#but have you ever heard Uncle Colm talk

[blackinquisitors]

Are there any characters or story beats that feel weak in rdr2 to you? Also, things you wished there'd been more exploration of, characters or ideas or themes

oh my god so much. I love red dead and its absolutely the best game ive ever played - and probably one of the best games ever - but its definitely not without flaws

Blessed are the peacemakers makes no sense in the plot. It does a few things: makes arthur doubt dutch, illustrates dutchs decline and his apathy (perhaps for the first time for the player), and shows that colm odriscoll is working with the pinkertons, possibly doing foreshadowing for micahs betrayal by showing you its possible for outlaws to become rats. BUT I think this could have been done in a billion other ways than "Lets torture arthur and never bring it up again!" bc he doesnt mention it, his shoulder injurt doesnt hinder him, he doesnt have ptsd from it. theres not a reason why that in particular had to happen. arthur could have been captured, but not tortured and shot, for example. maybe they could have drugged him and thru his haze he overheard colms plans and then managed to escape when he came to, only to find that it had been several days that he was missing and no one came to look for him. that sort of thing. same prinicple but without the ridiculous glossing over of TORTURE

Guarma. This one sticks in my craw and I get more annoyed every time I play it. R* originally was going to have villages and stranger missions on the island but abandoned it for some reason? time I guess? But I really would have liked to see a more personal look at the people there and how cornwall and fussar have hurt them. PLUS it would have been a very good opportunity to show how the way the rich men rob from the poor isnt too different from what dutch and the gang does. It would give arthur a really good image of how far they had fallen, that they were similar to these awful men, when they originally started off as robin hood-like men that gave back the money they stole to shanties. but no its just 3 missions of endless combat which can be fun but isnt really bc I dont even have my favortite gun with me. Also it didn't do a good job of showing Javier's sudden loyalty to Dutch/Bill/Micah. I would think that Arthur being stuck w these four, who eventually betray him, with nobody else would be a good opportunity to show how they all grow to hate him for some reason, but its not there. SIDE NOTE guarma is also glitched for me and this is a common bug. The time stays at 9am and half the guarma-exclusive animals dont spawn so I didn't get to fill out my compendium. R* never fixed this

I think all the girls could have been expanded upon. Tilly's role in the gang especially bc she was raised the same way as john and views dutch like a father, yet if you never heard her camp dialogue explaining this, you would never know. Molly especially needed more detail. She was supposed to be on the mission to go to the saint denis mayors party, and was cut for SOME REASON. but she would have done wonderfully. She should have had a part in it

The timeline of the gang and their relationships makes no fucking sense. Abigail says she always liked Mary, but Abigail joined the gang in 1894, and Mary and Arthur talk like they were in their early twenties when they were together. Theres a dialogue w Abigail and Uncle where they reminisce on her working girl days (bc Uncle was her pimp - very weird) and she says it was ten years ago. but that would mean she was working two years after she gave birth to jack which 1. didn't happen and 2. COULDNT happen bc I dont think men would want to pay for a night with a mother who had children fairly recently. the stretch marks and loose skin would give that away. Arthur has an antagonizing line to Jack that he looks like a williamson or an escuella- Javier didn't join the gang until about 1895, a year after abigail, and presumably when she was already pregnant or had given birth to jack. Theres other examples but these are the main ones I can think of

That encounter with Sonny in the swamp had no reason to be in the gang aside from R* thinking male victims of SA are funny

I wish they had more detail with Isaac. I mean clearly I wish that, ive got a 130k+ fic exploring arthur and Isaac's relationship, but within red dead I wanted just a bit more than a couple of lines. Originally Isaac and Eliza were both supposed to be in the game and Isaac was a newborn that would have frozen to death in the prologue, and I think Eliza would have ran away. Instead they went with making them a footnote in Arthur's story. On one hand, I understand why Arthur would rarely talk about them bc it would be too painful, but I also think if it was more overt, it would color his interactions with Jack/Abigail/John differently. Plus it would lean more into the themes of cycles of violence, and breaking out of it to be a father. Arthur didn't and he died childless, John tried to but he couldnt manage it and doomed his son to follow in his footsteps

THE EPILOGUE. Oh my godddd the more I play the epilogue, the more empty it feels and the more I realize why few people like it or finish it. It feels very tacked on. There needed to be a scene between the saddest video game death in history and John and Abigail arguing. The fact that there is no break inbetween like 2 hours of arthurs story wrapping up and another hour of John's story starting. Farm chores are fine but tedious if youve played it before. John being desperate for money and risking his life w sadies bounties makes no sense when Ive just done a treasure map and have $1000 in my inventory. "The gang needs money" is an endlessly attainable goal, moreso than "I need money". John's player model is just Arthur's reskinned- But they originally planned for you to play as John's npc model. You can see this in the pictures they have in the menu of John in the missions. The fact that there are NO NEW STRANGER MISSIONS aside from evelyn miller which is really nothing. They unlock new austin, but theres NOTHING to do there except collectiables and sight seeing and a couple bounties. Why even bother? When you compare how dense New Hanover is with Stuff To Do compared to New Austin which is HALF THE TOTAL MAP, its ridiculous!! I think it was just rushed and needed either more fleshing out, or cutting out completely bc John doesnt even live in new austin, and doesnt visit it until rdr1. Doesnt Bonnie give him a tour bc he doesnt know where things are? I may be misremembering that

Money. Money is so inconsistent and the values make no sense. Right its 1899. I rob a stagecoach and get $40 for it. This must be like $1000 in todays money. Wow Arthur beat a man to death for $40. This must be a lot of money. What do you mean a pair of jeans is $15. Thats how much they cost now! Wait why is this can of bean $1.40? I can buy them now for 40cents! Not to mention the Valentine bank robbery gives you $2000, essentially making money completely useless. Add on all the treasure maps as well as random gold bars lying around, which is 24 accoring to gamerant. $12,000 for all of those. So once you have this much money, all the fun outlaw stuff of robbing stagecoaches, mugging people, robbing stores and trains, is completely irrelavent. I never do any of it bc its not worth the bounty for 50 bucks. And paying off bounties isnt a big deal either bc its barely a dent in your pocket. Basically it takes the difficulty away, and the need to engage in these criminal activities for afford anything in the game. Its hard to take dutch seriously w his "We need more money" when I have a cool 8k in my man purse. Its also hard to believe Arthurs lamenting about his behaviour "I'm a bad man I rob and kill and am so terrible to people" no you aint but I dont make you do anything criminal unless the game makes me in a mission

Theres a lot of cut content and I wish almost all of it was back. Most notably, roulette tables, boat to guarma for John, more stranger missions, more companion activities in camp. I think they were orginally going to allow come sort of companion mechanic where people from camp could accomanpy Arthur on his adventures. I understand why they didnt bc that would require 10x more voice acting and would be really complicated with stranger missions, but I would have loved it all the same

Okay. I was going to add another one but tumblr said I reached my limit. my last thing is I wished they didnt play the native american flutes every time anyone in the wapiti tribe came on screen. silly.

anyway NOW I'm done. I think. Ill probably think of more but this post is already very long

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

I know this is a little late, but @mesangelique​ I was your back-up secret santa for @rdr-secret-santa​! You wanted a cute Kieran x reader piece, and I really hope I delivered 💚💚

Relationship: Kieran Duffy x f!reader Characters: Tilly Jackson, Kieran Duffy, f!reader Warnings: none Themes: fluff, pining Words: 1,792 [ ko-fi] || [ ao3 ]

“Kieran? You ain’t got nothin’ to be scared of about talkin’ to him. He’s as harmless as they come!” Tilly chuckled and a rush of embarrassment washed over you. 

“I know, he’s just about the sweetest man there is. I just, I just don’t know what we would talk about! We ain’t got nothin’ in common.” You said, defeatedly.

“You know anything about horses? Because, next to Arthur, I ain’t ever met anyone who loves horses that much.” Tilly replied.

“I can’t say I do.”

“Well, there you go! You want to spend more time with him, have him teach you about horses!” She put her hands on her hips. “Do something! You’re driving us ladies wild by moping around because he won’t give you the time’a day. He’s as timid as a field mouse, you think he is gonna try anything with the boys around?”

Tilly was right, Kieran kept mostly to himself, especially around the women, though he was always pleasant enough. The gang had started to warm up to him in the last six months, but he still spent a lot of his time alone with the horses. 

“You’re probably right.” You said, standing up.

“Of course I am.” Tilly smiled smugly. “Now go talk to him, I think he was cleaning one of the saddles last I saw him.” She said nudging you gently with her hip before going to finish her chores.

Right. Tilly’s right, just go talk to him. You’ve talked to him before,  no problem!

You made your way over to where the horses were grazing, nervously watching them. You didn’t know much about horses, that was true, but they also made you kind of anxious. Such a big animal, all that power, they could kill you so easily. Maggie raised her head as you passed, making you take a step to the side. 

“Oh, hey there miss! Need somethin’?” Kieran’s voice was warm as he rounded the wagon, his hands full with some fresh water for the horses.

“Just, uh just wanted to come look at the horses.”  

Kieran poured the water into the tin bath, and turned back toward you, a smile plastered on his face.

“You like horses?”

“Well, I actually don’t know too much about horses. They kind of scare me.” You rubbed your arm nervously.

“Scared of ‘em? How can you be scared of somethin’ so sweet?” He walked past you to Maggie, running his hand along her flank and she lazily raised her head. “Maggie here? Gentle as a kitten, c’mere, I’ll show ya!”

He waved his hand for you to join him and you took a cautious step forward. 

“C’mon now, she won’t bite, will ya Maggie?” He took her face in his hands and gave her a scratch under the chin. 

You inched your way up behind him. A stupid grin spread across your face as you watched him gently kiss Maggie’s nose. He reached back for your hand and you felt your ears get hot as his fingers laced between yours.

He pulled you in front of him, bringing your hands up to brush lightly along Maggie’s neck. Her coat was smooth against your hand and you felt her lean into your touch.

“See? No more than a kitten.”  He said in your ear. “Horses can read your energy. Did you know that? The more relaxed you are, the more relaxed they are.” 

He released your hand, taking a step back and you exhaled, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“How can they tell?” Maggie turned her head to look at them as Kieran backed up, flicking her ears, annoyed that the attention had stopped.

“Don’t really know, might be because of how we have worked with horses for a long time.”  He shrugged.

You watched as he picked up a brush and moved farther into the herd. Kieran gestured for you to follow him and you moved reluctantly into the herd. “C’mon miss, you gotta meet them all!” 

He stopped in the middle of the herd and a few of them moved toward him, vying for his attention. Ennis spotted you and pushed his nose into your arm, pulling gently on your sleeve.

“No, no, uhhh...”

Kieran looked up as the horse really began to tug. “Ennis! No, leave her alone. Shoo! Shoo!” 

Ennis snorted and walked away, flicking his tail in agitation. Kieran apologized profusely, promising he just wanted a treat. He pulled you closer to the middle him near the center of the herd. 

He spent the next half an hour telling you about each of the horses and how they all had their own personalities. Showing you how to brush them, and how each has its own preferred brushing. You were in awe, watching him, he cared so much for them and he was so sweet to them. He turned back, offering you the brush.

“Now you try, miss!” His smile was bright as you took the brush from him, his cheeks tinged with pink as your hands met and he turned quickly, calling Branwen over. “Branwen’s my horse.” He cleared his throat and muttered. “But I’m sure you knew that…”

You brushed out Branwen the way he showed you. He watched you for a few minutes before disappearing to return to his chores. Branwen watched you, her gentle eyes following your movements, she nuzzled you as you neared her face, closing her eyes as you took her face in your hands, gently petting her as Kieran had shown you. Maybe horses weren’t as scary as you thought, in fact, you found that you actually kind of liked them. The horse leaned into you as you finished and Kieran chuckled.

“I think she likes you.” He said, placing a bale of hay down and pulling a knife from his belt, making quick work of the bindings. “Here, give her some hay, then she’ll love you.” He pulled some hay from the bale and held it out for you.

You took the hay, offering it to Branwen who whinnied happily, taking the hay from your hand. A smile pulled at your lips. They definitely weren’t scary, giving her a gentle scratch on face.

“Thanks.” You said as Kieran joined you, his hand full of hay as he led Branwen to graze with the others. “For letting me help you today.” 

“Oh! Ain’t nothin’, really!” He clapped the dust from his hands. “So, ya still scared of ‘em?”  Taking the brush from you.

“I don’t think so.” You shook your head. “I should, uh, I should get back to my chores. It was real nice talkin’ to ya.” Kieran’s face turned bright red, and he mumbled that he enjoyed it too.

                                                        -- ♞ --

It had been about six months since the boys had brought him back to camp, and it had been nearly another month before they let him off that tree. Some of the women had snuck him a bit of food and water here and there, but even then, most of them steered clear, leaving the job to you.

Despite everything he had been so polite, when he was awake. Dutch had warned everyone not to feed him or give him water, but watching him, day after day, had been too cruel. 

It started with sneaking him a drink of water, late one night, after most of the rest of the camp was asleep. Just a small sip, too scared to get caught. He had whispered his thanks through chapped lips, a small smile cracking them further.

Then again when you saw him around camp, tending to the horses, doing the chores no one else would. Still the group kept him at arm’s reach, only Arthur would talk to him, threaten him. He smiled through it, wished everyone a pleasant day, thankful to be alive.

Slowly the gang began to accept him and you spoke more, in passing. Polite niceties around the fire, greetings over coffee, but still he kept mostly to himself. It was endearing, he could have left, found someplace where people would have accepted him, but he stayed, wanting to belong. 

You remember the night that you realized your feelings for him, the night he said he stayed here, because despite everything, the gang had been nicer to him than Colm ever was. It had been late. Everyone had been drinking, celebrating a successful score, and you were sitting at the fire. Only a couple remained: Kieran, Uncle, Reverend Swanson and yourself. The men might not have heard it, his low and tearful admission, each of them lost in their own demons, but you did. Suddenly overwhelmed by his confession, he apologized and disappeared into the night. 

He wanted to feel loved, wanted to belong, and it had struck you so deeply. 

                                                         -- ♞ --

You settled between the girls at the fire, the sun just ducking below the horizon. Tilly had cornered you shortly after you went back to your chores. 

“So?” She sidled up to you behind Pearson’s wagon, a cat-like smile crawling across her face. “How’d it go?”

“I learned a lot about horses.” You brushed her off, pretending to pay attention to your chores.

“C’mon, you can tell me!” Tilly whined.

“That’s the God’s honest truth, Tilly!” You sighed, returning the dirty dish to the basin. “He taught me a bit more about horses. He was real sweet about it.” 

Tilly huffed and crossed her arms before a sly smile started to creep across her face once more. She waved at you and turned to leave.

“Well, if you don’t want to tell me.” She called over her shoulder as she sauntered off around the wagon. You stared after her, your face twisted in confusion when you heard someone come up behind you.

“Evenin’ miss.” The familiar voice came from behind you, and you silently cursed Tilly before spinning around to greet Kieran. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see if I could help ya with your chores…” he paused, “...since you helped me, I mean.”

You gasped slightly in surprise, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.  “Oh, heh, it was nothin’. You don’t need to waste your time helpin’ me.” You turned back to your chores, to hide your face.

“I, uh, I don’t think it’d be a waste.” Kieran stepped forward, offering you a small smile as you looked over at him.

He picked up a rag from the counter and held out his hand. “To be honest, I like spendin’ time with you.”  He looked down as his face turned all shades of red.

A small chuckle escaped you. Tilly had been right. “I like spending time with you, too.”  You held out a bowl to him.

[iam-kenough]

Will you ever notice me? Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Summary: During they wandering in deep snowstorm, man from van der Linde gang found odd looking girl and Dutch decides to take her to camp to see if she can be any use, leading life of outlaw with them. Quickly, new girl develops feelings towards Arthur, but he sees her just as a kid...and she won't take that! It's an original character story that starts in the place where Arthur, Dutch and Micah were supposed to first meet with Sadie. Instead she's already with them. Author’s notes: Hi, I’m new to all that stuff but I tried to write a story and keep this romance slow burning. Also, if the grammar is weird sometimes it’s because english is my second language. ^^ Hope you gonna enjoy it and get back and be ready for drama.

Words count: 2790 Chapter 1 Iris heard gunshots sounds coming from the outside and she curled even more, hidden behind big wooden table with rock in her hand. She did not have any plan, she just imagined that if anyone will come here, she will tear them apart. Her knuckles became white as she grasped cold, uneaven ans sharp surface of a rock. Local gang, O'Driscolls have taken everything from her. They murdered her only brother, the only provider of their household and then this bizzare blizzard happened. Gang searched home for food and all she had left in the end was pack of oatcakes. At first she tried to hunt something using a gun or a bow but she didn't posses enough amo for more than one attempt. So she was sitting there, for almost a week without food and water she needed she drank by eating snow. The O'Driscolls killed her brother and would probably kill her but she was small enough to hide in one of kitchen cabinets. Iris was listening in terror as one of Colm's man slaughter her older brother, Olgierd and she couldn't do anything at this moment - all she possessed then was her night gown, wet from sweat she produced in this stressful moment, sticking to her body. All she could do was to not get killed. She wasn't some kid but her small, petite almost elvish frame and big eyes in bright, toxic green color made her look like one. Or at least younger than she really was. Door to her cabin opened and she saw pair of high boots but owner of boots didn't saw her. Good. It was dark and howling of the wind masked sound of her breathing. Iris waited till he turned around to search thru cabinet. She jumped, he screamed and fall on the floor unconscious. - Micah?! - Dutch furrowed his brows - Arthur, come on, we need to check on him. - Sure - outlaw murmured. If it was for him, he wouldn't check if Micah Bell is safe. He would even make sure that whatever put Micah in danger would kill him. Iris grabbed Micah's guns. She wasn't some Missy who couldn't hold weapon properly. Olgier tought her how to shoot. If this weather wasn't so wild and the amount of amo so short she would be prospering much better now. - Miss? Hey! - Dutch tried to use his charming tone and put his hand in the air. So did Arthur, his emerald eyes piercing thru silhouette in front of them. It was a girl, pale and freckeled, with long black hair that was tangled, her green eyes looking in their direction with fear. Arthur saw one more thing in those odd eyes - fury. - Take him and go away, please! - Iris tightened her grip around guns - I have no interest in harming you - her voice was soothing and sad and she tried to ignore the fact it sounded ridiculous. She reminded Arthur of some kind of magic dryad. - You look like you couldn't harm anyone, miss - Dutch grinned and without any waring he catched her in his arms. Iris dropped one of the guns, the other one was fired in the wooden floor. - GO AWAY! - she screamed at the top of her lungs - LEAVE ME BE! I HAVE NOTHING! - Jesus, girl - Arthur chuckled while he was checking on Micah. Idiot was knocked out but throwing him right in the snow will wake him up - Life wasn't best for you so far, wasn't it? - I have nothing - she sobbed, dangling in Dutch's arms like she was toy made from rags - I have only pack of oatcakes...You can have them if you want...but it's already opened - tone of her voice changed. Iris realised that those man will take these oatcakes and will probably rape and kill her. It will be at least quicker death than starvation. Dutch put her on the floor and with quick, swift move he took away another of Micah's guns. Iris eyes was wandering from Dutch to Arthur to Micah on the floor. -I'm sorry for your friend - she murmured and blushed, looking directly at her dirty feet and bruised knees - I wanted to tell him I'm here but he didn't notice me at first and started lurking. I thought that he gonna shoot me if I would make any sound. - You got him right, haven't you - Arthur chuckled and casually grabbed one of oatcakes. Iris moaned in disappointment, she offered them those cookies just because it was right thing to do. They looked like bounty hunters or something worse, but they didn't seem so wild and dirty as O'Driscolls. They didn't kill her so far too. - You seem like you could use warmer clothes and a plate of hot soup, Miss... - Dutch said, waiting for her name. - I'm Iris, sir. My brother Olgierd was murdered by O'Driscolls few days ago and I have no ammunition nor arrows to hunt. If you could just give me that much I won't bother you - she looked eagerly towards Micah's guns that Dutch was holding. - I'm sorry, you've been offered help and food and you turn it down? Jesus, woman - Arthur rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette. It was second time he spoke this way towards her. Iris examined his apparition. He was big, seemed even bigger because of winter clothes. His face was scarred but handsome as hell and he had the deepest voice she ever heard. But her face didn't show any admiration, she wasn't some stupid Juliet waiting for Romeo to save her. Then she looked at other man. Dutch seemed like some sort of uncle to her, his eyes was warm and he was smiling despite he was even bigger and even more intimidating than Arthur. Then she looked at the guy on the floor and sighed.   - I wanna go with you. Even if you gonna murder me in few minutes, that's still better than starving and freezing to death - her sarcasm was sharp even though everyone in room saw emptiness and fear hidden deep in green eyes. She was put on a horse by outlaw's strong hands. He even gave her his coat, navy blue one with nice, tickling fur inside. Her feet still was freezing but she was greatful. She curled her arms around man's body to get even more warmer during trip. He didn't say nothing but he was nicely surprised with her touch, 'cause no woman who just met him would throw her all over him like she just did. Figuratively. - And what's your name? - she asked innocently, making his ear warm with her breath. -Arthur Morgan, miss - he chuckled and clicked his tongue at his horse. FEW DAYS LATER It's been some time since Iris've been rescued. She seemed genuinely happy and she smilled a lot towards others. She proved she can cook better than Mr Pearson and that she could hunt and use guns properly. At first she felt like outsider but Mary-Beth lacked friendship of someone similar to her so badly she basically adopted Iris. She quickly discovered that new girl can read and that they could talk about books and fantasize about fictional romances. That was Iris's face she was showing towards woman in the camp. But she was reserved when it was coming to Micah. He was still throwing daggers with his eyes. - Look, I'm sorry I've hurt you, okay? I won't say it again- Iris said with iritated tone of voice. She has hidden away from everybody and tried to enjoy plate of stew when Micah came, sat in front of her and also was eating but looking right into Iris's face to intimidate her. He was looking like that at her for days, touching bandage wrapped around his head. - I don't accept this apology. I'm gonna stare at you and follow you 'till you gonna lose your appetite and you gonna feel stalked and uncomfortable - and it's gonna be me who's gonna stalk you until you gonna leave the camp. Iris rolled her eyes and breathed havily. - I don't even know why Dutch did bring you - he said with venom on his tongue and then looked at Arthur who joined both of you. - Is he bothering you again, Miss? - he sat next to her. Arthur was eating rather loudly but girl didn't mind. It was slow, weird feeling in her stomach that made her accepting Arthur's weirdness right away. - I'm okay. I guess we gonna have this hate relationship for a long time - she was smiling sarcastically and looking into her plate. - I'm gonna be your nightmare, Iris. - If you fancy me, you should ask me out properly  - she showed him her tongue and left both man. Micah was still furious and was following her with his eyes. Arthur chuckled. - She's something, isn't she. If she wasn't, Dutch wouldn't keep her. We already have too much mouths to feed. - Listen, cowpoke, it's not just about taking her with us. You both took her with us after she knocked me out with a fuckin' rock. She's mental. Arthur didn't say nothing. It wasn't his fight and he didn't like taking to Micah. He knew that as long Iris is part of a family because of Dutch's saying so, she was safe even when Micah threated her like this. She was good kid, too, already helping everyone around. He also liked her cooking for the camp, it was nice change comparing to Pearson's skills. - Iris, Iris! - Abigail ran towards new girl. Her eyes was red and she said something to Iris that Arthur couldn't hear. So he got up and come to listen. - He...he's been missing for two days. Everyone here ignores me and says "it's John" but he has me and he has Jack, he needs to be back! - Shhh... - Iris cuddled Abigail like a bear even though she was smaller than her - I will go and search for him, okay? Brother thought me how to track. Arthur's brows furrowed. - You ain't going nowhere, kid. Not alone. - Arthur, go with her then, I know you two will find him! Please, please find him! Outlaw nodded his head without saying anything. He knew that Abigail won't leave him untill he'll find that idiot husban of hers,  Marston. There wasn't any words that would calm Abigail when John was missing anyway. Iris was following Arthur, both on their horses. She noticed so far that he didn't talk much and he was rather quiet and shy men, writing or sketching in his journal while he wasn't running errands for Dutch. She was a little bit behind him, enough to examine him without being noticed or considered nosy. He was big and tall and had nice, sun-kissed face. He must be from different parts of country then, she told herself. His beard was freshly trimmed and Iris saw few scars on his face, noticing especially one of them, on Arthur's chin while he was looking around for any tracks. - We gonna go on foot from now, horses won't do here. John's close I think- he wasn't looking at her when he's talking. He seemed occupied with everything around him, but Iris. She didn't know he was just shy, because if it come to woman Arthur was always sure they are laughing at him. Girl just thought she's not much of company. But that was kind of good. This way Iris could admire him for a little longer, he wouldn't notice it. That wasn't like she hadn't love interests  before or that she was a hopeless romantic either. But that weird feeling in her stomach was saying "you fancy him, you do". But he won't know it anyway, it's Arthur she was thinking about, the most a-romantic person in the camp. She looked at him even when they were dragging John towards horses. Not constantly, but she peeked every few seconds. His brows were furrowed and he looked rather angry. Well, he was really angry when in no time he had to shoot few wolves. He asked Iris if she's fine with warmth in his voice, ignoring John and his moans of pain completely. When those two returned to camp, Abigail started yelling at John almost immediately she saw him. They were cute, Iris thought. FEW DAYS AFTER Dutch finally decided they gonna have camp in different, warmer place. Snow begin to thawn and the whole bunch of changes coming made everybody excited. They packed everything they had and jumped on their wagon. Iris noticed that Arthur is sitting alone in the last of them and smiled under her breath. There wasn't place next to other girls anyway.-Can I sit here, Mr Morgan? - she asked shyly looking into his eyes. It made her blush a little bit and she put hair behind her ear. She was the only girl in camp having loose hair and it complemented her little face because of deep, black color of them. - Sure, kid - he murmured. Wasn't looking at her either, he refused to notice her rosy cheeks. In fact, when Iris heard being called "kid" something heavy dropped in her stomach.  He sees me like someone immature, she murmured to herself. Girl took a place next to him anyway and the ride begin.Arthur wasn't much of a talker and she started worrying he simply doesn't like her. It was almost a month since she joined the gang and Arthur always seemed cold or not interested when he was sharing tasks with her. So she needed to ask but not too quickly so it won't be creepy. - Are you hungry, Mr Morgan? - she chirped, smiling at him. He looked at her surprised. - And what do you have, kid? Ugh. And ouch. - I have beef jerky I made few days ago with Mr Pearson. Everyone already ate them but I have plenty left. Do you want some? He almost blushed. This girl was so kind to him since her first day and Arthur couldn't figure out why. Normally woman treated him like he was air or creep. But she was no woman, she was young girl, Arthur thought, she will learn someday how to pity man like him. - If you want to share it with me - he smirked. - Why not? You are so nice - Iris saw his hands were occupied. She blinked and came with an idea. It will be even more better than just sharing. Her slender fingers slowly put a piece of dried beef to his mouth and he looked at her surprised. Her cheeks flushed and she brushed his lower lip by accident. With any other man it would be clear, she was sweet on him, but he just chuckled and started looking at road again. Was something wrong with her? It has to be my face that's wrong. No way he didn't notice that! If only I could be a little bit seductive - she breathed out with visible irritation. - Y'kay there, kid? - Yeah. Just thinking. - Oh, I get that. Dutch gave us plenty reasons to think, eh? You sure you want to rob that train with us? I know he told you to, but look at you! She did, actually. Her eyes looked at her slender body and stopped on her cleavage. Hm, that might be one of the problems, I'm flat as hell. She was obviously still thinking about what could put Arthur away. He wasn't. - And what do you mean by that, Mr Morgan? He furrowed. Looked like he's searching for right words. - You know, you look so fragile a-and pale. Sure you don't want to stay in camp and cook or read a book with other girls?  - he seemed awkward, like he didn't feel good when commenting on Iris. - I will make you sure I am made for those things - she chuckled but it didn't sound iritated, just sweet as always - I am no kid, Mr Morgan, just woman in her twenties. Tilly is younger than me. - But she's different case. Just sayin'. I don't wanna bother you - Arthur's voice was kind and shy as always. It has to be breasts then. Or maybe... maybe he doesn't like short girls? Maybe I should do something with my hair, like all mature woman does? Or is it the fact I didn't wear a dress yet? God, tell me how to make him notice me - she was thinking.

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

I hope this doesn’t come across as offensive or stereotypical but what do you think of Derry Girls? I’ve seen you mention them a couple of times but I was wondering what you thought of it, actually being from Northern Ireland? (obviously no pressure to answer if you don’t feel like it)

Hello my lovely! This isn’t offensive at all, so please don’t worry. I’m actually so glad people are actually asking questions. That’s the only way people can learn and that’s something that should be encouraged. Anyway...

I adore Derry girls! I cannot explain to the buzz that it created two years ago. I still remember watching the first episode, going in to school the next day and literally everyone talking about it. It was the first time I’d ever seen not one but multiple Northern Irish characters, who weren’t part of a paramilitary or

And the thing about derry girls is that it was written by someone from Derry. And absolutely nothing is stereotypical about it. That’s exactly what Northern Ireland is like. The people treating bomb scares as a mild inconvenience? Accurate. Soldiers wandering the streets, fully armed? Accurate. The wooden spoon? Accurate. Michelle swearing every other word. So accurate. The all girls catholic school? I literally go to a all girls catholic school and their representation of that was on point. The way we react to rock the boat? Accurate. Ma Mary? The textbook definition of an Irish mother. The locations? It’s so fun to try and pick out places you’ve been when watching Derry girls. Even the dialogue just...hits so close to home in a way that I can’t describe. Every other sentence has some form of Northern Irish slang like “wise up” or “melt” or “catch yourself on” or the way that everyone starts their sentences with “here” or “well” or how they end their sentences with “so I did” or “so it was” is amazing because that’s how we speak. And I had never heard that before, especially not in something as massive as Derry girls.

Every single episode is insane to how close it hits to home. The episode in series one where the family have to cross the border on the 12th of July had me in fucking stitches because that’s what it’s like on the 12th of July. And don’t get me started on the Protestants vs Catholic board from series two. That board belongs in a museum because it’s hands down the funniest yet most accurate prop to ever exist. My personal favourite bit from that board is “Catholics love statues” and “Catholics go to Donegal, Protestants go to Newcastle”. That sentence means NOTHING to non-Northern Irish people but it had me (along with so many others) crying with laughter from the accuracy.

Also, in one of the episodes of series two (the one where the girls get a new English teacher) Uncle Colm mentions a place called Ballynahinch. And everyone where I’m from went fucking MENTAL over the mention of that place. Why? Because it’s super close to where we live. We recognised it. I had never heard anything so close to home mentioned in something as big as Derry Girls. It was insane the way we reacted to a singular mention of something like that.

But Derry girls does actually tackle some tough issues in Northern Ireland. Northern Ireland is probably the most homophobic place in the U.K. (and I think it’s the most homophobic place in western Europe as well)...but Derry Girls includes a gay character and shows her friends supporting her (notice how all the Derry girls are wearing pride pins in the second series. I actually heard they would redo do takes of certain scenes if you couldn’t see the pins clearly enough). The bombing that you see in the last episode of the first series was an incredibly dark time for Northern Ireland, and Derry girls didn’t shy away from saying “yes...that happened less that 25 years ago”. It also shows the ceasefire in series two, and that was a pretty important time for Northern Ireland.

Derry Girls is so important to Northern Ireland, and I don’t mean that as a joke. Derry Girls swept the world and finally gave Northern Irish people some much needed representation. Because before Derry girls...we really didn’t see ourselves in media. We didn’t hear our accents. We didn’t see our lives in programs, save for the odd historical drama about the troubles that focused on being dark and gritty and for some reason everyone was in a paramilitary. But Derry girls was funny and (mostly) lighthearted and showed the mundane parts of Northern Ireland but still presented them as meaningful.

Representation is so important in media. I (along with so many others) had never realised how Northern Ireland never got represented and how that was actually never talked about or acknowledged. But now we are talking about it. There’s another Northern Ireland based teen drama called “My Left Nut” (yes, that’s actually what it’s called) and while I personally didn’t like it as much as Derry girls...it’s a sign that maybe, we’re going to get more and more representation. And I really think this could open a door. We could start having more Northern Irish characters and more Northern Irish based media. I think Belfast is the perfect setting for an urban fantasy, and the mourne mountains would make an amazing set for a gothic romance. Three years ago, I would have laughed at the idea of anyone wanting to set anything in Northern Ireland. But now it’s a real possibility....and Derry girls and it’s success was a massive part of that.

So yeah,,,I really like Derry Girls.

[sweets-fanfics]

Homecoming 2/?

Title: Some Irish prick

A/N: no, sean is not the irish prick.

word count: 2096

warning: small amount of violence

“Y/N?” You heard Henry running up to you. He pulled you behind him and away from your dad. “Are you okay? Did you try to steal again?” You rolled your eyes and pointed at Dutch.

“Me stealing isn’t the problem at the moment.” Henry looked at Dutch as it clicked a bit.

“Y/N go home,” Henry demanded.

“Wait for just a second, son,” Dutch spoke up.

“No. You have literally never visited us, or wrote to us. I wouldn’t even consider you our father.” Henry snapped as he started pushing you towards the direction of home.

“Father?” You heard Arthur ask.

“Wait, Henry,” You started. “Let’s hear him out.” Henry looked at you with an angry face. “Maybe he knows where Uncle Trelawny is or Uncle Hosea.” Hosea had always been a soft spot for Henry. Hosea would write to you and even came to visit you both once.

“Hold on. Hosea and Trelawny knew about them?” Arthur asked.

“Arthur not now,” Dutch said making Arthur throw his hands up. “Hosea is with us. He’s at our camp.”

“Camp?” Henry sounded a bit disgusted. You smack his arm.

“We would love to see Uncle Hosea.” You answered before your brother could.

Your brother and you followed Arthur and Dutch out of Valentine and to Horseshoe Overlook.

Henry kept giving his father dagger eyes as Dutch talked to you both. Repeating over and over how shocked he is and how big you and Henry had become. To which Henry replied with a bitter, “Yeah… that’s what happens when you grow up.”

“Hosea!” Dutch called as you all walked up to the camp. The older man looked up from his book. “I brought home a surprise for you.”

Hosea walked over curiously but as he saw you and Henry hopping off your horses his jaw dropped. You ran up to him and hugged him, “Uncle Hosea!”

“Dear girl, what are you two doing here?”

“Oh, ya know. We missed you.” You joked as he patted your head.

“You are a lot taller than before.” He joked back.

“We were fifteen the last time you saw us,” Henry said as he walked up and shook Hosea’s hand.

“Well, then it’s been entirely too long. Come sit, I believe Pearson should be done with dinner and then you can introduce yourselves to the family.” He pushed you two towards a table sitting you down. You could see people noticing your arrival and wandering closer to see who you were.

A little boy ran up and smiled, “Hi, I’m Jack. Why do you two have the same face?”

“I’m Y/N and this is my brother Henry, we are twins so we have the same face.” He looked between you and Henry for a moment.

“Do you guys want flower crowns?” He asked throwing you off.

“Uh… sure?” With your answer, he ran off quickly looking on the ground for flowers.

Dutch came up and stood between you and your brother. He put his hands on each of your shoulders. Henry moved his shoulder out of Dutch’s reach making you sigh.

“Everyone, this is going to sound very confusing to you all but before Annabelle passed she went away for a while and when she was gone she gave birth to these two beautiful children in front of me,” You looked at your feet nervously. You had never been one to like attention. “She passed very shortly after. It was a mistake I see now, but at the time I was so heartbroken that I didn’t think I could raise them and sent them to live in a boarding school in New York. I’m not entirely sure what brought them back here… But I’m so glad-”

“It’s because we were kicked out of our university.” You smacked Henry’s arm after he spoke. “No, Y/N, he should know.” Henry stood up so he could look at your father in the eye. They had the same serious looking face. “Our school and board had all been mysteriously paid for until our last semester. Y/N was going to have a master’s in music.”

“Henry, ‘ts ok..” you tried to stop him but he talked over you.

“I was going to be an astronomer. I even skipped a few grades. But all that work was for nothing.” Henry threw his hands up angry and stormed off leaving you to clean up as usual.

“Mr. Van Der Linde… I mean Dutch? Father? Anyway, I’ll apologize for him. He’s been sour since a ridin’ accident a few months ago.”

“Dear Y/N he has every right to be angry.” He put both hands on your shoulders and kissed your forehead.

“I should probably make sure he gets home okay. I can come to visit again tomorrow if ya’ll be here.” You started backing towards your horse Suzie, a beautiful strawberry Roan you had found after the original owner had died.

She’d been on the side of the road when you passed, you saw her owner on the ground with a very clearly self-inflicted gunshot. You had felt bad for her and took her with you. She was most definitely the nicest horse you had ever met. And she unironically loved strawberries.

“Of course dear. Arthur, can you make sure the princess gets home safe?” Hosea asked.

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “Uncle Hosea you don’t have to call me that.”

“I mean look at you. Your pink horse and daughter to the leader of a gang of misfits, you are like a modern-day princess.” He said laughing. You looked away as your cheeks got red.

Dutch came up and patted your leg as Arthur got back on his horse. “I hope I can see you tomorrow, daughter?” He asked. His eyes almost seemed to be begging.

“Of course… Pa..” That felt comfortable enough. You didn’t know if you’d get used to having a parent.

“You ready to go princess?” Arthur asked.

“Not you too.” You sighed.

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

As you and Arthur rode back to your cottage he told you of how he met your father and how Dutch took him in. He talked about how your mother had passed and told you about the recent failure at Blackwater. By the time you got to your cottage, you felt as if you had been with the gang the whole time.

Both you and Arthur hopped of your horses at the same time. “Thank you for seeing me home Mr. Morgan.” You smiled as he walked up to you.

“Mr. Morgan? That cause I work for your daddy?” He chuckled.

“I thought after my poor attempt at being a thief I had lost the chance to call you Arthur.” You said in a slightly flirty way. You were hypnotized by his blue eyes to the point you couldn’t look at him while riding home cause you couldn’t focus on telling Suzie where to go.

He seemed to catch on and smirked, “No, no, you can still call me Arthur.”

You gathered up all your courage and took a step closer to him. “Well then Arthur, thank ya for seeing me home safely.”

You had hoped he’d lean in and kiss you. You realized you had met him that day but you just couldn’t seem to help yourself. It seemed he may have too until you heard the door open.

“Shit sorry,” Henry mumbled and shut the door.

Arthur took a step back making you sigh. “Well, at least ya know he’s home.” He turned and started for his horse.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow as well right?” you asked shyly.

“Only if ya won’t rob me.” He said as he got comfortable on his horse.

“No promises.” You smirked at each other as he rode off.

You took Suzie next to Henry’s horse, Lightning, a black and white American Paint. There was a rustling near you making you look over your shoulder. As you did you saw a gun barrel in your face.

You put your hands up as a man with a green bandana smirked. “So, you Van Der Linde’s kid?” He asked with a strong accent.

“No. My last name is Butler.” You lied.

“Bullshite, I saw you’s exchange in Valentine earlier.” Fuck. “Think how happy Colm will be when I bring him a Van der Linde.” As he said that he raised the gun hitting you over the head with it knocking you out.

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

  Henry

Henry was still trying to calm down from earlier but he knew you’d give him an earful. Especially since it looked like he almost walked in on you and Arthur kissing. He shivered at the thought of someone wanting to kiss his annoying and easily fooled sister.

He did feel guilty for the earlier outburst and had caught a rabbit on the way home and was getting it ready to cook for you. Heck, he was already almost done when it dawned on him you hadn’t walked in yet. He walked the door swinging it open. “How much do you guys have to make out before you come in for dinner?” He asked but when he opened the door he saw as a stranger put you passed out body on the back of their horse and start to ride off.

“Hey!” Henry yelled grabbing the double-barrel he kept by the door. “Put her down!” He ordered aiming the gun.

“Bug off, kid, be lucky I didn’t kill ya.” The man said before riding off faster then Henry could aim and fire.

“Fuck!” Henry yelled as he ran to his horse and jumped on trying to chance after the man. It was clear Lightning would not catch up to him. “Fuck, fuck.”

When he finally lost sight of him he realized he was back near Dutch’s camp. Henry groaned looking up at the sky as if asking God if he was really about to make him do this. But after a millisecond realized he would have to suck it up in order to save you.

He turned Lightning and stormed into Dutch’s camp scaring people awake. As Henry hopped off his horse Dutch walked out of his tent with his hand pulling out his pistol. Henry could see Arthur waking up and quickly grabbing his pistol.

Once Dutch realized it was Henry he started to put his pistol back in the holster. “Henry? Son, what are you doing here?”

“Some Irish prick just kidnapped Y/N,” Henry said as he paced back and forth.

“Wait, what did you say?” Arthur said as he and some others joined them.

“After I saw you two I went to finish cooking and realized Y/N hadn’t come in. I thought you were still out there with her so I opened the door to yell at her but instead she was knocked out and tied to the back of some assholes horse.” Henry realized he was shaking with anger and fear and tried to stop it.

“Men get on your horses,” Dutch said without another word.

“Dutch, I can’t lose my baby sister. She… she’s all I have left.” Henry said getting on Lightning and following Dutch and his men.

“Oh trust me, Henry, I have a feeling I know who took her and I will personally end every single one of them,” Dutch said making him sound the complete opposite of how he had earlier when he was introducing you two to the camp.

“We’ll get your Y/N,” Arthur reassured, “I knew I should have waited a bit longer.”

“It’s not your fault,” Henry sighed, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to sweet-talk her way out of it. As worried as I am, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to rescue her. But I know… she’d do the same.”

“Your sister seemed tough. I’m sure she’ll be okay.” A man with shaggy black hair and a scar on his face added.

“I know she is. Out of the two of us, she’s the only one who knows how to fight or use a gun. I just… She’s always been too trusting” Henry said the last bit more to himself as he eyed the back of Dutch’s head.

Arthur had seemed to catch the last bit but didn’t say any more. Arthur had wanted to kiss you earlier that night but he would never admit it. Especially since your Dutch’s daughter. He didn’t know how Dutch would react to Arthur developing feelings for you the moment he saw you, and he did not want to find out.

He just knew. He would save you.

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

let me know if you want to be tagged. Or if you just want to say hi!

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Seven

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Falling Leaves

She returned to him the next morning, the blouse she’d worn the day they had been taken in one hand, thread and needle in the other.

He couldn’t think for the life of him why she came back, surely she knew he was going to ask her again, but the moment she sat down, without so much as a good morning, she began to speak.

“What do you write in your book?”

“Huh?”

She glanced up from where she was pulling the thread through the eye of the needle, repeating a little more slowly, “What do you write in your book?”

“Just... What we do. Things I find.”

“Why?”

“‘cause I do.”

“Yes, but why?”

“‘cause I just do. Why do you care? It ain’t even noon and you’re already irritatin’ me.”

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips before she tilted her head, watching the needle as she started to repair the blouse. “I used to keep a journal.”

He didn’t say anything as he looked at her, scratching his growing beard.

Christ, if she thinks we’re about to talk about feelin’s...

“We had a pond on our farm when I was a child and I used to document all the toads that came and went. I named all of them but I couldn’t really tell them apart so I might have just been giving some multiple names.”

He stared at her, his hand dropping into his lap.

“You were a strange kid.”

She smiled at that, her sewing rhythmic. 

“Yes, I was. My mother wanted me to be learning what all young ladies were learning like needle-work and how to pour tea correctly and how to sit straight, but I used to run to the pond instead and converse with the toads.”

“So you were raised to be a proper young lady?”

Why was she suddenly starting to divulge information now?

“Not properly, I’d say. My mother was from a good family and had been raised that way so she wanted to pass that along to me but I was too much like my father, I guess.”

She fell silent for a few moments, probably waiting for him to ask a question about her family, but he saw his advantage.

“Annie, I’m gonna ask you again about—”

Her sewing paused and she looked up at him. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready, Arthur. I promise you I will.”

He got the sense she wasn’t a person who gave her word lightly, but it still frustrated him. What could be so big and frightening that she couldn’t just tell him outright? And how the hell did it involve Colm? Or was it just something she was simply embarrassed about? That maybe she’d been reminded what a group of killers she was with? Nah, that didn’t make any sense to him. Usually he didn’t give a shit about other people’s business, but if this involved Colm then it would most certainly become gang business.

She looked back down at her blouse and the sewing resumed.

“Now, do you want to hear more stories about how strange I was?”

“... Fine.”

He actually found that he did, and she told stories of what a really damn strange kid she’d been (collecting rocks and leaves? Rolling around in puddles ‘cause she’d seen the pigs do it? Really?) until Miss Grimshaw found her and requested her assistance in helping Mr Pearson prepare the deer for supper that Charles had just brought back.

“Deer for dinner, it must be fate,” Annie had said as she left him, a smile on her lips.

It left him feeling... strange, her warm smile and his unease at the secret she was carrying.

He spent the rest of the day thinking about it.

She went back the next morning because she wanted to ask about the article pinned near the photographs, which he told her was about the first robbery he ever took part in. After some prompting, he grumbled and told her the full story, with all the details. She sat fascinated, interrupting here and there to ask a question.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to know how he got Ophelia and named her that. She was a Thoroughbred and he’d bought her, thank you very much, and Hosea had suggested the name. 

“Is a Thoroughbred really suited for this life?”

“Yeah, she’s got a good spirit and can go fast.”

“So you can run away?”

“So I can survive.”

She’d then asked about other horses he’d had and how he was so good with them.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to ask about whether some of Sean’s stories were true. Most of them weren’t.

She went back the morning after that because John had told her a story about how Arthur had fallen out of a window after trying to rob a house and she had to hear it from him.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to.

It started to become part of their routine. She would come in the morning and ask questions and he would answer them, or she would read to him a passage from a book she was reading that Hosea had given to her and ask what he thought, which usually wasn’t much until she gave her opinion on it and somehow it suddenly had more meanings that he could understand, or she would tell him about what everyone else in camp was doing, and they talked until either Miss Grimshaw came for her or she left to get on with her own tasks.

A few times he even got to ask some questions of his own.

“How’d you get that?” he asked one day, sat with his legs stretched out on the bed, a knife and a token he was whittling in his hands. “That scar on your neck.”

She briefly glanced up from where she’d been scrubbing dried red dirt out of a skirt. “I got it when my family was attacked.”

He paused, lifting his head. “When the O’Driscolls attacked you in Strawberry?”

“No, no, years before then.”

She wet her lips, something he was noticing she did when she was considering something.

“Our home was invaded when I was younger. It’s how my father died. One of the men held a knife to my throat to keep me quiet but he pressed a little too hard and it cut me.”

“Jesus Christ...” he murmured, his eyes remaining on her. “How old were you?”

“Five.”

His frown deepened as he shook his head. “Shit, Annie. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She smiled lightly. “It’s fine, though. I was so young that, you know... I didn’t really know him. You can’t really miss what you didn’t have.”

Arthur watched her, falling silent as she kept her eyes on her sewing. 

Sometimes they would just sit in silence, each getting on with a task.

During one of those silences, while cleaning his guns, he suddenly said, “Sean makes you laugh a lot.” It was a nice sound, her laugh, not grating like some he’d heard. “How come you don’t find him irritatin’?”

She snorted. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“Well, you spend a lot of time talkin’ to him.” His jaw moved minutely. “Are you sweet on him?”

She laughed, the loudest he’d made her laugh yet. 

“Oh, Christ, no.” She shook her head as she chuckled. “I enjoy his company, is all.” She smiled fondly now. “He reminds me a little of my brother. He died a few years after my father did, but... Before then he was always making me laugh, always playing with me. He never found me annoying, never wanted me to leave him alone. He was a good boy.”

“Well...” Arthur cleared his throat, returning his attention to his guns. “It’s good that he makes you laugh.”

Her smile widened as she turned the page of her book, her eyes dropping to it.

“You make me laugh, too, Arthur.”

He did make her laugh quite a bit himself, though often unintentionally. That made a faint smile tug at his lips.

Weeks passed, filled with conversations and silence, each recovering in their own way, until, finally, Arthur was deemed back to full health.

Feeling like himself again, he’d risen early and gone down to the shore, taking a seat on a chair left out on the jetty. He’d taken his journal with him, wanting to fill in a few spaces with birds and fish Annie had described to him that she’d seen. He didn’t know if he quite achieved their likeness, and he didn’t want to show them to her for her opinion because they weren’t anything special, but... One drawing he knew was like the subject it was based on was the drawing he’d started of her.

He’d suddenly begun drawing it about a week ago, fascinated with how her curls, unruly and having fallen out of a braid Mary-Beth had helped her with, fell down against her face and moved in the light breeze. He’d told himself it was just to see if he could capture that movement, a challenge to partake in until he got better, but as his pencil sketched out her lips and eyes with great detail...

You’re a fool of a man, Morgan.

He’d found himself writing about her, too, writing down what they talked about and what she told him about herself that included great detail and no detail at all. She gave greatly but carefully, to the point where he knew what kind of animals she’d played with as a child but couldn’t recall the names of her brother, mother and father. Had she even told him? She never talked about her sister or uncle who’d died back at Strawberry, either. Maybe it was too painful.

She is the most interesting and frustrating woman I have ever met, he wrote. I think I know her one minute and then she says something that completely changes my mind the next.

She still hadn’t told him her secret, and all he could do was hold on to the promise she’d made that one day she would.

“I thought I’d be buryin’ you, Mr Morgan.”

Arthur lifted his head at the sound of Swanson’s voice, closing his journal and sitting straighter with a wry smile.

“Well, not quite yet, Reverend.”

“Good. How you feelin’?”

“Oh...” Arthur inhaled a breath, glancing up at the other man. “About the same as you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the Reverend answered dryly.

Arthur chuckled, rolling his formerly wounded shoulder.

“I thought Miss Sawyer might have lifted your spirits. She’s done a mighty fine job keeping you company.”

Arthur ran his hand down his beard, nodding a little. “Yeah, she has. It’s been very kind of her.”

“Well...” Swanson patted his back gently. “Take care of yourself.”

"You, too.”

Arthur rolled his shoulder again as he heard Swanson step off of the jetty, humming to himself an old hymn. The younger man gazed out across the lake as he slid his journal into his satchel before getting to his feet, clearing his throat. It was a crisp, slightly grey morning, with dark clouds threatening on the horizon, but he felt good and the strongest he had in a long time.

“You need to cut that beard, I’m beginning to forget what you look like.”

Annie joined him at his side, a cup of coffee in each hand.

He arched an eyebrow as he accepted one from her, returning his gaze to the clouds.

“I thought you might like that.”

“Oh, you’re right, but I think Mary-Beth is beginning to be a little disappointed, though.”

He snorted as he raised the cup to his lips, taking a long sip.

Ada smirked as she glanced at him. He never had anything smart to say back to her when she brought up the other woman’s not very subtle attraction to him. An attraction that Ada was, reluctantly, starting to understand.

Understand, not feel.

That would just be completely ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Blowing on her hot coffee, Ada then looked up at him, raising her eyebrows slightly. “How about after you shave we go out for a ride and maybe some hunting? See if you’re really as better as you say you are.”

“I think I might be up to that.”

Her eyes flicked over him, a smile pulling at her lips. “We’ll see.” Raising her eyebrows, she turned away. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, Morgan.”

He watched her as she headed back into the camp, a smile lingering on her lips. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he exhaled a breath.

You really are a fool of a man.

“Aren’t you a good boy? No, don’t eat that...”

Tugging her sleeve out of Faithful’s mouth, Ada smiled as she stroked his neck, his head turning towards her, almost nuzzling.

“You ready?”

Lifting her head, her response caught in her throat as her gaze fell on him.

One corner of his mouth was slightly higher than the other as he approached, a fresh white shirt on, a plain black waistcoat, and a black jacket that fell to just above his knees. His hat lay atop his trimmed hair, the ends of which now curled against the collar of his shirt rather than falling to his shoulders. He had cut his beard down to stubble, too, and though it was slightly patchy in some parts he looked... good. More like himself.

“Yeah,” she answered quickly, realising she’d left slightly too long a pause.

“All righ’, let’s go. I got somethin’ to prove and I’m not waitin’ on you.”

Her eyes kept drifting back to him as they mounted up, trying to ignore the heat that had risen to her cheeks.

Pull yourself together, you can admit he’s an attractive man. A poor-tempered, boorish, attractive man.

Ophelia drew alongside Faithful as they rode out of camp, and once on the main path Arthur let her take the lead, content to be taken where-the-hell-ever, just happy he was out and on his horse once more.

Glancing over at her, she looked more relaxed, too, a faint smile on her lips. She’d pinned back some of her hair but that hadn’t stopped some stray curls from falling about her face, the steady breeze not helping matters. She was wearing the green blouse Sean had given her, he’d found out, and a thick black skirt, a wide brown belt wrapped around her waist. His gaze quickly lifted as she looked over to him.

Her smile widened. 

“How about a little race?”

“A race?” He snorted. “I ain’t a child.”

“You aren’t?” She grinned as she kicked Faithful into a gallop, darting past him.

“God damn it...” he muttered, urging Ophelia to do the same, racing after her.

“Where the hell are we racin’ to?”

“None of your business!”

“How about you have a little sit down while I find us a deer?”

“One of these days that smart mouth is gonna get you in trouble, Miss Sawyer.”

His low words had a smile pulling at her lips and a strange sensation running down her spine. 

She’d won their race, though perhaps it was a slightly unfair advantage to her that she knew where the finish line would be. As he’d grumbled at that fact and they’d dismounted, she’d just smiled widely.

As they emerged from a collection of trees, he realised she’d taken them to Bolger Glade, an old battlefield that lay to the east of Braithewaite Manor. Crumbling trenches, stone buildings and a church occupied it, along with rusting cannons and broken wagons. The earth was slowly claiming them, grass and plants growing over each object.

He was about to ask what the hell could be hunted around here when a dampness landed on his cheek. The black clouds that had been threatening had grown closer and rain drops started to fall, at first haphazardly then all together, pouring down.

“Ah, shit, come on,” he called to her, “We’ll stay in the church until this blows over!”

“What about the horses?” she answered, pulling a face as rain got in her eyes.

“They’ll be fine!”

They broke out into runs, dodging broken wood and rocks as she shielded her face with her hands, he grateful for his hat.

“So much for huntin’, huh? What a grand idea.”

“I don’t control the weather, Arthur!”

They entered the decaying church moments later, slowing to a halt. Pushing her wet hair out of her face, Ada then wiped at her cheeks, blowing out a breath.

“Shit...” Arthur muttered as he came in behind her, shaking his arms out.

She held her forearms against her chest and rubbed her hands together as she walked a little further into the church, staying under the cover of what had been another level above. He followed her, removing his hat and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before placing his hat back on.

“It looks like someone’s been here. Recently,” he heard her say and lifted his head.

A blanket and pillow covered a corner of an alcove, and close by was a burned out fire pit which he’d nearly stepped on. Stepping over it, her rolled his shoulder.

“We should be fine.”

He followed her into the corner of the church that gave the most protection from the rain. Leaning back against the wall, Ada blew out another breath, rather irritated that their excursion out was now ruined.

Arthur shook his arms out again, water leaping off of his jacket with the action, as he glanced through a hole in the wall. “It should pass soon, I can already see a clear sky beyond it.”

She hummed, thinking it better bloody should, the irritation still prickling at her. This was supposed to be a break for him, a bit of normality to ease him back into a routine, a bit of freedom. And rain was ruining it. If it wasn’t uncomfortable heat here, then it was rain. They stood in silence, he watching the sky, she looking at the floor.

Her gaze drifted to him after a few minutes.

God, he was a good man. Yes, she could very readily admit that, even to him. He wouldn’t want to hear it and would even vehemently deny it, but he was, she knew it. He wasn’t just considerate to her, but to everyone in the camp, always putting others before himself. There was nothing false about him, either, no masks he put on or shows; out of the two men who had practically raised him, he was more like Hosea than Dutch, and she was glad for it. He hadn’t pushed her, either, to tell her secret, and...

If you don’t do it now you never will... His patience could run out... Then what would the consequences be? 

Straightening a little, she clasped her hands in front of herself, playing with them a little.

“Arthur, I...”

His head turned to her and she paused for only a moment.

“... I want to thank you, for how patient you’ve been. I very much have appreciated it. A lesser man would have asked me again and again or made me tell him outright and I’m incredibly grateful to you for not pressing the matter.”

He didn’t say anything or move as she spoke.

“I feel like, over the past couple of weeks, we’ve...” She seemed to steel herself then, her lips pressing together. “... What I’m going to tell you, I hope you do not tell anyone else.”

He nodded, straightening and placing his hands on his gun belt. “All right, I won’t.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Your word?”

“Would it really mean that much?”

“To me, yes.”

He gazed at her before nodding again. “You have my word, I won’t tell anyone.”

She wet her lips and pressed them together, her hands clasped tightly.

“Dutch’s words about killing Colm’s brother affected me because Michael O’Driscoll was my father.”

She’d spoken the words slowly so he knew there was no chance he could have misheard, but... 

Jesus fucking Christ...

He stared at her, something in him twisting sharply.

She didn’t take her eyes off of him, watching for every single reaction he gave as, knowing there was no way of going back, she continued.

“When my father met my mother he was already halfway to leaving the gang. He was disillusioned and wanted a different life, a better one, and after meeting and falling in love with my mother, he then thought it might be possible. He told Colm that after he married my mother he wanted to leave and raise the family they would have together the right way. Colm agreed and he actually came to visit us several times over the years, with a few trusted members of the gang. He visited us nearly every Christmas, brought us presents for them and at our birthdays, ones that he promised he’d bought but we knew he hadn’t.”

A dam seemed to have broken inside her, now, because she didn’t, couldn’t, stop, the words coming out faster. 

“Then when I was five there was a bad winter and all our animals died as well as our crops. We had very little money because my father had spent it all on the farm and getting the best things he could find for us, so he wrote to Colm for help. Colm came to our farm and said he couldn’t loan him any money but my father could earn it by helping him with a job. My father refused and said he wasn’t part of that life anymore, and Colm called him a coward and said would he really rather see his family starve than be a man and they had an awful argument and in the end my father said he didn’t want to know Colm, he didn’t consider him family anymore and he didn’t want to see him ever again. Colm left and we thought that was the end of it. Then two weeks later four men broke into our house, all wearing masks, I heard them kick the door down, and my father ran out of his and my mother’s bedroom with his shotgun but they were too quick and one man pinned him to the ground.”

She wasn’t looking at him now, her eyes fixed on the ground as if she could see it happening all over again. 

“I opened my door and saw him there and I called out and started to run to him when one of the men grabbed me and told me to be quiet and pressed his knife against my throat and told me he’d kill me if I screamed and then, and then a man stepped forward, a man with dark hair, and he shot my Da in the heart and he didn’t say a word and Mama screamed and Thomas cried and I couldn’t do anything and then, then they just left, without saying a word, they didn’t take anything, they didn’t rob us, they just left and Mama ran to Da and she wouldn’t stop screaming and Thomas wouldn’t stop crying and I just stood there, I just...”

She didn’t realise tears were streaming down her cheeks until she broke off with a shuddering breath. Her eyes finally lifted after a moment, meeting his gaze.

He hadn’t moved, his features expressionless.

“You’re Colm O’Driscoll’s niece?” His voice was low and quiet.

“Yes,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “My name is Adaline O’Driscoll.”

“Why didn’t you tell us your real name?”

“Because I didn’t know what any of you were like, I didn’t know what Dutch van der Linde would do with Colm O’Driscoll’s niece, even though I’m not a part of his life, I didn’t know what would happen.”

He was still giving nothing away, his eyes fixed on her.

Her heart was pounding against her ribcage and she had to remind herself to breathe.

This was a mistake—

“What happened when they took us?”

“Colm realised it was me because of my ring.” She held her bare, right hand up, dropping it after a moment. “It was my father’s, it’s a family heirloom, his father gave it to him. It’s one of a kind. And then...”

He kept silent as she paused, wiping her cheeks. 

“When he was talking to me he talked about my brother and said he’s alive, but he can’t be because when he was sixteen, I was twelve, he left in the middle of the night, we found a note from him saying he’d gone to find Colm to kill him, and my mother wept for days and we waited, we waited a year and he never returned so we knew he was dead because he wouldn’t have stayed with Colm, he wouldn’t have, but Colm said he’d told him that it was Dutch who’d done it and that Thomas believed him but Thomas wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t have left us...”

She was crying again, albeit silently.

It was as if all the pain, all the burdens she had to bear, all the secrets, all she’d had to suppress to keep her mother going, finally came out in simply being able to tell somebody about it.

“An— Adaline, what do you want to do now?”

She frowned as she lifted her head. 

“What?”

“What do you want to happen now?”

Her mouth opened and closed slightly. 

“I don’t know. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

He finally looked away from her, his hand running down his mouth as he placed his other hand on his hip.

Oh, God, he’s going to cast me out, he’s going to tell me go, and I won’t blame him—

“Colm knows you’re with us.”

“Yes.”

“For whatever reason, he’s going to want you back.”

“Yes, he said something to that effect when he took us.”

“So, I reckon... the safest thing is you stay with us.”

She ceased breathing as he turned to her. “What?”

“We can protect you. The others don’t need to know. Colm won’t come this far south, anyway, not with the law and bounty hunters around. Probably not with the Lemoyne Raiders around, too.”

He was moving towards her.

She started shaking her head, utterly confused. “Why, why would you do this for me?”

He stopped before her, and, using a finger, he brushed away her tears.

“Save people as need savin’.”

She laughed, all tension suddenly, thankfully, leaving her body, and his finger brushed down her cheek.

“I need saving, do I?”

“Like no one else I’ve met before.”

“I think I’m fine.”

One corner of his mouth rose higher than the other as he looked at her, his finger settling under her chin.

It made her already rapidly beating heart stutter slightly.

Then he dropped his hand.

“You ain’t gonna kill Dutch, are you?”

That certainly caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

 “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

He didn’t respond for a few moments, then placed his hand on his belt, inclining his head.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone.”

She smiled as she exhaled a breath. “Thank you.”

He shifted his weight to his other foot, arching an eyebrow.

“So, I’m to call you Adaline now?”

“Yes, when we’re alone. Or Ada, actually. Only my mother called me Adaline.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

She ignored the heat that rose on her cheeks again.

“Thank you.”

“Who’s Annie Sawyer? You came up with it pretty fast,” he continued at her look.

“Our maid.”

“You had a maid?”

Oh, shit.

“... Yeah, we hired her when we arrived in Strawberry to help my mother... And a farm hand.”

“How could you afford that?”

Her stomach twisted, and she allowed herself the decency to look somewhat sheepish. “Uh... Well, you see, let me provide some context, uhm, when I said, when I first came to the camp, that my sister, mother and uncle had died, well, it was actually, my mother, our maid, Annie, and our farm hand, Adam, and... Well, we moved to Strawberry to be near my mother’s brother, my real... other, actual uncle.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Now, hold on... you said you had no more family.”

She wet her lips, her teeth slowly grazing over her lower one. “... Seeing as I’m being honest, there’s something else. My uncle is Nicholas Timmins, mayor of Strawberry.”

“Excuse me?”

She spoke quickly again, however this time just because of how exasperated he looked rather than because she was frightened. “We moved in with him after we finally admitted Thomas wasn’t coming back, that he had died. My mother wasn’t coping and he offered to look after us. He was the only one of my mother’s family still talking to her after she married my father. He was shunned by the family, too, years before she met my Da, I don’t know why. He... well, I never really got along with him. He acted like he was more than he was and we were part of his show. He had a new house built for us, gave us Annie, and Adam. I don’t know where he got his money from but he was on a real mission to turn Strawberry into something grand. I don’t think he’ll be particularly saddened at my disappearance.”

He stared at her, then exhaled a bewildered laugh. “Shit, you got any more surprises?”

She smiled, her sheepish expression lingering. “That’s the last one, I promise.”

“You sure? Nothin’ else you want to share?”

She laughed as she shook her head. “Nothing else, I swear it.”

He shook his head with a weary sigh, a smile pulling at his lips. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Ada.”

She liked how her name sounded on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you—”

She broke off suddenly as voices came from nearby, carried by the wind.

Arthur lifted his head and moved to the wall beside them. Peering out of the hole in the rock that had once been a window, he pressed his lips together.

“Shit,” he murmured, “Seven of them. They look like Lemoyne Raiders. Probably use this as a hideout.”

The men were moving quickly, eager as they had been to get out of the rain.

“We ain’t gonna be able to get out without them seein’ us, so...” He glanced at her, looking her up and down which had her raising her eyebrows.

“Are you going to throw me to them and run away?”

A corner of his mouth lifted as he moved away from the wall and shrugged his jacket off.

“Nah, but that can be the back up plan.”

Stepping closer to her, he then draped his jacket around her shoulders and adjusted it, his hands sweeping over her shoulders and collar bones.

She felt herself becoming slightly flustered at his act of chivalry, and the fact she could feel a slight warmth from it from his body, a gentle expression of gratitude ready to break free, when he murmured, “Follow my lead, we don’t want to spook ‘em.”

Of course.

Nodding, Ada folded her arms and opened her mouth to ask what exactly his plan was, his history of them not spectacular, when he leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her and his arm slid over her stomach and around her waist. Then, his chin settled gently on top of her wet hair.

Her mouth dropped open slightly.

Before she could, again, question him, the voices of the men grew louder as they entered the ruined church.

"... Ah, shit, it’s gotten all in m’ britches, I hate the God damn rain.”

“Well, Jackie, if you had worn your...”

The man speaking trailed off as they rounded the corner, their eyes darting between Ada and Arthur.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ in here?”

Arthur lifted his head as his arm dropped from her, a warm smile on his lips.

“Woah, woah, fellers, easy. My wife and I are just takin’ shelter from the rain. We didn’t know this belonged to anybody.”

Wife? Oh my Lord...

“Are you now?”

A man with blonde, lank hair stepped forward, quickly establishing himself as the apparent leader of this group as the other men looked to him.

“Well, this here property belongs to the Lemoyne Raiders. You’re trespassin’, friends.”

“Oh, really? Goodness, there aren’t any signs.”

That mouth really is gonna get her in trouble.

Arthur’s humour quickly faded as the blonde man looked at her, arching an eyebrow, and stepped closer.

Then, he looked at Arthur. ”You need to keep your woman in check, friend.”

Arthur held the man’s gaze, knowing drawing his revolver at that moment was not a clever thing to do.

“She made a fair point, friend, but we’re not from around here so we don’t know no better.”

“Yeah, you don’t.” Arthur didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes as he smiled suddenly. “Forgive me, strangers, for not welcomin’ you properly. You see, somethin’ else you don’t know is that you gotta pay a toll to the Lemoyne Raiders to enter these parts. Did you pay a toll, friend?”

God, these people are annoyin’.

“No, I can’t say that we did.”

“Well, no trouble, friends, you can pay us right now. Ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars? That’s a high price for a shit hole of a state.”

Arthur’s eyes closed briefly.

She’s gonna get us both killed and if she don’t then I’m gonna kill her.

All seven men looked like they’d just been slapped across the face.

The blonde man stepped closer to her, prompting Arthur to shift his stance, his shoulder shielding her slightly.

“If you can’t pay that, bitch, then I’m sure we can come to some sort of other arrangement—”

His leering expression was suddenly splattered with blood as a gunshot went off, and Arthur’s gun belt felt lighter.

Oh, for Christ’s sake...

Gritting his teeth as the man fell, a gaping hole in his chest, Arthur drew his other revolver with lightening speed and shot over him, two of the other men falling, too, as bullets struck their chests and neck. In the same moment, as shouting broke out from the remaining four men and they dove for cover, Arthur reached out and wrapped his arm around Ada’s waist, hauling her to the side as he pressed his back against the wall, holding her against him.

“Are you out of your God damn mind?” he hissed, staring down at her and the flecks of blood that covered her face.

“Well, what were we going to do, pay them?” she retorted, her hand braced against his chest.

As she raised her other hand, the revolver she’d swiftly pulled from his gun belt gripped in it, and leaned away from him, peering around the wall, Arthur muttered a curse.

“Well... A warnin’ would have been nice.”

She just snorted and he suddenly held her tighter as he heard a gun shot before he realised she was the one who’d fired.

Then, she was out of his arms.

He killed an order on his tongue for her to get right back here as she darted across to crouch in the ruins, an intact section of wall covering her. Bullets fired and missed her by a wide margin.

The idiots probably ain’t even lookin’.

Nearing the edge of the wall, he joined her in firing at the four men who remained. Two went down quickly, and not because of him. He couldn’t stop himself from repeatedly glancing over at her, watching her as she made each bullet count.

So, she could shoot at what was shooting back.

He shot one man in the back as he tried to run, and she got the last man as he raised his head to call out to him.

Silence descended.

Sighing, he picked his jacket up from the floor, it having fallen from her as she’d made for new cover. She wiped an arm over her face, clearing the little spots of blood from her skin, inhaling a long breath.

"So, I guess you’re all right with killin’ now?” he asked, arching an eyebrow

She shrugged. “Well, it had to be done. They weren’t good men.”

“Neither am I.” 

She glanced at him as she handed his revolver back. “Some allowances can be made.”

He holstered the gun. “Dutch ain’t a good man either.”

She pressed her lips together, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Well...” Licking her lips, she moved past him. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Puling his jacket on, he sighed as he followed her out into the gentle rain.

He watched her that night. She danced with Sean as Javier played a song on his guitar and everyone sang along, gathered around the main camp fire. She laughed loudly at most of the things Sean said, a wide smile on her lips.

He’d admit, not proudly, that how he’d carried out his plan earlier had been with somewhat more commitment than he would have usually given. He’d done the husband and wife routine before with Karen, but he hadn’t wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

And he had held Ada. He couldn’t shake from his mind the feel of her pressed against him, that fire in her eyes he was beginning to crave whenever he looked at her burning bright. He wanted to hold her again. He wanted to do more, so much more.

The only reason he allowed himself these fantasies was because he knew they would never come to pass.

Exhaling a breath, he lowered his gaze to the fire as he placed a cigarette between his lips.

Sean twirled her with more flourish than was necessary before he pulled her back in and continued the haphazard waltz they were doing. The twirl had taken them away from the group and he glanced up, his gaze settling on them before it returned to her.

She was still smiling and it filled him with a decent sense of pride that he could bring joy to her.

“So...” he began, keeping his voice low so only she could hear. “... What’s with you and King Arthur?”

She blinked in surprise, her forehead dipping.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, spendin’ all these mornin’s together. Goin’ out of camp earlier. Is he payin’ ye?”

She snorted and glanced over at Arthur as they swayed. He was talking to John, elbows on his knees and a cigarette between his lips. Just looking at him, though... A strange sensation made her stomach flutter, and she swiftly returned her attention to Sean.

“Nothing’s going on. I just enjoy his company, that’s all.”

“Well, there’s enjoyin’ company and then there’s enjoyin’ company.”

“It is most decidedly the former, Sean MacGuire.”

“Because he’s too much of a dumb bastard to realise ye want the latter?”

She opened her mouth then closed it firmly, trying desperately hard to suppress the smile that threatened.

“I do not want—”

“Ye don’t have to worry about me, Annie, I won’t be goin’ tellin’ anyone. Especially not the big, old, dumb boy himself.”

She exhaled an exasperated sigh as he twirled her once more, though, again, she was smiling. As he sang along to the bawdy song Javier had started to play, she thought, not for the first time, about telling him the truth, about telling him who she really was but... That would just complicate things, and if she told him then she’d feel like she had to tell Sadie, and someone would slip up. It wasn’t a matter of trust but safety.

No, she’d keep it, for now. She would tell him someday.

—

Ada had an early dinner the next day with Sadie, Arthur and Sean having vanished earlier in the day and the girls either during chores or sleeping through the heat, taking the chance while Susan did the same. Not that Sadie was a last resort, far from it, Ada loved talking and sitting with her, and was allowing herself to become incredibly fond of her. They sat on the log on the bank, looking out across the river and sharing a bread roll with their stew.

“We should go out huntin’ later, this is just vegetables and water,” Sadie scoffed, pushing the lumps around in her bowl.

“I think I tasted something like meat but I’m not sure.” Ada wrinkled her nose as she inspected her own portion, opting to just mainly mop up the liquid with the bread.

Pearson was usually a good cook but nobody had brought in anything bigger than a squirrel in the last couple of days, either too busy with ‘business’ or just not bothering.

She’d hoped that she and Arthur would have been able to bring something substantial in but due to the shoot-out at the church they’d left quickly, and the rain hadn’t exactly provided ideal conditions. 

She couldn’t help but think about what had happened. Arthur’s touch, his closeness, his trust...

Oh, Lord...

She so wished she could confide in Sadie, just hear somebody else’s thoughts that weren’t her own that rattled around day and night in her brain. But, no... Maybe someday.

“I’m thinkin’ of going after O’Driscolls.”

Sadie’s sudden statement in their silence, cutting through her thoughts, made her still, her gaze darting up to her. Sadie just looked out across the water, chewing on her vegetables.

“Okay... I know the obvious reason but... why?”

“‘cause I can’t rest.” She inhaled a breath. “It’s all I think about. I can’t stand the thought of them out there, doin’ awful things to other people, ruinin’ more lives. I can do somethin’ about it so why shouldn’t I?”

Ada licked her lips. She was considering her next set of words carefully, not wanting to insult Sadie’s capabilities or state the obvious, when Sadie shrugged.

“I’m just thinkin’ about it, anyways. Nothin’ certain.”

“Right.”

That seemed to end the conversation, decidedly so when Sadie pulled a face and made another comment on the food. Ada took the deviation and ran with it, humming her agreement.

A gnawing, unsettling feeling began in her stomach, however, and she used the excuse of the food to stop eating.

“You’re lookin’ real nice today, Bill.”

“Shut up.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow as he approached the three men loitering by the side of the bank, his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Micah chuckled and glanced up before raising his hands at the sight of Arthur and standing from where he’d been sat on the stairs.

“Been waitin’ for you, Arthur, it’s nearly God damn evenin’.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have kept you,” Arthur drawled.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

Micah, for once, didn’t seem in the mood to bite back. Instead, he brushed past Arthur, Sean and Bill following, and rounded the stairs to start walking down the main street of Rhodes.

“What’s the plan?” Arthur asked, following at a slightly slower pace behind the men.

“We’re meetin’ a couple of Grays over at the saloon,” Micah answered, turning to look at him with a faint smile. “They spoke to Bill about a job... needing security.”

“After the farce of stealing horses for them, why we doin’ this?”

“‘cause we need to stay in with them, and they’re payin’.”

“So, what kind’a security they want?”

“We’re about to find out, now come on,” Micah said with an air of exasperation, as if they hadn’t asked Miss Grimshaw to tell Arthur to meet them in town with no other information only an hour earlier.

“This seem legit to you, Bill?”

“Sure.”

“Dutch said we was to keep on dealing with them until we find this gold,” Micah cut in.

“Can we trust them?” Sean asked.

“Can we trust anyone?” Arthur muttered.

“Let’s just see what they say,” Micah nearly hissed.

“They said there was some big misunderstandin’ about them horses,” Bill murmured.

“And what about burnin’ their fields?” Sean added.

“They don’t know we had anything to do with that,” Micah now actually hissed. 

“Oh, that so?” Arthur said dryly.

“Yeah, they think it was the Braithwaites,” Bill said earnestly. “Listen, I know these Gray boys a bit now. This is on the level.”

“We’re stuck in the middle of some ancient feud but instead of playin’ both sides we’re bein’ used by both of ‘em,” Arthur muttered, trying to keep his voice low as they neared the Sheriff’s Office.

“They were sayin’ that Catherine Braithwaite—”

“Hey, hold up...” Arthur cut Bill off, coming to a halt and prompting the other men to do the same. “This don’t feel right...”

The street was quiet, far, far too quiet for the morning. They’d passed a few men on their walk but now... It was completely empty.

Sean snorted as he turned to them, arching an eyebrow. “Now it don’t feel right? I could’a told you that—”

A bullet tore through his head, silencing him. Sean died before he hit the ground.

“Shit—” Micah hissed.

“What the hell?!” Bill shouted.

Men suddenly appeared everywhere, on roofs, in buildings, from alleyways, firing at them and they instantly started to fire back.

“Get down!” Arthur yelled as they ran for cover, drawing his revolvers.

“Damn it...”

“Sons of bitches...”

Arthur and Micah ran the same way, Bill the other. Crouching behind a barrel, Arthur couldn’t stop to think, just firing back at whoever was shooting at him. 

“What the— God damn it!” Micah was furious. “I can’t believe you shot me, you bastards!”

“You okay?” Arthur called out, knowing Micah was behind him somewhere but not wanting to take his eyes off the attackers to look.

“I’m fine!”

There were many of them, but he and Micah were better shots. They fell one after the other, but they also kept coming, and Arthur felt and heard bullets whizzing over his head and past him.

“Is Sean dead?”

“Look at him, of course he’s dead!” Arthur yelled, though he couldn’t look at the body. “How could you not think this was a trap?!”

He turned, finally able to look at Micah as he started to shoot at the men on the other side of the town. Blood was running down his arm but Micah was firing back with all he had, rage twisting his features.

“You sure you wanna talk about this now, Morgan?” Then, he lowered his guns, his teeth gritted. “The cowards are in the gunstore! I’ll get the front, you take the back!”

Before Arthur could even think about protesting, Micah was already storming up onto the porch. Cursing, Arthur darted behind a wagon and paused for a moment before moving up the back steps to the door. As soon as he passed through the door, a man appeared, his eyes wide.

These fools are in over their heads.

Arthur knocked him down to the ground and struck him across the face with the butt of his revolver. 

“None of these bastards gonna walk out of here!” He heard Micah yell from the porch as he fired a bullet into the man’s head.

Straightening, Arthur watched Micah as he entered, killing the two men who were cowering on the other side of the shop.

“You’re gettin’ sloppy, Morgan,” Micah drawled as he reloaded his guns.

Arthur clenched his jaw as he strode across the shop, pressing his back against the space of wall beside the door. 

“Do you see that window in Sean’s skull? Don’t talk to me about sloppy,” he snarled.

Leaning forward, he fired out of the broken window, killing a man outside of the general store.

“They’re in the gunsmith’s!” he heard someone yell.

The man was soon silenced by Micah.

Moving out onto the porch, Arthur fired at three men starting to ride down the street on their horses, knocking them off. The horses rode over them, breaking out into gallops as the sounds spooked them.

“I want them dead!” he heard Micah yell over the gunfire as he joined him on the porch.

“You sure about that?”

Suddenly, the shooting ceased. Breathing hard, Arthur quickly scanned the street, his eyes darting from building to building for any sign of movement. Was this another trap?

“See that? Those cowards are runnin’ away!” Micah called out gleefully, exhaling a harsh laugh as they watched a few men jump up onto horses and gallop away without looking back.

“Looks like most of ‘em,” Arthur answered, rolling his shoulder as he stood, sliding his revolvers back into their holsters after a moment.

“Not all of them,” Micah murmured darkly, his guns still drawn as he headed down the steps.

“Sheriff Gray...”

His jaw moving, Arthur followed after him. Looking over his shoulder, then frowned, slowing a little.

“And where’s Bill? Where the hell’s he?”

“We’ll find him later, come on.” Micah was already striding ahead, his mind focused on one thing only. “Sherrif Gray! You need to get a hold on this town, it’s going to hell!”

“Who do you think you are?!” a near-hysterical voice called back from within the Sherrif’s Office. “A bunch of two-bit thugs from God knows where?!”

Micah and Arthur came to a stop outside the building, Arthur’s hand hovering over his guns.

“You’re so dumb to think we don’t know what you been doing!” Sheriff Gray continued.

“Come out, Sheriff!” Micah demanded, a definite taunt to his tone. “It’s over!”

“We put down far worse than you! A hundred times over! This is the Gray’s town. Always has been, always will be!”

Micah laughed harshly as he gestured around. “Only Grays I see left around here is you!”

“You want us to come out? We’ll come out!”

The door suddenly burst open and Bill Williamson muttered out a curse as he was pushed out, a gun held to his head.

“Ah, Bill...” Arthur hissed, gritting his teeth.

“Guns on the ground now!” Sheriff Gray called out as three of his men came out behind him, their guns trained on Micah and Arthur. “Both of you!”

“Don’t do it!” Bill ground out.

“You know we can’t do that,” Arthur replied, “You put the gun down, Sheriff!”

“I’ll blow his brains out!” the Sheriff retorted, an arrogant confidence overtaking him now.

From the corner of his eye, before the Sheriff had even finished his sentence, Arthur could see Micah raising his guns. Grabbing his own, he raised one to the Sheriff and one to the man to his right. He shot them both in the head as Micah also shot at the Sheriff and the two men to his left.

They all fell with choked sounds and Bill grunted as he automatically crouched, staring down at the Sheriff.

“Shit...” he marvelled.

Arthur pressed his lips together and holstered his guns.

What a God damn fucking mess... And it’s only goin’ to get worse.

Turning away, Arthur looked to the ground.

A few feet away lay the body of Sean MacGuire, blood drenching his face and chest. Kneeling beside him, Arthur shook his head slightly, his chest tightening.

“He was a good kid,” he murmured.

“Well, how the hell was I to know?” Bill grumbled, staggering down the steps and towards Arthur.

“Let me see...” Arthur began as he straightened, his jaw tight as his grief turned to rage. “They set us up once before, they didn’t like us, we destroyed their farm, should I go on?!”

His voice had risen to a yell as he’d advanced on Bill, the other man stepping back as he clutched his shotgun.

“Go easy on him, Morgan,” Micah’s voice came from behind him, cool as mountain water. “He was out tryin’ to find a lead, same as you, same as Hosea. All you do is complain when things don’t work out. Except when it’s your God damn fault—”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Arthur seethed, turning on him now. “You don’t give a damn about nobody but yourself!”

“Oh, you act so high and mighty but you’re no better than the rest of us!”

Arthur had already turned away, leaning down and picking Sean’s body up as carefully as he could, placing him over his shoulder.

“I’ve ridden with you boys close on, what,” Micah continued, “six months now? And all you ever done was complain! And you can fight but you can’t think.”

“You can’t do either,” Arthur muttered as he strode past him, holding Sean’s body with a hand on his back.

Micah laughed as he and Bill followed, Bill watching for any more Grays. “Okay, cowpoke.”

They need to leave before I kill him.

Striding towards their horses, Arthur headed for Bill’s.

“Bill, take the boy’s body. Bury him proper, someplace quiet.” He carefully lifted the body onto Brown Jack before he stepped back. “Micah, best you and I don’t speak for a moment.”

Micah laughed again as he mounted his horse, and Arthur’s fingers twitched to reach for his gun.

“I’m just so frightened by you.”

“Get outta my sight...” Arthur hissed as he mounted Ophelia, hearing Bill and Micah canter away behind him. “... pair of God damn fools.”

His tongue ran over his teeth as he surveyed the town, an uneasy sense of dread settling in his stomach.

What a God damn mess we’re makin’ of things.

—

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Tagged: @belfry-bat​​​​​, @sistasarah-sallysaidso​, @ntlmundy​

[otherworldhq]

Oh, its a glorious tradition, frequently enjoyed and invoked by the fair folk. There are a great number of prey worthy of a gathering such as this –– but this wild hunt will be a prolonged and unusual thing for those who take up their part as midnight riders. You aren’t hunting a mythical beast, you aren’t hunting souls or children to steal away. You’re tracking and hunting a murderer. Whatever creature it is that plagues the fair folk and their kin will find a bloody end at your hands, you vow this before all the creatures of the Otherworld. It won’t end in a night, it won’t end in a week, but you vow that one way or another it will be finished. 

More unusual still is the synergy and synchronistic achieved in the organisation of the hunt. Two courts, working together in apparent harmony. Allies, at the very least until the sun rises on a new era of peace. Humanity, too, has thrown its hat in the ring. Seer’s with their keen eyes are just as involved as the rest, planning and working in an effort to save those they hold dear. Quick as hunters, they may prove their might to those who considered them weak before now.  

This hunt may last for weeks, it may be brutal and exhausting and drawn out. You may have to fight harder than you ever have before. Those who choose to pick up arms and defend their people may not come out the other side alive. 

Danger lurks in other ways, as well. Detective Colm Ó Conchobhair of the Garda Síochána is an ever present spectre on the streets of Dublin now. He lurks outside of Cafe Flux, he questions drunk humans outside of Loophole. He catches your gaze across a crowded room, and you realise that he must be a person who always saw more than he was meant to. Part of the Otherworld, yet outside it. Gifted with the sight, yet he never embraced it. He sees, but he doesn’t understand and he doesn’t comprehend. You’ll have to be careful, lest he take more notice of you than you hoped. 

IC INFO: 

Welcome to our second plot drop of our reopening! I’m sure you’ll find this one to be much more detailed and offer a very wide expanse of things for your character to do. Please feel free to take any of the minor plots bellow and run with it. You can decide to have your character investigate certain aspects of the plot, write self para’s about it or pair up and explore the story together! 2-3 people are allowed to pick up each plot point and explore it either on their own or with one another! Just let me know what you want your character to do and I’ll mark your name down next to it. 

All of the following will take place between the dates of June 22nd –– July 5th. 

* TRACKS IN THE WILDS (June 22nd – onwards) –– Poisoned blood and scuffed footprints, the tracks of a wounded thing or a vicious killer? They were found near the stone circle, the morning after your midsummer feast. Yet no one was wounded. Yet no one died. Who do they belong to? Is the killer you hunt the type who likes to lurk and watch and wait for the golden moment of opportunity? Has it picked its next victim and is stalking their every move? The tracks are haphazard, nonsensical, built to confuse. Perhaps they’re calling you in to a trap, perhaps they’re a siren song that promises you glory but will only lead you to your doom. ( Keiran / Nathair / Thorne ) 

* THE ARMORER AND THE ENCHANTER (June 23rd onwards)–– They’re a legend in these parts, written of in myths and legends. All the fair folk know of them, in their far off and solitary home. They belong to neither court, they survive on their own. The earth is their domain, magic runs through their veins. They can craft you weapons and tools that will make you the most formidable warriors in the land, if the price is right. Sometimes they ask you for a dream, or for your fondness memories. Sometimes they ask you to trade your purest love. Sometimes they ask you for your weight in emerald or ruby. The courts will pay any price now, for weapons to aid them in the fight. One must only go and ask for it.  ( Fiadh / Mordred / Open ) 

* THE DAGDA INSTITUTE (June 25th onwards ) –– Zion de Paor first heard their name almost a month ago, when the murders started to ramp up and the police got more and more involved. The Dagda Institute. They want to learn to live forever. They deal in iron and genetics, and it’s very possible they’re linked to the killings. Still –– you’ll never know unless you learn more. The investigation will need many hands, people to keep an eye on them, people to infiltrate and find out as much information as they can. ( Afric / Open / Open ) 

* WHAT SARAH KNOWS (June 25th onwards) –– Sarah O’Neill runs cafe flux with her wife. Sarah O’Neill is a changeling. Detective Colm Ó Conchobhair believes that Sarah O’Neill is connected to the Dagda Institute by a maternal Uncle. She’s the only person you know of that might be aware of what’s going on, that might be able to ferret out some information about the Dagda Institute and what they really want. She might be able to point you toward her Uncle. Problem is, Sarah doesn’t seem willing to talk. This has all scared her, so badly. She haunts her cafe now, offers shadows of smiles and tries to dodge any more reasons for the Detectives to want to speak with her.  ( Dáiríne / Open / Open ) 

* SURVIVOR STORIES (June 29th onwards)–– As the hunt unfolds and you meet more and more people, you realise this: some people have come close to death yet managed to escape it. The fae named Fiadh escaped from those who hunted her and fled to court. Another solitary fae passed trough as he moved to the mountains, seeking shelter in further seclusion. A girl who lives at Hotel Titan swears that a spectre followed her home night after night before it attacked, she can’t even remember how she got away, only that she did. How they describe the spectre that hunts them may be useful, endlessly so. Any details you can follow back to the source have to be a priority, now.  ( Ailis / Katurian / Oz ) 

* DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES (June 27th + July 2nd respectively) –– You almost hoped that the killings had died down. No, not at all. In the weeks after the midsummer festivities, two people are found dead. A changeling named Christopher O’Mara and a solitary fae who went by the name of Willow. Their crime scenes match the others, yet there may be some chance of finding clues if your eyes are sharp enough.  ( Ailis / Zion / Open ) 

* THE WALLS HAVE EYES –– The Seelie and Unseelie Court are working together in perfect harmony, or so it seems. They’ve had to mix and mingle more than they’re comfortable with, more than they have in years. Happiness, prosperity, harmony. But there are snakes in the grass on both sides, keeping their eyes keen and seeking out any signs of weakness from the opposite court. Spies, in a way. Ready to gather information and use it, eventually, to bring the court they hate to their knees. Secrets hold so much value, lets see how many you can find.  ( Maeve / Canaan / Open ) 

* THE DARLINGTON ESTATE (June 26th onwards) –– Ever since word of a hunter stalking residents of Hotel Titan, many members of the otherworld have grown wary of staying there. They’re scared, fucking terrified, and they wish they had somewhere safer to stay in the wilds. Prince Brín of the Seelie Court has offered a new home. The old Darlington Estate, a place reclaimed by the wilds and the otherworld, impossible to find for any human without guidance. It has been reshaped into a safe-house for those who need it, and a gathering place for members of the Wild Hunt.  

OOC INFO:

This event will run until MAY 1ST, after which all threads should be finishing up! Please tag all your posts with some indicator of the event it belongs to. 

[kindness-ricochets]

Prompt: “It’s not your fault.”

Fic-a-day February, day 5 -- unpolished, unedited, unmerciful. I looked at this prompt and thought, “Maybe Jesper and Wylan were playing around and broke an antique,” and then I went with entirely not that. This one draws on view of Grisha in the Wander Isle, according to TGT, but is entirely SoC-based.

Trigger Warning: Murder (not graphic but very much present), grieving a lost parent

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

Jesper told himself things just worked out that way. Things just worked out that way – he needed to be sure Wylan was settled. (Never mind that Wylan had been saying, “I’m all right, Jes, you should visit Colm,” for months. Like the merchling knew anything about anything!) Things just worked out that way – Inej had stayed with them, briefly, then come home from her first voyage on her new ship. Of course he knew she saw Kaz first, but at the end of the day, even the Wraith liked a good meal and a soft bed. (“I’m so proud of you,” they had chorused, Jesper to the righteous pirate, Inej to the months-sober sharpshooter.) Things just worked out that way…

He let himself into the house, surprised by how different it felt. Wasn’t he returning home? Somehow Jesper was surprised to find it wholly unchanged. He felt like he had stepped back into his memories, the same place but the wrong time. It had only been two and a half years, but all that had changed was Jesper. He no longer fit the shape of the space he left behind. Jesper shook his head. What was that nonsense? Banishing the inexplicable melancholy, he set down his bag and left the little clapboard house. Briefly, Jesper glanced at the cherry tree. Then he headed out to the western field. His da would’ve spotted him, if he had looked. If he had known to look. As it was, Colm was so engaged in his work he only noticed when Jesper was nearly beside him. Then Colm about leapt a foot off the ground. “Jes!” He grinned and, like he had in the Boeksplein, hugged his son tightly. This time, there was no relief in his eyes. He was happy, surprised, but he hadn’t been worried. This time, Jesper didn’t mind having the breath hugged out of him. “I missed you, too, Da.” Jesper hadn’t been in Ketterdam a month before his sensible, well-patched farmboy clothing was long forgotten. He hadn’t worn drab colors voluntarily ever since. When he clarified precisely what he expected he’d be doing, Wylan had asked, “Are you going to get new clothes for the trip?” He did that sometimes. He said something that reminded Jesper what a privileged life he had led. Times like that, it was tough not to tease him. So Jesper had teased him. They worked together until the sun dipped low to the horizon. Jesper hadn’t done this sort of work in years, but his body remembered even as his mind began to wander. Hard work wasn’t the same is interesting work—but he was needed here. Useful. And he was better, he reminded himself. It was worth it when they stopped for the evening. The smile Colm gave Jesper was worth everything. For the best part of a week, they worked together. They didn’t talk much. Colm would offer the occasional, “All right, Jes?” or “It’s good to have you here.” Sometimes, Jesper’s attention wandered back to the cherry tree, but there was work to be done. And that was that. One morning, Jesper’s eyes drifted open, his mind scratching at the reality surrounding them. It was late—not so late at home with Wylan, but by farm standards, they were wasting daylight. Why had Colm let him sleep? Then Jesper realized it must be Sunday. Colm had gone to church. More, he had left Jesper behind. Colm Fahey was a religious man whose previous attitude was that when you lived under his roof, you showed respect to the Saints, and that didn’t just mean swearing by them. Jesper stretched, wriggled his toes, and decided he might as well get up. Might as well make himself useful—maybe he didn’t live here, but he wasn’t a guest, either. He made the bed. There was a trick he had learned, one his ma used to do. He pulled the dirt away from clothes with his gift. Everything still needed a wash, but not so desperately, enough for Jesper to have everything clean and hung out to dry in under an hour. He made biscuits without burning them. After making a few twitchy rounds of the house, resettling things, struggling to busy himself, Jesper swallowed. He left the house. It was an almost cruelly beautiful day, a breeze slicing through the blistering heat, the sky unfathomable. Laundry hung on the line, half-dry already. The fields were swiftly becoming bare. Jesper took pride in that. He took pride in how much work they had done together. Though he had no desire to stay on the farm, knew he was destined for grander things, but this place would always hold his heart. There had been a time this was all the world he thought there was to know. His childhood had been here. His da was here. Jesper stopped under the cherry tree. It was a healthy tree, its leaves glossy-green. He couldn’t remember precisely the right spot and shuffled back. He didn’t want to stand on… on the wrong place. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Then took one out to rub his neck, then his nose was itchy. He ran a hand over his hair. Bounced a Kerch penny across his knuckles. He squatted close to the ground like somehow being five feet closer would answer all his questions. Or at least tell him which ones to ask. Jesper was standing once more, staring at the ground in something like confusion, when Colm joined him. They stood together quietly for a few moments. “She’d’ve been proud.” “That’s why Wy says.” Jesper hadn’t made much mention of his boyfriend on this trip, but it was true. Whenever Jesper couldn’t help saying a word about his ma, that was what Wylan said. She would be proud. Really? She would be proud her only son went a whole six weeks without a slip-up visit to the tables? She would be proud he was so confused about his gift that he spent years hiding it, even after he became sick with the effort? Colm nodded. “Jes, I… what happened that night…” Jesper remembered the words he had sobbed out too many times. I should have known. I should have saved her. And every time, Wylan held him, stroked his hair, rubbed his back, promised that this wasn’t Jesper’s fault. Wasn’t it? Ma used her gift to save someone’s life. Jesper could barely manage the wash. His tiny spark of magic wasn’t much, but it would have been enough. If he had been trained, it would have been. Colm cleared his throat but couldn’t find the words. So Jesper found his. “I know,” he said. “I know it was my fault, Da.” “Your fault?” Colm asked, genuinely surprised. “Ma… Ma was training me. I didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t want to worry you with it, but if I had understood, if I had been more serious and not just wanted to shoot because it was fun—” “You were a child,” Colm interrupted. He sounded almost angry. “I was… you know what I was.” He nodded. “Grisha.” Jesper turned to his father in surprise. It had been Colm who banished those words from the house, Colm who insisted the only way Jesper could be safe was to be not that. Jesper remembered the day Leoni’s father offered to take him to train somewhere else. He had decided to stay to be with his father, even knowing… The words were out before Jesper could stop them: “I didn’t think I could be Grisha and still be your son.” Not resentful, just a fact. Colm’s head snapped up. “Jesper!” “I know you changed your mind since then, but you didn’t want me to be that way.” “I wanted you safe. I—” He cut himself off. Ran a hand through his graying hair. “I made mistakes, but you will always be my son. What happened to your mother was not your fault.” Jesper nodded. He wanted to say it wasn’t true, but he only wanted to say that because he heard pain in his da’s voice. He didn’t want to say it because he believed it. He didn’t believe it. It didn’t mean Jesper loved him any less, but he knew his da made mistakes. They stood for a long, quiet moment, both thinking their weighty thoughts. The truth was, Colm’s response to Grisha power—to Jesper’s and Aditi’s both—had shaped Jesper’s early adult years. It was Colm’s fear that made Jesper fear and hide. Maybe it made him more susceptible not just to the dice and the cards, but to someone like Kaz, who could draw him into a thrilling world where Jesper never truly belonged. He accepted his own responsibility, too. Another gusting breeze blew the worst of the afternoon heat off him, but it couldn’t assuage the gnawing shame. He was fundamentally at his own fault. Jesper accepted that as he stood there, looking at the patch of grass where his ma rested. For all Colm had failed, overall, he hadn’t, not overall. He had loved his son. He forgave him in Ketterdam, had come out here to stand with him beside the cherry tree. “I’m the youngest of the five of us.” Jesper turned to his father in surprise. The youngest? The five of who? “I never counted Meirion, he died too young, but my parents did. You’ve an uncle, my brother Pryderi. Still works the old farm, as far as I know.” Jesper’s eyes might as well have dropped out of his skull. He caught himself gaping and closed his mouth, but… still! He had never thought much of his father’s life Before. Before Ma, Before Novyi Zem, just in all the Before. He all but believed Colm Fahey sprung up a grown man and had no childhood at all. Colm encouraged it by never offering details about his life before. With an almost confused shake of his head, Colm said, “You must’ve known I had a reason to leave the Wandering Isle.” “I thought you killed a guy and were fleeing the authorities,” Jesper replied without thinking. When it doubt, aim for a laugh. Unable to deny his curiosity, he asked, “So one’s dead and one inherited your father’s farm. What do my other uncles do? Do I have cousins?” “Pryderi’s got two sons and a daughter. Gruff was like you. Gruffud, but we called him Gruff.” Colm ran a hand through his hair again. Jesper saw the pain in his father’s face and knew he ought to say he didn’t need to know. But… he did. And he sensed if he didn’t know now, he’d never learn. “Gruff and Glyndwr were twins. Glyn was like the rest of us, but Gruff was a healer. My brother never meant any harm to anyone. He was as kind a soul as ever lived.” Jesper suspected exaggeration, but he had a guess now where this brother was. In case he was right, he did not challenge his father’s claim. Something tingling on the edge of numbness coursed through him. “The Kaelish believe—not me. And he should’ve known better. I was a little younger than you are now. He wasn’t yet twenty. The Kaelish believe people like you are something not human, something fae. It wasn’t out of hate. They… Saints, you don’t need to hear this.” Jesper thought of what he had seen in Fjerda. He never told his da the full truth about that, this time not out of shame, but fear it would give the man a heart attack. He thought of the gruesome banner of red, blue, and purple kefta scraps; the charred corpses, and the one who hadn’t been a corpse yet; he thought of the kherguud, twisted past human. They weren’t memories he liked to carry, but he didn’t know that he could be whole without knowing the truth. “I think I do need to hear it, Da,” he said. “It’s my history.” Colm nodded. “All right. All right, then. They bled him. It’s what they do in the Wandering Isle—what some do. They believe Grisha blood can—they’re old folk with old ways, Jes. He wasn’t even twenty, my brother. Kindest man you could ever meet. Shy. When I saw what you were, I saw him again. I saw you in his place. I thought I was protecting you, you and your ma both. As though she ever needed my protection. I should’ve known the best I could do to protect you was let you be as strong as the Saints made you.” “Da.” In Ketterdam, Jesper had seen his da through different eyes. He had seen him in the Boeksplein and thought he looked like an obvious pigeon. He had seen him look so aged and so, so weary in the Ketterdam Suite. For the first time now, not only did he see his father differently, Jesper saw himself differently. Instead of cracking some dumb joke, he just stepped over and put his arms around Colm. “It’s not your fault, either,” Jesper said. “Not your brother and not Ma.” It was just uncanny, seeing that Colm felt what Jesper did, that they both looked at this tragedy and found some way to make it their own. He didn’t think he could absolve his da without absolving himself. Since he couldn’t let his da hurt, he didn’t see any choice. Anyway. It was what Ma would’ve wanted.

[ohdeputy]

100 Letters PART V

Arthur Morgan x John Marston

Words: 5,513

Read on Archive

Part IV

-

“John, John!”

John’s heart dropped when he heard his name being called and squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself. After letting out a deep sigh, he opened them again and turned around to see Uncle approaching him.

“What do you want, Uncle.”

It had been another week or so without John leaving camp and he was slowly going crazy. He didn’t know if it was from feeling better and itching to leave or if his current company had finally made him crack.

“Oh, now don’t be like that! I actually had some information you might want to hear, considering you’ve just been sitting around since we got here!”

John couldn’t bear to listen to the old drunk. “Don’t talk to me about sitting around, old man. I know someone who’s quite good at that.”

“Hey, I do my fair share, like getting this information! So do you want it or not?”

John sighed, flatly responding, “what is it.”

“Well, see, Mary-Beth told me about this train,” Uncle shoved a map he seemed to materialize out of thin air into John’s hands. He carefully unfolded it, not sure where exactly Uncle had been storing it.

“I told Arthur about it but I’m not sure he was listenin’, you might convince him though. You two always did make a great team! It would be a good score, I’m tellin’ ya!”

John narrowed his eyes, “you just want the credit for it.”

“I just want to help out, is all!”

John sighed, looking down at the map. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t be so sour! Just think about it at least, jeez.”

“Fine.” John put the map away in his pocket, “I’ll think about it, but I’m not promising anything.”

Uncle wandered off while John thought for a moment longer. As much as he hated to admit it, it did seem like a good job. And with his lack of doing pretty much anything, he wasn’t in much of a position to be picky

So in the days that followed, John continued going over the map that Uncle gave him and trying to turn it into something feasible. Eventually, he started to believe that the idea had some potential. With something solid in mind, John was left with deciding who would accompany him to do the job.

His initial thought was Arthur, but he quickly pushed the idea out of his mind. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t need him, seeing as it probably wasn’t a good idea to get him involved.

He knew the job needed at least three people, so naturally Charles was his first choice. But as for a third, John had no idea who else he could bring. Javier would have suited the role, but when John asked him about it, the other man informed him that he was already preoccupied with a job of his own. Something about a farm robbery not far from where they stayed.

“Sorry compadre, you know I would run with you anytime.”

John assured Javier that it wasn’t a problem, though he was running out of options for other people he trusted well enough to partake in the heist. His mind wandered back to the one person he knew would be perfect. He cursed to himself, Arthur was the best suited to aid them. John knew it, and he couldn’t fool himself otherwise. Slowly accepting that, he concluded that he might just have to ask him.

John paced around the small area inside his tent, going back and forth in both his movements and his thoughts. If he was being honest with himself, he would prefer Arthur to take the lead for the train robbery, anyhow. He trusted the man could pull it off better than anyone else, including John, and would rather leave it in his hands.

Outside his tent, multiple voices could be heard, with Arthur’s mixed in between them. Thinking he might catch Arthur before he was absent from camp once more, he moved toward the opening of his tent. He didn’t want to give himself more time to think about the situation or back out of asking Arthur, so John quickly exited in search of where their conversation was taking place.

Upon leaving, he heard a commotion going on where the O’Driscoll boy they'd held captive was kept. Peering over toward the source of all the noise, John could make out Dutch, Bill, and Arthur surrounding the tied up man. John hadn’t really paid any attention to him until now, not even knowing his name. He avoided going near the O’Driscoll boy for the most part. Abigail had mentioned him a couple of times, saying she almost felt a little sorry for him. She had even admitted to giving him water when the weather had been particularly hot.

All John knew about him was that he was an O’Driscoll, a bit pathetic, and someone Dutch took pleasure in torturing. And as much as John didn’t want to admit it, the fellow kind of reminded him of himself. He thought of how Abigail seemed to have a soft spot for types like them, goddamn fools.

He watched the group as they harassed the O’Driscoll, John thinking that perhaps this wasn’t the best time to make himself known. Dutch motioned to Bill, who seemed all too pleased to oblige to whatever Dutch had proposed. Beside them, Arthur stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. It was clear he did not share the same enthusiasm as the others for whatever it was they were doing.

Only a moment later did Bill return with a pair of gelding tongs and a look in his eyes that showed he was enjoying this all a bit too much. Dutch proceeded to yank down the O’Driscoll’s trousers in humiliation then waved for Bill to come closer.

“You sick bastards!” The O’Driscoll yelled while struggling against his restraints.

Dutch paid his pleading no mind as Bill took his time inching ever so agonizingly slow toward him, snipping the tongs with every step he took. The O’Driscoll flinched each time, and even John could see him begin to tremble.

“Dutch,” Arthur rasped, wearing a frown, “do we really have to?”

Dutch didn’t even look as he responded, “patience, Arthur.” He had a glint in his eyes that made John shudder.

“Fine-FINE!” the O’Driscoll stammered out, his eyes tearing up. “I’ll tell you everything I know!”

Dutch laughed triumphantly, catching John’s eye as he did. Without breaking the stare he put a hand on the tongs Bill held out, lowering them.

“Awh, can’t we do it anyways, boss?”

“No,” Dutch spoke, a menacing smile pulling at his lips. “He has no sins to hide.”

John finally broke their eye contact, turning away from the group. He was aware of how fast his heart was beating in his chest as he tried to walk away from the scene, suddenly finding it hard to put one foot in front of the other. He could feel the sweat on his palms and rubbed them against his pants.

He retracted back to his tent in fear of meeting Dutch’s gaze again. The safety inside the canvas walls was short-lived when he heard a voice behind him.

“Enjoy the view, did you?”

John jumped, looking back to see Dutch standing at the entrance. Even though John was terrified of the man, he felt his cheeks grow hot from anger, angling himself away to avoid his stare.

When he didn’t answer, Dutch continued, “hmmm, I’m sure you loved to see that. Someone like you, that is.”

Still, John stayed silent. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an argument but also scared of what might happen if he did respond.

Dutch gave his lack of response little mind, only continuing to prod at John further. “It’s a shame Nico isn’t here to protect you any longer.”

John flinched when he said her name, clenching his jaw.

“No worries though, the O’Driscoll can be your new best friend. His name’s Kieran, by the way. I’m sure you’ll get along jusssst fine.”

Dutch dropped his smile, “anyways, I want you to go with Arthur, Bill, and that O’Driscoll boy to Six Point cabin. There is word Colm could be close.” He paused for a moment, “oh, and I want you to be the one taking Kieran on the back of your horse.”

John whipped his head to Dutch, not able to stop himself. He thought about protesting before he met Dutch’s icy stare. It bore into him, yet he swore he could see an underlying amusement there, too. It was as if he were purposely trying to rouse John into disagreeing with him. So instead John stood up, grabbing his gun belt and coat in compliance.

Reaching the tent's entrance, Dutch’s voice made him falter for a moment longer. “Birds of a feather, John. Who knows? Perhaps the two of you will run away together.” His voice lowered to that of a sneered whisper, “though, this time maybe it would be best if you didn’t return.”

Figuring he’d heard about enough, John pushed through the tent’s opening and hurriedly made his way to where Arthur and Bill waited. He was interrupted when Abigail came out of nowhere and practically jumped in front of him.

“John-where are you going?”

“Out.” He tried to move past her, but she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I thought maybe you could take Jack fishing, the boy wants to see you, John.”

He shrugged her off, “no-just-leave it be, woman.”

She didn’t try to stop him the second time as he walked away from her. He didn’t look up as he mounted his horse, his movements a little stiff as he did so. He was more than ready to get out of there.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Wasting no time, John helped Kieran onto his horse and spurred Old Boy toward the direction he was told to go. The others followed closely behind as the O’Driscoll led them along the path toward Valentine.

“Take a left up here,” Kieran pointed at an overgrown path exiting into a densely wooded area. John slowed his horse as the terrain became less regular. He could make out Arthur riding up beside him, who looked over at John.

“You alright, Marston?”

“Fine,” he answered while keeping his eyes straight ahead.

The more distance John put between him and camp, the better he started to feel. It was nice to ride out together with the others and do something other than sitting around. He tried his best to push away his short interaction with Dutch. The things he’d said… John only just started to relax once his hands stopped shaking. He wanted to tell himself it was from anger but knew it was more than that.

Soon they made it to a clearing littered with tents and supplies, with a cabin at the far end. There was a smoldering fire with food and drink left out like it was only recently abandoned. Clothes hung on wires left to dry but even with everything going on there wasn’t a single person in sight. John sent Arthur a questioning look, to which the other man only shrugged.

“Whatchu expect, that we’d actually find Colm here?”

John squinted, suspicious as he scanned the clearing, “no, but I thought we’d at least run into some of his men.”

Arthur dismounted, everyone else following suit. “We should look around, maybe we can find some idea as to where he ran off to.” When Kieran didn’t move from his spot, Arthur gave him a stern look, “that includes you, O’Driscoll.”

Kieran nearly jumped out of his skin before scampering after Bill to search the site. John only shook his head and pulled his rifle out from Old Boy’s saddle, slinging it across his shoulder.

“Nice new horse, by the way.”

John turned around to see Arthur still stood there. “Thanks.”

The two of them walked together toward the clearing in awkward silence. John thought back to the train heist and asking Arthur about it. Now was the best time to say something. He fidgeted with the strap of his rifle.

“There’s this train-”

“About the other day-”

They both cut off what they were about to say, waiting for the other to continue until a bullet whizzed by their heads and the conversation became an afterthought, their heads snapping to the source.

Bill ran to where Arthur and John stood, throwing himself behind a tree for cover, “get behind something, it’s a damn ambush!”

John ducked behind a log, clenching his rifle in his hands. He looked up just in time to see Arthur find cover behind another tree and immediately start firing his revolver. O’Driscolls appeared out of the woods, surrounding them. They were outnumbered but John was quite confident in their odds seeing as the rival gang was up against at least two adept gunslingers.

John peered over the edge of the log, locking onto one of the men and quickly releasing his breath as he pulled the trigger. He moved onto his next target before the first even dropped to the floor.

“Cover me, I’m gunna get closer!” Arthur called out before moving from his tree to a couple of crates not far from where John knelt. As he did, John quickly reloaded and stood to shoot an O’Driscoll who had the same idea of advancing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another appear from behind an old tent to aim at Arthur. The man’s intention was short-lived as he dropped to the ground a moment later and John reloaded a couple of bullets.

Steadily, they picked off the opposition until a few stragglers were left, who chose to leave with their lives rather than face the same fate as the others.

“Whoooie! Look at ‘em run off!” Kieran called out as the last few just made it out of sight.

“You’re quick to change loyalties from the men you once fought alongside, O’Driscoll.” Arthur searched the pockets of a fallen enemy, shooting Kieran a look of judgment.

“I keep tellin’ y’all, I ain’t no O’Driscoll.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, but John could see he wasn’t convinced.

“Nice shooting there, Marston.”

John only nodded his head as he scanned the ground. He turned over a container in search of anything worth taking.

“You had mentioned something about a train before, uh, you know.”

John looked up, “oh, yeah. Well, Uncle told me something ‘bout a train that’s gunna be heading through Scarlet Meadows real soon. It’ll be at night, not too heavily guarded from what I hear. It’ll be good, plus-” John cut himself off. Plus it would give me a chance to start doing something, he thought to himself.

“Hmmm,” Arthur scratched his beard, looking doubtful.

John got up from where he knelt, “we’ve done it plenty of times, it’ll be good money.”

Arthur squinted in thought “Yeah but… stopping a train? Pain in the ass.”

John was prepared for Arthur’s hesitation, having spent a while going over the plan in his mind. He continued excitedly, “sure, but what if we could force a train to stop.”

Arthur gave a chuckle, sarcastically responding, “well, of course.”

Arthur knelt beside another body to loot, assuming the conversation to be over. But John persisted, moving closer to keep his attention. “I’m serious, look, we get a wagon, a wagon full of something flammable-say oil. Put it on the tracks,” Arthur stood, nodding his head slightly as he listened to John.

“Only two choices, they know they’ll either have to stop or die.” When John finished Arthur looked at him, unblinking.

“So?” John continued, “you in?”

Arthur gave a breath of laughter to which John furrowed his brow in confusion, “that is… kinda brilliant.”

Whatever John was expecting, it wasn’t that. He quickly avoided Arthur’s gaze, looking to the ground.

“Uh, for you that is.” Arthur cleared his throat, “you know, for someone who’s brain is half-eaten by wolves. But I think that’s the first time you came up with a decent plan!”

John rolled his eyes, “shut up.”

“No, I’m serious! How did you manage to end up MORE intelligent!?”

John waited for Arthur’s chuckling to die down, “so we doin’ it then?”

“Sure, sure. But were gunna need ammunition, guns, and probably some dynamite to crack open that train.” He listed the items off with his fingers. John nodded along, “I can get those from town if you focus on getting us an oil wagon, I can go there now assuming I’m not needed here anymore?”

“Sounds like a good plan, Marston,” Arthur smiled. “You sure you don’t want to head back with us?”

“Nah, I only just got out of camp. I’d like to enjoy the serenity of being away from it a little longer.”

Arthur gave a nod of understanding, “sure, I get it.”

“Alright then, I’ll catch up with you later.” John started walking back to his horse as Arthur tipped his hat in farewell. When John knew he was at a safe enough distance, he let himself smile. As much as he knew he shouldn’t let it mean anything, a little bubble of excitement swelled inside his chest.

He rode Old Boy into town and straight to the gunsmith, picking up the necessary equipment to get the job done. He made sure not to forget the dynamite before leaving, too, as it would be crucial to their plan. After thanking the owner and heading back outside, he noticed that it had started to rain.

By the time John made it to the end of the street the rain turned from a light drizzle to what looked like buckets coming down. He made it to the hotel and ducked inside, shaking himself off a bit. Thunder rumbled in the distance, making John reconsider travelling back to camp.

“Can I help you, sir?”

John turned around to see a young woman stood behind the front desk of the hotel. He gave her a smile and a nod, “as a matter of fact, do you have any rooms available? I’ll take anything you got!”

The woman returned the smile, “why, of course! I’ll show you to your room, it’s just upstairs.”

John entered the room, making sure to thank the lady as he did. He looked around the room, it was quaint and small and not at all what he was used to. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in a proper bed, waking the next day with an energy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He spared no time in making the trek out to the train tracks near Dewberry Creek. It was located some ways past camp, but John thought it was worth scouting out the area, so he headed southeast out of Valentine. He passed the opposite side of Citadel Rock into the open plains. The sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight, the rain from the day prior long gone. He breathed in, thankful for the warmth of the sun with the cool wind in the air. It was perfect.

By the time he arrived and studied the spot, the sun was hanging considerably lower. John aimed to find the best spot to ambush the train, eventually finding a dense cluster of trees just beside the tracks. When John was satisfied that this location was suitable enough, he began riding for camp. He was eager to return, wondering if he might go over more details with Arthur.

Upon his arrival back, John could smell the scent of stew being passed around for dinner. He quickly hitched Old Boy, not realizing until that moment how hungry he was. The usual bustle surrounded the stew pot as people grabbed a bowl and sat together around tables and tents. John strained to see if Arthur was amongst any of them, disappointed when he thought he spotted his blonde hair only to reveal Micah. He couldn’t help his face from twisting in disgust, disappointed to know of his arrival back.

“Looking for someone, brother?”

Charles approached John with two bowls of stew in hand, offering one to John. He took it gratefully.

“Yeah, have you seen Arthur around?”

Charles shook his head, moving to sit near one of the campfires. John followed, sitting across from him. He was thankful it was just the two of them.

“He left early this morning. Did you need help with something?”

John couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that Arthur was gone once again. He tried not to let it get to him, pushing it deep in his mind.

“Actually, Arthur and I are doing a train heist and I’ve been meaning to ask if you’ll join us, too. We could use someone like you, Charles.”

“Sure, anytime.”

John smiled down at his stew, taking another bite.

“You seem surprised.”

John looked back up at Charles, “I suppose I am. You never hesitate to offer your help.”

“Only with those I find worth offering that help to. For you, it’s an honor. As honourable as you can be amongst thieves, that is.”

John raised his eyebrows. He was not expecting such high praise from someone like Charles, who he thought was better than any man he knew combined.

Charles continued, “it’s hard to find good people, and I mean wholeheartedly good people, John. I see it in Arthur, even though he doesn’t see it in himself… I saw it in Nico.” Charles looked up at John, “she always did try to look out for those she cared about.”

He paused, then gave a slight chuckle, “I see it in you, too. Though I have to admit it took me a little while to fully understand you.”

John let out a snort of laughter at Charles’ words. A moment later, the smile faded from his lips. “Can I ask you something, Charles?”

When Charles nodded, he continued. “Why did you join us? Why did you follow Dutch?”

Charles steadily set his bowl down on the ground, then sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I ran on my own for a long time. I did fine, too, but it makes life more difficult. The world is a lot crueler when you’re alone in it. I spent most nights worrying that someone might kill me in my sleep. Running with Dutch, well. Dutch is different. He treats me fair, he doesn’t see me for what others hold against me. Most of you don’t, so here I am.”

John nodded, swallowing dryly, “I see.”

He sat with Charles a while longer before departing for the night. He lay staring at his tent ceiling for what felt like hours. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Charles had said about Dutch. It was disconcerting. To be reminded of how deeply rooted people's faith in Dutch was. He wondered how someone like Charles could see such morality in John. And Arthur and Nico. Yet, he also trusted in Dutch. It made John feel sick, knowing the deceit that lay there instead.

He’d spent so much of his childhood seeking Dutch’s approval, to be praised by him. And what for? So he could fall in line with the others to be blindly shepherded along like lambs to the slaughter? Still, a part of him yearned for that validation. It was twisted, and cruel to subject himself to the thought, but it was present nonetheless. No matter how much he might deny it.

The following day there was no sign of Arthur. John didn’t expect to see him return so soon, but he had held onto the slightest hope that he might’ve been proved wrong. When one day turned into two, and two days turned into a week, John became anxious that Arthur wouldn’t come back soon enough.

John mostly preoccupied himself by going over the plan. He talked with Charles, too, which helped ease his mind slightly. After a few more days passed and there was still no word from their third party member, John started to grow a little annoyed considering the train was due in three days' time.

On the morning of the heist, John was pissed. The previous day, he ended up taking matters in his own hands by securing an oil wagon by himself as he felt he couldn’t trust Arthur in appearing out of thin air to say he found one.

John sat at his usual spot under the oak tree. He held a cigarette in one hand and the map Uncle gave him in the other. He looked over the marked X where the train tracks crossed over the road like he had countless times before. He had gone over the plan again and again in his mind, determined to do it right when the time came.

He brought the cigarette up to his lips, thinking of how little his efforts were met by Arthur. He blamed himself for thinking they could do this. It was too good to be true, John knew that now. He just wished he didn’t try to trick himself into believing otherwise so that he would’ve saved himself the trouble of trying. That, and the sinking feeling he had since coming back from Valentine.

He folded the map up and stuffed it in his pocket, not paying attention to it anyways. He was angry with himself that he was so upset over the whole situation. He didn’t know what he expected to get out of it all. To try to be closer to Arthur? Physically, since emotionally was never an option. In all the past eight years that idea had never gone well. So John didn’t understand why he thought that could change.

John could hear indistinct conversation coming from the edge of camp, which he paid little mind in his deep thought. That was until he heard what he thought was Arthur’s voice reply. John’s head snapped up, thinking his ears may have deceived him. To his bewilderment, there Arthur stood in the flesh.

John took a long drag from his cigarette while he watched Arthur hitch his horse. As if he felt his eyes on him, Arthur turned his head toward him. John quickly looked away, scowling as he did. He heard his footsteps approach but still refused to look up when they stopped in front of him.

“Hey-”

“You never got us that oil wagon, did you.” John finally did look up at him, flicking the cigarette away after blowing out his last breath.

It took a second for Arthur to register what he said, “Ah, I’m sorry,” he gave a little chuckle. “I clean forgot.”

“Are you? Sorry?” John shook his head, “nevermind.” He stood, “it’s taken care of, anyways.”

He moved to walk past Arthur, “otherwise we’d miss that train.”

Arthur took the few steps with him, opening his mouth like he was going to say something then closing it. John stopped to turn to him again, “are you still interested in the job? Cause if not I’m sure I can-”

“I am.”

John nodded, “okay then. Well, good.”

When neither of them said anything further, John continued on his way.

“Er, Marston-”

John faced him again but didn’t say anything. Arthur continued, “thanks… for getting it, by the way.”

John stared at him without saying anything, he blinked and without thinking blurted, “maybe we shouldn’t do this job together.”

It was a joke to have thought he could work jobs with Arthur again. He thought perhaps things were good enough between them that they might be civil. But the tension was there already, and it would only continue to build. The two didn’t work well together anymore. John’s heart dropped at its realization and from the look of surprise on Arthur’s face.

“You take it. Get Charles and Sean or someone to go with you. You don’t have to give me a cut, either.”

“What, why? Is this because I didn’t get the damn oil wagon?”

John winced at that, “No. It wasn’t. But it was your job to get it.” He felt his frustration rise, like a fuse that had been waiting to be lit upon Arthur’s arrival.

“You know, I’ve been pretty busy running all over the damn state. Perhaps you should’ve gotten it in the first place, seeing as you’re not preoccupied by much these days.”

John scoffed, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Since when does John Marston finish anything he’s started. Maybe I will take Sean with me, seeing as he’ll be a good replacement for your incompetence to see things through!”

John raised his hands in frustration, “I’m not talking to you like this, Morgan.”

Arthur laughed dryly, “go on then, run away like you always do when you can’t handle it.”

John gave a look of disbelief, “are you joking? Can’t handle it? You’re the one who didn’t bother getting the damn oil wagon! I actually want this job, believe it or not!”

“Yeah? Well what’s it like being disappointed?”

Their yelling immediately ceased, the air growing quiet like the silence that follows the crack of a whip.

John blinked, “what?”

Arthur hesitated for a second before his features hardened, “maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t work together on this.”

Not waiting for a response, Arthur turned and walked away, leaving John behind in the quiet aftermath of their argument. Alone and with nothing but a boiling anger that grew inside him, John turned too, stomping off toward the direction of his tent.

Without stopping, he grabbed his coat and left again. He found Old Boy and mounted the horse, steering him out of camp. Spurring to go faster, he flew through the countryside. John didn’t know where he was going but knew he just needed to get away for a while. He didn’t slow his pace until he came up to the river. He didn’t recognize this part of the winding waters, making him realize just how far he’d gone. But he didn’t care.

He slowed Old Boy and launched himself off and paced on the sands of the river a moment. He wanted to scream from frustration, yell at the top of his lungs. Looking down, he picked up a rock and threw it into the water. Then he picked up another and did the same, repeating himself again and again. When he got tired of throwing rocks, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He paused for a moment, feeling the map. His fingers curled around it, then yanked it out. Without hesitating he ripped it apart and hurled it with all his might.

For all his force, the pieces merely fluttered around him, getting caught in the wind. They lingered briefly before a breeze swept by and took them away. John watched them go, and suddenly he was on the ground with tears streaming down his face. He didn’t know where it came from, but he couldn’t stop now that he started crying. The sand was cold and damp yet he continued to sit there, unable to move.

He wished he didn’t rip up the map, he wished he could put the pieces back together.

No. that wasn’t it. He wished Nico wasn’t dead. He wished what he and Arthur had wasn’t dead. He wished he didn’t fuck up every relationship he ever had. He treated Abigail poorly, and could barely look at Jack. John didn’t know how they all deserved to have someone as flawed as him. He thought he could move on, but it seemed he would be dealing with the repercussions of his actions for the rest of his life.

John held his head in his hands, gazing into the churning rapids of the river. He wondered when things got so out of control. It felt like just yesterday when he and Arthur were still kids doing nothing but spending their days never apart. Now John was so much older and alone, growing into someone he never wanted to be.

Night fell over the sky making the crickets song come to life and the stars flicker up above. John didn’t realize how long he had sat there until the evening had come and went. Wiping his cheeks with the sleeves of his coat, he eventually stood. His bones ached once he got up, stiff from sitting for so long.

Old Boy grazed not far from the river, looking up when John walked over. He gave the horse a few pats, “sorry, boy. Let’s get you home.”

John retraced his way back to camp, this time much slower than before. He tried to collect himself along the way, finding it to be pointless as his heart was still heavy. He waved to Bill as he crossed over the border into camp, quietly hitching his horse and retreating to his tent. He took off his coat and crawled into bed, his last thought wishing the day had never happened.

[rcris123]

!Warning for erotic mutilation!

It’s barely been a day since he last saw Arthur. So the last thing he expected was hearing his name be called out by his son. Boy barged in; eyes wide in troubled anticipation.

“I thought he was with you.” It’s what he simply said; voice cracking from boyhood and worry.

A hand on the boy’s back to lead him out of the small, crowded saloon. Getting up ached. He led him to some stairs by the marketplace so they could sit down, ‘cause he ain’t meant to sit up. Leaving the soreness of his chest from the cuts aside, on the inside, something crawled and grappled at his heart. Something was terribly wrong.

“Something happened.” It wasn’t even a question; statement.

“He ain’t back. Been gone with-” Boy pursed his lips, shot up from the stairs, looked at him convicted. Yes, Sebastian guessed the boy and his father were part of an outlaw gang, and Arthur ain’t taught the kid to be stupid.

After a moment’s hesitation, a search through his pockets, Isaac snatches Sebastian’s hand and presses round, flat metal in in, roughly bigger than a large coin. It was a medallion. Saint Sebastian Pray for us.

“Don’t turn him in.” The boy was on the verge of tears with that demand, lips pressed in a thin line and nose crinkled, then he came closer and in a hushed tone: “You heard of Dutch van der Linde? That’s us. Since I’ve been young or before that.” At least 15 years an outlaw, then. Jesus Christ... Sebastian remained silent. “He left this morning, said to discuss some peace with that man Colm O’Driscoll.” He ain’t knowing him. “Never came back...” Isaac then looked away. “Dunno why I’m telling you this. You couldn’t even help...”

The pit in his stomach grows. Sebastian almost put his hand on Isaac’s back, but stopped. Not just by the pain in his shoulder, but ‘cause it wasn’t his place to do so. But how else could he even try to help the boy that clearly came for some form of comfort. Did he not find it in his gang?

“What’d the others say? Dutch?”

“Said he went away like he always did. He’ll come back. But I’m always there. I’m with him!” Bitter silence then: “Unless it’s you I guess...” and silence falls yet again. “Did you fuck?...”

“No.” Sebastian coughs the answer out in an instant.

That was never the intent. Yes, Arthur was quite handsome, but he never paid and didn’t ever have to; man said they were friends, despite his chosen line of work, despite his frankly abhorrent behavior towards him. Sebastian just had to be stupid enough to save someone once.

He... he cared about people. And it got him here.

But this wasn’t about him. It was about this kid who just lost his father, after almost watching him die not too long ago. What a mess... And Sebastian had nothing to give the kid. Not like he did before anyway. He ain’t meant to be a father.

He stands up: “You should go back to camp...” It almost sounded cruel.

Isaac stood stiff.

“This ain’t no place for a kid.”

“I ain’t no kid no more...” the boy said, bitter. “Took me for a... social call...” A delicate word for something that must have involved beatings... A sigh: “Pa’s a good- decent man, mister.”

Sebastian pats the boy’s back this time, despite the burst of pain: “He is.” Life ain’t about to give ‘em much choice in who they gonna be, but Isaac’s probably still too young to understand that.

Isaac mellows somehow under touch. The boy probably doesn’t understand very well what is it that he and his father could be sharing if it wasn’t something sexual – the circumstances of their meeting surely gave off that idea. But Sebastian ain’t quite sure himself what’s it about Arthur. It was strange. A man with a son all but drops dead in the streets of Saint Denis, and when refusing the money, takes him hunting in the dead of night, let’s him stay. Then comes back. To show he cares; for whatever reason – no, it made perfect sense. Isaac was Arthur’s entire world. Somehow, Sebastian saved them both.

Was that why Isaac shoved that medallion in his hand? To take care of them? To take care of him, Arthur? But Sebastian had nothing to offer, him or to this kid. He ain’t even knowin’ who the fuck Colm O’Driscoll was to try and be a hero and save his Pa.

Well, maybe there was one thing he could do.

“Want me to come back with you? It ain’t quite safe out there-”

“Yeah.” Isaac slipped away, ran for his horse; a few clucks so the mountain of a stallion bends its front knee and the boy climbs into saddle. “Just... just a bit before camp. I’ll tell you when.”

It’s reckless, the way the boy spurs the horse to a gallop on the crowded streets of Saint Denis. But he can’t say he doesn’t understand Isaac’s grief. His father is gone and might be gone for good. Sebastian ain’t even thought that in some way, no matter his efforts, Arthur was meant to die. A pang within his chest, breath labored, sore: how it all fit into it all. He ain’t a do-gooder. He’s a fucking homosexual prostitute, lowest rung of the ladder... He can’t save people. Couldn’t even save his little girl, so there’s no one else.

Riding hurt, pain shot up though the shoulder, crawled, itching electric, down between the ribs. That with all those thoughts. He remembered Stefano’s knife; carving almost carefully into his skin; at the shoulder it dug deep, hungry, so now he could barely move it. Sebastian tried as best he could to follow. Isaac rode with quiet rage.

The road took them through Rhodes. One more reason to have his heart jump up – he couldn’t tell that to the boy. It was his nightmare. But the town passed soon enough, after which they went ahead on the way that led by Southfield Flats.

 Isaac stopped by a trail that went into the woods, but he didn’t say anything for quite a while:

“Thank you...”

He’s out of words himself: “Good luck, kid...”

A stifled sob before he turned his horse away-

Two men come out of the woods with riffles in their hands. Sebastian put his arms up.

“Isaac head back to camp.” The black haired one, with the scarred face urged.

The other, a red head pointed the barrel at him: “And you, don’t you dare pull any funny business, ya’ hear.” He sounded Irish.

“He’s with me!” Isaac tried, jumped off the horse, rushed between them.

“No he ain’t. Watchu talking about?” Scar-Face continued, grabbing the boy’s shoulder.

“He’s with Arthur!” Isaac screeched.

“Watchu done to the boy?!” the Irish loaded the gun.

“Nothing!” Sebastian roared himself.

“He saved Pa!” The two men looked at each other. “Those few weeks ago when he came back shot up. He only made it ‘cause of him.” Silence. “Why don’t you trust me, you idiots!”

“Hush, boy!-” The brunet tried speaking but was met by a harsh palm over his cheek. “You son of a-”

“I say we take ‘im to Dutch. He’ll know what to do. C’mon fancy pants!” The Irish took his horses’ reins and started leading him between the trees.

Isaac whistled for his stallion and ran ahead on foot.

“Dutch!” both the boy and Scar-Face yelled at the same time.

There were no less than 20 people in that camp and every single one of them looked up at him, all reaching for their guns.

“What happened?” Most probably Dutch himself, raven haired, trimmed moustache, gold rings and chains.

“This focker was just by the road with Isaac.” Irish man called out.

“Are you alright, son?” Dutch spoke to Isaac.

“How many times do I have to say. This man saved Arthur’s life.” Isaac was livid and scared all at once.

“Did he now?... Boy says you saved Arthur’s life.” Dutch approached like a big cat, step certain, wide, ambling, arms outstretched. “That true?”

“He got shot by Lemoyne Raiders a few days ago in Saint Denis. I helped him to the Doctor. Offered him a bed.” Sebastian spoke low. He ain’t a threat.

He’s outnumbered, scanning the people that now surround him and his horse.

He recognized that one.

And that one recognized him.

“No way!” The big man shot up “I know that one!-” then he closed his mouth as if he almost fell into a horrendous trap.

Yes, Sebastian saw him. He fucked Albert the Bear some time ago.

“Shit! I thought I’ve seen this man before.” The man tried to backtrack but it’s too late.

“Where, Bill.” Dutch ordered.

“Ooough- Shit! Back in Saint Denis.” Bill caved in. “In a Molly-house. He’s a, uh, working man.”

People looked at Bill and that man became small. And Sebastian’s chest was cramped, tight.

“Oh, is that so...” Dutch continued “I sure do hope you don’t come here with any nefarious intentions. Especially not towards the boy.”

“Dutch-” Isaac dragged the man by his sleeves. “He and Pa-” an inhale. “He... and Pa... You know what I mean...” The boy tried, voice dying by the end.

“You for real?” Scar-Face couldn’t contain his disbelief. “Jesus Christ.”

Dutch’s face lights up in an odd expression as if he just discovered someone shitting in the outhouse:

“Arthur and-”

“Where is he?!” Isaac keeps shaking Dutch’s arm. “Where’s Pa?! You took him with you, where is he?! Sebastian ain’t seen him!” An elderly chap unglues the boy from Dutch. “Uncle Hosea, don’t you dare!”

And it’s the elder one that speaks: “You seen Arthur recently, Sebastian, I presume?”

“Yesterday. But not since.” Sebastian replies, almost as if following etiquette.

“He went this morning with you!” Isaac points at Dutch. “and Micah!” then at the burly fellow in the red shirt, mug hidden by a white hat.

“Calm down, son!” Dutch almost lost his temper there.

Hosea held the kid closer and firmer, with a soft, calm whisper: “He’s right Isaac, you gotta stay calm about this.” Then he picks his head up: “Dutch, Arthur’s most probably in some trap somewhere. Shouldn’t we send some boys out to look for him, the kid’s all worried.”

“If Arthur’s kidnapped ain’t we should be looking for ‘im?” Sean spoke up. “He did the same for me, he did!”

“I’d say the same.” A black man built like a bull spoke up.

“And I say we need to calm down!” Dutch raised his tone above everyone else’s. “And we wait it out.”

“Wait it out like ye did with me?” The Irishman shot up. “And let him get tortured a month?”

“No!” Isaac struggled.

“I’ll see what I can do!” Dutch continued. “Now everybody, stay calm! He’s fine!”

“He ain’t fine.” Isaac’s voice could barely be heard saying that; Hosea shook the boy’s shoulder, dragged him closer.

“What about me?” Sebastian asked; he wanted to get down from the horse and in some shape or form join the poor kid.

“We have our eyes on you-” that sounded like a threat but not an outright refusal of him being there.

Off the horse he goes, it comes with a grit of teeth as his shoulder gave him no peace. Sebastian tries to approach Hosea and Isaac.

“Is it true that Arthur, uhm, how do I say that delicately-”

“No need.” Sebastian cut the old man short.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to assume-”

This whole discussion made him shift his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable; it ain’t like that. He and Arthur... Friends. Even though that time when he grabbed the man’s hand he felt. A warm rush flushing his chest

“He ain’t paid me for anything if that’s what you’re asking.” Sebastian speaks at last. “I care. For him and the boy.”

Isaac was still locked between the other man’s arm, looking up at him.

“Arthur’s been a good father if you ask me.” Hosea continued. “Meaning with what he was given he... I feel he tried.”

“I feel so too.”

“That is quite good to hear.” Sebastian was still stiff. Pain. And this discussion isn’t helping. “Sorry if I made you feel odd, it’s just quite the news to me. Always thought Arthur- well he is a father and all.”

“I had a daughter.” Sebastian interrupts yet again. Heart hung heavy in his chest. “You got any place to sit down.” Well there were tables around but he wasn’t going to assume they’re for him.

“Sure.”

“I had a daughter.” He says again, once seated. Isaac’s on a chair by Hosea’s side. “I had a wife that loved me, thou’ I guess not enough. I was a Sheriff. Right here in Rhodes.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that...”

“Yes... I saved Arthur because he had a son begging for help.” A deep breath in so he doesn’t start crying in front of all these strangers that don’t want him no good. “Because I couldn’t save her, my little girl. I couldn’t-”

“That’s... quite the story there. I’m sorry, Sebastian... And thank you. For bringing Arthur back to us-”

“And now he’s gone again-” tone becomes harsher.

“Well, Arthur’s always been quite hardy, he made it out of worse predicaments, when Isaac was real young.” Hosea drags he boy in his lap. “I reckon he’ll be back.”

“It was definitely a trap they sent him in back there-”

“I know, Isaac. But I guess Dutch is right about waiting for a little while. Rushing in God knows where and finding it crawling with O’Driscolls ain’t smart. It’s probably what they want. Arthur’s bait.”

Isaac jumped off:

“Can I go fishing? There’s a spot not far from here-”

“Not alone, Isaac.” Hosea said.

“I’ll go.” Sebastian added, standing up.

“Ah, guess the boy’ll make an outlaw of you yet.” Old man got up too. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Hosea left. But seeing them go out of camp, Mister Scar-Face strode towards them.

“Can I... uhm, join the two of you?”

Isaac perked up a bit: “Will Jack come?”

“Uhm... No. Not this time. I... I gotta talk with- Sebastian was it?”

“Oh.” Isaac’s eyebrows draw together.

“Didn’t get your name.” Sebastian spoke, just before getting back up in the saddle with considerable effort; a groan.

“John. Marston. I, uhm...” Man whistled for his horse. Isaac already took on ahead. “I guess I’m sorry...”

Sebastian tried to keep pace with the boy. Marston kept quiet. “That all?”

Man came fast from behind: “Kinda... Okay. Well, I care about Arthur; he’s like a brother to me. And, uhm. That’s his kid, gotta watch out for him-”

“You ain’t even watching out for Jack!” Isaac shouted and his voice almost sounded like Arthur’s himself.

“I’m trying, Isaac!” John called back, but the boy only rode harder.

 What was left of the ride was taken in silence and when reaching the fishing spot Isaac stood quiet minding his business. That John feller stood unnaturally away from the water’s edge, perched on a dirt mound. And he still managed to catch some decent smallmouth. But between the three of them Isaac felt professional. And angry. In the way he reeled the fish in and threw the line out. Both of them noticed. The boy had tears streaming down his face for some time, wiped them with one hand while waiting for the next bite.

The golden hour rushed over them. Sebastian took a look at the clock: with all this he almost forgot he should be seeing Stefano again around 6PM. There was plenty time still.

 “You should head back to camp.”

Isaac looked at him most heartbroken.  John tried to escort the boy back but he jumped to hug Sebastian first. A pained huff came of him with that head pressed into his chest. He couldn’t resist though, returning the embrace. The kid missed his father, but he wasn’t him... He wasn’t meant to be a father...

“Take care, Isaac, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

“Will you, uh, swing by again?” John still didn’t know how to talk to him.

Sebastian bobbed his head, ‘cause all that depended on Arthur. What a thought to think that was...

The man was gone and Sebastian was to return to Stefano Valentini.

 Mister Valentini picked him up in a stagecoach, as he always did, didn’t talk all the way to the manor. The house was overlooking the bayou and had a lavish garden. The sun didn’t set yet.

“Undress, darling, we’re going to be taking some photos in this glorious light. You’ll look stunning.”

“And the payment?”

“75$ like usual. Undress.” Harsh, as he got his camera and knives ready.

Sebastian did as asked, back turned from him, until he was demanded to.

“Lay down, Sebastian.”

He did, plainly. And Stefano measured him up and down.

“Your shoulder.”

“What about it?”

“It’s irritated. Turn so I can see it.” Sebastian turned on his side. “Head down. To the ground. That’s it...”

But it was missing something. It always did. But first came the flowers: white rose petals, sprinkled around him. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

“I like that, Sebastian~ Your body fears me in just the right ways.” He stepped back towards the tool stool, over his body, making him feel as if he lacked any power to oppose.

Sharp, the knife was lodged deep into his shoulder, right where he was before. He writhed and clenched his teeth-

Stefano stepped behind the camera. “Now take it out slowly, darling.”

Teeth bare, and huff with huff, inch with inch- the blade slid out of his mutilated right shoulder. Every time he stuck it in, it dug deeper, the curved tip grazed bone and clung to flesh, sending an electric shiver up his spine until his vision turned white and his body turned cold, then an almost mellow pain as his body heated up again, and the place stung, crawled like a hornet’s nest. Blood dripped down his bare chest, onto the pavement. And Stefano kept encouraging him with words that might have almost felt sweet.

Almost out. Unbearable. Unbearably slow. His entire body trembled under the sensation, muscles stiff and sore. He twists to pull the knife laying on his underside-

A boot to his gut.

The knife falls on the pavement with a clink.

The boot turns Sebastian; pins him on his back. Stefano sits on top of him, his cock is hard under tight pants.

“Agh-”

“How dare you, Sebastian~” The camera’s in his hands, still snapping pictures of him.

But it wasn’t enough. Stefano’s gloved hands mess with his hair, roll his head around as if it’s a toy. Threads fall in his eyes, exhales come heavy onto cobblestone; he can taste dirt.

“Good- Very good.”

Then his chin is tilted up.

“Look at me, Sebastian-” He doesn’t. “Merda! Look! At me!” Fingers clench in his jaw, but that pain he doesn’t feel. “I can’t say I don’t taste your defiance, but it’s not what I’m looking for-”

For one second he wondered if Arthur was someplace where someone made an equal mess out of him. Torture. Like that Irishman said... Gaze returns to Stefano, eyebrows knitted.

“Ohh~” Stefano moaned, and grinded once onto his body. “Superbo, Sebastian- Superbo~”

Then he got up, satisfied, moaning to himself.

“Thank you, darling. I’ll have the Doctor stich you up and bandage the wound. I’ll be gone a few days. That should give it enough time to heal a while. Oh, Lucian, hand him the money please.”

   A day, two. No word. And Arthur didn’t leave his mind. But he didn’t remember that man’s face all that well, long hair, a thick beard that went all the way up his cheeks. Green eyes. His voice, but still he couldn’t place exactly how it sounded, and it got lost between the voice of his own thoughts. A shame, because he wanted something to remember him by. No, not the medallion. Saint Sebastian. That should have been him, but what a saint Sebastian wasn’t... A cruel title. But he remembered the deer – he had that vest made. Arrows almost in unison.

It costed him 40$ to commission that pen, but he did. A ballpoint, copper, with two arrows engraved, so he won’t forget.

The pain got worse the more he moved. He should be lying down, instead he got drinks at the bar inside his saloon. He still had about 30 something dollars left of those bills Arthur gave him. For whiskey-

“Hey!” He almost didn’t mind the commotion when the doors slammed.

“Sebastian!”

“Isaac?...” it was hard to get up.

It was the kid; he swam through the crowd and with no explanation dragged him outside. Heart began to drum inside his chest. What happened... It was Arthur.

“Call your horse.” The boy had no patience for him, ‘cause he climbed up and spurred already.

Sebastian was lucky Ashley, his trusty steed, was part Arabian, and wasted no time bolting after the boy. He rode with one hand, the other stuck to his shoulder to drown out the throbbing that picked up with each thud of the hooves on the ground. He asked no questions; Isaac said nothing.

“When’dchu even slip by!?” the Irishman was first to greet them when he saw Isaac coming back with Sebastian, still clutching the seams of his coat.

But Isaac had one goal and one goal only: bringing Sebastian to Arthur’s bedside. That left shoulder... A shotgun blast the size of a fist, septic.

“Isaac-” voice was weak. “Isaac, com’ere.” Boy knelt down, wrapped his arms around his father. Arthur stroked the boy’s hair. “Com’ere... Isaac. I wouldn’t of left you alone...” Hand keeps stroking, despite the obvious pain in his face; eyes looked up at Sebastian as if in doing so came some great realization.

The middle-aged woman that was sitting on a chair there, handed it to Sebastian. Arthur kept muttering soft coos to his son. It was the third time he saw this man down; each time even closer to death...

“We have to leave.” Isaac stands up, announces with conviction beyond his years, despite the sobs that thickened his voice. “We’re gonna leave.”

As if he heard that Dutch approached, hands up, defensive.

“You did this!”

“I didn’t know, Isaac...” He sounded penitent. “I’m really sorry, son. I- I made a mistake, I know that.”

“This cannot happen again!”

“It won’t, son.” The man had no intention of leaving.

“Give him some time, Dutch...”

Dutch bowed his head, nodded: “Rest up, Arthur.”

Isaac still stood, huffing, as if trying to be barrier between everything that was out there, Dutch included, and his wounded father.

“Isaac. Com’ere. Please.” Boy returned without hesitation. “C’mon up.”

The boy eyed Arthur up and down, then carefully pulled his legs over his father’s body, laying down, head nestled on the man’s good shoulder. The other arms moved almost mechanically to wrap around the kid.

“Need a blanket.”

Arthur puffed, shaking his head slightly.

“You brought ‘im to camp?”

“Yeah.” Isaac replied. “Thought you was with him.” Boy clings to the union suit.

“I’m sorry, Isaac...”

“It’s okay... It’s gonna be fine...”

Arthur pursed his lips and staggered out a sigh: “Yeah. Yeah it will, son...”

“We have to get out.”

“Yeah-” Gaze locked on Sebastian. He remembered the man’s words: there’s no getting out...

There gotta be. His chest became cold with a shiver, then too warm.

Sebastian knelt down, groaned doing so and decided, against better judgement, that he can put his hand next to Arthur’s. And Arthur took it, curled his fingers around Sebastian’s palm. And once again, against his better judgement, he remembered that darned medallion; snuck it underneath Arthur’s grip.

“Saint Sebastian. Protects soldiers I heard.” The Molly-house was near a church after all.

Arthur gave the single note of a laugh, before it turned to a wheeze:

“You wanna be my Saint or something?”

Sebastian dared smile: “Can’t say I haven’t thought about the possibility.”

Sarcastic tone’s left aside and with a squeeze of the palm: “Guess it ain’t all that bad then...”

 He stayed the night by Arthur’s bed.

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 30

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: 

To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 30: Don’t go it alone.

Sadie and Charles were sitting in the saloon of St. Denis, upstairs in a quiet corner, counting out their money on Colm O’Driscoll’s bounty. It was $3,000. The Sheriff had wanted him alive, said there would have been big Pinkerton money in it for them, too, if he’d been available for questioning. It was a fools errand, though. Sadie had been quiet ever since they got to the bar, chain-smoking. Charles smoked a lot, too. Ashes fell all over the stacks of bills as they counted them, sipping their bourbon. At some point, when the number was confirmed, Sadie put her head in her hands and dipped the cigarette in a crystal ash tray.  Charles took out a little tin of tobacco and some papers and went about rolling a few more cigarettes. He sprinkled in some of the dried marijuana plant, too, but only in those he rolled for himself. He left it out of Sadie’s, as she did not prefer its effects. He hadn’t really spent a lot of time with Sadie before. She impressed him.

“You okay?” he said after a little while, sealing the last cigarette with his tongue.

“This fuckin bounty,” she said. He handed her one of the cigarettes. She studied it. “I feel cheated, real bad. I ain’t sure what I’m aiming for.”

“You wanted to kill Colm.” He lit the cigarette for her, then lit his own. “Understandable.”

Sadie exhaled. “Look, I’m not saying I could have, or that it was even my place. Dutch had his own bone to pick. I just—” She hung her head. She seemed exhausted. “I ain’t finished, Charles. Those fuckers ruined my life.”

Charles sighed. He began stacking the bills, storing them neatly in his pack. “If it’s revenge you want, you’ll get it,” he said. “I just don’t know if it’ll help.”

“Oh, it’ll help,” said Sadie.

“If you say so.”

She took a long drag and looked around. She wore some sort of make-up on her eyes that had smudged underneath, making her look sort of feral. “Sometimes I think about Arthur,” she said. “And you. You’re both good men. I still wonder what the hell it is you’re doing here.”

“Doing where.”

“Doing with Dutch,” she said. “He’s insane. You know that, right?”

“I know it ain’t perfect,” said Charles, “but it’s better than being alone.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve made a real friend in Arthur," said Charles. "I don’t know. Dutch may be eccentric, but he gave me a home. Gave me brothers. The thought of going back to a lonely existence—it makes me sad. Besides, we’ve all got our own bone to pick, Sadie.”

She looked at him, real long and glassy. “I guess you’re probably right,” she said.

“And anyway,” said Charles, closing his pack, gathering some of the ashes off the table and into his hand, “Arthur and Mary Beth, they’re getting out. John and Abigail, too. They wanna go north, soon. I might see about going with them.”

“Seriously?” said Sadie. “Where they headed?”

“I think Arthur said Wisconsin,” he said. “It’s close to Canada. I’m not sure what they have planned, but knowing Arthur, he’ll wanna live honest.”

“Shit,” said Sadie, ashing the cigarette. “I can’t believe Dutch is gonna let him go.”

Charles took a long drink, maybe too much too fast. His throat burned. He cleared his throat. “Whether Dutch is letting him go,” he said, “I have no idea. But I get the sense that Arthur is pretty serious. And Mary Beth, she is, too.”

“You know when I first got in with—you all,” said Sadie, “Mary Beth and Abigail were some of the first people to actually talk to me. Everyone else was sort of…afraid of me. Nobody likes a widow. It’s too goddam sad, even in this fuckin life. But they seemed to sympathize with what I was going through. They…helped me.” She took a long drink. She never really looked Charles in the eye as she spoke. She just looked down at the table where she was drawing invisible shapes on the wood. “And Arthur, he’s like you, and Dutch. You all treat me like a person. Not like no girl. I used to think some of the women around camp, they was just whores, looking for hand-outs. Not that I’m judging no dove. I’m just saying. I come to see I was wrong. They’re real strong, in their own ways. They’re stable. And then there’s me. The fuckin monster among them.” She finished her smoke, put it out on the surface of the table. “I can’t do this anymore, Charles.”

“You wanna hunt some O’Driscolls?” said Charles, catching her drift. “I’ll go with you. You’re not a monster, Sadie, but you’ll become one if you’re not careful. It ain’t the killing that’ll do it either. It’s the loneliness.”

Sadie looked up at him, full of dark curiosity. “Is that why you’re here?” she said. “Because you was becoming a monster?”

Charles nodded. “We’ve all been there, Sadie. We just don’t all make it to the other side.”

Sometimes, Sadie missed Jake so much, she could feel her skin itching, like her body was turning inside-out. She was just so goddam sick of feeling sad. She smoked.

My dearest Hosea,

I have decided that it is time for me to ante up and marry Mary Beth. She is pregnant, and in times of such turbulence all around, it has become clear that I do not wish to wait any longer. I have sent for Reverend Swanson to meet us at a bed and breakfast near Emerald Ranch called Wintersons'—as long as he is cleaned up enough to undertake the task, of course. John, Abigail, and the boy will already be there, having agreed to meet us for a couple of nights, and we would greatly love for you and Dutch to meet us there as well.  

Please do not tell anyone else in the camp. We regret that they cannot all be there as witnesses, but we wish to keep a low profile, for obvious reasons. Tell Dutch that this does not negate our arrangement, and that as long as things stay in general control, Mary Beth and I, while still eager to set forth on our own soon, will stay as long as we must to help create a clear passage for the gang out of trouble. You can count on us.

Mary Beth is doing well, though she is somewhat more tired than usual. We will make our ride to Emerald Station over a period of two days. If you would meet us there on the 30th, then we will wait for you. Having you both there would mean a lot, as you’re like a couple of fathers to us. Please consider my request.

With love,

Arthur

Abigail and John were riding north to Emerald Ranch, headed through Scarlet Meadows. Jack was on John’s horse with him, and at one point demanded that John stop so that he could count the points on a great, elegant buck that had sprung across the path.

“I thought I saw twelve,” said Jack.

“Jesus,” said John, pulling back on the reins, trying to see after the buck. It was gone though. “That’s real good, son.” He scratched his head. “You can count to twelve?”

“Yep,” said Jack. “Uncle Arthur helps me with my numbers sometimes.”

John sighed, put the horse back to a trot. “Of course he does.”

“This is real pretty country up here,” said Abigail, breathless, falling a little behind. “Refreshing. I really need to get out more.”

“It was nice of Arthur,” said John. “Inviting us. Don’t you think?”

“It was,” said Abigail. “I’m glad you two seem to be getting on these days.”

“Me, too.”

“And we’re all gonna be on our best behavior at this kind stranger’s house,” she continued. “Am I heard?”

“Of course, mama,” said Jack. “I even made a necklace for the doctor’s wife, like the one I made you. Arthur said he was a doctor, right?”

Abigail laughed. “Yes, he did. And that’s real kind, Jack. Though it ain’t really you I’m talking to.”

John gave her a look. “What do you think I’m gonna do?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Accidentally use the wrong fork? Shoot the poor bastard?”

“Just try to keep a goddam lid on your foul mouth for once,” she said.

“My foul mouth?” said John. He started to laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

He picked up the pace, ignoring her question. “Let’s get a move on,” he said. “I wanna get there before the sun goes down.”

Abigail sighed, entirely distracted by the blue sky. “Sounds fine. I just—I like looking at the scenery is all.”

“I know you do,” said John, glancing back at her, watching her watch the sky. He began dreaming then, as he led the way. It was unlike him to fantasize but he thought maybe, just maybe this was the new beginning he had been working for. The way to giving her and the boy—all of them—a better life.

They got to the Wintersons' at about half past six. They hitched up away from the road near some trees and John thought he heard hounds in the distance. He helped both Jack and Abigail down from the horses.

“Hmm,” said Abigail. “I thought you said Arthur and Mary Beth would be here by now. I don't see Sarah or Watson.”

“Maybe they’re hitched up in the stables?” said John.

“Maybe,” said Abigail, dusting off her dress. “Or maybe they ain’t here yet. Grab that valise now, off the saddle. It’s got everything.”

“Can do,” said John.

They went up the lawn, all grown with pretty wildflowers. It was sort of feral greenery, but lovely. As something you might see in a painting. They went up to the porch, and John knocked on the door as politely as he knew how.

After a minute or so, the door opened, and there was a nice-looking man standing there with glasses and a shotgun down by his side. He must have been in his early fifties. “Can I help you?” he said.

“Uh, yes,” said John. He held up his hands on instinct, and Abigail tugged them back down again, in a corrective but gracious manner. John was not used to polite society. He removed his hat. “My name is uh, John Marston. This is my wife Abigail, and our boy Jack. We was just—we’re here because—uh, well.” He looked at Abigail, who nodded, then he looked back to the man. “Arthur Morgan invited us?”

Right away the man acknowledged. He hung up his shotgun next to the door. He smiled. “Yes, right. The Marstons,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you. Come on in.” He stepped aside so they could pass through the threshold and into the house. “We’ve got your rooms all prepared.”

“Rooms?” said John, looking around, taking inventory of all the homey trappings and the bookshelves and the warm, yellow light from the lanterns. “We only need one.”

“Oh, well, we have a room with a few small beds and a toy box, designated for children. We assumed you’d want your boy to stay there. We have a separate room, just for you and your wife.”

“Separate rooms?” said Abigail. “Well, that does sound nice. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s no problem,” said the man. He held out his hand then, to John. “My name is Lawrence Winterson. I own this establishment.”

John shook his hand, and then Abigail shook his hand, and then Jack. “Nice to meet you, sir. This place is…it’s really something.”

“Well, thank you. My wife keeps a lovely home.”

“I just—I don’t mean to sound like an idiot," said John, "but two rooms—how much is that gonna run extra?”

“What do you mean?” said Lawrence.

“Well, we’re paying for the rooms, of course,” said John. “I was just wondering.”

“Oh, it’s on us,” said Lawrence. “The second room, I mean. On account of special circumstances.”

“Special circumstances?” said Abigail. “What special circumstances.”

“The wedding, of course.”

“Wedding?” said John.

A little woman came out then from a side room, about the same age, maybe a little younger than Lawrence. She held in her hands a large swath of white threaded cotton. She smiled.

“Oh, this is my wife,” said Lawrence. “Lizette.”

“You may call me Liz,” she said with her French accent. She curtsied. “Bonsoir.”

“Bonsoir,” said Abigail, curtsying right back. “This—your home is mighty nice.”

“Thank you,” said Lizette. Then she nodded at Jack. “Bonsoir, young man.”

“Uh, bonsoir,” said Jack. He bowed. Then he reached into his pocket. “I made you this.” He presented the necklace—a little daisy chain.

Lizette was overcome. She took the necklace and put it on right away. “Ah, merci. I am undeserving.”

“They’re daisies,” said Jack.

She patted him on the head.

“Well,” said John, a little hurried. “This is all—well. It’s all well and good.” He then turned back to Lawrence. “But can we get back to this wedding? Whose wedding?”

“Oh, of course,” said Lawrence, cleaning his glasses on the flap of his shirt. “I guess I just assumed you knew.”

“You assumed I knew what.”

“Mr. Morgan and Miss Gaskill, they’re getting married here, in just a few days.”

“They’re getting married?” said Abigail, all pretty and lit. “Here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Lawrence. “We’re actually expecting a few more guests. A Reverend, and a few men, friend’s of Arthur’s, who’s names I—I have written down here somewhere, but they’re lost on me now.”

“Dutch, Hosea, and Hamish,” said Lizette.

“Yes. Thank you, mon amour. Dutch, Hosea, and Hamish. Do you know them?”

“Who the hell is Hamish?” said Abigail.

John gave her a look. “Language, Abbie.”

She blushed. “I mean—wow. This is a surprise.”

“Well, now you know,” said Lawrence, glancing around. “Arthur and Mary Beth are running a little late for some undisclosed reasons. I believe they’re up near O'Creagh's Run and will be with us at some point tomorrow evening.”

“Uncle Arthur and Aunt Mary Beth are getting married?” said Jack.

“Yeah,” said John. “They are.”

“Wow. That’s wonderful.”

Abigail hugged him to her thigh. “Yes, it is you sweet child. Now run off and find you room.”

“Okay, mama.”

Lawrence directed him up the stairs and down a hallway to the left.

“He is very articulate, no?” said Lizette to Abigail. She was so tiny. Her hair was knotted in curls all piled atop her head. “For a boy of his age, I mean.”

“Yes, he’s whip smart,” said Abigail. “He’s learning to read.”

“How advanced.”

“Can I show you both to your room?” said Lawrence. “It’s upstairs, just one door down from the boy’s.”

“That would be great,” said John. “Thank you, sir. And thank you, ma’am.”

“It is our pleasure,” said Lizette.

When they got up to their room, they stood in the doorway for a moment, assessing the beauty of it all. It was very simple: a white bed with a pretty bedskirt and heavy linen curtains that hung in a very traditional fashion. Abigail had always desired a bedskirt, like the kinds they had in hotels. It was like a pretty dream, like being a cloud. She went in to touch the curtains and look out the window. The glass was very clean. When she turned back around, she saw John, standing very pensive in the doorway. He took a step inside and closed the door, then he dropped the bag on the floor and sat down on the bed.

“What is it?” she said.

He sat with his back to her, facing the door. She saw his back rise and fall in a deep breath. “I just—” He hung his head low. He had his elbows resting on his knees. He had worn a nice jacket, the nicest one he owned. “Why didn’t he tell me?” he said.

Abigail shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her. “You talking about Arthur?”

“Yeah,” said John. He took off his gloves, one by one, set them on the white bedspread. She walked around the bed so she could see him. He went on, but he didn’t look up at her. “I mean, I thought we was friends, Abigail. Brothers. Going north together—becoming a family. But he didn’t tell me they was engaged, and now I’m hearing about their wedding secondhand from a goddam stranger?”

“He ain’t a stranger to Arthur.”

“You know what I mean,” said John. “It's just that sometimes I’m worried I fucked up so much, so bad, that I’ll never get it back—his trust. His forgiveness. And now, so much of what he has, it’s outside the gang. It’s new people. It’s where he’s headed. He’s starting…new.”

Abigail sighed. She went and sat next to him on the bed, folding her hands in her lap. “It means a lot to you, don’t it. To be a part of his life.”

“Yes,” said John.

“John, you known Arthur a long time,” she said. “Things has been…difficult between you. But he wouldn’t’ve asked you to go north with him if he didn’t mean it. And he may be the strong, silent type, but he ain’t a perfect man neither. He’s done his share of wrong, and he knows it. He's trying his best, just like you. Give it time.”

“You’re right,” said John, nodding. “I know you’re right.”

“And anyway,” said Abigail. “I think I know why he didn’t tell you. About the wedding.”

He looked up from his hands. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, before they left, Mary Beth told me she thought she might be pregnant.”

“She’s pregnant?”

Abigail nodded. “Now, shotgunning like this? She probably told Arthur, and he just…he pulled the trigger. It’s like him.”

John sighed. He hadn’t thought of his, but it seemed fair. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said. “Especially after Eliza, Mary. All that drama. He wouldn’t wanna wait too long if he could help it.”

“See? It ain’t so bad.”

John nodded. “Thanks, Abbie.”

“You’re welcome.” She patted him on the knee. A moment went by, as if it were nothing. As if it were old times, in Denver where they met.

She let her hand linger out of some hopeful feeling inside. He took it, gentle. It was as she had wanted but not what she expected. She let him hold her hand, studying her knuckles as if he had forgotten what they looked like. It was real nice. Then he laced their fingers together, firmly, and he looked right at her. He had this way. John wasn't the most complex man she'd ever known, but he was true. His eyes were very dark, like these molten trees. He had his hair knotted back so she could see his whole face—the mean scars that brought back scary memories. But he was brave, and he wore them bravely. He was looking at her with feeling. She was hesitant, but eventually, she offered him the same.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said. He put a little bit of the hair behind her ear. She flinched at first. She wasn't used to it. But she was actually glad. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said. "It's fine."

“It’s just—you’re smart, Abbie," he said. "Real smart. You know that? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She blushed hard, glanced down at her boots. Somewhere outside the window, you could hear a couple of mourning doves, singing their sad song. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious,” he said, still staring. She looked back, and he held here eyes there. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Abigail.”

“For what?"

“For everything,” he said. "Everything."

She didn’t know what they were doing all of a sudden. “John—”

“Wait,” he said. He shifted toward her. Getting closer. His voice was soft. “Wait. Just let me finish.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still holding her hand, now in both of his. “For leaving you, alone. All them years ago. I’m sorry for getting drunk and doing stupid shit when I was supposed to be being a father to Jack. I done you wrong, but I just—you’ve stuck by me. You’re here. You’re giving me a second chance, and I don’t know why.”

She was staring at him now, listening to the doves outside. A wind came through as well and shook the window panes. She felt like crying. “It’s because I love you, John Marston,” she said. “Why the hell else would I be here?”

She could hear his breathing. She could smell his skin. She had not been close to him like this in some time. She waited.

Finally, he spoke. “We haven't kissed in so long,” he said, like he was reading her mind. “So long, I’ve almost forgotten what it was. In the beginning, when it was new, and it was…simple. I know it ain’t new no more, and I know it ain’t simple. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I love you, too," he said. "I never stopped."

“Oh, John—”

“Can I kiss you?” he said. “If you say no, that's okay, Abbie. I'll understand. I can wait.”

She was hanging by a thread by now. It had been a gamble, but John Marston was good at gambling. Their breathing was all shaky, like a couple of teenagers. She nodded, surprising them both. “Okay,” she said. “Just a kiss.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” he said.

So he leaned in, and he kissed her, and outside the doves were quiet, as if they knew the time had come.

Earlier that day, Arthur and Mary Beth were packing up their horses, getting ready to head southwest toward Emerald Ranch. Hamish went inside, and Mary Beth was standing over by the lake’s edge, tossing rocks into the water. He went to her and smiled.

“I’m gonna miss it,” she said. “That’s all. I like it here.”

“Yeah. I know you do,” he said. Then he took a deep breath and held her hand. “Come on. Walk with me.”

“Where we goin?”

“Not far. Don’t worry.”

They walked along the lake, around it for a little ways. The sun made it look silvery. There were geese and ducks and some deer drinking out on the other side. When they got far enough that they were very alone, they stopped and Mary Beth was quiet, full of appreciation for the beauty in the world around her. “What’s going on, Arthur?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said. “Or, well. I got something for you.”

This shifted her attention. She turned to him. “You do?”

“I do.” He sighed. He reached into his pocket, produced the little velvet box. He gave it to her.

“What’s this?” she said, turning it in her hands.

“It’s a ring,” said Arthur.

She looked at him in some combination of surprise and excitement. “A ring?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Now, if you don’t like it, or you want something different, it’s okay. We can go straight off, buy you what you want after the wedding.”

“The wedding?” she said.

He nodded, very calm. “At the Wintersons,'’” he said. “I hope it’s okay. I’ve already sent for Reverend Swanson and Dutch and Hosea to meet us there. Just them three, plus the Marstons. We can have a party later, with everyone. But for now, I—after talking to Hamish last night, I realized that there’s no good reason to wait. Just no good reason.”

After a moment of what felt like floating, Mary Beth flew forward in her way, held him tightly. She had to be up on her tip-toes. Her hair tickled his chin and nose. “Oh, Arthur.”

He let out a mighty sigh and thanked the lord.

She was crying a little. She dropped back down so she could look at him, wiped her eyes.

"Don't cry," he said.

"It ain't bad," she said. “I promise. These is tears of joy. But Arthur, when did you have the time to find a post office?”

He found this amusing. “I woke up at about four this morning. You was sleeping like a rock, Mary Beth. I rode to Annesburg and paid a messenger double to make sure it gets to Shady Belle by tomorrow morning. Then, I rode back.”

“Arthur,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Now, would you please look at the ring and tell me if it’s okay?”

“Oh, right,” she said. Off in the distance a flock of geese picked up and took off into the air. The ducks went after. She opened the box and looked at the ring, the pretty purple stone, so dainty and royal. She took it out and slipped it onto her finger. It was a touch big, but it would do for the time. She had heard of a trick where she could tie a piece of string to the inside of the band and make it more snug till they could get to a goldsmith and have it sized. “It’s beautiful, Arthur.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Where did you find it?”

“Hamish,” he said. “I tried to discourage him, but he would not take no for an answer.”

This seemed to touch Mary Beth deeply.

He took the empty velvet box and tucked it back into his pocket. Then he took both her hands in his and looked at her. The day was so pretty in the sunlight, next to the silvery lake. “You and me,” he said. “Forever. You okay with that?”

She said yes. He put his arm around her in his casual way. Then they looked out past the lake and to Hamish’s house, where Mary Beth saw Hamish himself, saddling up his own pretty horse named Beull in a way that suggested he was coming with them. It made her happy. The whole thing made her so happy. Then she thought to herself that this was probably the last time she’d be up in this beautiful place for a long while. Despite it, she felt free. She looked up at Arthur as he seemed to be looking out at all of that truth out there, in nature. She’d never even known this place existed till he showed her.

[fandorkofeverything]

Doubts And Scars Chapter Three

/Katherine's P.O.V/

I walked up to Javier, handing him a cup of hot chocolate.

"Muchas gracias cariño." He thanked me and I nodded, not understanding the last word. "Where's your father?"

"Hunting with Charles, wouldn't let me come." Javier smiled slightly.

"At least he let you come yesterday."

"Probably because he knew you two would get yourselves killed saving John!" I exasperated, teasingly.

"That is!-" Javier was about to say something in defense; but couldn't think of anything. "True."

I shrugged and smiled, if I'm ever sad or need help with anything, I go to Javier. He's everything I need and more. He taught me guitar. I taught him how to speak English. He taught me to be strong. I taught him that it's okay to let your feelings go sometimes. We're…. Good together. We can't…. Be together. Not in this world.

"-we could do that to keep the horses warmer." I shook my thoughts out of head and looked at him.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"We could keep the brushes by the fire for awhile and brush them down to keep them warm. Arthur also recommended feeding them a little extra hay and grain, but not too much that they could colic, and we don't have any Laudanum or ether to treat them." I nodded in agreement.

"Okay, I can also mix some Valerian root to relieve their stress. Especially Baylock and Boaz, you know how finnicky the younger stallions can be." I mentioned and Javier chuckled at the mention of his paint.

"Don't I know. Especially since Boaz and I are still getting to know eachother." He commented and I agreed.

"I'll go mix the Valerian root and warm the brushes, and you give the horses their hay." I ordered him and he saluted.

"Yes ma'am!" He said, like a solider. I chuckled, pushing him towards the horses.

"Go!" I laughed running towards my room, grabbing a lock box underneath my bed. There was horse medicine, some herbs, my locket and some money I had leftover. I grabbed the herbs I needed and put on the locket, tucking it under my shirt.

I grabbed a bowl from the table, a spoon underneath and mixed them together. Once they were done, I poured them into a separate bowl.

After I was done, I ran out towards the horses. I fed each of the horses the Valerian root. Once I finished feeding Baylock, the men ran out of the house.

"Where y'all going?" I asked my Dad, who got on Splash.

"Train robbery, then we can get out of this goddamn weather." Da told me, I went to ask something, but he beat me to it. "No, you can't come!"

"Damnit!" I exclaimed, crossing my arms with a pouty expression.

"We'll be back soon, hermosa." Javier told me, riding off on Boaz, following Dutch and the gang. I huffed, and went back inside. I saw Mary-Beth and Karen talking, Susan and Tilly cleaning something, and Abagail and Molly discussing something. There was someone missing though.

Adler. Sadie Adler.

She's the widow Pawpaw, Micah and Dad saved from the O'Driscoll camps. Well, mostly Pawpaw and Dad.

I looked around in another room and saw her, she had her arms wrapped around her legs. I could tell she'd been crying. I gently knocked on the door, and she looked at me.

"May I come in?"

"I guess."

I walked in the room and sat down. At first, I didn't know what to say. I'm guessing 'Hi, I just met you, sorry your husband died, come live with us where we're being chased by the law because we're fucking bad people' wouldn't be the ideal statement.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, have we?" Sadie began the conversation, looking me in the eye.

I shook my head. "No, we haven't. my name is Katherine Bessie Morgan. You can call me Kat or just Katherine. It makes little difference to me."

"It's nice to meet you, Katherine. I'm Sadie Alder…. Mrs." I looked down as she did the same. She knows that I know what they did.

"They're…. Horrible people. They killed my family…. Davey. Mac. Jenny. Sean, maybe. I don't know. It's….. Horrible business. We're bad, Sadie. I'm not going to lie to you. But them….. We're not even close to being them." I explained to her and she looked at me, like she was trying to fit a puzzle piece together.

"You have your father's hair, but not his eyes." I blushed slightly, and looked down.

"No. I have my mothers' eyes." I told her, narrowing my eyebrows for a moment.

"Your mother?" She questioned and I looked away.

"I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." I told her and she nodded in understanding.

"A ghost from your past, hmm?" She asked and I nodded, slowly. "I get it."

Sadie and I talked for awhile about this and that, before I heard Pawpaw say that my Dad's back. I excused myself and ran outside. Dad was carrying someone over his shoulder and had another one by the grip of her hood. The girl was struggling, she looked scared. Dad threw the one over his shoulder down and Dutch laughed in approval.

"Arthur! I knew you'd follow through!" He looked down at the two, the other who I could tell was a man now. Brown hair, light brown eyes, no older than twenty-five. The younger one was a girl, red hair, blue eyes, no older than fourteen. "Uncle, Williamson, tie up this man someplace safe. Katherine, you'll watch over the girl, won't you?" Pawpaw looked me in the eyes and I nodded slowly.

"Yes Sir." I told him and he smiled.

"Wonderful. I've got a saying, little missy," He looked at the girl, but then looked up to the man. "We shoot fellas, as need shooting. Save fellas, as need saving. And feed 'em, as need feeding. We're gonna find out what you need." The man looked deathly terrified, and the girl was still shakin in fear. "Two O'Driscolls! In my camp!"

"My sister and I ain't no O'driscolls, mister! We hate that feller!" The man yelled as he was being dragged away.

"Yeah, whatever you say son!"

I walked up to the young girl and untied her. O'Driscoll or not, she was a kid. A kid caught up in a bad rap.

"What's your name, hon?" I asked her, she looked at me with her bright blue eyes.

"Raine. Raine Duffy. That was my brother. Kieran Duffy." She explained to me and I nodded. I held out my hand and she reluctantly took it, I led her to my room.

"Know that Lenny and Uncle Bill will be watching the door tonight, so I wouldn't try anything funny." I told her and she nodded, rubbing her hands together. "Are you cold?" I asked her and she nodded. I grabbed an extra blanket and wrapped it around her.

"Thank you… Why are you being so kind? I know for a fact that the others aren't like that. And why do I get a room while my brothers tied up in the horse barn?"

"Because, like it or not, the men here will raise no hand to no women," Except Micah, probably, but I didn't mention that. "and, you're a kid. What, fourteen?"

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen, hmm?" I nodded at her. "Don't worry, we'll be getting out of this snow soon enough."

"I'm only worried about my brother at the moment." She told me and I looked at her, dead in the eye.

"Tell you what," I leaned down towards her. "I see the two of you lasting through this cold, I'll make sure the gang won't be so hard on your brother- Kieran, was it?" She nodded.

"Thank you….."

"Katherine."

"Thank you Katherine."

I looked at the young redhead on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket. She looked as she had seen the worst of it. And I could tell she had. if I can reach her and Kieran, then maybe we can get to something after all. And I don't just mean Colm O'Driscoll. No. I mean finally lasting some friendships that don't always end up in a gun fight.

[reddeadtrash]

Ghosts

Summary: There is something strange about the woman they find in the winter wilderness. She is cold, unwavering, and strangely menacing. Arthur Morgan finds himself pulled in by that vivacity. Unbeknownst to him, she knows many things that elude this cowboy. Like magnet to metal, no matter how far he throws her away, he always finds himself going back.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC

Rating: M

Word count: 3297

A/N: I will uplaod chapter two also, but then it’s weekly updates my dudes

CHAPTER ONE: THE DEER AND THE WOLF

You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey You're as sweet as strawberry wine You're as warm as a glass of brandy And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time

Arya’s hands were freezing. Her entire body, mind you, was a total block of frozen ice. When Arthur noticed how strong her trembling was, he took off his gloves and handed them to her. Gingerly, she took them. Form his vantage point, Arthur saw the redness of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips. He didn’t know why, but his fixation went even further. Her eyes were actually a very deep brown instead of black. Her brows were thick but well kept, which was rare for women in his camp, and whenever she frowned, a crease formed between them. And her hair smelled of rainwater.

              “Don’t want you freezing your fingers off, miss,” he grumbled. She gave him a look over her shoulder but accepted the gloves anyway. They looked ridiculously big on her, but if they kept her warm, Arthur had no problems.

              They rode hard through the mountain. The snow had fallen so much that even the horses had difficulty managing through. The horizon was beginning to shimmer, dawn just on the cusp of breaking through the outline of the mountains.

              “Where are we headed?” Arya asked.

              Arthur felt a sharp pang in his chest. Something was definitely wrong about her. He felt it on the tip of his tongue, tingling in his fingers.

              “Camp.”

              They rode the rest in silence.

              The shape of her body had begun to imprint onto his front by the time they saw the campfires of their home up ahead. And even though Arthur Morgan had sworn off women and physical contact a long time ago, he was still a man. Arya was voluptuous in a way young women were, and having her rubbing against him slightly with every jolt of his horse was making his body react in ways he didn’t want.

              Camp began to slowly build around them. Javier holding guard far ahead. Charles and Lenny sitting by a campfire. Snow coated rooftops, ice crystalizing along the edges of the wood. Under inches of snow, carcasses of cabins lay astray, either eaten by mold or fire, Arthur couldn’t guess.  

              He began to take notice of the way people in camp were staring his way. Mostly at Arya. Abigail was holding Jack on her knees, brown doe eyes heavy on Arthur and the cargo he was carrying. Karen and Mary-Beth, who were supposed to be taking care of Davey and his grave, were standing, mouth half-open.

              Arthur rode his stead to the hitching post, slid off, and hitch him. Arya casually slid off before he could gallantly offer his hand.

              He watched her observe the camp. Her black eyes scanned the snow first, as if she was looking for footprints or clues. Then she examined the buildings, her lips moving slightly as if she was counting them off, one by one. She watched Uncle stagger out of Pearson’s cabin, Micah examining his gun too closely, and Hosea talking closely with Tilly.

              When Arthur saw the very, very slight smile spread on Arya’s lips, he grabbed her violently by the arm and dragged her through the snow. A gurgled sound came from her mouth, the snow on her hair falling awkwardly into her face. Dutch and Micah took notice of the altercation, moving toward the scene, following Arthur.

              The man brought her to the door of his own cabin, kicked it open, and swung her in. She landed on her side looking all the most awkward. Big blue woolen coat that she’d took off the O’Driscoll she’d murdered. Arthur’s black gloves that were obviously took big for her. Caramel mess of hair carelessly pushed behind her ears. A wild look in her swan eyes.

              “Arthur!” Dutch came behind him, followed by Micah, and closed the door. The cold was crisper in there, rendered to the space around them. Their breaths came out in harsher white clouds.

              Arya’s breathing was ragged as she crawled back slowly on her hands.

              “What is the meaning of this?” Dutch demanded quietly, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders. The latter was slowly beginning to tremble, anger and doubt tearing his handsome features.

              “Arthur’s got a hard on for the new kid,” Micah joked teasingly, his face turned low, looking at Arthur from under those thin white brows of his.

              Arthur’s hand flew faster than he could think. In one motion, he had back-handed Micah so hard that the latter’s cheek was already reddening. With a squeal not unlike a school girl, Micah reared back, shoulder against the wall, hand cradling his cheek.

              “You get that filthy mouth outta here before I make you regret even having a mouth!” Arthur growled.

              “Arthur!” Dutch held him back using two hands against the big man’s chest. Arthur may have been big and tall, mean looking, and rough, but he was not immune to commands from his boss.

              Arthur’s eyes zigzagged between Micah and Dutch twice, then down to Arya, who was watching the whole thing with a very deep frown.

              “Micah, you should leave,” Dutch breathed, still not taking his eyes off Arthur, neither his hands.

              It was only until Micah had sauntered outside, letting a bite of cold air in, that Dutch took his hands off of Arthur’s chest.  

              “Now would you please tell me the meaning of all this, Arthur?” Dutch demanded loudly, his dark eyes wildly searching his comrade’s face.

              Arthur hesitated, motioning between the girl on the floor and the window. Words bumped out of his mouth. He was flailing.

              “Don’t you find this all funny?” he blurted out. “We find some girl who knows how to shoot and kill. She has convenient information about Colm. Doesn’t hesitate to come under our wing?”

              Dutch sighed heavily. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose and he let out a very small chuckle. “Oh, Arthur,” he chortled. “I think the stress is getting to you.”

              Arthur frowned so deeply that his brows seemed to connect under his hat.

              “The stress?” he growled. Then he turned to the girl, still sitting on the floor. However, she was now loosely hugging her knees with her elbows, leaning back against the wall. Her head was cocked, bird-like, as if examining a very peculiar scene. Her face was stoic, as always, but she was frowning ever the slightest. “She’s too convenient!” Arthur exclaimed.

              “If you don’t want me here,” she said in a very low voice, getting to her feet, “I’ll just go.” She made to walk passed them both, but Arthur, once again, lay hands on her to throw her back.

              “Convenient!” Arthur growled as Arya stumbled backwards. “Once she knows where our camp is, she bolts. Probably right back to Colm O-“

              Arthur had been hit before. He’d been punched repeatedly. Slapped, pushed, kicked. Almost everywhere on his body, he’d received a blow.

              He had never, however, been thoroughly punched right in the balls.

              Bent in half, the breath knocked-out of him, Arthur heard rather than saw the scene unfold before him. Dutch burst out laughing as if the greatest joke of all time had been said. And the girl said one very peculiar thing to him.

              “You want to talk about me running back to my brother’s murderer again, I’ll cut your dick off.”

              Arthur coughed. The pain between his legs was a harsh throbbing. Dutch laughing in his ear was an insult.

              “Okay, I really like her!” he was saying. “You’ve got fire, madam. You’re in! We’re headed down from the mountain soon, but as soon as we are settled somewhere… less displeasing, I’m all ears for that information of yours.”

              Then Dutch grabbed Arthur by the shoulder. “Cut her some loose, my boy,” he said close to Arthur’s ear. “She’s lost, and we can help her as much as she can help us. Put that superstition away for now.”

              “She didn’t have to do that,” Arthur grumbled back, gesturing to his crotch. He stood up straighter, wincing, eyeing the seemingly nonthreatening girl.

              “Seems like I did,” she mumbled, arms crossed over her chest. She looked at him and that air of viciousness and rabid anger had left her features. Arthur saw no trace of the predator on her face. It did something strange to him. Instead of the threatening prickling on his skin, it sent a wave of relief through his chest.

              He nodded, readjusted his hat, and made to leave. Before he was out of earshot, he heard Dutch say, “Have Mrs. Grimshaw take you over, darling. She’ll get you up to date.”

[iam-kenough]

Will  you ever notice me? Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Summary:  During they wandering in deep snowstorm, man from  van  der Linde gang found odd looking girl and Dutch decides to take her  to  camp to see if she can be any use, leading life of outlaw with  them.  Quickly, new girl develops feelings towards Arthur, but he sees  her just  as a kid...and she won't take that! It's an original character  story  that starts in the place where Arthur, Dutch and Micah were  supposed to  first meet with Sadie. Instead she's already with them.  

Authors notes: This one contains sex scenes so I need to mark it here as it’s a big piece of chapter. It’s another chapter and you  can find the rest of chapter on my blog if you want to read more of my  fanfiction. I decided to post all parts I have at once so the fic could  catch more attention. Word count: 3258 Chapter 8 They seemed to drift apart. Arthur was afraid of hurting Iris even more and she was afraid of him talking to her. She just knew she's gonna hear things she didn't wanna hear from him. It just wasn't the best theese day. Things became even worse when Arthur wasn't back after one of gang's jump. From what Iris understand, O'Driscolls had to do something with it again. But it wasn't the problem since everyone claimed Arthur was with them back then. She was beating herself for not going with them to keep everyone, specifically one special one, safe. - He's missing, Dutch, how could you lose a human being?! He's not a pair of keys? - Iris was impatient with man. Despite all bad that happened between Arthur and her, she was worried. It wasn't about her pride anymore, man was missing from her and everyone else's life. - It wasn't my intention, we had a plan- - Dutch - she cut in with voice colder than snow lying in mountains - I respect you, a lot but - she took sharp breath - your plans are shit and since we've met each other everyone around thinks you are crrrazy~! They said you lost in in Blackwater and I have every right to believe it. - Why? - he asked briefly, smoking a ciggar. - Friendly reminder, you lost a man! Are you even listening to me? - It's hard not to, woman. - Dutch van der Linde, you won't disrespect me this way. It's not even fact you lost a man in action like he was a pair of gloves, he's the best you have. No one shots like him, no one hunts like him and no one is loyal to you like him! - You do and you do and you probably aren't, that's true. - It sounds like you are exchanging man who's considered your son for some random lass, and that's me. -I just try to be reasonable - he dragged from cigarette again - What I am supposed to do, fight Colm O'Driscoll with his whole gang and search for him? - I would! I just can't fight properly - she groaned, falling on a trunk in Dutch's tent. Without asking Iris grabbed pack of cigarettes and light one of them up. Dutch raised his brows. - Since when you are a smoker? - Since I'm pissed off, sitting there, useless just like Uncle. He couldn't help but chuckle. - Lumbago, my ass - she said - when I sit on my own and read everyone loses their shit. "Do this, do that, you and Arthur can do anything". - Feeling a little bit like you need to talk to someone and it happened to be me. - Feeling like you gonna piss me off, even more, Dutch - she put strong accent on his name. - That's Arthur's job now I suppose. - And what was that supposed to mean? - her face showed signs of being offended, deep line between her brows. - I just thought I showed you clearly my interest in you. And then you disappeared and got back again with him and he's looking at you funny since then. - Interest in me? Dutch, didn't you mistake me for some other girl? And where's Molly anyway? - her finger poked his chest. - I don't know and I don't feel like I should. - Ouchie. Wonder when I would be in her place. - Huh? - Just saying you don't do the best advertisement for yourself. And by the way, I know nothing about you being interested in me.   - Oh, but I am and I would be still if you would consider it...- his eyes lingered a little bit too long on Iris's lips. - Ew! Arthur's missing and I'm not gonna have any funny business with you, because we need to search for him! That's when she heard gasp of Mrs Grimshaw coming from back of the camp. She wasn't careless, she grabbed a gun and left the tent looking around quickly. Dutch followed her. On the ground, covered in mud, dust and sunburns lied Arthur and he's horse was nibbling on his hair. - Oh my fuckin' God - she whispered away looking down on man. Dutch whisteled. She punched him in the stomach right away. Then Arthur, barely alive looked up to them and passed out. It wasn't like she didn't hold the grudge against Arthur Morgan, thinking over and over about his journal, his words and actions. Iris felt guilty for one another reason. She bashed herself for not being straight forward right away with Arthur. Now it seemed reasonable since she knew his reaction. It was harsh, right, but not the way it could be. She would been turned down but maybe it would let two of them get along better? Anything would be better than this mess now. Arthur was in bad condition. His skin was sunburned, especially on his face, he looked like he hasn't been shaving in his lifetime and he was so weak, he wasn't leaving the bed. He was unconscious and that meant he couldn't drink or eat. Iris's worries grew bigger every day and she was the one to look after him. All he was doing was sleeping and wheezing. His lungs sounded terrible and he was coughing a lot. At first girl was sure it's just because he snores and can't drink properly but one time he coughed out blood. It was dripping down his chin as she froze in terror. She knew what it was. Tuberculosis. When Iris was small, mother looked after her and father was the one she respected and feared. Them two barely talked and Iris was always hiding behind mother's skirt. But her pop liked to drink and one evening he drank too much, he and mom had big fight and he choked her do death because of some random inconvenience. Iris saw it but she was too you and too scared to say anything. Yeah, her daddy liked his whiskey. It wasn't only that he was drinking at home and now he was focused on torturing his son. He sometimes traveled  to nearest saloon and had nasty fights with everyone around. It got so bad, at point, that anywhere around when someone asked about him people knew him and bad reputation made it hard to find any job. He worked only to drink more but sometimes he had good days and have his kids something to eat. She knew Arthur had tuberculosis because her daddy catched it too, beating some other guy up one night. It was terrible, especially because he wasn't on any treatment. At some point when he breathed he sounded like a train. And then he died. Iris was looking at him with terror and sadness and anger and every bad emotion she could feel was there, with her, sticking to her head like mud. She wondered how bad it was with Arthur. The book he gave her that night told her things that lifted up her mood a little. She needed to search for herbs, buy them and pray that it wasn't too late for him. But she was stressed, she knew that this jump with gang, being a hostage, almost dying and being sunburned wasn't exactly perfect when one had TB. Arthur wasn't eating yet but she had a plan. With medical herbs she made paste, then spoon of it was landing under his tongue and she was waiting for it to melt away. Every evening she was reading this big book with help of faint light that oil lamp was giving and she was coming across numerous ideas she could try out on Arthur to make him healthy man. She decided that if there is any way she could help was buying all the stuff at town he would need to recover. She even bought himself tea which was extremely expensive for some reason but after making herself cup of it and adding honey to that Iris knew how good that idea was, as honey soothed her throat. Perfect, she's sure he'll love it once he will be better enough to drink. Her head tilted slightly to the side as she's fallen asleep on chair next to Arthur's bed. Warm but weak light was supposed to keep her awake but it wasn't possible. Lately she tried not to sleep at all just to watch him sleep. He was wheezing less already but looking at his throat Iris knew the road is gonna be long and bumpy. It made her feel better when she finally could do something for him for saving her that one, feral night. She was dreaming about him and corners of her lips were twitching as she tried to smile. Arthur woke up and grunted. Pain in his head was unbearable and he felt like he was starving. In addition, skin on his face felt like it was on fire and every part of his body cried out in pain as he tried to got up. He noticed her after a moment, sitting on a chair burried deeply in her sleep. He blinked few times. All he could remember was dying so he had to die. There's no other way she would be there, looking after him after all what happened and that she would resign of comfortable bed to sleep right next to him. It was heaven and this angel with golden halo was guarding him. He coughed and it was weird feeling. He was diagnosed with TB but was brushing it off for some time. When he was drowning after his ship sank, Arthur understood how deeply fucked up he was. But his chest felt different now and he wasn't seeing blood on his lips or hands. He had to die, there is no other way to get better for him. Iris wriggled in her chair, waking up and touching her neck with visible pain and Arthur was sure he heard bones cracking as she straighten up. He couldn't help but look at her, as her sleepy eyes were glimmering and she rose them to meet with his pupils. - You woke up! - she got up immediately, visible startled. She blushed and didn't know why. Seeing him being better was just so nice and this sudden feeling flooded her stomach with warmth. - Woke up? I can assume that I am dead, no way I would live through all of shit what happened and wake up feeling better. But I can see you there and I'm not sure now, I don't remember angels being in hell. She jumped towards him and hugged man tightly, rubbing her cheek against his honeyblond hair. He woke up. - It was days, I swear. I was already thinking how to feed you if you won't wake up for any much longer. Never do that again, Arthur Morgan. Arthur was surprised. She welcomed himself so nicely, with all the warmth, and now her slender frame tried to cover him. Iris's black hair was tickling his face and she smelled nice, oh so nice, like honey and lilacs. - Is it real? - was all he asked. Iris laughed at it was laugh full of relief and happiness, Arthur would consider it as his favourite sound since now. - Maybe you get more stupid every time something hits you on the head. But that's nothing. Good you are alive - she peppered his cheeks with little kisses and she blushed strongly. - What is all that for? I didn't remember being so cherished last time we saw each other. I just can't believe it, kid. It was true. Iris backed off a little bit but it was only because of embarrassment eating her alive. She was too proud and he was too patient with her. - I'm sorry for all of that... I feel like it doesn't matter anymore. Just because all those crazy things that happened I understand how much I cherish you. Even if you want be friends and only friends. He scratched back of his head. Arthur wouldn't be just friends but he didn't know how to put it in words. She was so young and innocent, looking like porcelain doll and walking into his life like a snowstorm he found her in. At first he felt attacked and put into the corner like wild animal, even though she only confessed to him. After all those years, losing Eliza and then being left by Mary he was afraid to re-learn all those feelings coming with love. For much more than five years he was sharing bed with no one. And when he did it was just some working girl, not a babydoll like her. He felt like a fool when his heart was fluttering in his chest like bird asking to be free when he saw her. With Eliza it was just an accident and he got used to her, wanting to be a decent man. Mary on the other hand didn't know what she wanted. She seemed to come to him only when she really needed and it was more one sided romance that made Arthur believe he doesn't want any of that anymore. And that he didn't deserve love anyway. Iris was waiting for him to respond as she was chewing her lips. Being turned down again wouldn't even hurt now. She was sure she developed mature feelings toward him and she's gonna love him even if she will be his friend considered younger sister. She wanted to tell that doesn't matter anyway and that they can simply talk when he reached his hand to her face and caressed her cheek, rubbing small circles with his calloused thumb. Arthur looked at her like she was Goddes he wanted to praise now. His hands were rough but knot in her stomach tying up right know told her she wouldn't mind them anywhere. She leaned in a little bit, making distance between their faces shorter as she spoke. - I love you - it sounded so calm and good Arthur was sure he could melt away, right here and right now. He was looking at her lips and she bit the lower one, chewing on it. He put a hair strand behind her ear. Should he kiss her? After he stole her first kisses it felt almost like a crime. But he really wanted to do it properly. So he did and as they lips touched Arthur already knew how starved he was. He grabbed her without any thinking, forgetting about any pain and put her on his lap, making her gasp into his parted lips. Iris's didn't mind his smell, or beard scratching her face or that he tasted like blood. It was finally the kiss she wanted to have with him. It was getting rather hot between them. As he was pressing her to his body, Arthur did everything to make sure he touched all of her. She was sitting on him, his hips between her tights and he couldn't stop. First it was just touching all around but places he was interested in. But when two warm and round objects pressed against his naked chest through thin fabric of her blouse he lost it. Arthur made the kiss even more deep and her tongue invited him in. She tasted like honey, too. His thoughts become fuzzy enough to think he would check if her pussy wasn't made of honey when threw her on the bed and climbed on top of her. - W-wait - she gasped, catching air as her round breats were going up and down. Up and down. It was all he could think about it now - I-I have never done that before. Realisation came to him like water from ice-cold bucket. He just tried to mingle with a virgin to fuck her, when he not only looked like shit but smelled similar too. What kind of light he was putting himself into? Arthur panicked suddenly and backed off. He still couldn't help but look at her nipples, piercing thru the blouse. - Y-you are right, I should at least take a bath instead of doing all of that with you now. - All of that? - she asked curiously. She knew how sex worked but she couldn't imagine it. For some reason it made her squeeze her tights together but also caused fear. - Um, you know. Have sex? - he scratched his chin, not knowing where to look. - I don't know how it works. You know I can't even kiss properly - she started playing with her fingers, when wild blush on her cheeks became few shades darker. He wanted to say something but just stuttered. To think about it he couldn't describe things he would do to her even though he exactly knew. He wanted to touch her breasts and feel her skin, to bite her neck, to dive between her tights and watch her moan. - W-will you show me, Arthur? Maybe tomorrow... He gulped. Now perspective of sun coming up and getting a bath was exciting like never before. - Oh I can show you anything you want, sweetheart - he replied in low, husky voice. Arthur felt like an old, ugly fool when he realised how much he needed that. It was enough to make him happy and aroused when it came to her, she was just pecking his cheek and he already was thinking how it would be to see her in his bed. He was starved of love and warmth of woman's body. Then dirty thought came to his mind. - I could show you small bit of it now, if you want. In a way. You don't have to be afraid, it's not what you thinking. - And what exactly it is then? - she stirred in her place. Oh God, he realised, she's horny. - You gonna like it - he whispered into her mouth as he kissed her deeply and slowly. She was shaking beneath him as he slowly peppered her neck with kisses. He stopped when line of blouse told him to. He didn't know what to say next. "I'm gonna pick your skirt up?". Iris made it easier. - S-should I undress? Do you want to see m-my...you know... He couldn't help but nod and gulped. It was some kind of a dream. She got up and undressed, her small arms covering her breasts as she turned around to face him, her cheeks flushed with red. Oh. My. God. It wasn't only she was pretty, it was he never had a girl like it before realising it's something brand new when woman is so pale, delicate and she trembles for him. With surprised he noticed that she's shaved down there. - I know I look w-weird. I'm sorry - she whispered. He cleared his throat getting out of trance. - I can assure you it's not even close to weird - he licked his lips. Before she could say anything more he pushed her on the bed again, getting back to business. He finally could suck on her nipples and feel how skin between her tights felt. And it all was making him feverish. His lips traveled down her stomach and she gasped. - W-what you gonna do, Arthur? - she looked at him, her eyes hazy. Oh he wanted to have her, right now. - You gonna like it, babygirl - he whispered to her ear. It was dirty and hot feeling at the same time. And, God, she liked it a lot. 

[krycss]

Crossroads | oc:Alice Harkins/Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith

Prologue: Alice Joins A Gang

[Read on AO3]

 - Next Chapter

I won't be changing anything from the canon, despite how sad some things might get, except for the fact that my character will be along for some of the missions. Yes, that means THAT is going to happen - I’m sorry. Or am I?

Alice Harkins joined the Van der Linde gang from it's early days. Growing up alongside the older Arthur Morgan, she can't help but feel an attraction to the man who taught her so much. When the gang gets the addition of one Charles Smith, Alice quickly realizes she's found herself in quite the predicament: She loves them both and both men not only share the feelings towards her, but towards each other as well. As the gang moves on from the tragedy at Blackwater, the three find themselves at a crossroads, embarking on a strange but happy journey together. Can they find a way to maintain their relationship while the gang that brought them together begins to crumble around them?

Alice Harkins was twelve years old when her life was turned, quite literally to ash. Living in a small town in Missouri, Alice just so happened to be away from home one blistering summer eve when her family’s home was burned down. By the time she returned, her home was but a pile of smoldering timber, thick black smoke swirling high into the sky. Her ma, pa, and younger brother were scattered about the yard – gun shots in each of their bodies the only evidence to what had happened.

Alice spent the next four years wandering from town to town. A shell of her former self. The happy little red-headed child was now a struggling teen, trying to survive in this cruel world. She became a pickpocket over the years. Stealing trinkets and money in order to afford food and, if she was particularly lucky, a roof over her head for a night.

It was one fateful afternoon that Alice spotted a new man wandering the streets of the backwater town she was currently holed up in. His carefree attitude and easy-to-pick satchel made him the perfect target in Alice’s eyes. She tailed him for most of the evening and when he finally stopped into the local saloon Alice made her move. At sixteen she knew just how to distract men – despite how degrading it made her feel. Adjusting her bodice she casually made her way over to the bar. From this close she could see just how handsome the man was. His dark blond hair fell in short tresses, just barely past his ears. But what drew her to him were his eyes – she spent far too long trying to decide if they were blue or green. Perhaps both. She found it easy to chat with the man, Arthur Morgan, she learned his name was. Perhaps it was his friendly demeanor, but Alice found herself telling Arthur things she had never told any of her other victims – about her family and growing up alone. She wasn’t too worried, she’d never see the man again.

The two spent what felt like hours in the saloon with casual conversation and a handful of drinks – although Alice was careful to simply nurse hers. When night fell Arthur made his farewell, leaving the saloon on wobbly legs with Alice’s help in getting down the rickety saloon stairs. As she helped him to the stables where he said he left his horse, Alice took advantage of his inebriated state to begin rifling through his satchel. She felt the distinct feel of money and various other items – despite its size the bag seemed to hold quite a lot of things for some reason. She continued laughing at whatever silly thing happened to come out of Arthur’s mouth. She just needed a few more seconds. Gripping onto the bills she went to pull her hand out when Arthur quickly grasped her wrist. His slurring had stopped and he pulled her around to the side of the stable, suddenly less drunk than before. Alice quickly realized she was the one who had been played.

“Little lady,” His voice rumbled lowly, “if you’d like to keep your hand, I’d suggest letting go now.”

Alice stared wide-eyed at the man. His face remained dark, but there was a hint of something behind his eyes – amusement?

Alice sighed.

“I have to admit, Mr. Morgan, this is a tad bit embarrassin’.” She sulked.

“It was clever, I’ll give ya that.” Arthur released her wrist. “But you’ve still got some learning to do if you’re going to continue this here line of work.” He hummed thoughtfully.

“What in the world are you talkin’ about?”

Arthur stared at her, his eyes staring down into her light blue ones.

“Not sure.” He scratched at the scruff on his chin. “I may have a proposition for you though. Meet me at the saloon, same time tomorrow? If you’re willing.”

Alice’s eyes widened.

“I was just robbin’ you…and you want to see me again?” She scoffed, crossing her arms.

Arthur laughed, it was a sharp thing but Alice felt herself fighting a smile at it.

“Let’s just say I know someone who might be able to help you out.”

“And who says I need help?”

Arthur stared down at her. Her head only reached his chest.

“Just think on it. I gotta get goin’.”

He waved her off as he entered the stable.

 The next day Alice argued with herself for hours, and continued to argue with herself as she sat at a table in the corner of the saloon. Just as she was considering leaving for the umpteenth time that night, in walked Arthur Morgan, followed by another man. The other man was slightly older, black hair framing his sharp face. He held himself high, dressed in clothes far too sharp for him to be a local. The two sat down at the table with Alice.

“Glad to see you again, little lady.” Arthur smirked.

Alice huffed.

“Dutch, this is…Alice, yes?” Arthur looked for confirmation. “Alice, this here is Dutch.”

Alice stared at the man. The name sounded slightly familiar but she couldn’t remember if she’d seen him before.

“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, miss.” Dutch smiled. “Arthur here tells me you have the makings of a rather fine pickpocket with the right help.”

There was no judgement from the man before her, in fact, Alice thought he seemed a little too eager. Apparently Arthur had told Dutch the things Alice had told him about herself. She regretted it immediately.

“We’ve got a family, of sorts, a small, ragtag group of people just like you. And we’d be more than happy to have you join us – if you’re willing. We’ve been in need of someone with your particular skillset for a while now.” Dutch’s eyes gleamed in the lantern-light of the saloon.

“What kind of group needs a pickpocket?” Alice questioned.

Arthur leaned forward.

“The kind that makes a habit of surviving doing very similar things.”

“So…a gang?” Alice lowered her voice at the end.

Dutch hummed in agreement.

Alice’s brain kicked into gear.

“Are-Are you Dutch’s Boys?!” Alice whispered loudly.

Arthur’s back straightened up as he glanced around, making sure no one heard. Dutch simply laughed heartily.

“Ya’ll have been causing quite a storm with all your robberies of late”

Ever since their first big heist in 1887, Alice had been following the news of the gang robbing their way across the Midwest through whatever means over the past two years. She never learned how to read before her parents were killed so the most she got was from overhearing others talk about them.

Alice tried to hold her excitement in but it must have been apparent on her face as Dutch’s smile grew wide.

“That’s the goal, miss. And, if you’d like, we’d be more than willing to give you a place to stay if you’re willing to put in the work.” Dutch folded his hands on the table. “You’d have a family with us. Arthur here was just like you when we took him in – an orphan making it on his own on the streets.”

Arthur smiled fondly at Dutch, Alice could tell there was a deep respect for the man. She sat there for a moment, but she already knew her answer. Standing up, she held her hand out towards Dutch who was quick to grasp it between his own two hands.

 Alice quickly found herself playing the role of a sister to John Marston who was the same age as herself. They were taught to read together by the very friendly Hosea Matthews- who found Alice to be the better-behaved student. The other members of the gang at the time were Susan Grimshaw, who Alice found to be a hard but hardworking woman, Hosea’s wife Bessie, and Annabelle. Alice quickly took a shine to Arthur’s dog, Copper.

Her first few years with the gang were spent learning how to properly shoot by Arthur, picking up her pickpocket skills with the help of Dutch, and the learning how to better con people by Hosea. Over the years, since her time joining in 1889 to 1894 the gang went through many changes. The loss of Annabelle by Colm O’Driscoll was a stark reminder to Alice of how cruel the world is – eventually the gang would also lose Bessie, another reminder. However the gang also grew and prospered as they continued to travel. They met the Callander boys, Mac and Davey. Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth were added; Mary-Beth and Alice became quick friends with their shared skills. Pearson, Swanson, the lovable oaf Uncle soon joined as well. Sean MacGuire was quite the addition to the gang, followed by Molly O’Shea, and eventually Josiah Trelawny. By 1894 the gang was still growing and Alice found herself no longer haunted by the loss of her original family – she had found a new one. Bill Williamson joined around this time, followed by Abigail Roberts who Alice wasn’t sure how to feel about at the time. When Jack was born the gang quickly took a shine to the boy, helping Abigail to raise him. John left a year later and Alice was sad to see him go but a part of her understood – the two of them were close and she knew how he felt about the kid. Around this time Javier was introduced to the gang by Dutch. Alice was about the same age as him, twenty-three, and despite the language barrier at first, the two found a quaint friendship between one another.

It was around this time that her relationship with Arthur would begin to change as well. Everyone in camp knew the two were close – he was the one who brought her into the gang and showed her the ropes – and the teasing was relentless but it didn’t bother either of them. Besides, she would remind those who taunted her, he has that Mary woman, right? Even if they weren’t together anymore. As she grew up Alice couldn’t help but notice that sometimes her eyes would wander over to Arthur during his morning chores, watching his muscles tense beneath his shirt. It only increased in intensity as she got older. He was only ten years older than her, but that was enough for her to think that he only saw her as a little sister and as such, she kept her feelings to herself. It was during a rather emotional, drink-filled night that Arthur started [Alice later learned his drunkenness that night was due to what had happened with Eliza and Isaac] that it happened. The two eventually found themselves in the woods away from camp, just drunk enough to have no inhibitions but sober enough to remember what had happened. Strong emotions, heated gazes, and experimental kisses turned into a long night in the woods. At twenty-three, Alice was happy that her first time was with Arthur – someone she trusted. The two remained friends after the night, though not without a bout of awkwardness for the first few days afterword. It was just one drunken night, the two would agree on, it didn’t mean anything else.

By the time John returned in 1896 the gang began heading towards Montana. 1898 saw the gang in a bit of a rough patch for a while. The loss of Copper was hard on both Arthur and Alice. The gang ended up travelling into the Northern Grizzlies where they settled for a few months. Dutch even considered looking into getting some land for the gang but when that didn’t work the gang moved on. 1898 also brought in the latest members of the Van Der Linde gang – Lenny Summers, Jenny Kirk, Micah Bell, and Charles Smith. Alice adored Lenny and Jenny and their sprouting relationship. She shared the same thoughts Arthur did about Micah. And Charles, well, Alice found herself quickly intrigued by the man. Charles was the same age as Alice when he joined, twenty-six. Quiet and reserved, it took some time before he began opening up to the gang but he was quick to show his loyalty. Alice, despite her rowdy and extroverted nature, found herself often coaxing Charles into conversation around the campfire – even if it tended to be a little more one-sided on her part. She found that her eyes also began to seek out Charles around camp, much the same way they did with Arthur before. She tried to ignore what that meant.

When the gang made their way into West Elizabeth in 1899, camping just outside the growing town of Blackwater, Alice was twenty-seven and found herself caught between a rock and a hard place. She loved Dutch like a father, much like others, but when the planning of the Blackwater Robbery was underway, she found herself with Arthur and Hosea, scoping out a job of their own. By the time the three caught up with the rest of the gang after hearing what had happened, Alice knew she had made the right decision. John, Jenny, and Davey were all shot in the incident – Jenny and Davey ending up with the worse injured. Mac was unaccounted for, as well as Sean. Charles had somehow been injured, Alice helping him tend to the burns on his hand. The trip back into the Grizzlies on the run was a hard one. Fighting the law, the weather, and the low morale quickly put a dour mood throughout the gang.

Alice, ever the optimist, kept her head up. Surely it couldn’t get any worse.

Right?

~~~

Mostly just a timeline. I spent most of the day reading the wiki on the formation of the gang and pretty much ran with it.