nodded, but you were clearly too weak to do this yourself right now.

You felt yourself being tucked closer to Arthur, his arms coming around you. You finally closed your eyes, unsure if they would even stay open on their own anymore. Then there was a lift and a jump. You felt the air around you flying fast until the wind got knocked out of you, hitting the ground. Arthur took the harder fall, but to be fair, he hadn’t been shot.

You opened your eyes in a rush of adrenaline, but once you caught your breath, it started to fade again.

Everyone stood up, including you, but you were still wobbling back and forth.

“Well,” Dutch looked to Bill and Javier, “We’re alive, but we got nothing.”

“S’all the girl’s fault,” Bill spat out some blood from his bleeding lip and shook his head.

You didn’t even have the motivation to call him out right now. Didn’t have the energy to stand, either. Before Arthur could even steady you, your head started throbbing, and you hit the ground again, hand over your open wound.

The sounds were familiar when you came to. The usual ruckus of the camp, nothing strange or out of the ordinary… except for when you tried to sit up you were immediately pushed back down. You had a look around and saw that you were not in your tent, but lying in Arthur’s cot. His gentle push was what kept you laid back, and you saw the look on his face when he found out you were awake.

“Don’t get up, I gotta fix you so ya don’t bleed out.”

You didn’t say anything, just obeyed his instruction.

He’d gotten that stupid puffed sleeve nonsense off of you, leaving you in a corset and chemise and a small petticoat. Of which he was having a hard time figuring out how to untie.

“I’ll get it,” you leaned up slightly, groaning when you did. You untied the petticoat, and worked off the corset while you were at it. Being in a chemise and bloomers in front of the camp wasn’t an irregular thing, as it was standard sleepwear when on the run. There were not many normalities when being an outlaw, but even still, you nearly felt embarrassed being in such a skimpy state of dress, especially when he wasn’t even done.

He looked to you, his hands on the hem of your chemise, and you nodded to him in permission.

He pulled it back, only enough to see where the blood was seeping through. His face twisted in disgust of the wound before shaking it off and getting to work. You laid back and waited, knowing that when all was said and done, you didn’t want to watch yourself get stitched up. You’d never had to do it to yourself before, and thank God for that.

“It was stupid, what you did…” He brought up, cleaning the wound with some whiskey on a rag.

“I know,” you winced, squeezing your eyes shut. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

He paused his wording, unsure of what else to say to you. He’s sure getting shot was a revelation for you that you weren’t invincible, but he also wanted you to know you weren’t blameless in this endeavor, either.

“You got some innocent folk killed today.”

When the first and second stitch went in, you were about ready to die. Him telling you this was not helping with the outstanding pain.

“You know I never meant for it to happen…” you trailed, thinking about those poor children that you heard screaming in the train today. Such a sad and significant moment, and you’ll never forget it. You knew you’d been the one to cause them such distress, and some of those innocent folk were dead now.

“You sure about that?” He looked up at you from his task, his hands still gently working your skin back together. His actions and words confused you, because they were so opposite right now, and you didn’t know why.

“What do you mean?” You met his gaze, a furrowed brow on your face.

“As I see it… you used to kill a lotta folk just for fun before I met you.”

Why is he even bringing this up? You’d told him why you did what you did, and how much of a toll it took on you… so why now, when all this has transpired, would he bring up the origins of your gunslinger facade?

“Arthur… I did what I had to. They would have killed me first. I ain’t never started a duel in my life, n’ you know that,” you reminded him, and he seemed to understand that it was wrong of him to say. He didn’t apologize, though… just kept on with what he felt he needed to say.

“Look, all I’m sayin is… you had one job today, and it felt like you went off the road just to spite Dutch,” he argued, tying off the thread that pulled your skin closed. There was still cleaning to be done around the wound, and some sort of bandage would need to be applied, just in case of excess bleeding… but you sat up, stopping him from finishing anything.

“Is that what he told you?” you asked, referring to Dutch, of course.

“No, I was wonderin about it myself.”

“I wasn’t tryna get anybody hurt. Dutch used to put me riding with you, remember? I always did good. Now he wants me to do a job he thinks a woman is suited for, and I’m not so good anymore. Why do you think that is?” You asked, the annoyance written all over your face and dripping in your words.

“You could’ve called it off. We could have just told Javier to come back and wait it out until the next station. We’ve bailed on jobs before when it got too dangerous…” he explained, his voice raising just slightly again to meet your level of ferocity.

You took a second to breathe when he spoke. In all honesty, you’d never had to leave a job before, because when you started riding with them as Texas Red, the jobs always went through. No one told you about the bail out rule.

“I didn’t know that...”

“Well you should’ve at least told us he wouldn’t drink. Then you wouldn’t be to blame.” He didn’t quite meet you at the calm state, his anger still peeking, even when yours had come down. Saying what he just said was about to make matters so much worse, though.

“You think I’m to blame?”

“I think you played a massive part in this shit hole, yeah…” he huffed out, nodding his head and looking at you as if that should somehow get you to agree with him.

“I don’t wanna hear this anymore,” you scoffed, standing to your feet and grabbing your belongings. You felt the sting of the stitches pulling, and tried to be mindful of them, but the way he was speaking to you, especially while you bled on his cot, was not something you could take.

“Get back here, I ain’t finished cleanin’ you up.” He stood to his feet, trying to take steps after you, but even injured, you were stubborn and quick on your feet, pulling away from his reach.

“Abigail will help me.”

“You stubborn ass, why can’t you ever just listen when you’re wrong?” He shouted after you, which had you turning on your heel to shout back to his face.

“Maybe because I’m not!”

Your face didn’t even read anger as much as in did pain. Not the physical kind. The ailments you faced with your body, you took like a champ… but this pain in your heart and mind was far more complicated, and when he saw how saddened you were by him, he didn’t know what to do… but of course, his anger was still rising, though yours turned to something else.

“Damnit, Red… you’re gonna find yourself in a nice deep hole someday, and you’ll have pushed away everyone that cares to help you out of it.”

“I can climb out of it myself, then.” You muttered, taking the steps back to him so he could really look you in the eye when you said this… “I used to think you cared about me… wanted to help me. But you’re just like him.”

“Like who?” he asks, jutting his chin out for a moment to seem tough.

“You’re just like Dutch… just want me to play the part of the sweet little pet that lures the men into your jobs. I won’t do it… I can’t do it, clearly.”

“That ain’t what this is about,” He grabbed your wrist as you went to turn away again, and you pulled it loose. “You know I think you’re talented with that gun.”

“Then why don’t you ever fight for me to use it? Why is it that every time Dutch wants to make me into something I’m not, you stand by and watch it happen?” You weren’t meaning it as a hypothetical question, you really wanted an answer. Standing here, the camp noise having been drowned out by your argument, you watched as he searched for something to say, but he couldn’t find anything… nothing that could save him, at least. “That’s what I thought… just stay away from me, Arthur.”

“Red?”

“Leave me alone!”

You took to the new town, the argument with Arthur the days prior still fresh on your mind. You knew you’d messed everything up, and it was most definitely your fault. You can only see it now, Dutch giving a big speech while you’re away to convince everyone that you shouldn’t be doing big jobs anymore. If only he’d just given you Javier’s place on the train, and had Abigail or Karen go after Albert Templeton, the gang might be a couple thousand bucks richer right now.

You’d not just taken to the town as the girl they wanted you to be, because that girl didn’t exist.

There was only the girl you grew up as, and Texas Red, no in-between. It wasn’t the sweet Miss Brooks going into the bustling saloon of El Paso, it was Texas Red, the unkillable.

Maybe that’s where you’d gone all wrong. Wearing dresses, letting your hair start to grow, and even wiping the muck off your face whenever it gets there… you’d practically handed them a reason to treat you differently.

All of this is your fault. The mistreatment, the exclusion, the job gone wrong, everything.

It’s the heavy weight on your mind when you roll up to the bar, gun hanging heavy on your hip, the now thirty-three notches becoming a bigger and stronger presence every time you reach for it.

“Whiskey, double,” you knocked on the wooden bar slab, a grimace on your face while waiting for the drink. You put the money down immediately, just as always. It became a habit as soon as interruptions became common anytime you went for a whiskey.

You threw back the first drink then ordered another, throwing that one back, too. You got into a steady rhythm until there was a tap on your shoulder.

You turned around, eyes becoming glazed, and hands becoming tightly fisted. Whoever was bothering you has no idea how much of a mood you’re in, but if they aren’t careful, they’re gonna end up dead.

“Hey, I know you,” the man spoke. He looked to be about early forties, with silver lines in his dark hair, and smile lines over his cheeks.

You gave him a look, up and down, before you decided he was mistaken.

“No, you don’t.” You turned back to the bar, but he tapped your shoulder again, and the pistol at your side was feeling oh so heavy, waiting for your hand to pull it.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you,” he laughed, a broad and excited smile. “You’re that Texas Red fellar from down in Agua Fria.”

“Just ‘cuz I got red hair, it don’t make me Texas Red,” you slurred, slightly, the alcohol buzzing your senses, but not your reflexes. Your hands are practically itching to shoot something, or someone, and this guy seems like the perfect target.

“Nah, I know s’you,” he seemed a little drunk, too… but probably not drunk enough to walk away. “Seen your face when you shot that farmer.”

“Farmer?” You don’t even recall a farmer-

“Robert Sims… good man that fellow,” he droned on, seemingly hesitant to get to the point. “But you were the better shot.”

“M’sorry if he was a friend’a yours,” you gave condolences, hoping it would shoo him away, but as you remember, they never go away. “I didn’t wanna shoot ‘im.”

“Nah, he wanted to shoot you,” the man nodded, backing away only slightly before pulling his coat back, revealing a pistol of his own, right on his hip. No notches. “I wanna shoot you, too.”

You rolled your eyes and heaved a breath, looking to the man with a direct gaze. “You’re too drunk, you’ll die.”

He tapped the wooden counter, where your unfinished drink was sitting. “You’ve been drinkin’ too, been watchin’ ya.”

“So you think it’s fair?” You laughed, knowing you were nowhere near drunk enough to miss even a moving target, and be fast enough to hit him first. Maybe your fingers had been itchin’ for a reason, and this was it.

Shooting this man may not bring you joy, but it would bring some security. You’re still as good as they say, despite Dutch and some of the others back at camp. You’re still Texas Red, and you’re still unkillable. Earning the respect of this town, just as you did in Agua Fria would bring you that feeling of confidence that you had slowly been losing in the gang.

“I think I like my chances,” he quipped, earning some oohs from the crowd in the bar. By now you both held almost every ear within the reach of your voices, and the attention was deafening.

They always say that… Why do they always say that?

“Alright,” you turned back to the bar, slamming your drink. “Let’s take it outside.”

The cheering, followed by the chants of your challenger’s name were louder than you expected. They don’t know you, but they will.

You set your pistol, taking thirty paces away from your opposer. As soon as you turn around, there’s a silence amongst the whole town. You watch the man’s hands, the alcohol doing nothing to stop your trigger fingers from getting ready. You never draw first. It’s already an unfair fight, why make it worse?

“Need me to count?” the man says, and you shake your head, thinking you ought to just shoot him. He’s an obnoxious bastard, but he’s cocky and confident, you’ll give him that.

“I ain’t one for countin’,” you yelled, and saw that he almost seemed a little nervous, now. He was always nervous, but now it was on his face. He was drunk, and this was stupid. You should just shoot him in the hand and let him walk away… but you don’t.

You’ve been angry since what happened with Arthur, and you have to take it out somehow. If you can’t drink in peace without ass-hats like this bothering you, then you just have to take care of the ass-hats.

Suddenly, you see his hand dip, gripping the stock and beginning to pull it. You reacted like always, your hand on autopilot while your brain was elsewhere.

The man was dead in less than a second, and you came back to reality with a hammering soberness once the shot rang out.

Thirty-four....

It was the adrenaline, finally kicking in, only long enough to give you a moment of clarity… and looking up from the dead man, across the way by the general store, stood Arthur. He was probably getting supplies for the camp.

He’d stopped to watch, a look of disappointment on his face. He doesn’t think himself a good man, but he’s never had to go from town to town, striking fear into those he meets. He tries to be kind when he can, earning the trust of people, unlike you. You haven’t even earned the trust of the people in camp. You’ve lied to all of them.

The crowd’s cheers and encouragement pull you out of your haze, and a man jumps in front of you, separating your vision of Arthur. You didn’t want to see his sad eyes, anyways.

Everyone pulls you back inside the saloon, and the music strikes back up again… maybe this ain’t so bad after all.

Ten drinks is a lot for anyone, but especially for you, who already had multiple drinks upon first walking into the saloon. No one else dared challenge you, nor did they want to. The drunker you got, the crazier you seemed to act, your reserved gunslinger facade melted right away, and you turned into something of a wild man. The people were very entertained by your stories, the ones about Agua Fria, and then of course traveling with a gang to explore the west. You left names out, of course. Just because you were drunk, didn’t mean you were stupid.

It was after you started stuttering over your feet that two working girls came up to you. They were some of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen, busty around the chest, with low necklines, and stunning faces framed by their bouncy brushed out hair.

“Can I help you ladies?” You tipped your hat to them, a smirk on your lips from the last joke you told to the crowd.

“We were hopin’ we could help you,” The blonde one spoke, and with a smile she started to lean against your arm. “We’ll knock the price for two…”

“That’s very kind’a you, but I ain’t gettin’ a room,” you told them, the same excuse you always had used for women of the night in Agua Fria.

“We’ll get the room, handsome… just pay the price of one for a night,” the brunette girl said, trying to hang off your shoulder, running her hands over it. You had to slide back into the bar to avoid getting her hands on your chest. If she did then you’d be in deep shit.

“How about I make a trip back here some other time, then I’ll come n’ see you two?”

The blonde girl didn’t seem to be holding back, her lips trailing mighty close to your ear. You always knew how to play the part, but you never expected that women would be falling over you this way. It was both alarming and reassuring.

“You sure? Why don’t we just take a ride out back?”

You were getting woozy, the way they pulled at your arms while you were leaning against the bar was swirling your head.

“There ya are, Red!” Came a familiar voice from the side of you. “Knew I’d find you in here…”

“Arthur?” Your vision was only slightly fuzzy, but you could always make out the clear silhouette of the most towering and strongly built man you knew.

“Thanks for findin’ my brother, girls,” he played it off, reaching for your arm to pull you forward. You resisted him at first. “C’mon Red, let’s get you a nice place to sleep tonight.”

“No,” you pulled out of his grasp, unwilling to be manhandled by the same person who told you all those awful things just a few days ago. “I wanna stay with my new friends.”

“They ain’t your friends, kid. C’mon, let’s go.” He tugged you forwards, heaving you up to stand on your own two feet, before picking you up like a hay bale, letting you dangle under his arm as he made his way for the stairs.

“Hey! Let me down!” You cried, squirming in his hold.

He’d already paid for a room for the night, but getting you up there was hell. “Would you stop fightin’ me?”

“No, I wanna go back downstairs…” You trailed, getting stood upright again as he shoved you into a room and closed the door.

“If you do that, Texas Red is as good as dead.”

He locked the door and made sure to put a chair under the knob. He didn’t necessarily know how the folk in this town behaved yet. You’d seen more of it than he had since arriving.

“Ain’t no man ever killed me,” You droned on, your words pouring out like that of a child, with little to no thought.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You mean them pretty girls that wanted to take me for a ride?” You laughed, letting him push you until you were sat on the bed. He knelt down and helped you take your boots off before tugging your hat from your head, throwing it in a chair.

“S’not the kinda ride you were thinkin’,” he sighed, unsure of if you even knew how drunk you were.

“You mean the other kinda ride?” Your obnoxious and bellaring voice could nearly pierce the walls when you were this inebriated.

“Would you stop bein’ so damn loud? Whole place is gonna hear you n’ yer blabberin’...”

“You’re just jealous cuz the girls were fallin’ all over me instead’a you.”

He rolled his eyes with a scoff. Those girls were seein’ an easy target. They thought you were a man they could distract and rob, and maybe have a little fun with along the way.

“I’m sure that’s it… lay down and shut up, will ya?” He shoved you back into the bed, and you groaned, your head hitting even the soft pillows was jarring, and you were sure you’d be feeling it tomorrow.

You figured you better do as you were told, with this situation feeling less ideal the more sober you got. Each minute passed by made you realize just how much shit you would be in with him once you woke up tomorrow. Still, you were drunk enough to start raking over all the earlier thoughts that lead you here in the first place.

“Arthur?”

“What?” He laid back on the other side of the bed, crossing his arms and trying to rest… but of course you weren’t done.

“Do you think I’d be better if I were a real man?”

“No, I do not.” He huffed, his tone flat and his motionless figure unchanging.

“Why?” You turned on your side to look at him, and boy, he looked handsome in this light. Barely illuminated through a window, but you could see the dark outline of his features. ��

“You’re just fine as a woman,” he claimed, still unchanging in position.

“But everyone hates me as one, they love when I’m him.” You liked being him, too. You were confident as Texas Red. Stronger, Faster. Braver…

“They don’t hate ya, they just have different ideas about ya… not that it’s right.” He thought that maybe you’d drop it from here, maybe pick it up another time when he was less tired, and you were more in your right mind.

“What are your ideas?”

“Huh?” He finally turned to face you, unsure of what you were even talking about.

“About me… what are your ideas?”

“Well… I happen to think you’re real strong, and smart. I think you’ve got gifts that even I don’t understand, and you’re good at using ‘em… I also think you’re a caring person, even when you shouldn’t be.” He listed only the things that came to mind, but he knew there were so many more that he was only not remembering.

“Those are all good things…” You supposed.

“Guess so,” he nodded, watching your face contort, as if you were debating on telling him something. You were still stone cold drunk, even if there was a hint of normalcy to you at this point. You wouldn’t remember any of it tomorrow, of that he was sure.

“I think I love you, Mister Morgan,” you let out, looking at him, but not waiting for a reaction. Even in your tarnished state, you’d just wanted him to know what you were feeling.

“No you don’t, s’just the whiskey,” he argued, his whole body tensing up in fear of how to respond to this drunken revelation. Drunk words are sober thoughts. Everyone knows that.

“I do, I love ya more than anything,” you rambled on, completely entranced with the silhouette of him against the cool light of the moonlit windowsill.

“If you really do, you gotta tell me when you’re sobered up,” he instructed. He wanted it to be true, hell, he’d thought it might have been true when first arriving here… but the train job seemed to put you both at square one again, and he was getting tired of it. There was so much he wanted to say to you, but he couldn’t risk being wrong about you feeling the same way. He’s lost too much love in this life to blindly pursue it again. He was tired of getting his heart stomped on.

“I’ll tell you… Swear it,” you crossed your heart, giving him a doe eyed smile. “Do you love me?”

“I can’t tell you yet,” he shook his head, looking back up to the ceiling.

“But I told you…”

“I know, sweet girl… just be patient, alright? I’m gonna get there, promise.”

You nodded, turning on your own back and staring up at the ceiling, a single crack in the painted plaster going along the corner of it, keeping you distracted enough to stop thinking about Arthur and fall asleep next to him.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character

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say-hwaet · 3 days ago

Text

That's The Way it Is

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three: Secrets Kept Summary: Arthur takes you to Horseshoe Overlook, where your supposed family for the last fifteen years has been. Who are these people? And what will you learn about yourself along the way? Warnings: Mature themes, mild language, interrupted cursing Word Count: ~8,400 words Author's note: This is an Arthur Morgan x You story, but I do have some character design/creative license. I wanted to experiment with the element of pretending to be someone else, so the MC does have a given name and character descriptions. Just wanted to give you a heads-up in case it doesn't fit your vibe. I hope you'll decide to give it a chance anyway!

You wish you had a paper and pencil. So many names, though slow and steady they come, and your head hurts too much to keep track of them all.

Arthur has gone down the list. John. Hosea. Dutch. Susan. Pearson. Strauss. Javier. Bill. Abigail. Jack. Uncle. Mary Beth. Tilly. Jenny. Mac. Davey. Charles. Karen. Sean. Molly. Micah. He gave his perspective on how you met them, how they've treated you, and their role in the gang.

You try to hang on to each name, each story Arthur spins, a thread you’re desperate to weave into the fabric of your lost memories. But it's overwhelming, like drinking from a firehose, and you feel the familiar ache behind your eyes intensify with every new piece of information.

"Slow down," you plead as you hold onto him. The scenery passes by you at a steady pace, but with the tender knot building on the side of your head, it’s almost dizzying. “I can’t remember them all.”

“Sorry,” Arthur replies. “I got carried away.”

You find yourself clutching tighter to his jacket. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can, Kit,” Arthur’s voice softens as he reassures you. “We’ve got time.” His gloved hand gently pats your hand. His touch is comforting, familiar in a way you can't yet understand but makes you feel safer nonetheless. “We’ll take it slow,” he continues, “If people start crowdin’ ya, I’ll be there to ensure they back off.”

You manage a smile. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”

The rest of the ride is quieter, your head resting against his back as the landscape shifts around you. The endless stretch of dusty roads, framed by the occasional group of trees, seems to mirror your fragmented memories — vast and somewhat desolate. You close your eyes and try to focus on the warmth Arthur provides, the color under your eyelids changing as shadows cast down on you over the trees.

And soon, you leave the train tracks and enter through some trees, going down a soft slope.

And suddenly, you hear a voice, quickly recognizing it as the drunken cackle you heard during the fight in Valentine. “Who goes there!”

And Arthur answers back. “It’s me! Arthur!”

You open your eyes, but try to remain hidden behind Arthur’s back. You’re here.

“Welcome back!” the man replies, almost cheerful. And you hear his voice draw closer as Arthur continues to ride.

It is then that the man sees you. “Ho-ly sh—!”

“Shut up, Bill, you want the Pinkertons to hear us?!”

Drunken Cackle, now identified as Bill, fits how Arthur described him. Brutish, boarish, with a thick beard, leather duster, and plaid shirt. He looks like he had just rolled in some mud, and you wouldn’t want to be in his sights if he wants to fight. He quickly runs back into camp, rifle held tightly in his hands. “Hey! It’s Kit! Arthur has Kit…!”

Here it comes.

“I can’t tell if he’s happy or not,” you say under your breath.

Arthur clearly heard you, for his warm laugh rumbles his body beneath your cheek.

"Either way, we'll handle it," he assures, his voice a low murmur as he steers the horse smoothly into the heart of the camp.

As you enter the camp, a wave of curious and astonished faces turn toward you. Some of them you recognize from Arthur's descriptions—like raggedy-faced Uncle with his sluggish posture.

“Oh! It is Kit!”

“Kitka’s alive!”

Arthur pulls Montana up by a hitching post and dismounts first. Tying him off, Arthur approaches you and lifts his arms. You accept his gesture and placing your hands on his firm shoulders, he helps you down.

You remain close to him, as he wraps a protective arm around you and escorts you further into the camp.

You see several tents pitched, and a couple of lean-tos. There is also a large chuck wagon and a cauldron over a fire, cooking some kind of stew.

These aren’t the wagons and tents that were in your memory. Maybe Arthur was right. A different time, when you were younger.

You look at all their faces, most smiles and bright eyes as they begin to gather around.

One woman steps forward, her graying hair styled atop her head. "Well, if it ain't a ghost," she says, her voice surprisingly tender. "Welcome home, Kitka."

You try to place her, but struggle. So many names and descriptions to sort through, and your brow pinches.

The woman, seeing the vacancy in your eyes, looks at you with worry. “What’s wrong, girl?”

You feel Arthur pull you closer to him, and while this would normally concern you, you prefer it in the midst of this confusing sea of faces. "Nothing's wrong, Miss Grimshaw," Arthur answers for you, his voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of concern only perceptible to you. “She just…don’t remember us. She got shot really bad and, erm…forgot everything up until Blackwater.”

Susan. This is Susan.

The woman’s eyes widen and she looks at Arthur with concern. “What? How the hell does she forget us?”

A woman, full-figured and blonde, scoffs at the old woman. “Can’t you just be happy she’s alive? For all we knew, she was dead!”

Susan scowls at her. “You watch your tone there, missy…! I missed her just as much as you did, if not more so! I’ve known her since she was a girl!”

Another woman, honey-blonde and slender, comes between them. “Let’s not fight, please!” She turns to you, offering a soft smile that twinkles with empathy as she steps forward. “Kit, I’m Mary Beth, it’s really good to see you standin’ here.”

Mary Beth, a kind soul, as Arthur described her. It was clear by the way he spoke that you and her had a deep friendship. And by the way she takes your hands, there is a true fondness that she has for you. No ill will or misgivings. Maybe someone you can trust.

“You were my friend,” you say, trying to will a memory into your conscious mind.

Her eyes brighten at your words and she squeezes your hands. “Yes, we often shared stories we’ve written. You were teaching me some Czech phrases.”

You remember some words that were spoken to you in your memories with that tongue. You hope that you will learn to speak it again.

Arthur's hand tightens around your shoulder, grounding you as your mind whirls with the fragments of the life you once lived. The words Mary Beth mentions stir something faint within you—a distant echo of laughter and whispered secrets under starlit skies. "Maybe," you venture, hope threading through your tone, "we could try that again.”

Mary Beth nods, and gently backs away.

Another woman, young with dark hair in a tight bun, holds the hand of a little boy.

You smile, deducing who they are. “Abigail and Jack…”

The little boy, with a twinkle in his eyes, beams at the mention of his name. “Aunt Kit!” And breaking free of his mother’s grip, he rushes to you and hugs you at the legs. “I missed you…!”

“Oh!” you gasp, more so at the name rather than his gesture. You look at Arthur. “Am I…?”

He shakes his head. “It’s…kinda hard to explain.” Arthur’s eyes are filled with that old, familiar pain—the unspoken torment of truths too tangled to unweave in a moment. Abigail steps forward, her expression soft and understanding, as she gently retrieves Jack, allowing him back into the safety of her arms.

“Sorry,” she says. “He’s just excited.”

You look at her apologetically, imagining the restraint she must feel to know you and not react similarly to how the boy had. “Don’t be,” you say.

And suddenly, come in a flock of questions, by voices you can’t yet identify.

“Where have you been all this time?”

“Did the Pinkertons get you?”

“Have you seen Mac? or Sean?”

“We thought Arthur was crazy!”

“Hey, hey!” Arthur barks. “Didn’t you hear a damned thing I said? She don’t remember!”

“And that includes you, don’t it, Cowpoke?”

There is a hush over the flock of voices as they turn to look at the one who just posed the silencing question. Your eyes fall on a man. Blonde, with a long mustache, white hat, and pot belly. He’s leaning against the table in front of the chuckwagon, eyeing the sharpness of his knife.

The feeling he gives you is evidence enough. Micah Bell.

Arthur remains still, his eyes narrowing. “Just say it, Micah.”

Micah laughs, a slick, demeaning laugh, as though he has all the cards in his hand. “Must be real hard, watching your plans fall apart, Morgan. The woman you love wandering back from the grave with no memory of any of us, especially you.”

The tension could be cut with a knife. Arthur’s jaw tightens, his fists clench at his sides. You feel an inexplicable urge to defuse the situation, yet you are more curious than anything. Love? What does he mean by that?

“I don’t know what’cher talkin’ about, Micah.”

Micah lifts his chin, like he isn’t worried about having his neck slit. “Oh, I think you do. You really thought you could keep that under wraps? All that sneakin’ off and…whisperin’…you were plannin’ to leave us, weren’t you, Morgan?” And he points the blade of his knife at you. “With that…circus whore.” And he cackles. “Must be real good…all flexible under them sheets.”

And the next thing that happens is a blur. Arthur leaves your side, a blur of brown, black, and green, as he body slams into Micah.

Fists fly, a dance of anger and old grudges, playing out under the heavy gaze of the setting sun. Dust swirls around them as your heartbeat echoes the rhythmic thumping of boots against the dry ground. You stand frozen, watching as each punch from Arthur seems to carry a year's worth of suppressed fury as he lands punch after punch at Micah’s face.

There are several cries from the women and you watch as Charles and John try to break them up.

Arthur roars with a rage that sends goosebumps up your spine. “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SONOFA—!!!”

“ENOUGH…!!!”

The command rings loud enough for Arthur to pause for a second, just long enough for Charles to pull him off of Micah. Arthur doesn’t resist, but the fire in his eyes does not leave.

You feel gentle hands on you, and you whip your head to see Mary Beth on your left, and another girl, Tilly, on your right. They try to escort you away, but you remain planted, your only concern being for Arthur.

And that is when someone steps out of the largest tent. Tall, imposing, with dark hair and a dark vest with a gold chain. Rings on many fingers.

Dutch. It is Dutch Van Der Linde.

He doesn’t look in your direction, immediately walking over to the restrained Arthur and downed Micah. “What the hell are you doing, Arthur?!” he roars. “Is this what we do now? Start fights? Nearly beat our own men to death?!”

“Micah started it, Dutch!” A young man says. “He was saying things about Kit!”

Your name seems to do something to Dutch, as his eyes widen and his body tenses. “….Who, Lenny…?”

Lenny nods and points at you. “Kit! She’s back! She’s alive!”

“Didn’t you hear the commotion, Dutch?” Susan asks, almost perplexed that he didn’t hear it.

Dutch turns, his gaze finally landing on you. For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath. His eyes remain intense, a mix of disbelief and confusion washing over him. "Kit?" he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the murmur of the crowd.

You nod, feeling a tightness in your chest. This is the man you wanted to see. He was on that boat. He may know what happened to you. He was there. “Yes, Dutch. It is me.”

And suddenly, there is a shift in his demeanor. His body relaxes, and he opens his arms. “My child, you’ve come home…!”

Arthur looks on, confused, and Charles lets him go. He remains still and watches Dutch carefully as the leader approaches you.

Unsure what to do, you make your way over to him and accept his embrace as he holds you tightly. “We thought you were dead!”

“It is a miracle I am alive, Dutch.” You come away from his embrace and look him in the eyes. “I’ve been in Blackwater all this time.”

“Really?” Dutch asks inquisitively, his eyes reflecting a sudden interest. “And how did you find your way here?”

You look over at the still-seething gunslinger. “Arthur found me.”

Dutch's grin widens as he turns to face Arthur. “So, he did.” He turns back to you and places a firm hand on your shoulder. “Too bad Hosea had gone off to Emerald Ranch for a score, he’d love to be here while we celebrate!”

“But what about Micah?” Bill interjects, breaking the jovial atmosphere. “You still have that fight to deal with.”

Dutch's smile fades as he narrows his eyes. “I’ll deal with that, Bill,” he says in a low voice filled with determination. He looks back at everyone else gathered around him. “But for now, we’re going to have ourselves a party!”

There is a collective cheer and people begin gathering around you, their faces a mix of curiosity and joy. The sense of community, something you've been missing for so long, wraps around you like a warm blanket.

“We’ve missed gossipin’ with you, Kit!” Karen says, a laugh bubbling out of her lips. “We got so much more good stuff over the last month or so.”

Tilly, still holding your arm, escorts you to a place to sit down. It is a large log, lying in front of a small fire. Mary Beth and Karen sit close by, giggling like school girls.

Music starts somewhere in the distance and looking over, you see Javier playing a guitar, and he comes over to you. “Mind if I join you, ladies?”

Tilly giggles and that seems to be permission enough.

Javier settles down on the ground near the fire, his fingers already caressing the strings of the guitar, pulling a melodic tune into the air that gently swirls around the growing firelight. The song is a soft, happy thing that somehow carries a thread of love through its core.

But the soft moment is quickly ended when Uncle comes lopping over. “Play a good one! One I can actually sing to…!”

Javier rolls his eyes moaning, “Ay, way to ruin a moment, amigo!”

Uncle doesn’t seem to care, waving his bottle of beer in the air. “This is a party, not a soiree!”

“Dios Mio, fine! What do you want to sing?”

“Ring Dang Doo!” he cackles and by the reaction of the girls, it is clear that it is very undesirable.

Amidst the groans and laughter, Javier strums a few hesitant chords, his expression a blend of amusement and resignation. “Alright, Uncle, just for you,” he mutters, and the first notes of “Ring Dang Doo” echo into the night, bringing with it a raucous cheer from some of the other men who are in the vicinity.

The words are rather distasteful and you are relieved that you don’t know the song at all. As the laughter rises and falls around the flickering flames, your mind drifts, tugged by the playful mockery in Uncle's voice and the indulgent frustration in Javier's strumming. It’s moments like these that sharpen the edges of what you've lost—memories that feel just beyond your grasp, lingering like shadows at the fringes of the firelight. You feel a pang in your chest, a dull ache, as if your heart knows what your mind cannot remember.

The stars above twinkle with an indifference that feels almost cruel in its beauty, the vastness reminding you of everything that is missing. As the song ends and the laughter dies down, you find yourself wishing for a melody that could carry you back through the years to the moments that are now just ghosts in your mind.

Then, as if summoned by your longing, Javier switches tunes again, this time to something slower, more melancholic. The notes are deep, resonating with the unspoken sorrows.

And Karen, bobbing her head softly, begins to sing the tune.

I ain't got no father

I ain’t got no father

I ain't got no father

To buy the clothes I wear

And Pearson, the gang’s cook, joins her.

I'm a poor, lonesome, cowboy

Poor, lonesome, cowboy

I’m a poor, lonesome, cowboy

A long way from home

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat growing as the words seem to amplify your own sense of displacement. How aptly they resonate with the tide of confusion that has been your companion since waking up in this unfamiliar life. The song, meant for others' longing, mirrors your fragmented memories, flickering like the campfire before you.

And you look at these faces, faces you should know, and you realize that one of the most important is missing.

Arthur. Where is he?

You sit up straight, looking around, but you don’t see him at the table, or by the chuck wagon. You slowly rise to your feet and begin to leave the group.

“Hey!” you hear Uncle call. “Where you goin’?”

You don’t care to answer, as the music and light fade away from you as you leave. You walk back toward Montana, he’s still here. Arthur must be—

“...And I need you with me on this, son. You and Micah need to get along.”

You freeze. You have just started walking by Dutch’s tent, and no doubt he doesn’t expect you to be listening.

And you hear Arthur, speaking with great agitation. “You know how I feel about him, Dutch—”

“You went and got him out of that jail, and I am thankful, but now is not the time for grudges. Kit is back now, but I can’t have any distractions.”

“She ain’t a distraction, Dutch, but—”

“But what?”

“You—you said she drowned, Dutch.” And there is a sudden silence. “Why did you tell me she fell off the boat and drowned?”

Drowned? He thought you drowned? Can you swim? You don’t know, you can’t remember, but you’d think by living in California, playing in tide pools, you would have such a skill.

Dutch stammers and you can hear the growing frustration in his voice. “Well—well—a lot happened that day, son! Some did fall off that boat, and I didn’t see her after that! Was I to go into that water lookin’?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But nothing! She’s here now…” And then Dutch’s voice lowers, bordering threatening. “…and if what Micah said is true about you—”

“It—It ain’t true! I weren’t gonna leave, and she and I—” He stops mid-sentence and sighs deeply. “I said I have your back, Dutch. Always will.”

There is another pause and Dutch speaks with a deep satisfaction. “Good. Now go and join the party. I’ll make sure Micah lives to fight another day.”

You hear heavy footfalls draw near you, and you take a few steps back until they stop again.

“Just for the record, Dutch, I don’t regret punchin’ him.”

And Dutch replies with a great agitation, exhaling deeply. “Just go.”

You motion to hide, and you do just in time to see Arthur head off not toward the party, but into the trees. You are tempted to follow, but you can’t risk Dutch seeing you. So, you decide to return to the party. It’s best you find Susan to find out where you will be sleeping.

As you weave your way back toward the lively sounds and flickering lights of the party, your mind replays the troubling conversation. Why did Dutch say you drowned? And why would Micah say that he was planning to leave? With you? The uncertainty muddles your thoughts, mixing with things you know and what you are trying to remember.

Micah said Arthur loves you and that he tried to keep it a secret. Is it true? Or, more importantly, do you want it to be true?

You don't have a solid answer, and the gnawing uncertainty fuels a dull ache in your chest. As you approach the periphery of the gathering, laughter bubbles over from the crowd, mixing with the clink of beer bottles and the strumming of a guitar. It seems alien, almost surreal, given the storm brewing within your own mind. The warm, yellow light from the lanterns dances across the faces of the revelers, casting long shadows that sway with the music. You feel detached, an observer of their joy rather than a partaker.

Susan finally comes into view, and as she turns her head to the rhythm of the song, her eyes catch you.

You smile and approach her. “I am getting tired. Where can I sleep?”

She clicks her tongue and rises to her feet. “Say no more, girl.” And she begins to lead you away from the gathering. “Come with me.”

As you follow Susan through the throng of dancers and revelers, the smell of tobacco and whiskey mingles with the evening air, heavy with the scent of pine and earth. The sounds of the party fade as you walk further away, replaced by the soft crunching of leaves underfoot.

Susan leads you to a lean-to with other bed rolls lying there. “This is where you’ll be until we can get you a separate tent. Mary Beth and Tilly also sleep here.”

You look at her, with saddened eyes. “I left none of my things here?”

Her eyes soften and she shakes her head as she explains. “When everything had gone to hell, we didn’t have much time to pack. We took what we could, and when we thought you had died…” She shrugs her shoulders. “It didn’t make much sense to grab those things.” She rests a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, hon.”

You nod. It makes sense. You can’t begrudge them for fleeing for their lives. As far as they knew, you were dead. Why would they bring a dead person’s things when they needed the bare essentials first?

Susan bids you goodnight, and calmly walks away. Alone for the first time this evening, you go to your knees and take hold of one of the blankets. Wrapping yourself in it, you bury your nose in the wool, taking in a deep breath through your nose.

It doesn’t smell like tobacco, leather, and pine, and you can’t help but feel greatly disappointed.

You curl up under the blanket, your mind swimming with fragmented memories and fleeting emotions. The night air is chillier than expected, seeping through the gaps in the lean-to. Stars peek through the slits above, a stark reminder of how small your problems seem under the vast, indifferent sky.

Despite the comforting warmth of the blanket, you shiver, the cold seeping into your bones as if chasing the warmth of the memories you strain to recall. Somewhere deep within, a flicker of familiarity stirs each time you close your eyes—visions of firelight dancing on a rugged face, laughter mingling with the crackle of burning logs, and the solitude of just two bodies being intertwined together.

Who? Is this you? What memory is this? Your head starts to hurt, but you try to push through it, follow it, will it to make itself clear to you.

Yet, as vivid as these flitting images are, they dissolve into the crisp night air before you can grasp their meaning. A frustration builds within you—a yearning to remember, to understand who you were before the world turned its back on you. The shadows of the past loom larger in the darkness, your heart beating in sync with the slow, methodical drip of a leak somewhere outside your temporary refuge. Each drop sounds like a clock, each tick marking a moment lost to the fog of your forgotten life.

***

It’s morning and you find yourself the first to rise. Sitting up you see the sleeping form of Mary Beth next to you, eyes closed and peaceful. You wonder when everyone has turned in for the night, and can only imagine that it will be a while before they join you.

You carefully rise, pulling the blanket away from you as silently as you can. Finding your footing, you rise to your feet, and coming out of the lean-to, you stretch out your arms and arch your back.

You feel muscles relaxing, tempting you to bend backward farther than would seem natural.

…all flexible under them sheets…

Micah’s voice rings in your ear, and you quickly straighten, feeling uneasy and disturbed by his suggestive language.

You move quickly as your mind goes to what happened. The look on Arthur’s face, like a protective wild animal, as he showed no restraint in beating Micah’s face in. You haven’t seen Micah since, and you didn’t hear where he was taken to recover from the ordeal, or how bad the damage was. You’re curious, the temptation to explore and find out for yourself pricks at you, but you decide against it.

You walk deeper into the camp, sneaking by sleeping figures and passing the chuck wagon and the table, which has poker cards scattered all over its surface.

As you continue, a soft, glowing light gathers your attention, and following it, it leads you to the edge of the overlook. You see the rising sun, the glowing orb rising into the sky as it paints pastel colors behind it.

And you see Arthur sitting on the edge.

A soft “oh” escapes your lips, loud enough for him to notice and look over his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t know anyone else was awake.”

His eyes meet yours and you feel a small wave of relief wash over you. His gaze is warm, and it's almost as if he understands your unspoken struggle. "I've always been an early riser," he says with a gentle smile.

"Even after the party last night?" you tease, trying to break the tension.

He looks away for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "I didn't..." He trails off, looking pensive. "It's not that I didn't want to celebrate," he explains. "I just...”

“I understand,” you say softly, sensing the tension emanating from him. “It was a long day for both of us. It must not have been easy to see me and find that I didn’t remember you.” You see him tense up even more at this and you recoil slightly, giving him space. “About Micah…”

“Don’t worry about that,” he interrupts.

You blink in surprise. “Why? He may be slicker than an oil slick, but his words clearly affected you.” You take a cautious step closer. “What he said was either a pointed deception…” your voice trails off as you nervously swallow. “Or it could be the truth.” As you study the back of his form, the sound of birdsong fills the air and the leaves rustle gently in the breeze. “Which one is it, Arthur?” You wait anxiously for his response, searching for any clue in his stoic posture.

A heavy silence hangs in the air, broken only by the sound of your own breathing. You stand there, rooted to the spot, as each second ticks by with agonizing slowness. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, almost audible in its frantic rhythm. A million thoughts race through your mind, but you push them away, focusing on the one burning question: What is the truth?

You try to keep your voice steady as you ask again, "What would you rather have it be?" Your words hang in the air, filled with uncertainty and hope. If it’s a lie, then everything stays the same. You have friends who know you and a plan to stay with them until things calm down after the events in Blackwater.

But if it is the truth...

Then the man in front of you is keeping something from you. Something between you two, something that happened.

Arthur scooting away from the ledge, rises to his feet. After a moment he turns around to face you and you eagerly search his eyes for an answer. He takes calm steps toward you and offers his hand. “Come with me.”

What? No, you don’t want him to change the subject. “Arthur…”

“C’mon, I forgot to introduce you to someone.”

You feel miffed but he’s piqued your curiosity once again. And the temptation to hold his hand is greater than you thought it would be.

And just like that, you slip your hand into his calloused palm and he begins to lead you back into camp.

You’ve made the inference that Arthur doesn’t share anything he doesn’t want to. If he’s as secretive as Micah implied, then he isn’t going to give you an answer until he’s ready.

But are you willing to let it go?

For now, you will. Just long enough to see what he’s on about.

Though his stride is broad, his footfalls are quiet and steady. You try to keep up, but your feet shuffle too loudly in the grass.

He looks back at you and places his forefinger over his lips. “Shhh….”

Your brow furrows, how dare he tell you to be quiet, when you have a reason to be upset? You are about to slap his arm, but a golden color up ahead catches your eye.

He’s led you outside of camp, near a patch of grass where some horses graze. In the center of them, is a golden palomino American Saddlebred mare. Her coat shines in the sun, her legs strong and graceful, her mane is braided in unique plaits and her tail is long like a bridal train.

You know it. In your gut, you know it. She’s yours. She’s your Odliv.

“Say somethin’ to her,” Arthur whispers softly. “You used to have a tune you’d whistle to her.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know it,” you whisper back, an emptiness filling in your stomach.

That’s when Arthur leans close to you and his lips close to your ear, hums the tune only soft enough for you to hear.

Your ear begins to ache, triggering a memory.

Your dark hair wildly dancing in the wind, riding bareback across a field, hands held out like wings of a bird.

“I’m flying!” you cry. “Arthur, I’m flying!”

You hear a second set of hoofbeats catch up with you and you look to your right to see Arthur, younger and more carefree as he rides beside you on a beautiful blood-red mare.

The memory fades and out from your lips, comes the soft whistle.

And in an instant, Odliv’s head perks up and she knickers curiously. When her eyes fall on you, she pounds the ground excitedly and whinnies loudly.

You feel Arthur nudge you toward her. “Go to her before she wakes everyone up!”

You hurry your steps, maneuvering between the other horses who have also lifted their heads. You reach her and as soon as your hand rests on her forelock, she calms down, her whinnies turning into soft snorts.

She’s soft to the touch, and you’ll let your fingers spread out and fold in, scratching her softly. She brings her head closer to you, communicating her desire to be loved.

"She missed you," Arthur says, breaking the peaceful silence that had enveloped you. You turn to face him, but your eyes are still drawn back to the majestic creature in front of you.

"She was red, wasn't she?" Your voice is soft and filled with awe.

Arthur blinks, slightly taken aback. "Who?"

"Boadicea," you reply, barely able to tear your gaze away from the beautiful mare standing before you.

With a quiet chortle, Arthur corrects you, "Liver Chestnut."

You shrug nonchalantly. "No matter, at least I remembered."

After a brief pause, Arthur clicks his tongue and begins to walk away. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then." The sound of his footsteps recede as he leaves you alone with the horse, the only sounds now being the gentle rustling of leaves and the steady breaths of Odliv.

You flip around, nearly spooking Odliv, and he is walking in the direction of Montana. “What? Where are you going?” You leave your mare and hurry to catch up with him. You still have your question that needs answering.

He doesn’t answer immediately, reaching Montana and slipping him a sugar cube. “How’ya doin’, boy?” And he gives the stud a good pat.

“Arthur…?”

He mounts Montana and looks down at you. “I gotta meet up with Hosea. Was supposed to already…but got a little sidetracked.”

Meaning you. You are the distraction, just like Dutch said last night. Is that what he means?

You don’t want to see him go. But you don’t want to get him in trouble. “Can’t I…can’t I go with you?” You’ve come to find that you can hold your own, albeit quite suddenly, with those makeshift explosives you threw at those bandits.

His eyes soften at that, but he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Kitte—erm—Kitka, it’s probably best that you take it easy for a while. Spread your wings, as they say. Maybe once you get back on your feet.”

Your brow pinches. “But I’m already on two legs.”

He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “You did take things too literal sometimes.” He takes the reins and spins Montana around, the horse’s broad muscles moving in powerful ripples. “I’ll be gone a few days. Hopefully, you’ll be meetin’ Sean before too long.” And before you can say anything more, he makes a clicking sound with his mouth, and Montana canters on out of camp.

You watch the wake of his departure, feeling an unsettling mix of frustration and abandoned hope gnaw at your insides. Left standing alone amidst the camp's morning bustle, you wonder if your past will ever truly circle back to embrace you, or if it is destined to keep galloping ahead—just out of reach like the dust kicked up by Montana's hooves. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn away from Arthur's fading silhouette.

The camp seems full yet oddly hollow as you meander back into camp, still silent while everyone sleeps. You feel rather peckish, and you remember that there were some canned goods in Pearson’s chuckwagon. You suppose it won’t hurt to have a bite, after all, you haven’t eaten in over 24 hours.

You go towards the back of the wagon, an area of camp you haven’t explored yet, and as you look around.

You stop in your tracks.

A young man, bent over and head down, is tied to a tree.

You gasp loudly, which stirs him to awaken. He lifts his head and when his eyes meet yours his eyes widen.

“Please…” he begs. “I need some water.”

You know that you are amongst a gang of outlaws, but you couldn’t imagine why a young man would be tied to a tree with a rope.

He has long, brown hair to his shoulders. It looks like it hasn’t been washed in days. His eyes are bloodshot, either from crying or fatigue, perhaps both.

You think through all the names and descriptions that Arthur gave you, and none seem to match this stranger. You take a quiet step forward. “Who are you?”

He replies with a lilt in his voice, true panic as he whispers. “Nobody! I ain’t done nothin’!” Then his head hangs low. “I am so thirsty…”

You aren’t above helping someone, regardless of why they may be tied to a tree. You see a water bucket with a ladle and walk over to it. You fill the ladle with cool, clear water and bring it to his parched lips. He drinks greedily, water dribbling down his chin and wetting the dust at his knees. After a moment, he seems somewhat revived and lifts his head again, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of fear and gratitude.

"Thank you,” he gasps. “I thought I was going to die…”

“Who tied you here?” you ask. “Why?”

“Dutch had me tied. I…was with Colm, but I ain’t never liked that feller…!”

Colm. You don’t recognize that name. But you can only figure he’s an enemy to Dutch. But why?

“Hey…!” A bark comes from around a lean-to, and you whip around. It’s Bill, grumpy and hungover, and he’s caught you helping his prisoner. “What do you think yer doin’?!” Bill stomps over, his heavy boots stirring up small clouds of dust with each step. His eyes are narrowed in suspicion and anger as he peers at you, then at the ladle in your hand. You feel a shiver of apprehension, but your grip on the ladle tightens slightly, a defiant gesture you can't quite explain yourself.

"He needed water, Bill," you say calmly, meeting his glare with a steady gaze of your own. The air thickens with tension, the only sounds the distant calls of crows and the soft rustle of the dry grass underfoot.

Bill snorts, his mustache twitching in agitation. “Dutch says no food or water ‘til he talks!”

And you suddenly bristle, memories of unkindness shown to you your entire life flooding in quick flashes. What would you have given for just a bit of water or food when your brother was sick and dying? Despite your headache, your fist clenches around the ladle and you swing it to hit Bill hard.

The ladle connects with a satisfying thud against Bill's temple, and he staggers back, more from surprise than pain. His hand instinctively goes to his head, and he scowls fiercely at you. "Kit, what the hell—?"

"Blázen! You know as well as I do that a man's got a right to basics!" you spit out, your voice thick with emotion. "Water is not a privilege. It’s a necessity…!"

Bill stares at you, his anger simmering down into something resembling grudging respect or perhaps confusion. He rubs the spot where the ladle struck, eyes never leaving yours. "Yer memory ain’t all there, so I am gonna spell it for ya…” And he leans close, snarling a threat veiled thinly behind a whisper. "Dutch's orders are law here, Kit. Don’t forget your place, or you’ll find yourself out there with nothin’ and no one."

You swallow hard, the sting of his words biting deeper than the chill in the air. How many times had you been cast out before, left to fend for yourself in the harsh world of indifference and cruelty? You don’t know, but the thought sends a cold wave through your spine. And yet, at the same time, there's a flickering flame of rebellion within you that refuses to be smothered.

"Maybe my memory isn’t fully restored, Bill," you reply, your voice low and steady, "but my sense of what’s right hasn’t faded one bit." You hold his gaze, unflinching, the intensity of your conviction casting a palpable sensation in the air between you.

Bill's eyes narrow as he assesses you, the standoff drawing a curious crowd from the nearby tents. Whispers weave through the other members as they’ve woken to your row, the poor prisoner in the middle, shaking in his boots.

Finally, with a snort, Bill turns away, dismissing the gathering with a wave of his hand. "See to it that he don’t drown," he mutters under his breath, loud enough for only you to hear. There's something akin to admiration in his tone, albeit reluctantly given.

As the crowd disperses, you sigh deeply.

You feel a sudden hand on your arm, and you turn to see Mary Beth, her eyes a mix of gratitude and worry. “I’m glad someone else feels the same way.” And she begins to lead you away from the prisoner. You walk beside her as he links her arm with yours and she leads you around the tents. “I’ve been sneakin’ Kieran some water and scraps since he’s been here.”

Kieran? That’s his name. And since Mary Beth has been helping him, she must know more about it. “Who is he?”

“An O’Driscoll,” she explains. “They are a rival gang. Dutch and Colm go way back, been fightin’ for a while.”

“Oh. Who is Colm, exactly? Why are they fighting?”

“You were there, when it all started. You are one of the original ones.” Mary Beth stops by the horses and you eye Odliv while she grazes. “I wasn’t there, but from what I’ve been told, Dutch killed Colm’s brother and he killed Dutch’s lover, Annabelle.”

Annabelle. You think hard about the name, but it doesn’t register. You shake your head.

Mary Beth continues, “Colm is evil. He’s killed innocent women and children, and shows no mercy, like we do.”

Your brow furrows. “How is tying Kieran to a tree mercy?”

Mary Beth hesitates, her gaze shifting to the ground before she meets your eyes again. "It's not, I suppose. But sometimes..." She trails off, searching for the right words. "Sometimes we have to make choices that don't sit well with us. You know that better than anyone, Kit."

You nod slowly, unsure of what she means.

She sees the confused expression on your face and offers to enlighten you. “When there was plannin’ for the ferry robbery in Blackwater, there were conflicting ideas. Hosea and Arthur were working on a con of their own, some sort of trick on some real estate brokers. And then there was Micah and Dutch, talkin’ about the ferry. You wanted to help Arthur and Hosea, you have always been good with costumes and performances. You can distract the strongest-willed of men…!” She giggles, most likely thinking of a specific instance. “We have always been a great team.”

But you want her to continue about Blackwater. “But what happened? Did I go with him?”

She shakes her head. “Dutch said he needed you with him. To act as a hostage when he robbed the ferry.”

Your eyes widen. “That sounds…dangerous.”

“That’s what you had said. I remember you telling me how worried you were about the whole thing. You said that something didn’t seem right…” Her eyes fall. “You…seemed different. I wish there was something that I could have done, maybe took your place.”

You shake your head, patting her arm. “No. It is as it was. You can’t change the past, Mary Beth.”

There’s a long pause as the air between you thickens with unspoken thoughts, a tangle of regrets and old wounds that no amount of talking can undo. But the soft smile returns to Mary Beth’s face and she pats your hand that rests over her arm. “Let’s do the wash. Us girls always do the wash in the morning, to let the clothes dry. Miss Grimshaw gets on our tails if we aren’t busy come sunup.”

You nod. “Okay, it will be good to keep busy.”

Together, you and Mary Beth gather the worn fabrics and soiled garments scattered around the camp and find the other girls by the washboards and buckets. The fresh morning air is crisp, pinching at your cheeks as you find a place to sit among them.

The chatter among the women is light, yet it carries a weight of shared history that you can't fully grasp. You try to focus on the task at hand, scrubbing at stubborn stains that mar the fabric. As your hands move in rhythmic motions over the washboard, snippets of conversation float around you.

"Molly’s lookin’ at her face in the mirror again…” Karen says while gnawing on a long blade of straw.

The girls look over near Dutch’s tent. Molly, with red hair more blazing than fire, eyes her own reflection as though it were an unfamiliar face, one she's trying to understand or maybe memorize. You can't help but notice the way her brows furrow together, crafting a silent narrative of self-doubt and contemplation that seems all too familiar.

"Molly always did take to heart what Dutch says about appearances being as important as a loaded gun…” Tilly snarks. “But I always thought looks weren’t everythin’.”

“It’s different when you got a man to please,” Karen argues. “I should know. The better you look, the better the pay.”

Mary Beth gasps at her brazenness. “Karen!”

“What? It’s true! Any woman who has had a man knows that.”

You remain silent, the conversation drifting over you like fog settling on a meadow. The practicalities and pitfalls of love seem a distant concern to your current predicament. Yet there's an ache inside that resounds with their words, a ghostly echo of a love you can scarcely remember but feel profoundly.

As you scrub on the shirt in your hand, you notice its color. Blue. The same blue shirt that Arthur had worn when you saw him in Valentine. Your heart skips, caught in the clutches of your most vivid memory, flitting at the edge of your consciousness like a shy bird. The fabric under your fingers suddenly feels heavier, soaked not just with water but with the weight of unspoken words and a past life that might as well have been someone else's dream.

You swallow thickly, thinking about how to word your question. “Did we…Did we talk about a lot of things…like secrets?”

Karen’s eyes sparkle at your question. “Oh yes! Not much gets past us girls!”

And Mary Beth, sweet and sympathetic as ever, can sense what you are getting at. “Is there something you want to know, Kit? Something you told us and want to remember?”

You feel your hands trembling, the words building in your body making it nerve-wracking. “Am I…Am I a virgin?”

There is a sudden stillness when the girls pause their washing.

Tilly is the first to speak, her voice raised higher than her normal range. “What?”

And Karen gets to the meat of the matter. “Why do you wanna know? You pregnant or something?”

You shake your head, you feel instant regret for even asking, but you can’t back out now. “No! I just…been having these dreams…”

“Oh…? What dreams?” Karen asks with a gleam in her eye and a mischievous grin.

“I don’t know…I think they’re memories, as that is how they usually come to me, but I can’t seem to put it all together.”

Mary Beth still looks softly at you, as she wrings a flannel shirt. “You always told us you wanted to wait until marriage.” And before you can doubt her answer she adds, “You were very adamant about it. You said being a performer taught you that.”

Performer? You remember being called circus trash, and also what Micah called you yesterday.

It lines up. If you had your heart set on waiting…

You let the shirt go for just a moment to look at the ring on your finger. “And I’m not married.”

Tilly shakes her head. “No, Kit. You ain’t.”

“It’s strange,” you laugh. “Being 29 and still…” You work on scrubbing the shirt again, tucking your chin to hide your face behind your hair. “Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“There ain’t no shame in waitin’, Kit.” Karen says, her voice more gentle than her usual teasing. “It’s better with the right person than the wrong one.” She laughs. “I should know.”

Mary Beth sighs, lifting her head and looking all dreamy. “I’m still waitin’ for mine, too.”

At that, Tilly chortles. “Mary Beth, the right one ain’t never gonna happen for you unless they come flyin’ right outta them books you write!”

The laughter that bubbles from Mary Beth is light and unburdened, a stark contrast to the heaviness of your own heart. "Maybe I do expect too much from a man. But a girl can dream, can't she?"

Your thoughts spiral back to your own dreams, fragmented and shadowy as they are, filled with fleeting touches and whispered names that dissolve as you awaken. There's a haunting familiarity in those hallucinatory moments, a sense of belonging that you can't yet place. Perhaps, buried deep within the cobwebs of your memory, there lies an answer. They feel so real, yet so far away, making you wonder if even you kept secrets from these girls who you call friends.

You girls finish the laundry, hanging the linens on nearby branches and a line strung up between two trees. You’re surprised to see the day half gone, and while you are grateful for the passage of time, you wonder what else you could possibly do.

And as you walk past Susan, she sees you and eyes your skirt. “Just a minute, girl!”

You freeze, and brace yourself. From what the girls have told you, you prepare to be given another chore to do.

She rises from the table where she has been working on sewing a patch and gestures to your skirt. “Just what do you think you’re doin’, wearin’ clothes like that?”

You look down. You had forgotten that you cut it all up for the explosives. While it is the right explanation, it isn’t the easiest one. “I…erm…must have torn it.”

“I should say so! We need to get you something else to wear.”

You shake your head. “I don’t have any money. Or other clothes.”

Susan motions for you to follow her and she leads you to the back of Dutch’s tent. On a barrel, sits a box.

“This is the money box. Everyone pitches in money from jobs and such to take care of camp needs.”

“But this is for everyone.”

“You’ve come back from the dead and are in need of new clothes.” She opens the box without a qualm, takes out five dollars, and hands it to you. “I’d say that is a good reason.”

You hold the money in your hand. It isn’t the thirty dollars you left behind in Blackwater, but you figure you haven’t really been familiar with large sums. “Thank you, Miss Grimshaw.”

“I’ll have Strauss go to town with you. Since you’ve been back, he wants to talk about nothing but resuming business with you.”

You look up, your brows pinched. “Business?”

She nods. “Just get yourself ready and meet Strauss by the wagon. He will take you to Valentine.”

Your heart hitches. Valentine. Where it all started.

Tag Requests: @photo1030

Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #fanfiction #arthur morgan #ao3 writer #rdr2 #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur morgan x female reader #Arthur Morgan x you #Chapter by Chapter #romance #Western #This is gonna be good #Micah being Micah #Dutch being a little sus ngl

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shoot1ngst4r · 3 months ago

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going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

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ruerecs · 3 months ago

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PSA! you don't have to have smut in your fic to make it good.

for all the butthurt people in my reblogs, i’m literally a writer too. that’s literally why i made this post, never said you shouldn’t. just said you don’t have to? (all the people complaining about this post just know i’m laughing at your replies🙂‍↕️)

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stray-cat-with-internet-access · 10 months ago

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#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #cowboy #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption #coquette

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photo1030 · 1 day ago

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Ok kids, 2 yrs ago, I wrote a Christmas “Arthur x reader” thing. Super fun. This year, I am toying with a Thanksgiving one. Not sure if I’ll have time, but does that sound like something you’d have any interest in?

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic

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allthemeniveloved · 2 days ago

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Masterlist

May the wind be at your back

Good fortune touch your hand

May the cards lay out-a-straight

All from your command

ao3

requests: open

nsfw = *

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

It Will Come Back

John Marston fell in love with you the moment the Van Der Lin gang rescued you from an O'Driscoll hideout all those years ago. Now, after the bitter end to a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship with Arthur, John's feelings have become increasingly difficult to hide from not only you, but Arthur as well.

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

Northern Attitude

On a frigid night in Colter, you find solace in someone else's cot, causing tension to boil over.

Arthur's Chapter | John's Chapter

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

One Shots

Little Rat - Arthur

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abstractpyschopomp · 11 months ago

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#i’m ALWAYS thinking about this game #it genuinely never leaves my head it’s my favorite thing ever #my roman empire fr #i love cowboys #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #john marston #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith

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ramen-flavored · 5 months ago

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photo1030 · 2 days ago

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What in the biscuits?! How did I miss a chapter? Man, every one is better than the last.

I love Charles’ softness juxtaposed against Arthur’s abrasive side. Totally can see how she can fall for each, so different and yet so similar.

The trunk scene was very touching and the lessons with her just melt my heart.

Baptized by Fire : Chapter Three

Summary : Your feelings for Arthur and Charles continue to grow the longer you stay at the cabin. Both of the men take you under their wing in one way or another. You wrestle with the thought of leaving the men before you get in too deep. Word Count : 4.5k Warnings/tags : Cursing, mention of death and decomposition, past abuse, panic attack, mention of murder,creader has female genitalia and is referred to as ‘she’, no Y/N, Arthur had TB but survived and now has chronic issues because of it, slow burn

Previous/Next

You’d been up since the sun rose. Its soft rays danced upon your eyelids, rousing you out of your sleep. You had hardly moved, watching as the beams of light crept up the walls. You had heard Arthur and Charles stir. Their door opened and closed, their heavy footfalls on the wooden floor alerting you to their presence in the room. Soon enough the rocking chair began to creak, Arthur no doubt settling down with his journal. His hands gripped the small piece of charcoal as it glided across the parchment. His brows knitted together in concentration, eyes downcast, never leaving the precise strokes of the pencil.

You groaned, pushing the heels of your palms into your eyes. Spots dancing in the darkness of your vision. Christ, what was wrong with you? You rolled over, bringing your knees into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your body, trying to get Arthur off your mind.

The cabin door shut, grabbing your attention. Charles was off to tend to the animals. Wrapped up in his thick coat, stomping through the snow towards the barn. You could clearly see him in your mind. His cheeks flushed, his plump lips parted, hot breaths of air leaving them.

You pushed your face into the pillow, muffling your cry of frustration. You couldn’t even escape them in your mind.

A deep, almost nutty aroma filled your senses. You raised your head, your brows furrowed as you tried to place the smell.

Coffee. You rolled out of bed, putting on your clothes from yesterday. You needed to get your hands on some new clothes, maybe they had some scraps of fabric. You didn’t care what they looked like at this point, you would wear a potato sack if it at least fit you.

Cinching your belt around your waist you exited your room.

Arthur raised his head as you opened the door, his eyes flitted from you towards his open journal.

“About time you joined us.” He mumbled, shutting his journal as he tossed it onto the rocking chair.

“It's not a crime to sleep in is it?” You asked, raising your brows as you walked over to the fire, “I didn’t know y’all had coffee.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you savored the scent.

“Didn’t sleep well last night.” He grumbled, heading into the kitchen. He pulled out two metal cups, thrusting one into your hands. He held the cup steady in your hand as he poured the rich liquid into it. Although his hands were calloused, they were surprisingly gentle against yours.

You swallowed thickly, nodding your thanks as you brought the cup to your lips. You didn’t trust your voice. You could feel the heat from his hand lingering on your own.

“So,” You started, clearing your throat, “What are you gonna teach me today Mr. Morgan?” You teased, trying to hide your nerves as you sat down at the table.

“Well Miss, I suppose we should continue working on the alphabet, unless ya know it by heart?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned over the table. His arms nearly bulging out of his sleeves.

“I mean, not by heart.” You said looking down into your cup.

“Well lucky for you there’s a- a bit of a trick to learning it.” He said clearing his throat, the tips of his ears tinged with pink.

“Yeah?” You asked, copying his stance as you leaned forward. “Well what is it?”

He sighed, pursing his lips as he wiped at the table with his hand. “Well it’s… it’s a song.” His expression soured as he watched the grin spread across your face. “No I don’t wanna hear it.” He groaned.

“Oh c'mon Arthur, sing for me.” You chuckled, placing your hands under your chin.

“You damn witchy woman.” He huffed, shaking his head. Although his words lacked any fire, “Why don’t I just keep it to myself huh? I am the teacher here.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now that ain’t fair.” You pouted, sitting back in your chair.

“Life ain’t fair darlin’.” He chuckled, his deep baritone shooting straight to your core as you looked up at him. His teeth glinted as his lips pulled back in a wolfish grin. “But I suppose, just this once, I’ll humor ya.” He relented, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

He cleared his throat, lowering his gaze as he very begrudgingly began to sing you the abc’s. You couldn’t help but find it charming, the way his cheeks flushed as he sang the letters to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star.

“… won’t you sing with me.” He finished, letting out a sigh that sounded more like a wheeze as he looked up at you. “What? Do I got somethin’ on my face?” He huffed.

“No, nothing.” You chuckled softly, shaking your head as butterflies fluttered around in your gut.

“Go on, you try it.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Seriously?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, seriously, this is your lesson for the day and I wanna hear those pipes girl.” He smiled, sitting down across from you, “Now go on.”

You huffed, steeling yourself as you looked down. If you didn’t look at him it wouldn’t be as bad. All you had to do was be able to sing through the alphabet, it couldn’t be that hard. Arthur cut you off before you got halfway through

“You missed a letter.” He said, your eyes widening as you looked up at him.

“No I did not!” You scoffed.

“Ya sure did.” He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“You’re makin’ it up so I have to sing that stupid song again!” You huffed, crossing your arms as heat flooded your cheeks.

“Now that is a mighty strong accusation.” He chuckled, shaking his head, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Ya missed ‘M’. Start again, we ain’t quittin’ til you get it right.”

You probably sang that damn song twenty times before Charles got back. Which only added to your embarrassment.

“… won’t you sing with me.” You finished, your words slightly muffled by your hands covering your face.

“Atta girl!” Arthur chuckled, starting to clap.

“No- no clapping.” You groaned as Charles laughed.

“Good job.” Charles smiled, giving you a nod.

“If I never have to sing that song again I’ll die a happy woman.” You said, shaking your head as you peeked through your fingers. Unable to stop your own smile from spreading across your face.

Charles walked over to you, still wearing his thick winter coat.

“So, you wanna get out of here?” He asked, leaning against the table. You raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely following. “My lesson wasn’t exactly… fun yesterday.” He said with a shrug. “I want to make it up to you.”

“Can I ask what it is?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“If you want to ruin the surprise.” He said, an easy smile playing on his lips. You huffed, biting your lip as you looked up at him.

“I don’t have a coat.”

“Oh, take mine.” Arthur said, not looking up as he gathered the papers from your ‘lesson’. “Keep ya real warm.”

Oh sure it would keep you warm, wrapped up in Arthur scent as you spent one on one time with Charles.

“Alright.” You said hesitantly, slowly getting up from the table as you went to put your boots on. You laced up your boots, not missing the subtle smirk Arthur gave Charles. You put Arthur’s coat on, the thing was giant on your frame. Completely engulfed in Arthur scent. Charles nodded, opening the door and leading you outside.

The snow was a thick blanket on the ground, but at least it hadn’t snowed since the storm had ceased.

“Will my toes fall off before I see my surprise?” You asked Charles as the two of you walked through the thick powder.

“I doubt they will.” He hummed, the deep sound rumbling through his chest.

He led you to the barn. It was a bit warmer inside at least, but the smell of livestock was a bit overpowering.

“Is this the surprise?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Patience.” He said, visible hot puffs of air left his mouth as he closed the door. “This way.” He said, leading you further into the barn.

Tied up against the wall, stood two beautiful horses. They munched on some hay, bobbing their heads as Charles approached.

“Come here.“ He smiled, offering you his hand as he walked up to the gray spotted one. “She won’t hurt you.” You let him pull you closer, his hand enveloped your own as he pulled you over to him. He laid your hand on her neck, her skin rippled underneath your touch as she flinched.

“Good girl.” He mumbled, smiling softly at the two of you. You pet the horse, smiling as she stood there. “This is Taima.”

“She’s beautiful.” You said softly, “I suppose this was a good surprise.”

“This isn’t it.” He said, finding your eyes, “I want to teach you how to ride.” Your eyes widened slightly.

“But I don’t have my own horse.”

“You'll be riding her, I’ll ride Buell.” He nodded to the golden coated horse.

“I- are you sure? I don’t know what I’m doing.” You sighed, shaking your head.

“No one does before they’re taught.” He shrugged, “It’s an important skill to have, since you’ll leave us one day.” His words left a bad taste in your mouth. You were excited to learn new things but at the same time, each lesson was just one step closer to leaving Arthur and Charles.

“Who taught you?” You asked, letting out a big breath as you changed the subject.

“My father.” He said, looking over the saddle, adjusting it slightly. “You’ll start on Taima, Buell is… spirited.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He needs to get out more, stretch his legs.” He said mainly to himself as he ran a gloved hand down Taima’s flank. “Climb on.” He said, patting the saddle. You bit your lip, letting out a breath as you put your foot in the stirrup. You swung your leg over her back, feeling her skin ripple as your legs settled on either side of her.

“Now you’ll want to find your balance.” He instructed, moving to stand next to you. “You want to be as balanced in the saddle as you are standing. Your body should be a straight line from your shoulder, hip to heel.”

“Easier said than done.” You sighed, trying to find your balance as you hung onto the horn of the saddle.

“You’re afraid.” He said, shaking his head, “They can sense your fear. Try to relax.”

You huffed, trying to find your balance and keep your body a straight line. You moved forward on the saddle, tipping to your left side. You reached out, grabbing Charles' shoulder.

“Hey,” He said softly, his hand moving to your waist, “I got you.” He nodded, your heart leapt into your throat as he steadied you.

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you regained your balance. Once you felt confident enough you let go of his shoulder and grabbed the reins.

“We’re not going anywhere just yet.” He chuckled, smiling up at you, “Give me those.” He said, holding out his hand. You handed him the reins, letting out a surprised squeak as he started leading Taima around the barn.

“I thought we weren’t going anywhere yet!” You gasped, staring at him with wide eyes.

“We haven’t left the barn have we?” He asked with a sly smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re awful.” You groaned, trying to maintain your balance as Taima moved around the barn. You moved your hips in time with each step, keeping your body as straight of a line as you could.

“You’re getting it.” He chuckled encouragingly, looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Well you didn’t give me much of a choice did you?” You huffed, a smile spreading across your lips.

“Suppose I didn’t.” He shrugged. Your hands and feet were positively frozen by the time Charles ended your lesson. You were glad to be back inside near the fire. You ripped your gloves off, walking over to the fire to warm up.

“You two have fun?” Arthur asked, looking up from his journal.

“You know, it wasn’t half bad.” You smiled, your hands and feet burning from the sudden shift in temperature. A warm smile overtook Charles’ expression, making his rosy cheeks even brighter.

“Better than the last ‘lesson’ Charles taught you?” Arthur teased, looking back at Charles.

“I certainly hope so.” Charles huffed, picking up Arthur’s coat that you shed near the door as he hung his own coat up.

“I’d have to agree.” You hummed, grinning at the two men. “I uh- I was wondering if perhaps you had some more clothes you don’t wear as often? I know I must be getting unpleasant to be around.” You chuckled sheepishly, you had been wearing these clothes for a couple days now. You doubted you smelt like roses.

“You know, I think we might have some clothes neither of us fit in anymore.” Charles nodded, rubbing his hands together as he walked into their room. He returned with a couple shirts, well worn by the years but they would do.

“Thank you, I’ll go change.” You nodded, getting to your feet and heading to your room. You were glad to have some ‘new’ clothes and honestly the pants were growing on you. You weren’t nearly as cold as you normally were back home, but that could also be due to the fact that these conditions were better than back home. This cabin had become your very own slice of heaven on earth.

You walked back out into the main room, glad to be in some new clothes.

“Those fit better.” Charles smiled, looking up as he started to prepare supper. Arthur looked up, his neutral expression slowly working into something that you would describe as anger.

“That’s my shirt.” He said, his face reddening as his jaw ticked.

“I thought Charles said these were clothes you didn’t fit in anymore.” You said, looking down at the blue shirt.

“Arthur, you don’t fit in that anymore.” Charles said, setting down his knife. His brows furrowed as he looked at the two of you.

“That don’t mean it ain’t mine.” He huffed, slamming his journal shut as he got up.

“I- I’m sorry.” You mumbled taking a step back, your heart clenched painfully in your chest as he strode towards you. You flinched, your stomach dropped as you prepared yourself for a blow, a blow that never came.

You hesitantly opened your eyes, Arthur stared down at you with a pained expression.

“Oh darlin’ I-“ He started, but you didn’t hear much of anything else. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt the familiar prickle in your nose. Tears started to sting your eyes as you turned on your heel and ran back into your room. You could have died from how damn embarrassed you were. You tore his shirt off, the rest of your clothes following. Your skin felt raw as you climbed into bed, throwing the covers over your head.

Just when you think you might be figuring them out, something so simple as a shirt made all your progress to mean nothing. You’d make them take you home tomorrow. You at least knew the alphabet now, that was a start. You could teach yourself how to read, you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone. If you rationed the rest of the food in the pantry at home, you'd have enough to last you until the first week of summer now that father is dead.

Father. Dear God what state would his body be in now? Would you have the strength to drag his body out of the house? Would you even be able to with the level of decomposition?

Christ, you didn’t want to think about it.

You could hardly think of it as home now, it was only his grave. This was home. This cabin, here with Arthur and Charles. Or were they home?

No. No they weren’t.

You didn’t leave your room the rest of the night. You tried your best to ignore their whispering on the other side of the door. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were talking about. How many more times would you lose control like that? Why did your mind have to play such cruel tricks on you? Arthur wouldn’t hurt you. Neither of them would. That nagging thought started to whisper in the back of your mind. But they could. They had hurt people before, killed people before. You had heard them admit it when they hadn’t known you were listening. You doubted theirs hadn’t been in self defense either.

But a sin was a sin. No matter the circumstances.

The rays of sunshine streaming through your window had woken you. You didn't even remember falling asleep as you rubbed your eyes. You climbed out of bed, no sense in delaying whatever awkward conversation was bound to be had. You put your clothes back on, tying the string of your skirt.

You gathered up the clothes they had lent you before leaving your room. Arthur wasn’t sitting in his normal spot, instead he was standing in front of the fireplace. He looked almost nervous. At his feet was a rather large trunk.

His head snapped in your direction at the sound of the door opening. His adam's apple bobbed as he watched you. You set the clothes down on the table, neither of you spoke.

“Charles already left.” He said after a moment, clearing his throat.

“I guessed that.” You mumbled, running your hand along the wood grains of the table. He cleared his throat again, his hands on his hips as he looked down at the trunk.

“M’sorry about last night.” He said softly, raising his eyes to look at you. “I’d- I’d never hurt you.” He swore, his words carrying an undeniable weight to them. You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I uh- I have something for ya.” He said, opening the trunk. Inside was a bunch of clothes in different conditions. “You can do whatever ya want with ‘em. If ya wanna tear ‘em apart and make somethin’ new or just… Hell, I don't know.” He sighed, running his hand down his face.

“Thank you Arthur.” You said with a small smile, ending his misery. He nodded, giving you a sheepish smile.

“You can keep the trunk, too.” He added, coughing slightly.

“Oh, well thank you.” You said, “I’ll uh, I’ll need help moving it into my room. Looks heavy.” You chuckled walking over to him.

“Well it ain’t light that’s for sure.” He nodded a small smile spreading on his lips. “Charles and I’ll haul it into your room when he gets back.” He nodded, walking past you.

You sat down next to the trunk, looking through it. There were definitely some salvageable things in here, and the things that weren’t you would make into something new. You dug through the trunk, your fingers brushing up against a round wooden frame.

You sat back on your haunches, pulling the frame out of the bottom of the trunk. A woman with a kind smile stared back at you through the photo. Her hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Arthur,” You called looking up at him. He turned, his eyes landing on the photograph.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He said softly, walking over to you. You handed him the frame, his finger trailing over the woman’s face. “Thought I lost it.” He mumbled, his lips turning upwards.

“Who is she?”

“My momma.” He smiled, looking over at you. “God I- I thought I left it back at camp.” He said, shaking his head. He got to his feet, placing the frame on the mantle.

“What else is in here?” You asked, pulling the clothes out onto the floor. Arthur sat down across from you, helping you pull out the contents of the trunk. He grabbed a few photographs, his eyes softening.

“Copper.” He chuckled as you peered over the trunk. Your own smile grew as you looked at the photo of a dog. The next was a photo of a man who looked similar to Arthur. He held up a sign, but you couldn’t read it just yet. “My pa.” He nodded, flipping to the next photo.

This one had three men. A dark haired man in the middle, an older man to one side of him and… was that Arthur?

“Is that you?” You asked, only able to look at it for a moment before he pulled it away.

“You don’t need to see that,” He muttered, getting to his feet as he walked over to his journal. He opened it to a random page, putting the pictures inside before closing it. The tips of his ears tinged pink.

“Oh you were cute!” You chuckled, shaking your head. You pulled out another frame, your smile falling as you looked at the beautiful woman. It was obvious she had money by looking at her clothes and jewelry. Status most likely, too. You knew Arthur had a brother, but you highly doubted this was his sister.

Your gut clenched, jealousy burning through you as you looked down at Arthur’s past love. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “She’s pretty.” You said softly, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked up at Arthur.

He turned his head towards you, his eyes landing on the photo. His expression fell slightly as his feet moved towards you. You freely handed him the frame, happy to get it out of your sight. But then your eyes landed on one last photo. Young Arthur and the woman. You took the photo, tearing your eyes away from it as you held it up for him.

“You were a cute couple,” You said, grateful that he took it from your fingers. Easing the burning in your belly. “Although I think the beard suits you more than the clean shaven look.” You said, trying to ease the tension in the room. He chuckled slightly, his hand on his hip.

“Yeah well… you know how it goes.” He sighed, clearing his throat, “Her daddy didn’t like me much and… she married a nice fella.” He shrugged, placing the frame and photo face down on the table. “Guess everything works out how it ought to in the end.” He said, his bright blue eyes finding yours.

“Suppose so.” You said breathlessly, your heart thumping against your ribcage. The air gained a sudden thickness, like right before a lightning storm. Just waiting for the first bolt to light up the sky.

Charles came in like rolling thunder, flinging the door open as he walked inside. He took off his snow gear, hanging up his coat.

You glanced away from him, feeling warmth bloom in your cheeks as you started to put the clothes back in the trunk.

“Ah, you found the clothes.” Charles said, his breath heavy as he took off his boots. “I uh- have some sewing supplies if that’s something you’d be interested in.” He said, standing at his full height.

“I’d like that.” You nodded, “I can mend anything the two of you bring me as well.”

“Might take you up on that.” Charles grinned, his eyes taking on an almost amber shine in the fire light. Your heart skipped a beat as he caught your eye.

You had only felt like this once many years ago. Back when love was easy and you were too young to know better. But you had never felt this way about two men before. At least not at the same time.

The day passed quickly, you held off on your lessons. Spending your time taking in the trousers they had given you to fit better. Along with mending a few holes in Arthur and Charles’ shirts. They had hauled the trunk into your room, setting it at the foot of your bed.

“I’ll hate to leave it.” You said softly, folding the clothes neatly in the trunk.

“What d’ya mean?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brows as he stood in the doorway.

“When I go home.” You said looking up at him, “I couldn’t possibly carry it back when it was a struggle for the two of you.” You said, shaking your head. Arthur went eerily quiet, when you raised your head to look at him he was gone.

Sleep evaded you most of the night. You laid in bed, tossing and turning until you couldn’t take it anymore. You’d brew some tea or something to help you at least relax. You opened the door into the main room, nearly jumping out of your skin as you saw Arthur’s silhouette. Your hand flew up to cover your heart as you caught your breath.

“You scared me half to-“ He cut you off with a soft snore. You padded over to him, a smile tugging at your lips. He looked so peaceful, the deep lines smoothed out on his forehead and between his brows. You could have stood there all night admiring him, but your eyes were drawn downwards. In his lap sat his journal, open to the page he was working on.

You swallowed the gasp that threatened to leave your lips as your eyes landed on the drawing.

It was you. A sketch of you, with your head slightly turned down as you sewed. You had never seen anything like it, each little detail was accounted for in the drawing.

What did it mean? Was he only sketching, something he did often. But he didn’t often draw you. Hell he never drew you, or so you thought. It was mainly animals or flowers you saw when you were able to catch a glimpse.

What did this mean? Were you just a different model to draw? Your mind was going a mile a minute trying to make sense of this. Meanwhile your traitorous heart sang as the thought entered your mind that maybe, maybe Arthur could have feelings for you.

Only you didn’t just have feelings for Arthur, Charles had captured your heart as well. You couldn’t choose between the two of them if the moment presented itself.

You took one last glance at the sketch and then at Arthur. Your heart pounding as you looked at him, the crease between his brows smoothed out by sleep. Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To run your fingers through his honey brown hair, or caress his cheek. To feel his stubble against your palm, or the soft kiss of his lips.

You shook your head, clearing your mind of these thoughts. You returned to your bedroom wide awake, knowing you would not be getting much sleep tonight.

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