#before joining the van der linde gang
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dissectress · 1 year ago
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a story of a madwoman in 5 parts
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nthspecialll · 8 months ago
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I think we sometimes as a fandom tend to hyper-focus on certian characters' backgrounds simply because we like the character when in reality other characters who might not be as interesting has way better backstories, because no, Javier, Arthur and John are not the only ones with sad backstories
Like why does no one talk about what happened to Leopold's sister? Why does no one talk about young Lenny tracking down and killing folk? Why does no one talk about Javier actually in a way working for the government for a while and the reason why he killed that powerful military man? Why does no one talk about why Dutch is called Dutch and not by his actual first name? Why does no one talk about Bill's worst childhood fear coming true? Why does no one talk about both Swanson and Micah saving Dutch's life or that Tilly is also a murderer?
Anyways here is a full explanation of all the Van Der Linde gang members backstories.
Sean MacQuire
Sean Macquire and his father lived in Ireland possibly with more family but had to flee because the English (who were at the time in charge of ireland) were chasing them. They fled for their lives and they were in Boston for a month before his dad was shot in his sleep, showing the remaining Sean that there was truly no honor or shame in the world.
He was then sent to a reform school, which we all know was abusive and a living hell, so he ran, living as a low-life thief, he was a teenager, when he in a bar somewhere in North Elizabeth saw Dutch and Hosea and liked Dutch's watch. He followed the two into an alleyway and threatened them at gunpoint, however they laughed at him and told him to shoot, so he did, except the two others had noticed him first and taken the bullets from his gun. Sean started crying, thinking they were going to kill him but instead of doing that they gave him a home, a place to belong.
Lenny Summers
Lenny's grandparents as well as parents were slaves and his mother was born on a cotton field and taken away from his grandmother, who hadn't even known she was pregnant, immediately. His grandmother was then told to simply get back to work.
After the civil war, the old overseer kept making advandages towards Lenny's grandmother, to a point that in the end she needed to kill him and just barely escaped being lynched. Lenny's mother never saw the grandmother again.
Lenny's mother later met Mr Summers who was an educated man and taught Lenny to both read and write, however when Lenny was 15, his dad was beaten to death by several drunk men. Lenny stole a gun, tracked and hunted down the men, shooting them and showing no remorse even years later.
Kieran Duffy
Kieran Duffy's father was an Irishman who came to America with a dream of farming. It was there that he met Kieran's mother and not long after having Kieran, they both passed due to Cholera and not shortly after that the stables that he worked at to support himself threw him out. He decided to join the army to support himself but it didn't last long before he quit due to it "not working out well."
After returning from the army, he fell into work with a bunch of unnamed outlaws, though they all passed away, leaving him alone once again.
At some point he ran into the O'Driscolls who gave him a choice, to ride with them or to get killed, esencially forcing him to join them and work as a stable hand for them, though he was at the bottom of the latter simply working with the horses before being kidnapped by Arthur Morgan and joining the Van Der Linde gang.
Leopold Strauss
Leopold Strauss was born into severe poverty in Austria and his family struggled heavily with food. By the time that Strauss was only twelve, his older brother was beating up nightwatch men for whatever cash and food scraps they had on them. By that time Strauss's father had already sold his younger sister Anna, by the age of nine, into bonded labour to be able to provide for the rest of the family.
When Stauss was seventeen he was sent with his uncle to the US due to health problems, however the hellish sight of Brooklyn gave Strauss's uncle a heart attack on the spot, leaving Strauss alone in a forgein country. To survive he began doing illegal money scams and after doing so for years Dutch picked him up.
Tilly Jackson
Tilly Jackson was the daughter of a slave and became an outlaw by the mere age of twelve, running with a gang called the Foreman brothers who kidnapped her but after murdering the leaders cousin after he made advandages on her, she had to flee. She returned to her mothers workplace but found that she had already passed.
Later Tilly ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and as he was already taking care of John Marston and Arthur Morgan, he took her in, becoming just as much as a father figure to her as to the boys.
Micah Bell
Micah Bell was born directly into a life of crime as his father Micah Bell jr was a petty but ruthless and violent outlaw. Already when Micah was 17 him and his father were on run from the law as they had slid Jean and Roscoe Briggs throats and later hung them as well. His father was also his primary partner in crime, however he also seemed to have teamed up with his brother Amos a few times as well, however Amos regretted his past life and started a proper one with wife and children and threatened to kill Micah if he came close.
Micah had several partners in crime later in life, including Joe and Cleet who appears later in the game, as well as a fellow named Norman.
Micah runs into Dutch Van Der Linde in 1898 in a bar as Dutch is trying to sell some stolen goods, however the deal doesn’t work out and Micah steps in to help Dutch and save his life, earning a place in the gang.
Bill Williamson
Bill Williamson, also known as Marion Williamson, was born into an abusive family with a father who lost his mind to alchohol, even going to the point of mixing moonshine with whiskey. Watching this Bill always feared falling in love with liquor and suffering the same fate.
Bill always showed signs of being more of a troubled kid and being sent to a reform school did not stop him from building s solid criminal record as a kid.
Bill would later apply to the military and serve in the 15th infantry, fighting against the native americans before being dishonorably discharged for deviancy and attempted murder in 1892. For a year after he lived rough, truly falling in love with liqour and stealing from people om the side of the roads, one time being robbed himself by a "woman" (likely a cross dresser or genderqueer person).
In 1893 Bill tried to rob Dutch and got angry as the man simply laughed at him, however he calmed down as he was allowed a spot in the Van Der Linde gang.
Daniel(?) "Dutch" Van Der Linde
Dutch's mother was an english woman named Greta and his father a dutch man who lived somewhere near Philadelphia who fought in the civil war and died, which is why Dutch hated southeners.
Dutch's nickname rumors to come from his father's desperate attempt at keeping touch with his ancerstory.
When he was 15, he left home due to troubles with his mother whom he never got along with and simply saw him as a disobedient and troubled kid. He wished for freedom above all so to gain this he started a life of crime and in mid 1870 met Hosea Matthews.
(Second edit: I am not 100% sure Daniel is his true name, thus the ?, however I found it on his wiki page and added it)
Hosea Matthews
Hosea was born in around 1844 and lived the majority of his earlier life in the mountians, growing to love fishing and hunting. His father was mostly absent, living a life of "sin and debauchery that would make an emperor blush." Hosea saw his dad only about three times in his life but loved him none the less.
He tried to make his way with comedy as a stage actor, however he turned to petty thieft, stealing from his audience and later others in town. He was caught by the sheif stealing a chicken and sentenced to be hanged. Luckiy for Hosea the town folk saw it as a punishment too cruel and a riot broke out which ended with someone shooting the noose around Hosea's neck, allowing him to flee.
Mid 1870 Hosea found Dutch sitting by a campfire and decided to rob him, however found that Dutch had already robbed him. Hosea feared for a moment for his life but it ended with the two of them laughing it off and teaming up.
Molly O'Shea
Molly O'Shea was born into a wealthy Irish family, set up to live a proper and educated life, however she quickly got bored and showed little interest in the life set up for her, so she ran off to America in search of adventure and excitment. At some point she ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and found an interest in him and his life style, only to later genuiently fall in love with him.
Arthur Morgan
Arthur Morgan was born to Beatrice and Lyle Morgan in northen US. His mother died in his early life and he never really got along with his father whom there are rumors was abusive. Lyle lived a life of petty crime and was arrested and executed. Arthur saw his father die and although not having the best relationship, Arthur kept his father's hat and picture.
In 1877 Arthur was 14 and a wild delinquent. He ran into Dutch and Hosea, being picked up and taken under their wing, taught not only the ways of crime but also skills like reading, writing, hunting and so on.
Uncle
Uncle was born in Ohio (insert Penelope Braithwaithe shutter) with the only family present being his parents who died when he was nine and an "uncle" named Jeb whom Uncle hints at being a pedofile.
After his parents death he was on his own and was forced to a new city where he had to care for himself, and from that time to the game start in 1899, we know he has been married at least twice.
Uncle tells many stories of his past such as going to Africa and being worthshipped like a god by the locals, however the truth of these stories are highly doubted due to his tendency to lie. He does tell stories of being a "one shot kid" in his younger days, the truth of these also being doubted, however it may have been his tricket into the Van Der Linde gang.
Susan Grimsaw
Along with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur Susan was one of the founding memebers of the Van Der Linde gang, having run into Dutch during a poker game where both he and she found interest in one another, causing the curious couple and their unruly son to stay in the area a bit longer, paying poker long into the night while Susan sat on Dutch's lap.
Having gotten into a romantic relationship with Dutch, Susan was allowed to join the small group and even stayed when Dutch moved on to Annabelle, now serving as a form of housemother, making sure that people did their work, took properly care of themselves and made camp feel like home.
You can also hear Susan talking to Mary-Beth one time in camp, admitting that she had a fiance once however he went to heaven.
John Marston
John Marston was born in 1873 to an illiterate scottish father born on the boat to New York and a prositute mother who died during his birth. At first John lived with his father who constantly spoke of Scotland and his love for the country, however he was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicargo and later died when John was eight. The true cause of his father's death is unknown however John was told it was a barfight.
John spent a few years in an orphanage before running off and living on his own, at the mere age of eleven commiting his first murder by shooting a man, though he claims it was not his fault.
At the age of twelve John had been caught stealing from homesteaders who planned to have him hanged, however Dutch stepped in and took him under his wing.
Orville Swanson
Swanson used to wrok as a Clergyman but after indulging in the "earthly pleasures", being seduced by alchohol and sex, he lost his family, job and in the end faith, though he desperately tried to regain it.
At some point or another he fell in love with a woman named Margaret, though she was already married, so he simply added bigamy to the list of sins he had already commited. When the two of them were in San Fransisco, the law finally caught up wth them and while she fled onto a ship headed for Shanghai he was stuck and never saw her again.
Under unknown circomstances Swanson came to save Dutch's life and due to Dutch's debt to Swanson he was allowed to join the gang.
Mary-Beth Gaskill
Being a woman of good nature, Mary-Beth did not struggle getting close to her victims after having found herself needing to find a living in the streets. Due to her looks and personality she could with ease fool the richer men into thinking they were saving a poor maiden in need while her fingers slipped into their pockets.
It was through this that Mary-Beth got in trouble with not just the law but her victims as well. One night she had gotten a few foul men on her tail that she ran into the Van Der Linde gang who saved her and asked her to join them.
Charles Smith
Charles Smith was born to a Native Mother and a free African American father, all three of them living fairly happily with his mothets tripe together with a few other free men before the US army chased them away.
They continued to live together but a few years later Charles' mother was captured by the army, leading Charles' father to fall into alcoholism and a deep depression.
At the mere age of 13 Charles left his father and began to live on his own, becoming a supreme survivalist from an early age.
Some point during the late 1898 ran into the Van Der Linde gang in the Grizzlies and joined them.
Simon Pearson
Simon Pearson's family were whale hunters and although Pearson wished to follow in their footsteps it did not go that way due to the whale industry having lessened by the time that he got out of school. Having been forced to look for new employment options, Pearson joins the Navy where he even managed to get stranded for fifty days on a ship filled with plauge, watching his friends and coworkers slowly drop one by one.
After having returned from the Navy Pearson begins to struggle financially and takes a loan, however unable to pay it off loansharks comes after him and it is during one of these attempts at getting to Pearson that the Van Der Linde gang saves him and brings him to camp as a cook.
Abigail Marston
Abigail Marston, originally born Abigail Roberts, was orphaned at a young age and started roaming around bars, scraping whatever few coins she could take from folk before starting a work of prostitution, making an earning by selling her body and at some point running into Uncle at a bar who introduced her to the gang.
Now living with the gang, Abigail still worked as a prositute up until falling pregnant with Jack Marston by John Marston.
Josiah Trelawny
Josiah Trelawny was born in England though he has no memories of his life there, he later imigated to America where he starts working as a conman and trickster. It was during this line of work that he met yhe Van Der Linde gang and joined them bur with a special advandage as he, unlike the others, was allowed to appear and disappear as he pleased, always knowing when Dutch planned to cut him off and return with a big hit.
Josiah has a family living in Saint Denis concisting of a wife and two sons named Tarquin and Cornelius. Just as with the gang, he would disappear on them for months.
Karen Jones
Karen Jones lived as a scam artist in her early years and absolutely loved the outlaw lifestyle and hoped for a bit more which partly drove her to accept the Van Der Linde gang's invitation, hoping to achieve more.
Javier Escuella
Javier Escuella was born in Mexico to a drunkard father who worked for Allende' (a main antagonist in rdr1, a military man) uncle. When he was young he saw his own uncle as well as four other separate men get casterated and fed to pigs for simply suggesting fair wages for their work.
Javier moved on to become a violent and known bounty hunter and revolutionary, fighting against what he saw as a corupt system.
Javier ended up killing a powerful former military man for a woman that he loved, fearing for his loved ones life he fled to America where he knew no english and had no work or food, leaving him starving.
It was in America that he ran into Dutch as they both were trying to steal the same chickens. Dutch took Javier in, fed him, gave him a family and a life, leading Javuer to idiolize Dutch also for his revolutionary ideals.
At some unknown point someone attempted to kill Javier, leading to him having a prominent scar on his throat.
Sadie Alder
Sadie Alder grew up in a harsh envioment and from a very early age learned how to hunt and ride to care for herself, things that Jack Adler fell in love with. The two of them married september 1896, moving to a ranch in Ambarino where they had three happy years of marriage before the O'Driscolls arrived at their cabin.
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bitin-and-barkin · 7 months ago
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Keeping him in line
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Warnings: Gunfucking, facefucking, shoe humping, sub Dutch, he's like super pathetic honestly, humiliation (Dutch Receiving), degradation, gender neutral reader, dom reader, the reader is SO fucking mean, Dutch deserves it tho, masochism, pain kink, anal, smut, all consensual dw, I like to think this could've stopped the downfall of the gang
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Thinking about being an "old friend" of Dutch.
Used to go out robbing with him back in the day, until some crap went down. He thought you died, and you thought the same for him. But after the blackwater incident, a long overdue meeting happens when you both try to rob the same train.
Thinking about him "Inviting" (practically begging) you to join him, even though you both know you're doing damn well on your own.
Thinking about once you graciously agree, he's consulting you for every little thing, saying something along the lines of "let me consult the missus/mister" before he plans any jobs, finally taking SOMEONE'S advice other than his own. Treating you like Hosea, like himself. A higher up, a leader, despite you having never set foot in this gang in over 10, 15, years.
Thinking about him insisting that you don't have to do any of the "dirty work" if you don't feel like it. Barking orders at others to "take care of it" while dragging you back to his tent for no reason at all, other than to just smoke and drink and chat about everything and nothing.
Thinking about others being weirded out and slightly jealous of all the praise and approval you get from him, with even Molly questioning if he's sweet on you. Everyone is thinking it, that maybe he had something going on with you in the past. But, even when he was with Annabelle? He had never treated her this kindly.
Thinking about him catching glances at your fingers while you handle your gun, the way you draw it and shoot in the blink of an eye. Watching your hands move as you play poker at camp, making everybody else at the table go broke.
Thinking about him watching the way your chest heaves in and out after a gunfight. Watching the way your silver tongue talks them into money and out of trouble, even better than he or Hosea can.
Thinking about him stating he needs to "take a break" with Molly due to him "needing some time alone" while she watches him talk to you the same way he used to chat with her, but with actual longing in his eyes.
Thinking about you talking to him, almost down to him, with a certain smug look on your face as he looks at you with a certain devotion on his. You calling out the flaws in his ideas and plans, doubting him, doing things that would get anybody else labeled as a traitor. But not you. Anybody but you. As when you do it? All he can do is sit there and take it.
Thinking about you pushing him down by the chest where he sits anytime he does something or says something that you don't like. Knocking his drink out of his hand in front of everybody when he gets too out of line.
Thinking about punishing him for his behavior at night, taking long drags of his cigar and putting it out on his arm as you grip his hair and shove his face into his bed as you fuck him into the sheets.
Thinking about you leaving bruises on his neck after you choke him too hard for being too mean to one of his boys or after one of his infamous plans fuck up once again.
Thinking about making him rut up against your boot as you face fuck him, saying he isn't deserving of even touching you, and if he wants release he has to work for it himself. Stating that your shoes better be shining when he's done down there as he rubs his dick against your spurs, desperate for friction.
Thinking of you fucking him with his own gun after he begs you for more, with you degrading him for getting a hard on. Asking him what the Pinkertons, what his gang, would think if they learned that Dutch Van Der Linde himself is no more than a common whore. One barely good enough to fuck. Saying that maybe you should turn him in, that way you can use the money to buy a whore that actually does what they're told.
Thinking about him crying into your lap as he begs for release, and all you do is laugh at him and shove him off, leaving him alone and aching after you climax and he doesn't. Knowing that he needs this punishment to keep him in place.
Thinking about him palming himself for the rest of the night and choking himself with a tie you got him a long time ago, fucking himself stupid with your gun which you left in his tent. But it's not enough. Such a greedy boy. It's never enough for him.
That's why you have to keep him in line. It keeps him sane.
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alottanothing · 6 months ago
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This is for @twola, who, about a week ago was having a bad day and wanted someone to write a snip of Arthur beating the shit out of someone who made the reader cry; with the addition of some smutty goodness, of course.
Well, this is the first time I've written publically for our dear cowboy Arthur Morgan. And I simply cannot write anything considered a 'snip'. So here's what my brain calls a snip; over 5k words just for you, twola. I hope this makes up for the bad say you had last week. :)
And shout out to my partner in writing crime, @itswormtrain, for making this readable!
Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!reader receiving)
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The sun was beginning to set over the peaceful hills and sprawling trees of Cumberland Forest. Those lingering traces of daylight caress the rugged terrain with whimsy, casting shadows that dance over the dirt path under the hooves of your young stallion. Nature seemed to pause in reverence as the sun gracefully lowered itself behind the distant mountains; the only sound was that of your horse's steady walk and the murmuring babble of the Dakota River in the distance.
It had been too long since you’d enveloped yourself in such tranquility, seemingly always at the receiving end of Miss Grimshaw’s scalding. Any anticipation of exploring the wilderness or going on jobs with the guys was always overshadowed by the necessity of chores.
When you’d joined the ranks of the Van der Linde Gang, you had hoped you’d garner a little more excitement than a seemingly endless cycle of laundry, cooking, and mending. Sure, the mess in Black Water and the threat of the law constantly at everyone’s heels was a form of excitement, concerning, but still excitement. Though, things had died down since all that, and Horseshoe Overlook was truly an awe-inspiring place to call home for the time being. Even so, camp chores remained deeply understimulating.
In truth, you were just antsy; you always were when Arthur was away for more than a couple of days. Your mind always thought the worst, despite knowing your handsome outlaw was more than capable of handling himself on jobs and in the wilds. But that nagging concern never ceases to occupy your mind. His absence at camp was never more cumbersome than when Grimshaw was barking out instructions, or when Uncle’s drunken singing was so off-key, it scraped against your brain like a rusty old knife. You simply couldn’t stand it anymore; you needed peace and quiet—something to scratch that itching thought in the back of your head.
Admittedly, you hadn’t planned to venture so far from camp, or any sort of civilization for that matter. The towering ramparts of Fort Wallace were in your sights before you decided to turn back. Were it not for the shotgun secured in its holster on your saddle, the late hour would have left you feeling considerably more anxious. Arthur had taught you well, and instilled in you enough confidence not to worry as you trot down the dirt path toward Valentine.
There wasn’t a single soul to be seen for the majority of your journey; your only company that of your horse and Mother Nature’s comforting embrace. You almost hated the far-off glow of a town in the distance, over the crest of a hill. Soon you’d be back at camp with nothing to do but laundry and fret over your lover's absence.
“Pardon me, miss.” You nearly jump from your saddle hearing the strange man’s voice. “Thank god for you, would you mind – too terribly – giving me a ride back to town?”
Your heart skips a warning in your chest as you look around, where did he come from? The question dances in your head as you fight to form the words you want. This was O’Driscoll country—a notion you were suddenly very aware of, and your eyes glance at the rifle still tucked securely in the holster on your saddle.
“I was thrown from my horse, ya see—wild beast took off without me. ‘Fraid I hurt my ankle when I fell.” He explained, garnering a wave of sympathy that clouded the caution in your gut.
The stranger wasn’t dressed in the usual black and green of Colm’s gang: just simple trousers and a dirty work shirt and boots. What could it hurt?
“Yeah, alright,” you said, giving the man a faint smile.
“Oh, bless you, miss. Bless you,” the look of relief on his features did well to settle the remainder of the apprehension swirling in your stomach.
With a firm grip, you steadied your horse so the man could climb on, offering your hand to help him up.
And that act of kindness was your mistake.
His grip on your wrist was like a vice, painful, as he yanks you from your horse's saddle, your boots nearly getting hung on the stirrups. A sinister laugh echoes through the tall trees, splitting the serenity with the jagged sound of malice. Your stallion rears and cries, spooked by the abrupt movement, but the stranger is quick to steady him, forcing your horse into a full gallop toward the glow of Valentine leaving you where you fell.
When the shock wears off, you aren’t sure which was stronger, the wave of anger that envelopes you, or the sudden fear of solitude that brings forth the steady stream of tears down your cheeks. Both feelings were justified, you figure. That, and how utterly foolish you feel for trusting a stranger.
You knew better. Your time with the Van der Lindes taught you not to trust anyone, at least not someone on the side of the road pretending to be hurt. That was the oldest trick in the book. One you’d used several times to con someone out of something. Now, you were out a horse and a shotgun.
When the landscape grew darker as night fell, those shadows that you once looked on with awe and majesty, now loom sinisterly.
Stupid! You scolded yourself, more tears searing down your face. It would be dawn before you made it back to camp on foot; if you made it back to camp at all.
Without the security of your shotgun at hand, your confidence in making it home unscathed was growing short. Animals lurked in the trees around you; monsters both beast and man would undoubtedly set their teeth on you if they found you alone and without the means to protect yourself.
A shiver surges through you, a combination of the onslaught of fear and the chill from the mud you’d landed in. If you’d been riding with Arthur, no one would have the gall to steal from him. And if they did, they surely wouldn’t live long enough to get far out of reach.
You wipe the mud from your hands to your skirts before swiping at the tears staining your face. Maybe someone from camp would notice you hadn’t returned yet and send someone looking for you. Why hadn’t you asked someone to ride along with you, Mary-Beth would have, and she would have appreciated the quiet you wanted. But no, all you needed was the shotgun… How foolish you were.
With a sigh, you work yourself to your feet, boots, and skirts caked with mud and dirt. Even with the weight of self-pity beckoning you to stay planted on the side of the road, the rage put fire in your steps. You would make it back to camp, feet surely blistered, if only to lessen the embarrassment of being robbed.
Anger proves to be a useful motivator as you trek down the road before you, lit only by the white light of the moon. The tears had stopped, but they threaten to spill again simply from how much your feet hurt. That glow seemed to have tricked you; Valentine wasn’t close at all. All there was was trees and rocks and dirt in every direction. You were utterly alone; lost in the wilderness with only thoughts of your naivety to keep you company.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth resonates through the stillness of the wood, sending shivers down your spine and provoking a new wave of tears. With every nearer beat of the rider’s approach, anxiety constricts your heart, sending a whirlwind of possibilities into your mind. Images of dark strangers conjure in your thoughts, each with a fiendish smile and a revolver on their hip, a green bandana tied around their neck. All your anger drains, as you feel fear creep deeper into your being. You wish you still had your shotgun.
“You need a ride, miss?”
Relief crashes into you like a wave against stone; you know that voice, deep and comforting—kind (to you, at least). This time, it was joy bringing tears to your eyes.
“Y/N?�� The look of surprise was to be expected on Arthur’s face as he beholds the sight of you, muddy, with tears staining your face. “Darlin’, whattaya doin’ out here?”
Immediately he jumps from his horse, warm hands gently holding the tops of your arms as he gets a better look at the state you’re in. All traces of his hard exterior are swept away, leaving the softer, more compassionate man you fell in love with.
“Camp was driving me crazy without you. I just wanted to take a ride, but some asshole stole my horse—yanked me off my saddle an’ everything. S’why my skirts are all muddy.” You explain, fighting more tears.
Some of the softness fades, still, his voice is gentle when he speaks again.
“Did he hurt ya?”
You shake your head, “no.”
The pad of his thumb dances over your cheek tenderly as he tilts your chin to look at him.
“Darlin’, ya been cryin’.”
“’M just cryin’ at my own stupidity, is all.” You tell him. “Should’a known better than to trust a man alone in the woods.” 
Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding.
“D’ja at least get a good look at ‘im?” he asks.
“Mhm,” you nod. “He took off towards Valentine.”
Arthur glanced south and nodded too, “Then I reckon that’s where we’ll find him.”
He places you on the saddle and mounts just behind you, drawing you close to his chest as he gives his loyal mare a gentle kick to urge her back onto the road.
With Arthur's arms around you, the darkness of the forest shifts back into the realm of tranquility. The menacing silhouettes of the towering trees became that of gentle giants, swaying gracefully in the night breeze. No longer did the whisper of rustling leaves hold a feeling of foreboding. The forest, in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was a picture of peace and beauty once more.
Despite what had happened, even Arthur was a beacon of serenity. He hums as you both ride. It’s the same tune Uncle was singing when you left, only Arthur’s melody instills you with a sense of calm while Uncle’s attempt had you on the verge of threatening to remove his tongue. Every so often you feel his lips press to your scalp, leaving soft kisses in your hair and each one helps to remedy every sour thought plaguing you. It never ceases to amaze you just how tender your outlaw could be. To the civilized world, he was quite literally the poster of cruelty and evil, but for you, he was your knight in shining armor.
Valentine was quiet when the hooves of Arthur's horse turn down the main thoroughfare. The muddy roads, churned up by hooves and wagons, were dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps. In the distance the stirring of livestock in their pens echoes through the stillness of the air, the only other sound coming from the saloon in the middle of town.
Smithfield’s always seemed to clamor no matter what time of night it was. Debauchery never slept, you guessed. The clinking of glasses and the lofty tune of the piano can be heard as you pass the sheriff’s office, a symphony of merriment in the still night air that lent such disregard to the tired citizens of Valentine.
A few men stand outside, bottles in hand as they lament lost love and glory, belching and hiccupping into the cool air. Horses tied to the hitching post whinny and jerk at reins keeping them in place, and there among them was your stolen stallion.
Arthur steers his mare to the front of the saloon, his heavy boots landing with a squelch in the mud as he dismounted. He helps you down, strong hands circling your waist and steadying you in the soft earth.
“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” he says and tips his head toward your horse. “Get yer boy, Imma go take care of some business inside.”
Before you can utter a word he stomps up the stairs of the saloon, his frame taking on the posture of The Enforcer as he pushes through the swinging doors.
His face wasn’t unknown here, it was only a couple of weeks ago he and a few of the other men from camp had gotten into some trouble. You weren’t there to see the fight, but you’d heard all about Arthur’s trip through the window—now boarded up and waiting to be repaired. This time, you hoped it wasn’t your handsome outlaw cast through the pane of glass.
While Arthur is inside, you deftly untangle your horse's reins from the post, gently stroking his mane to soothe his soft whinnying. You smile when he nuzzles you back, happy, it seems, to be back in your care.
“Was that awful man mean to you?” you ask softly, rubbing the coarse fur of his strong neck. “Arthur will handle it, don’t you worry.”
As if on cue, the jovial commotion in the saloon ends; the happy voices now holding anger or shock. The piano playing is lost to the disgruntled sounds inside and a moment later, the man who nearly ruined your night is thrown through the doors.
His bruised form topples down each step before landing in the mud. You watch, unable to quell the sense of pride that surges through you as you watch Arthur swagger through the saloon doors and down the steps, spurs jingling. The confidence he holds as he looms over the thief settles over you warmly. This act of violence was in the name of chivalry; the man deserved whatever justice Arthur planned to dish out.
“Didn’t need ya to point him out after all, darlin’.” Arthur's words fell from his lips with the ghost of a grin, pleased with the opportunity to put your attacker in his place. “This feller was inside boastin’ to the whoooole saloon ‘bout the horse he stole from a helpless young woman just outside of town.”
Arthur kicks the man as he tries to stand, the thief falling back into the mud with a groan. Folks begin to gather on the wooden porch of Smithfield’s, their faces twisting in looks of both concern and excitement as they watch your handsome outlaw and the man who’d stolen your horse.
“See, normally I don’t waste my time dealin’ with dim-witted horse thieves. Hell, on occasion, I am one. But you see, that weren’t just any helpless young woman ya stole a horse from… that was my woman.” Arthur deals him another kick to his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs a second time as he tries to stand.
“An’ if it ain’t clear already,” Arthur says reaching to pull the man from the ground and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t take kindly to anyone hurtin’ my woman in any way. Ya understand?”
The deep timbre of Arthur’s voice works over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. He looks so fierce in the flickering light of the oil lamps, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you, though you know they were cold, focused on the man in his grasp.
No coherent words fall from the thief's mouth as Arthur holds him nearly off the ground, only a moan of anguish, surely from the two kicks he’d suffered.
“Nod if ya understand,” Arthur demands with a shake.
Anger churns on the thief’s face, but he nods, slow, jaw clenching as he musters the gall to fight back.
“Fortunately for you, all I’m lookin’ for is an apology…” Arthur tips his hat in your direction. “…to the lady.”
The man’s dark eyes glance your way and he sneers, shaking his head with a mirthless chorttle.
“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothin’, especially when your woman is stupid enough ta get her horse stole in the first place.” 
If you cared even slightly about the fate of the man who’d stolen your horse, hearing those words escape his mouth would have caused your stomach to drop knowing the sort of fire he just ignited. But, you want nothing more than for Arthur to beat him into a bloody pulp.
To your surprise, however, Arthur remains steadfast, but his voice is increasingly more sinister when he speaks.
“Maybe ya didn’t hear me. An apology. Now.”
“No.” The thief spat, a fiendish smile turning his lips.
With lightning speed and unyielding force, Arthur’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, unleashing a thunderous crack that has the onlookers gasping. The sudden impact propels the thief backward, his body crashing into the cold mud for a third time.
You expect him to stay there, really if the man had any wits about him, he would have. However, despite the two kicks and the blow to his face, the thief rose from the mud, foolish determination etched onto his bloodied features. Arthur almost scoffs and wastes no time proving the extent of his strength. He strikes him again, obliterating the remnants of the man's fractured jaw, the sound resonating with a deafening crack.
No one rushes to the man's aid when he falls to the muddy earth for a fourth time, wailing in anguish at his shattered jaw. Arthur stands over him, tall and formidable, his presence almost challenging the man to get back up, your outlaw more than prepared to deal out more justice.
“Should’a apologized…” Arthur chides. “If ya had, maybe ya’d have use of that jaw’a yours right now.” 
The man groans in agony, writing on the ground as he holds his broken jaw. 
“But I had ta keep ya from speakin’ ill’a my woman like that. I certainly don’t appreciate when slimy fellers like you use her kindness against her.” Arthur slowly circles the man like a fierce wolf circles their prey. “Then ya had ta go leavin’ her out in them woods, faaar from any sort of civilization, all alone. An’ well. I ain’t takin’ no apologies for that.” 
He stops, one leg on each side of the thief before dropping to his knees, fist poised high over the old leather hat on his head. Arthur didn’t leave your attacker with only one more punch; the man under his weight had committed the ultimate sin in your lovers eyes. He’d hurt you, a crime that warranted the ultimate punishment.
The sound of each punch reverberates through the air as Arthur’s fury drives him to deliver decisive blows. As you watch, pride swelling in your breast, you swear each hit lands with such intensity the ground beneath you trembles. All the folks gathered to watch pass whispers while looks of shock mold their features. Come the morning, the town would be talking again about the stranger who liked to stir up trouble in the sleepy city of Valentine. 
When Arthur finally stands, flexing his surely aching knuckles, the man beneath him is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises distort his face, teeth missing from his gaping mouth. His limp body is unmoving in the mud and you haven’t a care whether he was dead or alive. 
There is a hint of shame on his expression when he drew himself back into your orbit, the coldness in his eyes warming in your presence.
“’M sorry, darlin’.” He says refusing to look you in the eye. In an instant, the Enforcer was gone, leaving only your kind knight in shining armor standing before you, his knuckles red and bloodied from dealing out justice.
“For what?” you say taking his injured hand in yours, wiping the blood from the cuts with a clean section of your skirt.
“For what I done.”
You shake your head and tilt the brim of his hat, looking to meet his lowered gaze. “All you done, Mister Morgan, is protect your woman. Ain’t a lick of shame in that.”
He grins softly, gently caressing your chin and cheek with his clean hand. His expression meets yours completely.
“’M just glad I happened upon ya when I did.” He murmurs and you step closer to him.
His gentle eyes, painted in a delicate watercolor palette of blue and green, softly convey the deep love he possessed for you, along with the ever-lingering fear of losing you. The exquisite blend of tenderness and vulnerability was something seldom seen by anyone other than you. And each time those meticulously built walls of his came down,  you were honored to behold the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.
“Me too,” you whisper, hoping the look you give him in return conveys the same sentiment.
The lives you lived held no real guarantees apart from a bullet or a hanging rope. You learned quickly to never take for granted a single moment, and this one you certainly weren’t.
“You ready to get back to camp now, darlin’?” he asks, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Camp… you almost grimace at the thought of returning to the mediocrity of it all.
“Actually.” Your eyes glance over to the hotel across the way, mischief coating your smile. “Was thinkin’ I should reward my rescuer.”
His brows furrow following your glance, oblivious to your meaning.
Before he can open his mouth to form a question, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching on your tiptoes to gain the fullness of his kiss. As if on instinct his arms weave around your waist, your feet coming off the ground as he pulls you in closer to deepen the draw of your joined lips. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, his mouth undemanding but firm against yours, making you melt into his very being.
Your head is spinning when he pulls away, placing your feet gently back into the mud, and you can’t fight the smile unfurling over your wet lips.
“I’ll buy us a room at the inn,” you say, batting your eyes coyly. “S’ the least I can do for my knight in shining armor.”
Arthur laughed, heartily. There is an undeniable charm to the sound of his chuckle, as it cascades through the air, enveloping you with an infectious happiness each and every time you hear it. As his eyes hold yours, a playful glimmer twinkles behind them as he swiftly deciphers your not-so-cleverly veiled plan.
“A knight, hmm?” his brow lifts onto his forehead in a deep arch, his smirk firm on his lips.
You nod, “In shining armor.”
He chuckles again shaking his head before scooping you into his arms with ease. You gasp at the swiftness, and laugh too, draping your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.
“Well, then, I reckon I should play the part, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” he says as he steps around your fallen, broken-jawed adversary on his way to the Saint’s Hotel. “Ain’t never been a knight before, just a dirty ol’ outlaw.”
You laugh and roll your eyes. 
He whistles as he trudges through the soft earth for his horse to follow and his loyal mare falls in close on his heel. Your horse follows too, nearly as inseparable from his horse as you were with Arthur.
“Ya ain't old, and ya ain’t dirty…need I remind you who's got mud all over their clothes?” you say kicking up your soiled skirts to get his attention. He just laughs.
“Maybe ya forgot already, but I was on my knees in the mud beating the life outta that fool who robbed you. That makes me just as dirty as you. ‘Sides, I reckon neither of us will be wearin’ them for much longer anyhow.”
His comment, and accompanying bravado surges through you like more wildfire, adding to the flames he’d already been fanning since throwing your attacker through the saloon doors. Arthur’s confidence in his ability to have you swooning with only the low smokey sound of voice and the words he spoke had grown exponentially. Which was both something of a blessing and a curse. You enjoyed the days of flirting and seeing him grow red in the face from your flattery. Now he made you putty in his hands with a few words and a coupling smile.
For that moment, however, you decide it’s a blessing; he’s your Savior in Spurs—a cowboy casanova.
You toss a coin to the innkeeper from the pocket of your skirts and he casts you a key that you manage to catch as Arthur wastes no time making his way upstairs.
In truth, the Saint’s Hotel was no paradise; with its meager accommodations and thin walls, it was hardly a place to find rest. However, that night, that illusion of privacy might as well have been nirvana. You could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a chance to make use of actual walls instead of the canvas flaps of Arthur’s tent. Here, the neighbors were strangers who wouldn’t be casting you looks over the fire the next morning, knowing far too much about what you and Arthur had gotten up to in his tent. You were going to savor every tiny detail unabashedly while you could.
The fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace, warming the room from the cool mountain air outside the windows, adorned with sun-rotted lace curtains. The wooden floor creaked under each step as if to voice its displeasure at the neglect it had suffered over the years. The faded wallpaper, once bursting with colorful patterns, now barely clung to the walls, faded and dusty. The bed, while made with threadbare quilts and pillows, appeared sturdy enough not to break under both your weights, and that was all you truly cared about.
Your boots are the first to come off once Arthur places you back on your feet, discarded with a couple of eager kicks before his hands reach for the fastenings of your skirts. Yours wind around his neck, burying your fingers in his honey-brown hair as you kiss his soft lips.
For all the violence they inflicted mere moments ago, Arthur's hands were so very gentle, plucking at the ties holding your skirts in place, and again as his deft fingers loosened every button of your blouse with practiced ease, leaving you in just your chemise. Despite the warmth of the fire burning in the room, a chill works through you and you sigh, more gooseflesh prickling your skin as Arthur moves his hand to the globe of your breast, thumb sweeping over the covered peak of your nipple.
His featherlight touches make your mind a dizzying vortex of desire. This man, who uses his hands to deal out death sentences, only ever uses them to worship you. His mouth, which often spits out sarcasm and cruelty, paints your skin with tender presses and undeniable words of adoration.
Your hands snake from their place in his hair to the buttons of his blue work shirt, loosening only a few before he swats your hands away gently causing a whine to sound in the back of your throat. He meets your furrowed brow with smirk and a quick peck on your lips before moving your hands back where they were. 
“Feels good, you doin’ that,” he tells you. 
You gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck. “This?”
“Mhm…” he leans to kiss you again, a slow, worshipful act as though he is trying to memorize every detail of your mouth against his. 
Desire thrums through you ever hotter. You need him. 
“Arthur…” you breathe in weak protest as his lips scour down the column of your neck, his hands pulling your chemise from you. “…I’m s’posed to be rewardin’ you.”
You feel him smile and shake his head as his kisses venture further across your collarbone. When he relieves you of your bloomers, you shiver and moan at the feeling.
“Don’t need no reward, darlin’.” He whispers against your skin between kisses. “Think its you that needs taken care of after whatcha been through.”
Calloused fingers spray over the small of your back as he brings you against him, the hardness in his trousers pressing against your bare form. You feel your own arousal coating your thighs, warm and wet, and begging for the feel of him inside of you.
“Will ya let me do that darlin’? Take care of ya?” his hands explore as he speaks, trailing down your spine before cupping your back side with a little squeeze. 
Your head falls back with a ragged sigh, fingers tugging at this hair. As much as you want to tease and dote on him and show him how grateful you were for his timing, you can’t think when he has you like this: naked and vulnerable to his touch, mind cloudy with desire. 
“Yes, Arthur. Always.” You murmur, lost in the blissfulness of his touches. 
As if you weigh nothing, he takes you in his arms again, hoisting you aloft, and carrying you to the bed where he lays you so tenderly over the threadbare coverings.
You watch, heart pounding against the cage of your ribs as he quickly sheds each of his layers. It is a show you have seen a dozen times and helped with a dozen more, still, your lust-blown eyes gauge him with reverence and awe.
He is truly magnificent, your handsome outlaw; strong shoulders and wide chest dusted with coarse hair your fingers yearned to comb through. Warmth drifts through your body as you drink in every inch of him, eyes landing where his cock juts from dark curls proudly and your cunt clenches in anticipation.
“C’mere, sir knight…” you say stretching across the mattress, smiling, and batting your lashes. “…come an’ claim yer prize.”
Arthur chuckles heartily as he climbs into bed, and you welcome the press of his weight with a happy sigh. He teases your lips with his own, soft kisses that leave you wanting before the press of his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You reciprocate, drinking from his mouth with hungry groans.
Heat pools lower and lower where you want him most; feeling the long pulsing line of him against your thigh was like torture, causing another whine to escape your busy lips.
“Please…” you sigh, a slow undulation taking your hips in search of some form of stimulation.
Once more he obeys, his mouth laying a hot trail down your sternum, stopping to draw your nipple between his lips before traveling further down. The sensation of familiar, calloused palms gliding down the stack of your ribs as his kisses continue their way down, squeezing the swell of your hips and kneading the softness of your thighs have your quiet moans echoing through the room.
Arthur dips his mouth to your center abruptly and draws his tongue up through your slick folds, tasting just how much you need him, and he groans.
“Mmmm, darlin’,” he murmurs before swirling his tongue over the bud nestled at the apex of your cunt. “I don’t do this enough…”
You gasp, a flash of heat pulsing through your center, head rolling against the pillow. He didn’t do this enough, then again, the two of you rarely found yourselves so alone together. And there was barely enough room for the two of you on Arthur’s cot anyway, let alone room to explore other methods of pleasure.
He intensifies his exploration, drawing his tongue over you in wide flat strokes, while your thighs come to moor on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. You feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself fully to his task, thrusting his tongue into you, filling you with warm velvet before abandoning your core for the silky nub crowning it. Arthur's tongue curls against it until you shiver and gasp.
“A-Arthur…” your breath hitches, hooking your fingers into his hair.
A low purr rumbles through him as you press against his face, hips rolling in rhythm with his ministrations. Your lover sweeps his tongue over and around your clit repeatedly. Sensation swells low in your belly, feeling yourself nearing the ultimate peak and you tug his hair ruthlessly wanting more. Needing more than just his mouth. His truly wonderful mouth... 
“C’mon, darlin’,” he mutters against your dripping cunt, the gust of his breath billowing over your heated center causing you to shutter.
Without fanfare a wide finger dips into your core, then another, making your back arch and a loud moan spill from your lips at the delightful stretch. For only a moment, your cry reminds you of the paper mache walls surrounding you; no doubt everyone in the Saint's Hotel knows what the two of you are up to, but you cared little with Arthur between your legs eating you out like he was made to do so.
Stars dance in your eyes as you skirt the edge of your undoing. He growls encouragingly when you flutter in warning against his lips and around his fingers.
“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice low and utterly sinful. You can even feel his proud, smirking lips against your center, the image alone snapping the spring coiled low in your belly.
Ecstasy hits you like white-hot heat, tunneling your vision as you jerk against his face, heels digging into his back. His name falls sloppily from your mouth in a flurry of mixed vowels and sounds that hold no cohesive meaning, each one melding into throaty moans.
“That’s my girl…” He grins, removing his fingers to lap up all the juices of your arousal as you ride out your orgasm against his face.
Slowly you come back to yourself, the tremors of aftershock fading as your breath and vision catch up to you. Arthur remains content between your legs, gently kissing the soft skin of your thighs, once more humming the tune he’d serenaded you with on your way into town.
When he smiles at you, lips and chin shining with your nectar, love burning behind his blue-green eyes, you pet his hair, holding that gaze with the same reverence. Slowly a smirk unfurls on your lips.
“Like I said, knight in shining armor.”
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howlett-n-morgan · 1 month ago
Text
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)
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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. 
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. 
-
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
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liyawritesss · 9 days ago
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ʀᴀɴᴄʜᴇʀ!ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ᴍᴏʀɢᴀɴ
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-> synopsis: in which arthur was able to set aside his criminal ways and leave the Van der Linde gang and live a life of relative normalcy, and perhaps meet a nice little lady to make it all worth it
         -> pairing: rancher!arthur morgan + black!fem!reader
-> from: red dead redemption 2
         -> contains: age-gap (reader is 27, arthur is 37), 2nd person ('you', 'your', 'yours'), references to canon-violence and crimes
-> a/n: my knowledge of Red Dead Redemption is limited, only really coming from watching gameplays and from beta-reading a friends fic, but arthur morgan the man that you are! I really just want him to have a good life outside the gang so i played with the whole rancher idea a little bit here, with a little bit of gen. store clerk!reader, so i hope you guys enjoy!
         -> join my taglist!
-> tags: @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @asensitivecookie @moon-bo-young @flo-milli-shit-hoe
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ARTHUR MORGAN who eventually turns in his weapons and hangs in the towel of his criminal days, feigning for something more out of life than the thrill of a hunt, Though the decision wasn’t an easy one (mainly because Dutch never made things easy), the man took one last job and took the earnings from it to buy a good 10-acre stretch of land in the southern midwest territories where he knew trouble wouldn’t find him if it came looking. Within the next year he settles down into the life of a rancher, and he couldn’t have asked for anything better.
RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who has taken forever to nail down a routine that actually sticks when it comes to waking up and rousing the animals for the day. He does the chickens first, cuz he hates those little fuckers and how they always like to peck at his feet even though he knows he tosses the corn and feed pellets far away from him. Then the hogs start squealing whenever he even nears the pen, and Arthur always mutters about how they just ate the night before, how can they be this hungry already? After throwing their slop into the feeder, he opens the barn doors to let the cows know it’s morning and that they’ll be milked soon, but he learned not the milk them just as they wake up because they in fact do not like to be fondled so early in the morning. Instead, he grabs his horse and rounds up the few sheep and goats he’s got  and leads them to nearby pasture to graze. Here, Arthur gets the chance to rest a little, maybe snack on some dried meat and journal about his dreams if he’s had any, his aspirations for the day, or maybe even sketch the view.
RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who learns to like making the honest living he’s got going. It may not be as thrill seeking as robbing trains or starting saloon fights or gunslinging like the old days, but he’s comfortable. Content, even. Sometimes he’ll sell one of the hogs for a pretty penny and can afford to buy himself something he likes. The people in the nearest town say his milk from his cows is the best they’ve had in a long time! He’s not a star or anything, but he’s got something good going for himself and he’ll be damned if he lets it wither and die like the dreams he had in his youth.
RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who won’t lie to himself and say he doesn’t miss his old life. At the start, he feigned for it so bad; he’d try to rationalize it and say that it wouldn’t hurt no one, but he knew better. Sometimes he’d lie awake in the modest little house that was on the property when he bought it, reminiscing about the good times in the gang before the cracks started showing. When they could make a quick scheme and walk away feeling like the richest men in the world. He missed his brothers and their asshole behavior; he missed the girls sometimes, too, even if they got on his nerves. But they were behind him, and he knew he couldn’t go back. For his sake, and for theirs.
RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who rides into town one day to drop off some milk at the general store to see someone new behind the counter; someone younger and prettier than the stuffy old lad who talks to proper and irritates Arthur with his poshness. He’s so taken off guard that he almost drops the crate of milk he’s carrying in. He learns that you’re the store owner’s daughter and that you’ve taken over for him because he got into a wild riding accident, and that he’d be out for the next couple of months. You try not to make it so awkward on Arthur, as it seems like seeing you behind the counter instead of your father has already thrown him for a loop. When the cowboy promptly drops off the milk and bids a quick farewell, you fear you’ve made a horrible first impression.
RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who comes back a week later with a much more level head and a little less awkward now that he expects you behind the counter. This time he brings with him some seeds to sell that he’d gotten from a farmer a couple miles down the road that he didn’t want. He thought he’d be able to sell or exchange them for something he’d actually use. He was quiet, yet polite, and had an air of mystery around him that intrigued her. It wasn’t every day a handsome rancher came into the general store, and you wanted to know everything you could about this Arthur Morgan, who kept his cards close to his chest and was a man of few words.
RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who made his visits slightly longer every time he’d come into the general store, whether to sell his goods or to buy some tools or necessities from himself. After a handful of encounters, he finally blessed you with more of his voice and words - they had a roughness to them from years of hard work, but was still warm and inviting. The way he called you ‘miss’ and way he tipped his cowboy hat to you as a farewell made you giddy like a little schoolgirl. You found yourself looking forward to opening the general store every day, hoping to have a conversation with Arthur Morgan if he’d come in.
RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who says to you “I ain’t so good with the ladies” when you ask him why he always seems so shy talking to you, and it actually makes you giggle a little. Arthur Morgan, the unit of a man that he is, admitting his timidity of a woman? What God in Heaven made this be so? Oh, but you have no intention of letting it be just that. No, you tell Arthur Morgan, “I can teach you, if you’d like”, and you swear you see the lightest dust of pink cross his cheeks. He’s got half a mind to walk out of there like a puppy with it’s tail between it’s legs; how could you make him so embarrassed like that! Though, if it’s you than plans on teach him how to be a little less dense and awkward around women, he probably wouldn’t mind it. Maybe he could even return the favor and have you writhing in bashfulness…
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amrass · 4 months ago
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RDR2 headcanon: Micah Bell kills his brother Amos in 1907
I think the family who Micah and his gang invade the home of and murder is Amos and his family. 
The crime is mentioned twice: in a 1907 newspaper, and by Cleet before John or Sadie kills him. The family includes a husband, a wife and daughters, like Amos' does, revealed through Micah's speeches, a knife game, and the letter from Amos in Shady Belle. (Shady Bells, both of them lol, being shrouded in mystery. I'll try to unveil them a little).
In the letter, Amos rejects Micah and tells him to stay far away or he'll kill him. "I have daughters, as you know". Micah must know his brother's address as this letter is a reply, but how does Micah know about his nieces? Did he visit? Did he stake out Amos' ranch, before he was spotted? (That must've been an intense moment). The letter can be found randomly as if thrown away, so it must've upset him, who is usually secretive. He is also swears he remember threats.
Is 1800s Micah capable of killing his own brother? Idk. But in the 1900s, I think he's unhinged enough to do it, especially if his O'Driscoll-like gang members join in. Amos is a failed Bell and a loose end, and he witnessed a weakness on Micah's part, in the letter.
For Micah hope is weakness, a belief that was softened and then solidified when he was in the Van der Linde Gang. I think he joined unconsciously wanting a family, consciously wanting money (the Blackwater score, Dutch's bounty, the gang funds…). Maybe Dutch let him join as as a pet project, testing his mentoring skills on a man rougher than a street kid (and if Micah can soften or settle down, so can Dutch?). Between chapter 1-4 of RDR Micah gets a sliver of hope and reaches out to Amos. But the reconciliation with the old family, the new family, and the money all go to hell. He likely ratted after Guarma, but I'm unsure if he were going to give the Pinkertons, Dutch. As a young man, Micah chose his father over Amos, like he chooses Dutch over Arthur or any other gang / family members. When Dutch rejects him, he screams in frustration. The money is seemingly not enough. I think he changes after this, going from bad to worse. And at his worst, he's probably capable of spilling his own blood. Maybe he feels like he's killing Amos on his father's behalf, like he killed "traitors" on Dutch's. (Daddy issues deluxe edition).
Micah and Amos can be read as a dark mirror to Arthur and John. Both Amos and John abandon their lawless lifestyle – and their brothers – to become lawful sheep ranchers. But where John lives on thanks to Arthur's involvement, it makes narratively sense to me that Micah's involvement does the opposite, ending his remaining family. In canon, John is also killed in the end, after a few years of lawful living. Amos might've been equally unable to escape. Especially with a brother like Micah.
Sorry if I got any details wrong. Special thanks to @zanazirafanfic and @the--end-is--nigh , who chatted about this with me months ago, offering their insights. I've been seeing a lot of cool Micah Bell and RDR theories lately, so I'd thought I'd share one of mine.
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sludge-saturday · 7 months ago
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catching feelings ☆ pencil and charcoal
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you've been riding with the van der linde gang for a few months now, pulling your weight and helping out when you can. you've earned the trust of nearly everyone there with your hard work and are starting to capture the interest of a certain someone...
pairing: arthur morgan x gn!artist!reader
summary: you show arthur your artwork by the fire. how will he react when he sees himself amongst your drawings?
tags: fluff, arthur has low self-esteem, high honor arthur
warnings: very brief mention of alcohol consumption
word count: 1,141
a/n: first entry in the "catching feelings" series! i can't tell if my writing style is too corny or not so feedback is encouraged. :)
☆ the trotting of your horses' hooves served as gentle ambience as you and arthur watched the van der linde camp come into view. an involuntary feeling of relief washed over you, knowing that you were safe here. the two of you were just arriving from a particularly difficult bounty hunt, but your combined skills proved to be efficient. "a job well done," as arthur had told you.
☆ you both approach the camp and hop off of your horses, hitching them to an available post. arthur gives boadicea a gentle, appreciative pat on the neck. "i'm gonna go tell dutch how much we made." he says, walking toward where the gang leader is standing. dutch is next to one of the posts holding up his tent and a fire had been made not too far away by some of the other gang members. karen, tilly, charles, javier, and lenny all sat around the flame, a couple with bottles in their hands.
☆ you wanted to stop at your tent for your sketchbook before heading over to sit with them. now would be a perfect time to keep practicing, you thought to yourself. after making the short trip to where your belongings were, you swiped the leather-bound book and the rest of your supplies off of your cot. as you walk towards the fire you glance at everyone sitting around it. no one had left yet, but another person had joined: arthur.
☆ scanning for a place to sit, you decide on an open spot next to the gunslinger. you had to admit, you've grown fond of arthur's presence since you first started traveling with the gang. it was something about his get-it-done attitude, his undying loyalty to those he cares about, and, of course, his rugged handsomeness. you kept your affection for him a secret, though, afraid of what might happen if anyone ever found out. you drew one of your knees up to your chest, propping your sketchbook up on your thigh in an attempt to dispel the thought.
☆ arthur's gaze couldn't help but wander to what you were doing beside him. as you opened your sketchbook, flipping through the pages to find where you last left off, arthur's eyes were able to steal a few glances at what was inside. from what he able to see, there were sketched pictures of people he could have sworn he recognized. was that... dutch? and sean? and mary beth? arthur gestured to the book in your hands and spoke in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone else would hear what he had to say. "you draw too?"
☆ you looked up at arthur with a smile already on your face. "it's been one of my passions since i was a child. i practically clung to my pencils when i fell on hard times." your eyes sparkled as you spoke to him, and you could have sworn you saw the same kind of shimmer in his eyes as he listened. "can i..." he started, "can i see 'em?" arthur had never met anyone else that shared his love of drawing and thought he never would, he had made peace with that. but this new discovery, this moment he was now sharing with you, it made him feel more alive and more connected to someone than he felt in a while.
☆ a flush threatened to creep onto your cheeks as you process arthur's request. you can't remember the last time someone asked to actually see what you were making. anxiety bubbled in your stomach as your mind raced through everything that could happen if you agreed. but, when you looked at arthur, his features were graced with a subtle glow, an expression of wonder and pure curiosity. how could you refuse?
☆ "of course." you gave him a sweet smile. "should i start from the beginning?" your hand prepares to move all of the pages on the left back to the right, but you look at arthur for approval anyway. "sure." he answered, nodding his head.
☆ and so you do. you show him everything, from your finished portraits of the gang members to sketches of your horse to quick scribbles of plants and animals you spot on your adventures. and arthur found it all so breathtaking. your art style, the way you chose to characterize your figures, your ability to make photo-realistic images from just pencil and charcoal, he never knew you had this in you.
☆ he watched as you flipped through the pages, admiring your work and pointing out ones he particularly liked. the person drawn on the last page had a dark cowboy hat on with rope tied around the base. he had a dark kerchief draped around his neck and a stubbly face. "recognize him?" you smooth your hand over the paper, remembering the unforgettable process that was drawing arthur for the first time. "this is one of my favorites." smiling at the page, you turn to look at his reaction.
☆ arthur was utterly dumbfounded. he couldn't believe what he was looking at. someone, especially someone like you, had deemed him worthy enough of being a muse for artwork. he thought he was so... ugly. he thought everyone found him that way. at a loss for words, the man felt tears prick his eyes. he didn't know why he was getting so emotional! he couldn't cry in front of anyone, so he cleared his throat and searched for what to say. "is that me?"
☆ you noticed that arthur's eyes looked glossier and that his expression shifted. you couldn't gauge how he was feeling from the look on his face, so you looked back down at the drawing. "it is," you said, fiddling with the corner of the book. "you are a joy to create." your smile was genuine, the apple of your cheeks shining in the firelight as you turned your head to face arthur again. his expression was still unreadable, his gaze tilted down towards his lap. after a few seconds of silence, arthur speaks softly. "ya really mean that?"
☆ arthur's eyes were still glassy, but softer this time around. he looked like the answer to his question would make or break him. he looked... vulnerable. even you knew that this was not a disposition you would typically, if ever, expect of him. you were careful with your response, knowing that you held the very livelihood of arthur morgan in your hands. "i do."
☆ those two simple words sent a small swarm of butterflies through his gut. for him, nothing would be able to compare to the way you just made him feel. for him, this moment would be occupying his mind for longer than he cared to admit. for him, this gesture was just another piece of the stunning mosaic created in your image. after this, there's no more room for doubt. he's smitten.
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2demondogs · 1 month ago
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Hi! Could I get some domestic Charles headcanons? Like if him on his own ranch with his partner and children?
Sure!! Gender-neutral reader! Sorta hit a block on this one bc while I want to wife Charles up 100%, I am very much destined to be a Cool Gay Uncle, so I hope it's okay lol.
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Charles does most of the hunting, slaughtering, and cooking. He's good at the former, doesn't mind the rest, and he likes that you compliment the latter. If you want to join him catching dinner or cooking it, Charles is usually more than happy to have company. He'd also love the opportunity to teach you whatever he can; once they're old enough, teaching the kids is his favorite way to bond with them.
He does need alone time, and wants to give you yours. There's only so much interaction anyone can take, and Charles is a naturally reclusive man. Normally, he'll take hunting trips or repairs around the place as an excuse to be on his lonesome for a while. If you're not someone who frequently needs to recharge on your own, he'll probably worry that he's stressing you out being so... around.
For a quiet guy, he rambles at night. Charles tends to talk pre-sleep anxieties out with you when he's tired enough — and he has a lot of them, for living such a slow life nowadays. Things from the past, what comes in the future, what that hide will fetch. By the time kids come along, he'll wear his brain smooth on one side worrying about them. Especially the girls. He is a Girl Dad for sure.
Charles is not very good with young kids. He's good at respecting them as their own tiny, more chaotic versions of adults. Patience is a virtue, and he can put up with their nonsense — though that's more affectionately thought than anything — for a long time, as long as they're satisfied in committing it. Once they start crying, though... let's just say that approaching a child the same way he approaches wounded animals worked until he spoke too hard on accident, and the kid burst into tears again.
Kids love him regardless. Usually, anyways. There was a period of time where babies tended to cry whenever he looked at them, and neither of you really know why to this day. But he's quiet, so they can talk all they want; he's tall and sturdy enough to climb; very firm hugs, and doesn't mind giving them; and once they're old enough, his advice is solid without being too kind. He's kept his physique if only because, for some reason, every single kid has loved being swung around like a feed sack. Like most things, he doesn't get the appeal, but whatever makes the critters happy, y'know?
Despite the difficulties, a family was never a bad idea. Charles likes the idea of having roots, and having them with you. Anything stationary is a grace in his life. To think the rest of it could be nothing but that is at once suffocating and comforting. He'll probably drag you all on a few trips and wander off on some excursions to sate the drive to run around, but beyond that, he's just fine being a homebody now that he's got a home.
One of his more sentimental insistences is a yearly family portrait. It's an expense, but ranching is good enough money to warrant it. Beyond expressions of contentment, he doesn't often make gestures or say much in the vein of this— but it says enough about what you all mean to him that he gets a few prints of each one.
He doesn't tell the kids much of his history. Of course, he connects with them as deeply as he can because they're his babies. Charles is the master of dropping absolutely horrific lore on them over a beer once they hit their thirties, but before then? Good luck. It's dangerous, sure; he wasn't always a good man, no, and sometimes he's ashamed; most of all, what happened in and to the Van der Linde gang — and the world they sprouted from, and where that world is buried, and where the world is going nowadays, and everything else — still scares him. He would be happier if you didn't know a lick of it, either.
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allzelemonz · 3 months ago
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Image: Dutch Van der Linde X Male Reader
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Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: T/Violence Warnings: period typical homophobia, internalized homophobia, d/s undertones, reader implied to be younger, age gap, bruises Summary: You mess up and show a little affection in public, Dutch is set off.
You weren’t thinking. It’s been so long since the gang had gone out to a saloon with all this running back West and you’d gotten so used to getting to do what you want affection wise. Dutch, however, did not forget. He was, and always is, thinking so very deeply about everything imaginable. So when you leaned over and brushed your hand against his, he noticed. He noticed like that voice itching the back of his brain said everyone else did.
So he grabbed your arm, fingers bruising at your bicep, and hauled you out and into the alley. A somewhat confused Arthur and Hosea following after and lingering just off the street as Dutch pulls you into shadow.
“The hell are you thinkin’, boy?” Dutch huffs, squeezing harshly at your arm.
“I didn’t--”
“Folks in this state get killed for that and we don’t need the goddamn heat.” His eyebrows fall downward into an angry crinkle. “Do you understand?”
You watch the twitch of his eyes, the way they scan over your face like a man that’s never seen you before. And seeing Dutch so irate with nerves makes words catch in your throat, so you settle for nodding.
“Go get on the damn horse, boy.” Dutch huffs, shoving you towards the awaiting Hosea and Arthur.
You stumble, but do as you’re told. Arthur joins you as Hosea talks to Dutch, both waving the two of you off.
Arthur turns his horse towards the south road. “You can stay in my tent tonight.” He mutters. “‘Less you wanna have Dutch yelling all night.”
So you do. You lie down on your spare bedroll under the same tent as Arthur, who snores louder than a train, utterly and completely restless without Dutch holding you. All because you forgot you can’t be such an invert outside of camp. That’s what echoes in your head until you fall asleep late into the night.
The morning isn’t much better. Grimshaw comes by, kicks your leg to wake you up and shouts at Arthur as she rattles off chores for the day. You try to lose yourself in cutting wood that morning. Hosea’s usual Dutch Damage Control, patent pending, keeps the rest of the gang from asking questions. Even Uncle keeps away while you have an axe in hand, not daring to ask for money while you’re in this state.
It isn’t until your arms ache that someone finally stops you, a hand landing on your shoulder and squeezing. You freeze, knowing it’s Dutch from the familiar rough rings digging into your skin.
“You’re overdoing it.” He mutters.
“I’m fine.”
His hand squeezes harshly, enough to make you want to squirm but Dutch trained you out of that a long time ago. “Tent, boy. Now.”
When his hand leaves your shoulder, you drop the axe without another word. The walk to his tent is silent. The whole camp is on edge as Dutch drops the flaps of his tent. You wait in the middle of the wooden platform of a floor, knowing he’ll tell you where to sit. He does, gestures to the cot.
As you sit, he stares for a moment. His eyes look over you and he adjusts his rings before he speaks. “Hosea said I was too harsh with you.”
“It was fine.”
“Shirt.”
You look up at him for a moment before taking it off. His hand comes to your arm the second it’s gone, fingers brushing the bruises that formed from his grip.
“Just needed you to understand what’s at stake.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
“You’ve done worse.”
“Only when asked.” Dutch shakes his head, moving his hand to tilt your head up. “I never get carried away like that. I… I was simply worried, my dear.”
“You don’t have to explain.” You turn your head away from his hand. “Just Hosea’s words anyway…”
“Stop that.” He snaps. “You’re my boy, aren’t you?”
You take a breath, staring off into nothing for a moment before nodding lightly.
“Then believe me when I say I’m sorry.” Dutch sighs as he sits beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you to lean against him. “If I’m gonna run cons in town, I need to seem respectable. That’s all.”
“I know.” You mutter.
“I’ll take you out this week, a dinner away from camp… nice hotel.” He chuckles. “But if anyone asks, you’re my nephew.”
“You don’t have to make it up to me, Dutch, just don’t go crazy like that…” You speak softly, leaning further into him until he puts his arms around you.
“Did I scare my boy?”
“Not that much of a pansy.” You mutter.
He sighs, running a hand through your hair. “I missed you last night.”
“Could take a nap.”
He hums, kissing the top of your head. “Wonderful idea, my boy.”
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agyraty · 3 months ago
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Ohh can you do Javier x reader angst?? Where in the last fight where the reader chose Arthurs side instead of his and they like reunite somewhere in the future where the reader has a kid now but is taken a back when she meets Javier again because they both still really much love each other but never really said anything just one finale goodbye
I love this!! I’m definitely thinking on adding on to this and making a part two because I love the concept.
(Btw I need more requests 😔 I have no ideas on what to write at the moment and need help)
Old goodbyes, New beginnings
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Wc: 1.6k
You never thought that you would see the day the Van Der Linde gang had its fallout. But here you are, pistol in hand, Arthur and a wounded John standing by your side. Dutch, Micah and his friends stood just a few feet away from you, their guns pointed and ready to fire. But your eyes were on Javier.. it hurt seeing him in the opposing side, although you should have known this would happen by how he’s been acting.
You joined the when you were just 19 back in 1994, and you were there when Javier first joined in 1995. you two were practically inseparable from the moment you met. He was a very skilled and charming man, not to mention he was extremely handsome. And over the 4 years of knowing him, you fell in love. And so did he.
A relationship blossomed between the two of you two years ago from now, and at first, it was amazing. He was such a loving man, and he cared deeply for you. Just as you did for him. Each time he’d go on a mission, or vise versa, you’d both be thinking about each other the whole time, and how much you missed one another. He’d even put his life on the line if it meant you were safe. He loved you, and you loved him.
But recently, as everything began to fall apart, Dutch, the gang, everyone began to turn in each other and the pinkertons were close to capturing you all, you had noticed him becoming.. distant, easily irritated. At first you thought maybe he was just stressed or worried about what would happen, but now you are begging to think that he’s choosing Dutch. That he’d rather be on his side than be with you since you disagreed either Dutch. Overall he had completely changed from the man you once knew..
Your glossy eyes scanned his figure as he stood across from you, his pistol pointed upwards at the air, unsure of what to do.
Your lip quivered slightly as you spoke. “C’mon Javier.. don’t be dumb. Please, Just listen to me.” You pleaded, not even bothering to hide the desperation in your voice. You loved him for Christs sake, even if he had changed, you couldn’t just stand around and watch him make a mistake.
His deep brown eyes stared at you, lips parting, not exactly sure on what to say. You could see he was trying to figure it out, to make a decision.
You tuned out Micah and Arthur’s back and forth banter, all your focus directed to the man you loved, standing a few feet in front of you. You could feel your heart splitting. Why was it so hard for him to make a decision? surely he hadn’t lost his way completely..
Surely he still loved you..
He shook his head, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he clenched his teeth. “No.. no you’re the one being stupid.” He gestured at you with his gun that now aimed at you. “Dutch fed us, clothed us, gave us a place to stay and you’re turning on him?”
Your shaky hands tightened around your gun, eyes narrowing. “No Javier.. he betrayed me, betrayed us, when he started listening to that rat.” You gestured to the blonde standing beside Javier.
“Please.. just come with me, don’t do this.” You pleaded desperately, eyes glossy with tears, the pain you felt growing as you saw him look at you with a cold look in his eye. There was no love in his expression. He was betraying you just as Dutch had.. why?
“Javi..”
He looked away as soon as you spoke his name which you called him often. He used to love it when you did.
“Don’t,” he started, but before he could speak another word, a large group came rushing into camp, interrupting the stand off. It was none other than the Pinkertons, lawmen who had been chasing after the gang for months. They found you.
“Damnit, Go!” You, Arthur, and John went one way, while the others went the opposite. You looked behind you, eyes catching Javier’s figure, who was behind the others, firing some shots at the men on their horses.
You didn’t know at the time that it would be the last time you saw Javier, for many years.
“Norman, stop Messing around, you’re gonna bump into someone.” You sighed, attention loosely on the young boy that ran around the streets of black water. You shook your head as he continued to chase around the golden dog that yelled and panted, it’s tail wagging vigorously behind him.
“Alright, anything else I could get you, Ma’am?” Asks the store clerk as he steps over to you, placing the peach you had asked for in your hand carefully. You shook your head, a small polite smile gracing your features. “No, this’ll be all.”
You dug into the pocket of your weathered pants, pulling out a few cents and handing it to the man. You turned your attention to your horse, stepping carefully over and dropping the plump peach into the saddle bag. A huff escaped your parted lips, you just wanted to go home and rest. These past few days had been even more eventful then normal, You were exhausted.
Cecil barked, his paws pattering against the dusty stone floor as Norman chased behind him, giggling loudly. But suddenly, you heard the boy let out a grunt, and a loud thud, along with a soft curse, a voice that sounded so familiar.
You quickly turned away from the horse, eyes searching for your son, who was now sitting in the floor covered in dust, along with a man in front of him who you didn’t quite get a good look at. Hurrying over, you reached down, grabbing Norman just below the arms, helping him up to his feet.
“I am so sorry, I told him to watch out—“ you stood up, eyes turning to the man, and paused, breath hitching in your throat upon seeing who stood before you.
“Y/n..?” He uttered quietly, in clear disbelief, just as you were.
You studied his face, noticing the smile lines and soft crows feet he had beside his eyes, along with how his frame filled out more. You couldn’t be seeing things, could you? At first you doubted it was him until you called his name. “Javier?”
If it was him, He sure didn’t age much.
Javier’s wide eyes traced the soft features of your face, the bags beneath your eyes, and the hint of smile lines that began to form. He noticed your hair had grown longer, and grew slightly lighter from days in the sun. Although it’s been 12 years, you were still just as beautiful in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” You stood up straighter, not seeming to be able to take your eyes off of him. You could feel your heart thudding against your chest, as swirl of emotions happening within you. You missed him, god you missed him so much. Seeing him here.. it brings back old feelings you tried so hard to push down. But you’re still angry, angry at the fact he chose Dutch over you all those Years before.
“I’m looking for a place to stay.. figured I’d look here. I always liked Black water.” His voice still carried the same thick accent, not wavering a bit.
You nodded and hummed a sound of understanding, looking down at the stone road. There was so much you wanted to say, but you couldn’t find the right words. You wanted to jump into his arms, but you also wanted to scream, tell him how badly he hurt you.
“So uh.. is this your boy?” He asked, eyes casting down to Norman, who stood a bit behind you, patting your golden retriever.
“Yeah.. this is Norman, I had him 5 years back.” You glanced behind you, before meeting Javier’s eyes once again. You felt your heart jump, just as it did all those years back.
“Oh, his father must be a lucky man, Having you at home,” He said softly, a hint of something in his voice you couldn’t quiet pin. “And knowing he has such a handsome son.”
You shook your head, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “No uh.. his father isn’t here anymore. He left when he was born.” Back then, you had met a guy named victor. He was very handsome, and he was good for you. And you tried to love him like you did with Javier and push your memories behind, but you couldn’t. And then he got you pregnant.
And once he did, he switched completely from a charming man, to a rude asshole. And he left after you gave birth, leaving you alone to take care and sustain for your child, and let’s just say it has not been easy.
“Oh,” Javier didn’t exactly know what to say, a bit shocked at your words. “I uh, I’m sorry.” His dark eyes traced your face, watching as you shook your head.
“No, it’s okay.” You pursed your lips together, taking in a deep breath. “So.. how have you been?”
The Spaniard scratched his chin, shrugging a bit. “I’ve been doing okay. I went to Mexico after what had happened. Let’s just say I got into some trouble. Which is why I’m here. Lookin’ for a new start.”
You nodded and listened to his words intently, humming. “This is a Great place. Maybe I could help you, Y’know, find a place.” A small smile graced you features as your gentle eyes met his once more.
“Yeah, that’d be great.” His lips curved into a smile just as yours did. For a moment you two stood there, looking at each other, your cheeks burning with a soft blush, stomach doing flips. You missed him so much over these past years, you don’t even care how angry you were, you’re just glad to see him again.
“Why don’t you come over? I’m making Peach Cobbler.” The words just fell from your mouth, but you didn’t care. All the exhaustion you felt before disappeared, the only thing fueling you was the hope that he would say yes so you could spend more time with him. Get to know what he’s done in 12 years. And maybe even become friends or, hopefully something more with time.
He nodded, smile growing. “I’d love too.”
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isopodcowboy · 1 year ago
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Rdr2 Sleep Headcanons
I wrote these at like 3 am last night so they ain't great but eh, just tryna get back into writing headcanons n such.
Lemme know if there's anyone else you'd wanna see, might make a part 2
Part 2
________________________________________
Arthur:
•Really light sleeper
•Literally wakes up anytime he hears an out of place noise
•It is a wonder how he manages to do all the shit he does with how little rest he manages to get
*When he does get to sleep though, he snores pretty quietly and doesn't move much
•Tends not to sleep with a blanket since he runs hot
John:
•America's #1 blanket stealer
•Abigial wakes up in the middle of the night shivering meanwhile this dude is all cuddled up and cozy on the other side of the bed
•Says the most batshit things in his sleep
•Almost never remembers his dreams though
•He doesn't snore but he does move around a lot in his sleep, one time he woke up laying sideways on the bed
Charles:
•It takes him AWHILE to fall asleep, he just can't turn his brain off a lot of the time. Always thinking about something
•When he does get to sleep though he sleeps like a log, doesn't move much and pretty much stays asleep until morning
•Wakes up right before the sun rises without fail
Javier:
•He falls asleep pretty easily but wakes up a few times a night for water n stuff
•His hair looks like shit in the morning lmao he's gotta brush it right after he wakes up otherwise he looks like he's been through some shit
•Pretty vivid dreams, he has a lot of nightmares about his past but they don't phase him as much anymore
Kieren:
•Bro is stressed it takes him a long time to fall asleep, especially when he first joined the Van Der Linde gang
•After he gets to know everyone he probably sleeps a lot better, though still pretty fitful, prolly moves and twitches a lot
•He's probably fallen asleep with the horses before just cause he'd rather hang out with them as opposed to everyone else 💀
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Hello! Love your work!
Can you do headcanons for Hosea with a daughter? (Or child if you'd prefer gender neutrality)
She's his kid with Bessie, and I was wondering how the two would be, growing up in the gang, how he'd be as a father, how she'd be with the other members, whatever you'd like to write!
As for her age, I'm thinking young adult during the events of the game, maybe John's age too
Thank you!
Hosea with a Child
Gender Neutral language!
Genre: Fluff! Some angst - No game spoilers Featuring: Dad!Hosea, Platonic John, Platonic Arthur Warnings: Mentions of death and grief
AN: I hope you like these! I really enjoyed writing this request it was so cute and fun to think about Hosea as a dad raising a kid in the gang <3 Thank you so much
---> Requests are open! Check out my guidelines if you have any questions!
<><><><>
Childhood Years:
According to Hosea, you were the only good thing he had ever done with his life.
Being his only child with Bessie, you were spoiled as much as he could afford. As an infant you were given the warmest blankets, the softest toys, and the most attention he could give you.
That short period of time where he left the gang was around the time that you were born after him and Bessie’s wedding. He wanted to give you a proper childhood away from the hardship of the life of an outlaw.
As he said himself, though, the life just draws you back in.
When he went back to Dutch he brought you and Bessie with him.
Hosea worshiped and adored you. Everything he did in the gang he convinced himself was for you and Bessie.
He told you the story of Robin Hood as you grew old enough to understand stories before bedtime. He’d sit you in front of the fire and smile as you gazed up at him in wonder while he told the tale of the hero who stole from the rich to give to the poor.
During the earlier years of the gang, when they still stole for the good of others in one way or another, you always thought of Hosea as Robin Hood - he was a hero to you.
You started calling Dutch “Uncle Dutch” and considered many other members of the gang as family.
You were only eight when Arthur was brought in to the group. You followed him like a shadow and it warmed Hosea’s heart to see you trying to play with another kid (even though Arthur was fourteen by this time - he was still the youngest person for you to hang around).
Since Hosea eventually started viewing Arthur as a son, you viewed him as your badass older brother.
Teen Years:
By the time you turned fifteen, you were expected to start contributing to the gang. Most of the time you were just a pickpocket. Hosea didn’t want you robbing trains or putting yourself in any real danger, and Bessie wouldn’t allow you to do anything that could taint your soul (as she would put it).
For a while you were just quick and sneaky.
Arthur watched over you whenever you went into town to grab a few coins and watches from the people walking through the streets just in case anyone caught on to your act and you needed assistance.
You whined to Hosea that you felt like he didn’t trust you to take care of yourself since Arthur was always babysitting you, Hosea said he’d figure something out. He knew you could take care of yourself, of course.
He fixed it by telling Arthur to be sneakier while he was watching you.
Once you turned sixteen, Hosea started taking you on hunting trips with him. He wanted to make sure you could take care of yourself and your mom in case anything happened to him.
“Give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, he’ll eat forever.” He’d say on nearly every hunting trip the two of you went on.
“But we’re hunting deer, Pop, not fishin’.” You’d correct him and he’d just wave his hand in the air as if to dismiss you. “Same concept, kid.” He’d retort.
At seventeen, John joined the Van Der Linde gang. It was the first time there was someone exactly your age near you daily that you got to interact with.
At first, John was following Arthur around like a puppy and it made you so jealous. You complained to Hosea about it, you said John was taking your brother from you and it wasn’t fair.
Hosea laughed lightly whenever you dramatically groaned and whined and told you to give it time, John would become your friend as well.
Hosea was right of course, as always. After a month or two the amazement over Arthur Morgan wore off and John became a great friend of yours.
The two of you bickered a lot, though. Being the same age and all, you were constantly at each other’s throats.
Bessie always said that you and John were like an old married couple. That comment caused you two to look at each other gag over dramatically.
Young Adulthood (around the events of the game):
When your mom, Bessie, died a part of you died with her. Hosea might as well have died too.
For a year, he never left his bed and when he did it was only to grab another bottle of whiskey to drown his sorrows in.
Some days were better than others during he grieving, but there were weeks that would go by when he couldn’t bear to look at you.
You had Bessie’s eyes and her smile. You had all the best parts of Bessie and seeing her in you but not seeing her made Hosea’s heart shatter all over again.
During this time you depended on Arthur and John to be your rocks. They were the ones who kept your focus away from the black hole of grief eating away at your insides. And during the days that the grief was too much to handle, they pat your back and held your hand while you let yourself rot away in bed.
Some nights John would come to see you when he couldn’t sleep and the two of you would cry over Bessie until you drifted out of consciousness.
Everyone felt her death deeply.
As time goes by, your wounds have healed as have Hosea’s. He sobered up and after a long crying session where all you two did was hold each other and reminisce over Bessie, you were a family again.
During the events at Blackwater, you were Hosea’s first priority. He got you packed and to safety as fast as he could once it was time to flee.
In that huge snowstorm on your way east, Hosea gave you his extra jacket and gloves to keep you warm. You rode in the wagon with Abigail and Jack, huddling with them for warmth and assuring them that John would be okay and back soon.
For a while after Blackwater, Hosea refused to let you out of his sights. After what happened with Bessie and the chaos that was that whole situation, you were the only thing he lived for. He couldn’t have anything happen to you.
You didn’t complain, either. You didn’t want to be away from him for a while. You were terrified during Blackwater, terrified you’d lose him or John or Arthur. You let him baby you and watch over you like a hawk as long as it gave his mind peace.
At Horseshoe Overlook, you went hunting with Hosea as often as you could. It was like a tradition for the two of you.
“Give a man a fish,” He’d start his lecture on the importance of learning survival skills and you’d have to stifle a groan and a laugh.
You’d probably heard that phrase nearly a million times at that point. He always said fish, too. Never changed it for whatever you were hunting.
Hosea wasn’t only your father, but your best friend. He was the best person you knew despite his occupation, and you adored him with your entire being.
He wasn’t technically a good man, but he was a great dad.
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I hope you enjoyed these!! Thank you for reading
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tupznum · 7 months ago
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They were "brothers"
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Arthur Morgan X male read
《••••••••••••••••••♥︎•••••••••••••••》
Warnings: angst, suicide, Hurt No comfort, rushed, dyslexic author lol
"They were brothers in a past life" is what they would say about us and we agreed with them.
Me, m/n l/n and everyone's favorite Arthur Morgan joined the Van der Linde gang around the same time, him a month earlier.
We were around the same age, him fourteen, me just turning fifteen so naturally we became bast friends. Throughout the years we did everything together we never drifted apart even after Dutch start to visibly fever Arthur over me, I didn't really care.
In our teen years we were inseparable, whether Arthur went I went, whatever I did he did.
because we were so Inseparable Dutch had to deal with the constant nagging and bribing from us as we did everything in our power to stay together.
the older members of the gang had a kick out of this.
In our young adult years we were still inseparable with exceptions. We gave up on the nagging and bribery and we accepted that we will be separated at times. But if we were in the same area where one was the other was only a foot away.
During these years we start to get very comfortable with each other in a way that some considered too comfortable for friends, we didn't care if we saw each other's naked bodies, we bathed together regularly and changed in front of each other.
During these times we shared every thought that came to mind with each other from the hottest woman we saw that day to the more unsavory thoughts that came with our life choices.
Looking back I think this when I start to develop feelings that were unnatural....
into our prime years our relationship was smooth and strong as ever but my unnatural feelings start to take a toll on our relationship.
I would get moody or upset when a fine woman would put her hands on Arthur in an intimate way, I never knew why but now I know it was jealousy, Stone Cold jealousy the kind that ruins people.
One Day Dutch sent me on a solo mission to collect payments from a poor son of a bitch who owed him money in a town two days over, this gave me time to let off some steam and reflect on my seemingly unnatural feelings.
but I learned nothing. instead I decide to push those feelings deep down and pretend they never existed..
When I made it back to Camp two and a half days later I found Arthur head new company her name was Mary Linton
She was a fine young woman and was very clearly Sweeting on Arthur. the feeling of jealousy claude at my stomach whenever she got a little too close or was a little too flirtatious but I ignored it as best as I could.
it was not my business.
Not long after Mary showed up I distance myself from Arthur as the jealousy was killing me inside. That jealousy was soon replaced with longing and want. the closer the two got the stronger my feelings.
One night as I was getting ready for bed Arthur came into the tent with the biggest smile I ever saw on his face and he announce that he and Mary we're engaged . A big chunk of my heart died that night but after years of being an outlaw I learned to hide my feelings so instead of showing sadness I showed happiness and support.
After he left I cried myself to sleep that night.
It was the night before Mary's and Arthur's wedding and Arthur approached me at the fire and asked to have a drink with him and I agreed.
just like when we were teens We snuck into Pearson tent and stole a few bottles of moonshine from his stash and snuck out to the woods.
We found a big fallen tree and laid against it.
We talked and drink.
he questioned why I was so distant, and I decided to tell him the partial truth I said I was dealing with my own things at the moment and that I needed some time to myself to resolve them.
I was one and a half bottles in and Arthur two and a half I was exceptionally drunk. same could be said about Arthur.
I picked over at Arthur to see him looking at the stars and I couldn't help but let my emotions flow.
it was quite pathetic really a grown man with a half a bottle of moonshine crying his eyes out for seemingly no reason.
Once Arthur realize what was going on he tried his best to comfort me in a drunken Haze, he asked me what was wrong and he said that I could tell him anything but I couldn't find the words. instead I did something that even to this day I'm quite ashamed of doing...
I brought my hands up and grabbed Arthur's face and told them I was so sorry and proceed to kiss his lips. Part of me expected to be slapped punched even shot for what I did but surprisingly the kiss lasted. we only pulled away for air. Despite being drunk out of my mind I knew what I did was wrong and that what i just did will come with dire consequences. So I got the fuck out of there so fast Arthur didn't even have the time to react.
The last thing I heard that night is Arthur's raspy drunk voice calling out my name. I haven't seen him since then as I was too ashamed to show my face to him or the Gang.
I've had close calls with them a few times but I managed to invade them. I knew they were looking for me but I was hard to find. After a year or so they stopped looking as I would assume they either thought I died to the natives or was hung by the law.
I will never know if he remembered that night but it doesn't matter now as everything is coming to a end now.
This was the story that m/n wanted to share with whoever found his body hanging deep in the woods....
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nthspecialll · 6 months ago
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I think it is interesting to see how much Dutch has changed in so few years, and no I don't mean within the game timeline, I mean before it.
Hosea and Dutch met in 1876, in 1887 they robbed their first bank together. That is 11 years where they did petty crimes, how many banks did they rob just in the game time? A lot, not to mention, do you know what they did with that money they gained back then? They gave it away, they gave it to the poor. When "robin hood style" is mentioned, it was literal. They do not do that now.
Even more recent, in 1995 when Javier joined the gang, Dutch was stealing chickens, chickens, he was snooping around on the ground like a man who owned nothing but the clothing on his back. I want you to imagine Dutch as we know him, four years later, stealing chickens. The Dutch Van Der Linde we know would never, he would feel offended if it was even suggested.
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howlett-n-morgan · 4 months ago
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Take Me Home
2. Gunslinger
Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader
A/n: thank you guys for the warm welcome back and for reading the first part! I hope to be getting the Joel series reposted soon, but for now, I'm just going to be uploading these.
Summary: With the newest outlaw settled into camp, Arthur takes on yet another role within the group: Teacher.
Warnings: canon typical violence, guns, talk of blood and brutality. Backstory mentions misogyny, and has detailed descriptions of arranged marriage. Mild language, some angst, mostly still just an introductory chapter.
WC: 3.3k
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“I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.”
You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”
“Sure, you do…” he trailed, standing right in front of you and reaching down towards your hip. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, even just having him this close to you. When his hand met your gun, pulling it away from its holster, you relaxed just a bit more. “How is it you shoot so fast?”
You haven’t seen much of the nature of Agua Fria, but you’re glad you’re able to, now. You’d town hopped a few times within the city, letting new faces get a look at yours. But there was a sort of pressure in those crowded areas, and it doesn’t feel like that in the Van Der Linde campsite. 
The gang has taken well to you. It’s been a fortnight since you joined up, the ragtag gang of outlaws, thieves, and gunslingers had been welcoming, given your display on just the day after your arrival.
Dutch has yet to send you on any jobs, mainly because of something you revealed to everyone around the campfire a week ago. 
“How does one shoot a rifle?” you pondered curiously, the silence of the group making you anxious.
“Boy, you better be pulling my leg,” Dutch himself butted in, shaking his head in disbelief. A cigarette hung from his lips, but he pulled it away to stare you down. 
“Well, I just…” haven’t ever shot one before. You’d trailed off before any further mockery could be made, but it was too late.
“You mean to tell me, that in eighteen years of life, you never managed to fire a rifle?” Arthur chimed in, though he was in on your secret, this revelation still surprised him. What else were you hiding?
“If y’all are just gonna mock me, I’m turnin’ in.”
Dutch laughed, and everyone else in the circle made an attempt to undo the harm done. 
“Javier ain’t even played a damn note, and you’re gonna sleep?” John cut in, his gravelly voice full of resentment to your attitude. Maybe you were a bit touchy, but it’s not like you’d ever had close friends to joke around with before. Much less people who got away with poking so much fun to your name.
“Who cares if he can’t shoot a rifle? He’s got a faster shot than all of you with a pistol,” Tilly piped up, her sweet voice just about putting all the other men in their place. She looked at you with contrition. “I’m not very good with those big guns, either.” 
“Thank you, Miss Tilly,” you tipped your hat, sitting back down on the log next to her. 
That was another thing… You couldn’t bear to break the young girl’s heart, although she would have to find out eventually that you were not in fact the man she thought you were. 
Arthur chuckled under his breath watching the interaction, going back to the drink in his hand with a shake of his head. He wouldn’t say anything, he promised he wouldn’t… but some of these occurrences were just too amusing, he couldn’t help his genuine reactions. The slanted jokes about male anatomy towards you, usually coming from John, Sean, or even the calendar boys. The way that you nearly had a heart attack when Miss Grimshaw offered to help you out of your clothes to wash them. Even now, the sweet words from Tilly and the funny way you looked at your feet to avoid meeting her eyes. 
He’d been surprised, if he’s honest. He thought that with all her romantic notions and storybook thoughts that Mary-Beth would be the one to fancy a new gunslinger… but maybe you just weren’t her type. Perhaps it was the red hair that deterred her, he knows for sure that was the case when Sean tried his luck. Good thing Karen was there to catch his fall. But sweet Tilly had no idea what she was in for.
He’d teased you about it over the next week, and finally today, when it was time to show you the ropes of a rifle. Dutch insisted that running with them required knowledge of more than pistols and revolvers, and who better to teach than the enforcer himself.
“Like this?” you asked, trying to place the gun correctly. 
“Yeah sure, if you wanna blow your arm out of socket.” His low chuckle, followed by a drag of smoke was not helpful, and neither were his words, but your position was just too funny.
“I believe this is where you’re s’posed to be helpin’ me,” you replied, a fiery bite in your words. You’d been learning to warm up to people’s teasing, although it was still a long road to go. 
He stood to his feet from where he lounged by a tree, coming up beside you to kick your foot out a little. “Can’t stand like a tree, kid… you’ll tip over in the wind.”
He pulled the butt of the gun into your shoulder, making sure you wouldn’t give out when the gun fires. 
“Alright, the shootin’ part should be easy for you. Just hold strong, that thing’s gonna kick back a hell of a lot more than any handgun.” 
You pulled back the bolt, raising the barrel until you could aim properly. The glass bottle on the tree branch down the way looked like an easy enough target, but when you fired, you weren’t ready for how much pressure the gun would push on you, and you stumbled back into Arthur. 
“Mind your step, will ya?” he teased yet again, and it took everything in you to just ready your stance and try again without saying a word. 
You took a deep breath, pulling back on the bolt once more. You had a good idea as to how much you needed to push back this time. Finding the bottle again, you pulled the trigger, closing your eyes at the explosion and faintly hearing the sound of broken glass in the distance. 
“I did alright,” you turned to Arthur, a narrow gaze in his eyes as he looked from you then back to the tree. It was quite a distance away, and he was surprised you’d hit so accurately already. Then again, you were kind of known for your accuracy… but you’d never fired a rifle.
“Yeah, more than alright,” he reasoned, taking the gun from you and turning to take a shot for himself. “Now ya just gotta work on speed. This ain’t nothing you can keep on your hip.”
He fired one round after another, each bullet hitting the same branch on a tree until it fell from the trunk completely. Wow. 
He smirked over his shoulder, and your face probably gave him an even better reason to be smug. You were clearly in awe of almost everything this man did. Taking care of his horse? In awe. Carrying supplies from the wagon into camp without having to make several trips? In awe. Even now, his accuracy and reaction time. He was so skilled, and you wondered if you’d ever match him. 
“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.”
“But Dutch said that-”
“I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.”
You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”
“Sure, you do…” he trailed, standing right in front of you and reaching down towards your hip. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, even just having him this close to you. When his hand met your gun, pulling it away from its holster, you relaxed just a bit more. “How is it you shoot so fast?” 
Honestly, you didn’t have a clue. Everything you did to get faster, you’re sure he’s already done, and a million times over. 
“Nerves, mostly. My hands start shakin’ whenever I get a challenger, they start itching to shoot real bad… guess that’s why.”
He nodded, but was unsatisfied. Your answer was vague and unconvincing.
“What’d you do to learn? You obviously ain’t shot another gun but this one here, tell me how it came along,” he raised the pistol in the air, his skilful hands spinning it over a finger with ease. 
“I guess s’a long story.”
“And since you learned your way around a rifle so well, we got nothin’ but time.”
You sighed, stepping into the shade of the tree closest to you. You leaned into it, crossing your arms and watching as he continued to handle your closest ally in his steady hands. 
How do you even start this story? How does it even get told? You’d never uttered a word about your past to a single person since it all unraveled. You weren’t sure he’d stick around to hear it all, or maybe if he did, he would think you to be foolish. 
But this Arthur Morgan, with his tough exterior and gruff voice had a soft spot. He was gentle when need be, kinder than most. You suppose he derives it from Hosea, given that the man practically raised him into manhood. 
“You know, I used to be a little rich girl,” you chuckled, watching for his reaction. It was surprising to him, but he waited, almost as if thinking you’d retract it as a joke. “Yeah… lived on a big orange grove in South Carolina.”
“You’re kiddin’ me,” he let out when he realized you weren’t messing around. 
“Had a rich daddy and a rich mama. My entire lineage has gotta be worth a couple million at least.”
“Then why on earth are you here? You’d have to be crazy to leave that behind,” he gripped your pistol tightly now, his entire stance leaning on his left leg as he narrowly watched you lounging against the tree. 
“Oh, I had a good reason,” you scoffed with wide eyes. 
“Good enough to leave behind a family fortune?” 
He’s a man. Every man you’ve ever met is the same. They pay no mind to you anymore because you look like one of them now. But before? It was practically a brawl at every public event you attended. You hope that Arthur does not prove to be like the rest. You’ve already been so sure that he stands out, it'll break your heart if you were wrong.
“I know it may not seem like it, but I used to be quite the stunner. I attracted quite a few suitors.”
He nodded, looking you up and down in one glance before coughing a bit and averting his eyes. You hid yourself well, but if he tried hard enough, he could imagine how you would look in more feminine apparel. He liked what he was imagining. 
“I don’t doubt it…”
“Well, my dad was in control of who would have my hand, and as you can imagine I wasn’t fond of that fact… He picked one of his old pals from Virginia, another big farmer like himself, wealthy beyond belief and probably thirty five years my senior.”
Arthur was still, blinking a few times. He doesn’t understand. Yes, you would have had to marry someone you were not interested in… but the situation seemed ideal otherwise. 
“You would have been well taken care of, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh sure,” you nodded, but there was a smirk on your lips. “I would have been just dandy until he found a reason to kill me like he did his first two wives. My father never believed the accusations, of course, and the evidence had been conveniently destroyed… but I knew better.”
He let out a low whistle, finally looking back to your gun and wondering if its origins were about to come to light. Yeah, he thought. That’s a pretty damn good reason.
“So you ran off?” 
You gave a small nod, remembering the last time you ever saw your home and family.
“When I was eighteen I was shipped off to Virginia with a caravan, but before I could be delivered to old Thomas Arlington’s doorstep, I hid overnight in a stable. I stole a horse and headed west a bit.”
“How far west?” 
“West Virginia,” you chuckled. “I got to lurk around there a while, I started dressing all boyish and helped a travelin’ musician with his shows. After he settled down I found that very gun on the ground of a saloon. No one ever claimed her, so I polished her up and started practicing draws. I got pretty good, made bets on shootin’ games to get by.”
“You just… picked her up and started shootin’?”
“It sounds quite dull when you put it that way,” you laughed, holding your hand out to take the gun back. You’re not expert with this thing, can’t even spin it half as well or efficiently as he does… but you might be the best in the world at drawing it from your holster. “I’d never shot anyone before, until one man got real upset that he lost a shooting game to me. It was my first duel… and I won. All because of a game. It was that can game we played after I got here.”
“I figured as much. I ain’t never believed anyone could shoot faster than me until I saw you that day. Paid close attention to those bullet holes.”
He was being far too kind. It’s not like you were anything like him. He had it all. Strength, skill, wits, and as you learned with every glance, the looks to kill.
“I ain’t any good beside the one shot I know how to take.” Your confession meant more to him than you realized.
Yeah, he thought. You can draw, but before today you’d never shot a rifle. You’d never used a knife. Likely never robbed a bank or a stage coach or anything of that sort. Aside from duels, you’re clean cut and inexperienced… your nickname holds far more weight than he’s sure you can actually hold. Ruthless killer? More like a hustler with a bit of blood dusting your fingers. You haven’t made any ground compared to him, yet you’re the one they know far and wide. 
“Let’s make a deal,” he started, his steps carrying him quite close to your form, nearly hovering over you. “I’m gonna make you one of us. Teach you everything you need to know. Fightin’, stealin’, sneakin’ round… all of it. And in return, you’re gonna teach me how to shoot faster than you.”
He knows it’s built on a prideful notion, but he reckons you don’t care, because he’s offering you far more than you can give him. Obviously you agree, because even if you try to teach him, you are almost positive that you don’t even know the secret to your speed.
“Alright, cowboy… I’ll shake on it.”
And you do, squeezing his hand tightly.
-
You find yourself settling into the camp a lot easier than the weeks before. The names of the people here just roll off your tongue, whenever you see them, a greeting is spoken. You’ve also been able to sleep soundly in your tent despite the fears of the animal sounds out in the distance. You’ve come to realize that you aren’t alone in the wilderness, and you have a sort of family to keep you safe, now. 
Arthur continues to show you the ropes, giving you tricks and quick witted thoughts for situations you would never have thought to put yourself in. They all are illegal situations, of course, but you listen intently, and learn each step with an absorbent state of mind. 
Even if he doesn’t outwardly show it, you think Dutch is happy about your progress, given that you are not only an asset to future jobs, but also because you seem to blend well with everyone. He definitely views his gang as a family of fugitives, and now that you’re one of them, he’s become warm with you, even calls you ‘son.’ 
There is one member of camp that to date, you haven’t gotten into conversation with. Hosea Matthews. The man seemed to be the fatherly type, and nearly everyone in the gang had a sort of paternal view of him in some way. You reckon Arthur has taken the man to be closer to him than actual blood. The great Mr. Morgan doesn’t often share details of his past, but you’ve heard here and there about the rascal that was his father, dead and gone when Arthur was a kid, but not soon enough. 
It was a Tuesday morning, after a round of stale coffee when he first sat down beside you for a friendly chat. You couldn't have possibly known the contents of the topics he had in mind, but you were about to be bombarded with them in the most gentle way you reckon a man can speak. 
“Mister Gunslinger,” he began, a gentle clap on your shoulder to garner your attention. “I’ve heard you’re getting to be the best man at camp.”
His friendly chuckle eased your nerves, but you brushed off his words anyway. 
“Not sure ‘bout that. Just learnin’ the ropes,” you nodded along to your own words, hoping they caught well with him. 
“Arthur told me you picked up a rifle for the first time a few days ago and blew him out of the water,” he mentioned, the tone in his voice suggesting he wanted his compliment to land. 
“He’s bein’ far kinder than I deserve,'' you scoffed, shaking your head this time. “Nearly took my shoulder out of socket on the first shot.”
“But you broke a bottle on the second,” he returned, likely quoting your dear mentor’s own words. “How did you learn to shoot that pistol of yours, anyhow?”  
Hosea knew everyone’s stories. He was the father of the camp, albeit not the leader. He knew everything about everyone, and he took care of them. You took one look at him and decided you could trust him from day one… but that didn’t mean he should know everything.
“Well, I found this gun a while ago, just started shootin’ it till I hit somethin’.”
He leaned forward in his seat, another chuckle rolling off his tongue, but the question went unanswered in the way he’d hoped for. He took a breath, turning to face you a bit more… He decided to be straight with you. 
“I’m sure you’ve probably got things in your past you’re not too proud of. I’ve heard the name ‘Texas Red’ in quite a few towns now. I guess I’m just curious about what you did before the gunslinging days.”
“Oh…” you trailed, completely unsure if elaborating on your past, even without context, could force you to accidentally spill something you didn’t intend to. So you took the safe route. “Not much to tell. Ran away from home, stole a horse and headed west. Found this gun in an old saloon and the rest is history.”
He saw through the act, but didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to feel like you needed to hide things, but similarly, he didn’t want you to feel pressured to talk. This camp was a safe place. As long as you kept to the rules and helped out, you didn’t need to do anything else. You could just live freely and have your being. 
“Listen, son… I know it’s probably hard to open up about things you’ve gone and left in the past. Every person here has a story, somewhere they came from or something they did. If you ever want to talk about yours, I’m always up for good conversation.”
You looked into his eyes, and they were full of contrition, full of compassion. You guessed there wasn’t a bad bone in this man’s body. 
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nodded once before standing up and heading down to the river bank, likely to fish. 
You wonder if he has suspicion of you, or if he knows more already than he’s leading onto. But then you think, no. He’s just a kind older man that actually gives a damn about the younger folks here. He didn’t seem to have any biological sons or daughters, but this camp was full of family he could call his own.
You think you're starting to call them family, too.
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Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark
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