#do you think about how arthur had proposed to mary because he wanted nothing more than to marry her and run away

[arthursfuckinghat]

One thing I've always thought about with Mary's first letter is how she wrote that Arthur knows it's from her because of her bad handwriting. It just always stuck with me because it makes you think that they must have sent letters so often over the years that they eventually memorised eachother's handwriting.

That maybe when they were younger, Arthur, in his early twenties, giddy and full of nerves as he rode to the post office to deliver his letter for the woman he loved? Cursing to himself as he fretted about what he'd written, worried about sounding like a fool?

Then Mary, at the same time, full of butterflies as she slipped out every day to check for a new letter from Arthur, and then writing her own letters before scrunching them up and rewriting them again and again, cursing to herself because of her bad handwriting? Wanting to make it as nice as Arthur's?

Do you think about how something as simple as sending letters was probably the steadiest thing keeping them together in their own chaotic lives, how it probably made them both feel so much less lonely through everything? Do you think about it. Do you. Do.

[2demondogs]

With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

[ikevamp-shrine]

Thank you @yanderepuck​ for giving me the courage to post this😊❤

Please ignore the crappy drawing of her, but that's kinda what she appears like in my mind. I will be writing with her character in future posts.

Name: Elizabeth Tudor

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Height: 5’4

Birthday: September 7th

Occupation: Former Queen of England

Appearance: 

Long, curly (and extremely thick) strawberry blonde hair, fair skin, red lips, and intense icy blue eyes. Her stance is strong, regale, and respectable. Her skin is littered with smallpox scars (only a few, very unnoticeable ones residing on her face, neck, and hands). Her expression is usually blank and unreadable. Her movements are controlled and polite. Her brows thick and stomach soft. Legs long and fingers thin and graceful. There are patches of freckles on her shoulders that mix with her scars causing a unique blend of color. Thick thighs and pale, maintained feet. Smaller breasts.

Childhood:

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

She was taught a rigorous education normally only given to male heirs and was applauded for her perseverance and memory. She became fluent in French and Italian which profited when conducting diplomacy years later. Her involvement with the Reformation shaped the course of the nation, but she held no interest in religion.

With her father’s death, her step mother married the lord high admiral, Thomas, which resulted in his decapitation due to his intent to rape and impregnate Elizabeth forcing her to marry him in order for him to rule the kingdom. He was said to be overly flirtatious and acting inappropriately familiar with the young girl when around her (which one of the reasons she doesn’t like Arthur, his flirtatious nature reminds her of her past).

She was raised around sexism and taught that women were likely to act on impulsion and passion making them unfit to rule. Men were taught the arts of war and told they are the ones who dominate women while women were urged to keep their head down, mouth shut, and attend their needlework. She had remained unmarried, her want to remain single overshadowing any thoughts of seeking out relations with a man. She was rumored to have burst out in tears when Queen Mary, her older sister, had proposed to marry Elizabeth to a duke. This became a national concern when Elizabeth became queen and refused to take a husband, going against the belief that a woman’s place was a wife. It also raised worries that she would die childless, ending her bloodline, and giving Elizabeth’s title to Mary, Queen of Scots, a catholic posing a threat to the Protestants of England.

Dislikes: 

her privacy being intruded on, loud talking, 3am, those who play weak and stupid or whine to get what they want, people who are lazy but still expect to reach their goals, women who chase men and believe they need a man to be successful in life, messy rooms, fake personalities and cheaters (in both games and relationships)

Likes: 

walks in the garden at midnight, the sound of the birds singing their life’s song as the warmth of the day’s first rays of sun trace her skin, reading, learning new things, burning candles, smiling faces, happy children, the smell of freshly baked bread, warm blankets, animals, the laughter of children, hunting, dancing, and horseback (bareback more often than naught)

Personality: 

She appears cold at first because of her bluntness and blank (almost annoyed) expression. Unreasonably serious with a strong sense of duty, responsibility, and morals. She is a firm believer in working harder than everyone else to achieve greatness. A highly intelligent woman that believe women are equal to their male counterpart. Extremely stubborn in a non-disrespectful way. She is adaptable, disciplined, dignified, and confident with a wit and tongue as sharp as, if not sharper, than any of the residents. She is blunt, doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, and is always honest. Focused, logical, and exceedingly loyal to those she decides to put her trust in. She is protective and straightforward but rather quiet. She tends to keep to herself. She is paranoid and distrustful when meeting new people but will not show it. She tries to work on it, but she can be very vengeful when it comes to people betraying her or hurting those she loves.

Preferred company: 

Theo, Leonardo, Isaac, Jean, Vincent

Relationships (platonic, romantic, etc.):  

Jean- platonic with a chance of something more

Has a deep understanding with Jean. They don’t really talk about each other to each other; their conversations mainly consist of stiff, dead toned jokes that you wouldn’t be able to tell they were jokes until specified. She is one of the few people that has actually seen a sober Jean smile. He is extremely protective of her and will stand behind her just so he has the peace of mind that her back is guarded. If she asked, he would show her what is under his eye patch, no matter what lingering emotions he has on the ‘ugliness under the fabric’. His blade is always ready, his mind perfectly clear, when it comes to the safety and well being of the woman he had found himself connecting to in ways no one had before. Often, they go horse back riding together, Napoleon will sometimes accompany but its only when her and the former solider are alone does she throw her head back, her laughs unrestrained while the wind rips through her hair and clothing. Jean will race her and chuckle at how free she looks, but of course she doesn’t hear. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Napoleon  

Mozart- platonic

Sometimes Mozart look for her and demand Elizabeth to listen to his new piece until she raises an eyebrow, daring him not to correct his wording. He’ll swallow thickly and glance off to the side, a scoff on his lips as he apologizes. She’ll nod and follow him to music room. Mozart will stare at her impatiently until she gives her honest (and extremely blunt) opinion. He values her words and while alone the pianist will replay the slight quirk of her lips as she praised his efforts. He has a small obsession with her and it drives him insane

Vincent- brotherly platonic and Theo- they horny for each other but don’t want to cross that line of friendship so they dance around their feelings while making out every once in a while

Has a soft spot for Theo and Vincent because their relationship makes her think of her brother. She only sees Vincent as a brother and will only allow him to do her makeup when he asks to, but with Theo its completely different. She sees Theo as a partner, a man she shares many values and goals with. She respects him and their shared opinions on responsibility and productivity. They understand each other intuitively and can conversate with just fleeting touches and quick glances of their eyes. There is a thick sexual tension that builds between them overtime resulting in hurried, frantic, sloppy kisses in hallways where the couple battle for dominance by pushing each other against walls and gripping roughly at the other’s clothing

Napoleon- just housemates (not friends or lovers)

She can and usually feels uncomfortable when around Napoleon. She has chalked it down to the fact they are both the leader ‘alpha’ types that ruled enemy lands. Truly, they just don’t have much in common and find it hard to build a meaningful relationship. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Jean

Arthur- just housemates

Can sometimes get too snippy with Arthur. While she does find enjoyment in his jokes at times, she despises the sexual aspects of the author. Finds his skirt chasing habits understandable but disgusting. Admires his intelligence but can’t stand how he is able to tell you where have been just by the dust on your hand (she likes her privacy). Will play chess and pool with him even though she knows she will lose just because she enjoys playing. Will sometimes have deep conversations with Arthur in front of the fire place, both nursing a glass of alcohol, their eyes never leaving the fire as to not break the imaginary protective barrier around the two that eye contact will shatter. Smirks at his quirks and jokes sometimes and it literally makes Arthur’s heart leap because ‘damn a queen just found amusement in my joke.’ He internally freaked out the first time he met her mainly because the mansion now had two previous rulers instead of one and the newest one scared the living daylights out of him.

Comte- there is nothing between them

Doesn’t trust Comte as far as she can throw him. She can see the darkness in his heart and his past behind his eyes. She can see the death he’s caused- the pain, and while she knows that she, herself, has caused the death of many, she still has a deeply rooted gut feeling telling her to stay away from the pureblood. He wants her trust but soon realizes her opinion on him is similar to Jean’s. She will not take any gifts other than what is necessary from him (ex. Dresses for parties)

Dazai- just housemates

Dazai tries avoiding her. He feels suffocated when around and the victim of her stare. He feels as if her eyes and actions pick him apart and leave his in his barest, rawest form, and it scares him to no end. She does find his window habit hilarious though and will give him a hand up when he falls

Shakespeare- they don’t get involved with each other

She can tell Shakespeare’s mind is being manipulated, by what is the question she has yet to reveal though. She can tell he is dangerous. One who’s actions are watched and controlled by another always are. His unpredictable nature and mysterious, secret filled smile is what causes her to feel uneasy around him. She doesn’t ignore him, but she doesn’t want to be involved with the playwright and his actions so she tends to just quietly leave the room when he enters. He is polite to her and compliments her when they do talk but his fancy wording sometimes annoys Elizabeth, especially when she just wants to get away from him. She believes he is a good man at heart lead astray by forces more powerful than him, but still finds his company rather unnecessary. 

Sebastian- they respect one another, are not friends but have decent conversations

Has an interesting relationship with Sebastian. She wouldn’t call him a friend, she has very few of those so it is understandable, but she does respect him for his work ethic just as he respects her for her accomplishments and standing in history. She let him interview him once and nearly laughed out loud from how excited he got. They always have a cup of coffee or tea in the morning together, Elizabeth not quite woken up yet so they sip in comforting silence. Sebastian usually asks how she slept and she responds by telling him about her dreams if she had one. She’ll end up helping him cook breakfast.

Leonardo- friends with a chance of something more

Elizabeth appreciates Leonardo’s straightforwardness and honesty, so they have a decent trusting relationship, but his matureness makes her feel like a little girl again and it bothers her. Her thoughts tend to be: she was a queen; she ruled a country with a strength that rivaled even the greatest men, she should not look at this chain-smoking man with admiration in her eyes like a giddy school girl, flustered over a boy telling her she is cute, while around the Italian. The start of their relationship was rocky, due to Elizabeth’s personal feelings on the man- Leonardo could have cared less, but soon enough they started to appreciate each other’s qualities. Leonardo is mainly the only one she allows to touch her hair. They often speak Italian together on the balcony as Leonardo smoke a cigarillo and Elizabeth reads.

Isaac- they have the chance of being more than friends but their relationship is mainly just comforting one another through their presence and (when needed) touch- they also trust each other whole heartedly

Adores Isaac and will purposely sought him out just so she can listen to his calming ramblings while he tinkers away, a book in her hand and two cooling cups of coffee on the surface closest to the pair. He gets so red around her; at times he turns snow white from the intensity in her gaze and how her eyes never stray from her company. They share an endless loyalty to each other. Neither knows when the bond form, it just happened on its own (and very suddenly). Isaac has lost control and bit her but instead of reacting in anger she accepted it and pulled him closer, shuddering with each frenzied suck against her neck, her nails gently scratching the scalp of a whimpering Isaac. When Isaac finally came to his senses, he tried pulling away, his voice thick with unshed tears as his panicked words rang through the air until Elizabeth grabbed him and held him close, shushing Isaac as he trembled with regret and guilt in her arms. They had held each other for hours until they feel asleep in each other embraces. Isaac will link pinkies with Elizabeth when he is being picked on without realizing it for support and something to ground him so his thoughts don’t run too wild. Elizabeth will just glare and clear her throat and Arthur will shut his mouth while looking at the former queen as if he was a kicked puppy. She has a habit of fixing his clothing or hair after he nervously pulls, picks, or twists at it- Isaac doesn’t even notice it after a while. His face does burn intensely though when she places a hand on his overactive, bouncing knee when he is anxious.

Fun facts:

Due to her makeup being poisoned by her undetermined enemy, which resulted in her death, she refuses to wear any cosmetics other than what Vincent personally makes (learned how to from Leonardo) and puts on her skin himself when going to events if he asks to.

She tends to wear clothing that covers all skin other than her neck and face when leaving the mansion due to children being scared by her smallpox scars.

She usually never strays from wine unless her emotions become a little too overwhelming for her to just push the feelings down, only then will she drink something stronger.

Elizabeth is a quiet, peaceful drunk that tends to curl up on the couch, her shoes discarded on the floor, her hair loose and flowing over the decorative pillow she’ll grab and hug tightly to her chest.

She died a virgin and has remained one ever since her resurrection.

The former queen is hesitant to allow others to touch her hair from her past concerning the loss of said strands (a result of surviving smallpox), but if she trusts someone enough and knows they’ll be gentle she’ll let them style the curls, even if she is tense the entire time.

Prefers to braid her hair herself and wrap in into a bun due to the protective nature of the style.

Loves sleeping in but is often unable to due to insomnia.

She is highly particular when it comes to cleaning and organization. She has told Sebastian not to worry about cleaning her things or doing her laundry, instead she does it herself with up most focus and determination.

When she does open up or is around the boys long enough, they realize her heart is truly kind and nurturing instead of what she appears when first met (a cold-hearted woman with a resolve like steel). This is especially apparent when around animals.

She is very sarcastic and doesn’t mean any harm but usually her joking words sound hateful due to her dead tone and blank face.

Her voice is deeper and soothing, most times holding no emotion which creeps Dazai and Arthur out

Lives by “no pain no gain”

Doesn’t waste her breath on hate- if she doesn’t like someone or feels as if she can’t trust them then they just don’t exist to her. She won’t hesitate to cut someone off without warning.

Has a bad habit of bottling her emotions which causes her to explode when pushed over the edge resulting in one of the very rare moments where her anger creates an electric static in the room that demands the attention of anyone present. She doesn’t shout or scream but her words are sharper than a blade, her eyes burn with a fiery rage while she takes control of the room, overwhelming anyone (even Napoleon) and making them feel as if they are an ant beneath her boot.

Her eyes freak many people out- they feel as if the ice like orbs are staring straight into their soul, picking apart their insides, leaving nothing but shredded organs and an empty husk of what used to be a strong mind.

Can always tell when someone is lying. It’s a gut feeling, and her gut is always right.

She still wears her coronation ring on her wedding finger as a sign of her symbolic marriage to her people and country

[marybethsjournal]

Always

Summary: Molly has hit a wall with Dutch and doesn’t know what to do; she feels completely lost. Not to mention that she has started to have complicated feeling towards another gang member.

Pairing(s): Dutch Van Der Linde x Molly O’Shea, Molly O’Shea x Sadie Adler (strongly implied)

Word Count: 1903

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29265912

It was barely noon and the girls were day drinking yet again. This didn’t impress Molly much, but she had come to realize that nobody, not even Dutch cared about what she thought. Molly pushed the thought away. If she thought about how Dutch had been shutting her out and treating her badly in general, she would be driven to drink just like these harlots. And then she would be no better than them, which seemed to be the most humiliating thought possible at the time.

Molly was not surprised that Karen was leading the drinking charge of the day. That’s all the wench knew how to do, that and seduce men. She tried not to blame Karen too hard for that, though, because everyone knew Dutch was strongly encouraging her to put herself out there and if Molly verbalized her bias against working women, she’d have to implicate Dutch in the whole thing and she didn’t feel like doing that. Anything to exonerate her man from wrongdoing. What did surprise Molly was that that girl, Sadie, had joined the women for once. And not in the way Abigail had, coming over to get one drink and then gone back to her business (Molly didn’t blame her, she deserved a drink, especially since Jack had asked about 50 questions today already and the Marston man had tried to pants Bill and got a fist in his face in return). Sadie was downing the drinks faster than anyone else; she seemed to have no shame. Molly supposed that maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Sadie had gone through a significant transformation over the past few months. When Sadie had been brought in by Dutch, Micah, and Arthur, she seemed weak and quiet. She had worn dresses and otherwise modest garments, although nothing too fancy. Now, she had the audacity to yell at the men and one day, when out on the town with Arthur, she had bought a shirt and pants and she hadn’t taken them off since. Quite offensive, in Molly’s opinion, but Sadie objectively pulled it off quite well. Molly had noticed herself staring at Sadie quite often, observing the woman. She couldn’t pinpoint quite why, but she assumed it was normal. Sadie was pushing boundaries and was overall quite an interesting woman, more interesting than herself. Not to mention, Sadie was very beautiful. Anyone could see that, it wasn’t an odd thing for her to think.

Molly found herself in the same situation yet again. She was staring at Sadie, who was downing another drink and laughing at some joke Tilly (or maybe it was Karen??? Molly wasn’t doing a very good job focusing on anything other than Sadie at the moment) made. Molly smiled, seeing Sadie throw her head back in laughter. Her smile was so huge and genuine. It was only recently that she had started smiling again. Sadie had taken it rough, just like any woman would, when her husband died. Molly knew the pain hadn’t gone away, but Sadie seemed to finally be letting herself enjoy life with little guilt. She thought about Sadie’s smile a little longer than she probably should have and her mind ended up drifting to a few nights ago when she and Sadie had danced. The whole camp was ambient with laughter and music, coming both from the gramophone and Javier’s guitar. Everyone seemed to have found a partner and was dancing: Mary Beth with Arthur, Jack with Uncle (their form of dancing was far different than everyone else’s slow dancing, the pair were waving their arms wildly and running in circles together), Karen with Sean, Tilly with Lenny. Hell, even Abigail and that fool John had put aside their differences for the night and were dancing up on each other, a bit too provocatively for Molly’s liking. Molly had actually been really excited about the spontaneous party that night. She felt the distance growing between her and Dutch the past few weeks and she was convinced that that night could make it all better. She had put on her finest dress, fixed her hair, and perfected before asking him. But to her surprise, he told her that he was too tired and maybe they could try another time. Her surprise had turned to horror when she later saw Dutch dancing with Susan. The worst part was, Dutch didn’t even seem to care when Molly noticed. It was like he didn’t even care about her feelings.

Molly had run into the nearby forest to cry. She knew her makeup would smudge and usually she would refrain from crying to the best of her ability, but she didn’t care anymore. It only took a few minutes before Sadie had snuck up behind her and asked her what was wrong. She had been sitting on a rock nearby, not in a party mood, when she had heard Molly crying, she explained. How embarrassing.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened so I can fight a bitch?” 

Molly, despite her sadness, laughed. “It’s not really a bitch. It’s Dutch. Wouldn’t dance with me but he sure is dancing with Susan right now.”

“That old fart? Ah you can do better than him.” Sadie seemed to get an idea and clapped her hands together. “In fact, let’s show him what he’s missing. I’ll dance with ya.”

Molly was taken aback by Sadie’s proposal. 

“I’m not too sure that’ll make him jealous. Maybe if I danced with Charles or something…”

“Oh come on! Sorry I’m not Charles.” Sadie grabbed Molly’s hand and drug her back into camp

Molly was confused as to why Sadie seemed so insistent to dance with her, but she was certainly pleased by the attention. She rarely got attention from this gang.

The dance went wonderfully; Molly almost felt something resembling butterflies in her stomach, which she dismissed as simple indigestion. It was perfect until Molly apparently got too close to Sadie and she asked, “Miss O’Shea, do you expect me to kiss you or what?”

Molly was horrified. She gave some phony excuse and ran away from the situation as fast as she could, ignoring Sadie calling after her. Things had been pretty awkward between them since then.

Molly was startled out her daydreaming when Karen yelled at her, “Hey Molly, what are you looking at? You wanna drink or something?” Oh great, Molly thought after realizing she had been staring this entire time.

Molly walked over to where Karen was and for just a brief moment, allowed herself to look at Sadie again. Unfortunately, Sadie seemed to have the same idea. Their eyes locked and Sadie subsequently excused herself to go talk to Abigail. 

“What the Hell is her problem? Anyway, wanna drink? I’ll share mine. It’s the good kind of whiskey.” Karen offered some strong whiskey to Molly. There’s nothing Molly wanted less than to drink after Karen.

“I try not to drink outside of social settings.” Molly informed Karen, politely declining.

“Then WHY were you looking at me earlier?”

“I wasn’t.” Molly responded curtly.

“Then you were looking at Sadie. Cause I know you weren’t looking at these here two fools.” Karen made rude gestures at Mary Beth and Tilly. 

“I wasn’t looking at anything, Karen. Just thinking.” Molly couldn’t find it within herself to look anywhere besides her feet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. You two, get out of here. I need to talk to Miss O’Shea alone.” Molly tried desperately to get the other two girls to stay but Karen insisted they leave. Apparently, Karen had much more pull among the other women than Molly did. That wasn’t one bit surprising, but it still seemed wrong.

“Wow, you really don’t wanna talk to me. My feelings are so hurt.” Karen took another swig of her drink before continuing. “Listen Molly, you know just as well as everyone else that I think you’re lazy and entitled. Just all around a nasty person.”

Molly nodded. Karen generally was straightforward and rude when she wanted to me, but it still seemed the drink must be doing a number on her for her to be able to say what she just had said.

“But for some reason my the dumb bitch in me has started to care. I didn’t think I had an angel on my shoulder, but here she is, annoying as ever, telling me, ‘Karen, you have to warn Molly. You don’t wanna see her get hurt.’ And then I tell them back that I don’t care if you get hurt but I still feel like I do care afterwards.”

It didn’t take much of an intellectual to make the observation that Karen had had too much to drink. Molly honestly couldn’t understand what she was saying: it sounded like a whole bunch of incoherent rambling in which she said a whole bunch, yet nothing at all at the same time.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t have a heart of gold like myself. But at least you do have a heart. Listen, I just wanted to let you know Dutch don't care about you.”

‘“Leave me alone, Karen. You’re drunk and I won’t hear anymore.”

“See, you know it’s true! He sees you as a toy more than anything. You’re gonna end up hurt and he’s not going to care one bit.”

“If you think he’s so bad, why are you still running with him?”

“A lot of us don’t have a choice, miss society lady. Besides, I know better to get involved with him.”

“Sure, Karen. Thanks, I guess.”

Molly had walked away and pretended like she hadn’t cared but even days later, the short conversation haunted her at every turn. Even late at night, lying in bed next to Dutch, she replayed the whole ordeal over and over again in her mind. She hated to admit it, but Karen was right. The man lying next to her didn’t feel much for her anymore, if he ever had in the first place. It was just cold lying next to him. Like sleeping with a complete stranger.

She had spent several consecutive nights not being able to sleep out of worry. Late into the night, she would search Dutch’s face for any sort of sign that maybe he cared about something, maybe not even her. She always came up with nothing.

It had become all too much for Molly. She found herself crying yet again. She had never known herself to be this emotional. Part of her wanted Dutch to wake up and see her in pain, but she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t care. He would just be irritated that someone interrupted his beauty sleep.

One night when Molly couldn’t control her crying any longer, she left their tent so as not to disturb Dutch. She walked towards the rock that she usually sat on while she read a book during the day. On her way, she noticed that Sadie was sitting on another rock on the other side of camp. What was she doing out this late. She supposed she would have to find out. Now was her chance to finally talk to Sadie and apologize for whatever had happened between them.

“Can I sit here with you?” Molly asked Sadie when she approached her.

“Always.” Sadie smiled at her.

“That would be nice.”

[reddeadbread]

Can you just elaborate on why you like Mary? She literally used Arthur for her own gain. I get not wanting to be in that life, but she expects him to change rather than just letting it go. She leads him on.

Okay, I feel 10 years of my life strip away every time I have to explain this to someone again so I don't wanna hear a peep outta yall after this unless I make a new post about it lmao

Also big disclaimer: I have no beef with people who hate Mary or this anon. If I sound a little aggressive it's because I get into explaining stuff I care about dw

Firstly, don't state your opinion as fact.

she didn't 'literally use him'

She asked him for help twice?? You literally had the choice to say no, she didn't force you to do anything??? Why are people fully raging at her for asking for help, all the NPCs in the game ask him for help. It's a video game. This is the normal way for plot to progress and for characters to interact.

I don't know any women I pine for because I wanted to marry them until dramatic circumstances meant we could never be together so I suppose I can't be sure BUT if an old friend who I hadn't seen in years, who I'd once cared about but for whatever reason we don't talk anymore, asked me to help them because their brother joined a cult and I was as capable of doing so as Arthur is...I would obviously help? I'm not that much of a prick like how bitter would I have to be to be like 'nah screw you actually.'

I find it kinda hilarious imagining Arthur having a little tantrum "no! I won't help you because you wouldn't marry me and I'm still sulking like 15 years later!"

I always accept when she asks for help because I couldn't possibly imagine why you'd say no to that.

Also like I said, this is a video game. How else would they of incorporated her into the story? She suddenly joins the gang and becomes an outlaw too?? The only way is if Arthur is helping her in some way lets be real.

RIGHT now for the whole not marrying him/asking him to change

It blows my MIND yall are upset with her for asking him to change ajdjkf

Okay it's easier said than done and I completely understand why Arthur can't do that but it makes perfect sense she'd want him to.

1) being an outlaw is dangerous. How many times does Arthur nearly die? In the end it's being in that gang and doing Strauss' dirty work that DOES get him killed. So either she gets killed for being with him or she has to watch him get killed instead. Sounds great.

2) being an outlaw means he's always wanted and always on the run, not a lot of people want that lifestyle. Is Mary really a horrible person because she doesn't want to leave her family and her home and EVERYTHING behind to be hunted down for the rest of her life?

I'm not going to go super into this because I can't be bothered right now but this is 1899, when Arthur first proposed it was even before that. Women didn't even have the vote and wouldn't for YEARS yet. Women were seen as their fathers property until they got married when they became their husbands property. Arthur is especially angry with her father for a REASON. Mary would of had very little to absolutely no say in who she married unless she eloped which would mean being disowned by her family.

So maybe you're thinking "well then the bitch should of eloped!" Okay so she could never see anyone in her family ever again and they'd hate her forever. Could Arthur of done that with the gang? He doesn't even talk back to Dutch until he's literally dying of TB and has nothing left to lose. Going against family isn't so easy. If it was the other way around, Arthur would have to go against Dutch (the controlling father who Mary also has) and leave John behind (the bean brain little brother Mary ALSO HAS)

Aaand yall also say she was leading him on and on.

This one I see where you're coming from a little. I just don't think it comes from a place of malice. A couple of things tell me she truly never stopped loving him.

1) She kept the ring! All those years and she'd kept it with her. She says she never stopped thinking of him and there's the proof of that. She also kept a photograph of them together just as he had a photo of her in his tent throughout the game.

2) she asked him AGAIN to run away with her. The offer was there!! She waited for him and he robbed a bank instead. What more could she of done? As much as I understand why Arthur had to finish his business with the gang he basically stood her up.

She might of broken his heart but he broke her right back. Maybe she gives him false hope but he does just the same with his 'once I get enough money' and 'just one more big job' like wowee he sounds like Dutch. It'll never be enough money and it'll never be a last job unless he's dead. He knows that and she knows that and it's a tragedy.

Do I think Mary is perfect? No of course not. Both of them made mistakes and it was a tragic situation, thats the whole point. Do I think she deserves the enormous amounts of hate she gets in the fandom? Absolutely not. Another character who gets a lot of hate from what I've seen is Abigail. It's almost as of...yall hate the female characters...who ruin your ships!! :000 who'd of thunk it.

I'm 100% sure that if we experienced the story from her perspective she'd get less hate but lets be honest, she'd still get hate because female characters always get more hate.

Like I said this is my take and I don't wanna hear a PEEP. I don't want to get frustrated repeating myself to people making the same three points over and over again.

EDIT: OH SHI i forgot to mention

When Arthur first goes to see her in Valentine he says something like 'so you're husband died and now you're looking for me is that it?' And she says 'no that's not it.' If she was being manipulative or leading him on she wouldn't of been so clear. She would of either said something vague to give him hope that if he does this favour for her then she'll be with him or outright lied and said that was the case BUT SHE DOESN'T she's 100% clear and honest and tells him the reason she wrote him was for help.

[dawniebb]

CANON IS AN ILLUSION PT. 2

If it doesn’t spark joy, throw it away.- Marie Kondo

So now that @healing-winston-pratt and I have explained how we got rid of ¼ of Supernova, let me tell you that it doesn’t stop here because you don’t mess with the type As when something gets into their heads.

For background, you can use this post as a masterlist because we don’t have one yet: https://healing-winston-pratt.tumblr.com/post/624723862884696064/well-this-is-the-last-piece-of-our-marathon

This is our post-Supernova canon divergence :) which, btw, it’s the one we’ll use from now on to create our content (actually, @healing-winston-pratt  already used it for her birthday drawings and I just stood there playing dumb pretending I didn’t have anything to do with it jssjjs). So, if you see that Callum and Winston are suddenly alive in our content or you find some of the things established in this list it’s because...yeah :)

Sooooo @novadreamer95438 and @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff you asked to be tagged if we uploaded more content about the canon divergence (Which we appreciate very much! thank you!) so here you go <3!

As mentioned before , Leroy starts living with his daughter Nova and Winston, in a house provided by the State (The Council hee hee).

Callum and Winston are (evidently) alive, but Genissa is dead.

Ace, Evander and Honey remain dead.

And this is where our canon continues uwu.

Leroy has to do community service for like...indefinite time :)

Winston, on the other hand, has two jobs. He works in an animal shelter, where he adopts a dog named Carnival bc wE CAN and also we want to quote this post :https://chiyuki-hiro.tumblr.com/post/621159663188180992/oh-no-a-head-canon  by @chiyuki-hiro (AFGSHFVDGB THAT HEADCANON IS G R E A T WE LOVE YOU) because we had come to an agreement that Winston would have an art therapy group for children but this addition is honestly so freaking wholesome :’))))))) <3

Nova has a temporary resignation from patrolling and starts going to therapy, where she is diagnosed with PTSD.

Nova also helps with the establishment of a new system, modifies the recruitment system and that stuff.

She’s not in the Team Sketch full time. Sometimes she’s in the offices, and at night she works with Callum.

And just like Narcissa, she digs her own grave :)

Thing is: Nova suggested that every time a new recruit arrived, the Council had DNA samples taken from them so they could check if they had any crime attached to them.

Now, by the end of Supernova in the canon universe we elected to ignore it is mentioned that Maggie sees Leroy staring at her in the distance, in a very suspicious way. Now, we don’t know about y’all, but we interpreted this as Leroy noticing Maggie looks like young Nova XD. So, this does happen in our canon, when Leroy is already out of prison.

By this time, DNA samples from Maggie and Nova have already been taken and uploaded to the system; and let’s say that Leroy gets very...concerned about the lookalike and decides to tell Winston, who confirms Maggie looks a lot like Nova X’DDD and so, they reach out to the Council to ask them to pls compare Maggie’s samples to Nova’s. U know, like angry mothers at the principal’s office :)

And so they do it just because they have nothing to lose.

And when the results arrive, everyone’s like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r92hykpvZRw

SO MAYBE, TO DOUBLE-CHECK, they compare Maggie’s DNA to DNA found in the crime scene (from David and Tala or maybe baby Maggie herself) and the results are still the same :).

Then, Winston and Leroy have to tell Nova and she reacts in the worst way possible for reasons I’ll explain in a fic I’ll be uploading soon cause’ I wrote it MONTHS ago.

Maggie doesn’t react much better tbh :)

But after a while, since this is, like, the right thing to do, Maggie starts living with them , but changes her name to Margaret Artino until she feels part of the family and is comfortable living there.

Because at first, Nova and her don’t get along and Maggie claims she fucking hates this house even though she knows is better than living in the streets.

They basically have a very chaotic home during the adaptation period until the girls start tolerating each other :) and even then, they’re still very chaotic bc it’s Winston, Leroy, Nova and Maggie we’re talking about :) :) :)

Not long after Maggie starts living with her big sis, Simon and Hugh ask Nova to join a family vacation and bring Maggie w/her.

Maggie doesn’t want to go, so Leroy and Winston go to Nova all like “If your sister doesn’t go, then you’re not going either” and Nova fucking loses it so she ends up begging/forcing Maggie to go :)

They go to the beach in MATCHING OUTFITS bc Simon said so (LIKE IN THE WIZARDS OF WAVERLY PLACE MOVIE) :) they take a lot of embarrassing pictures and Nova and Adrian are forced to go in the banana boat with Max and Maggie.

They fall and Nova and Adrian are acting as if they were in the Titanic while Max and Maggie are having the time of their lives lmao

BC NOVA ALSO NEEDS BONDING WITH THE IN-LAWS

At some point, too, Maggie adopts a stray cat whom she names Tofu, and he fucking hates Carnival even though Carnival is the cutest thing :’)

Winston, Leroy, Nova and Maggie celebrate birthdays every year bc they’re trying to compensate years of trauma.

And for that same reason (compensating years of trauma), Nova and Maggie take their sweet time to move out.

Actually, Adrian meticulously plans the date when he’s gonna propose to Nova, so he asks her to move with him exactly a year before that.

They live in an apartment for that whole year, he proposes and they start planning the wedding uwu.

Nova and Adrian have a non-religious ceremony, and since they’re fucking extra, Nova gets married in a black dress and Adrian in a white tuxedo bc miss Artino wanted a dress the same color as her soul :)

Leroy walks Nova down the aisle.

Ruby is Nova’s Maid of Honor and Oscar is Adrian’s Best Man.

Max and Maggie have the rings.

Tamaya’s youngest son is the flower child.

Which, talking about Tamaya, she fucking hates Leroy and Nova bc, honestly, we would hate them too. Leroy fucked up her face and Nova was part of the terrorist attack lmao

SO, YOU CAN IMAGINE HOW CHAOTIC THAT WEDDING WAS, bc they had to avoid leaving Tamaya and Leroy alone at all costs :)

She hugged Nova so violently when congratulating her, that she left a bruise in her shoulder :)

Basically she was there just because she loves Adrian even though she doesn’t approve his decision to marry Nova

Nova and Maggie maintain a close relationship even after Nova marries Adrian. Maggie and Max are included in every family vacation after the honeymoon ofc.

Nova and Maggie get matching tattoos uwu

Nova has the Big Dipper and Maggie has the Little Dipper.

As for the others. The ones who...are no longer there :’)

  @healing-winston-pratt and I have this headcanon that Evander’s wife (we named her Sandra) was expecting a baby at the time of the battle. They had already chosen a first name (Arthur), so she used Evander as his middle name, as the baby didn’t get to meet his dad.

Arthur Evander Wade.

Winston finally gives Evander his DS back.

The Council, thanks to Nova’s suggestion once again, limited a specific area around Georgia’s spot and called it The Aisle of The Fallen.

Genissa, Honey and the victims of the attack to the Arena,  the lift of the city and the battle of the Cathedral are there.

 Evander, however, is resting in Georgia’s mausoleum, next to her, because we think  that mausoleum was constructed in the first place so all the members of the Council could rest together once they left, meaning that they’ll all be there at some point in time. Unfortunately, Evander was the first one to join Georgia despite being the youngest.

Ace is not in the cemetery.

Nova left his helmet in the cathedral, but asked for his body to be cremated.

When she was a child, David used to tell her stories about how Ace seemed to be really happy back in Italy; how he had revolutionary ideas and wanted prodigies to be free; how he used to be a good brother that helped him survive.

So, a few months after Leroy was released from prison, she, Leroy, Winston, Hugh, Simon, Max and Adrian went to Italy with her, to spread Ace’s ashes so he could find peace in the only place he was ever sane and happy.

Ace Anarchy rests in his cathedral.

But what was left of Alec James Artino rests in Italy. (I have a fic about this too)

Yes we’re crying as we write this

[gingernastyy]

Arthur:

Arthur hasn’t really taken too much thought about the idea of being a father. He has this constant residual fear that no matter what he did he would end up just like his dad.

His dad was an outlaw and Arthur got roped into the life because of him and Arthur is sure that if he had a kid they’d be dragged into the life too.

Being with Mary changes his mind. He felt like maybe he could do the father thing. The way she talks about running away together gives him the hope of having a better life. He could see them having a nice place with a fence, with a dog that lazily lays on the porch and a couple of kids running around.

He swears if it can become true he would be a better dad than his was and would do anything, and he means anything, to protect his kids and Mary.

When they broke up he was devastated. It led him into a life feeling like no one would ever have him, no one would want him to father their kids.

It’s a sad and lonely night of him drinking when he meets Eliza. They start talking before hooking up; a few times from time to time. As harsh as it is she’s a bit of a rebound after Mary. They were friends but he never felt strong enough to marry her. It makes her getting pregnant feel even worse.

When Eliza had Isaac he felt lost and scared for the kid. He knew that his life would endanger the both of them sooner or later. But swore he would do best by Eliza and helped out anyway he could. Then when they were both killed he didn’t know how to cope with it. He repressed everything that happened to them, only a few journal entries talking about what happened. But those entries and the sketches of Eliza and Isaac where in the journal that he lost in a fire.

It’s after Isaac had lived and died that Abigail has Jack. Being around for the time that Abi is pregnant makes him reflect on when Eliza was. God, he wishes he could have been there for Isaac’s birth. He feels guilty for being around when his brother’s kid is born but not there for his own.

As much as he hates John for leaving Jack and Abigail for that whole damn year, he enjoyed stepping back into that fatherly role to help Abi. There was something that felt so natural about taking care of the kid, guess he did picked up some traits from the short time he had with Isaac.

Abigail had questioned him a few times on about how he’s so good with Jack. She swears she’s had to tell almost everyone who’s held him to support his neck but not Arthur. He bounces and sways while holding Jack that calms him down that she believes that there is no way that it’s the first time that Arthur has held a baby.

A part of him thinks he should propose to Abigail to make up for not marrying Eliza but he knows that it won’t make amends for what had happened. Besides he’s too caught up on Mary and Abigail is to in love with Marston that he knows he will be turned down.

When/if he gets out of the life he considers adopting. Even if he can’t find someone to marry, he’s okay with being a single dad. He’s also happy to adopt if it’s the only way he and his partner couldn’t physically have kids. He feels like Hosea would be proud of him for helping out a kid like Hosea and Dutch did for Arthur (though he would want to avoid the outlaw part). He knows going through the legal system would be challenging with the price on his head but if he found a kid like Hosea found John and himself, he’d gladly take them in as he own.

He finds himself to be a tough and not really an emotional guy but having his newborn baby and the first time his thumb is grabbed by that itty bitty hand he damn near cries.

Years of being an outlaw has been beneficial for one thing... when the baby cries Arthur is able to get up right away. Late at night he’s the one who wakes to change diapers or calm nightmares. He’ll put himself to exhaustion to let his partner sleep.

Usually he falls asleep on the couch or a chair after rocking his baby back to sleep, baby on his chest and his hand on the little ones back.

He’s very supportive of creativity- especially as an artist himself.“Pa and me” or the full family sketches are tucked in the front cover of his journal. He wants those drawings to be the closest thing to him. He always makes sure to tell his kiddo that they’re doing a real good job and are already better at drawing than he is.

Play wrestling and piggy back rides are what he’s great at. He’s always asked to do or straight up just climbed on until one or the other happens.

Luckily he’s taught a kid how to ride a horse before so he feels pretty confident in teaching his own. If he could teach Jamie to ride his horse, with his thousands of questions, he feels he can teach his own kid(s).

Teaching his kid(s) to read and write is much harder than Hosea ever made it seem when he was teaching John and Jack.

He wishes that grandpa Hosea could meet his family. There are nights he looks to the sky and wonders if he’d be proud of him, getting out of the life and having a couple of kids of his own. He knows that Hosea had wanted that for Arthur for so many years.

As bad as he thinks he is at hunting and fishing he’d want to teach his kid(s) how to do both. It’s always good to know how to handle a gun and also know basic survival technics. He’ll mumble a side comment about wishing that Kieran could be there; he was always better at fishing but say it was nothing if he was asked about it.

He would go a little into the overprotective category. If someone was threatening his kid(s) he would get real quiet with the person, put his hand on their shoulder and get close. He would explain how he has killed before, has enjoyed doing so in most cases, and if they don’t leave his baby alone, he will find plenty of enjoyment killing this person.

Hosea:

Bessie and Hosea had always talked about having kids. They just were never sure when would be the right time, if there ever really is a right time when you’re a couple of outlaws.

Hosea jokes that maybe raising John and Arthur could be in a way, a test run before they have some of their own. They’re already almost fully grown so they could skip past the diaper phase and “terrible twos” and if anything could blame Dutch for the way they turn out.

Teaching John how to read really told Hosea that he does have the patience to have kids. He loves that boy dearly but it took a lot of work to get him to even focus to be able to educate him.

When Hosea and Bessie left the gang for awhile they set up in the Grizzlies East. During this time they tried to start their own family. If they were going to have kids it would be the time to do so. But either there was something with him or with her, or just unfortunate luck, they could never seem to get pregnant.  

When Hosea drifts back into the outlaw life they have moment of agreeing that maybe it was the best that they weren’t able to have a kid, as much as it devastates them both.

Hosea wishes that Bessie was still around by the time that Abigail has Jack. He knows she would have loved that kid like her own. She surely would have spoiled the hell out of that kid not that Hosea is any better.

He’s definitely had a moment when looking at the photograph of him and Bessie that he thinks that even though they weren’t fortunate to raise their own kids, but they skipped right to being grandparents.

As a father, Hosea is kind, patient and always there for his kid(s). He saw his father about three times in his life and would want to be there for his kids to make up the time he feels he didn’t have with his own dad.

As the comedian he is, or thinks he is, Hosea would be the dad who can’t pass up a good dad joke. He’d tell one about “you know the best way to catch a fish? Put your line in the water.” He would have to bring up the time that Arthur was suppose to go fishing and brought back a fish from the market, claiming he’d caught it and then next time that Hosea and Dutch when in town the store clerk asked Arthur how that fish that he bought was. Hosea we’ll find any opportunity to laugh at Arthur about it.

Hosea is the best at storytelling. He would tell his kid(s) stories every night. He’s able to work those years of stage acting into the voices he uses during his storytelling.

He and Bessie were always fans of playing dominos so he would want to show his kid(s) how to play. He’d often bring up how he always accused her of cheating during playing because she was that good. Arthur, though taught by her, didn’t seem to have her luck with the tiles.

On sick days he’s getting medicine, soup, crackers, pulling out blankets and whatever will help his kid.

He wants what is best for his kid(s) but also encourages them to write their own path. They can be whatever they like if they set their minds to it. No matter what, his love is unconditional and he wants to see them do their own thing.

Dutch:

Dutch is a hard one when it comes to being a father. He wants a kid to enlighten them with his wisdom, to show them everything he knows. At the same time having a newborn with all that crying and loosing sleep, especially being the leader of a gang, doesn’t sound ideal. Toddlers tend to be very... sticky, which he wouldn’t be a fan of either.

He would want to have a kid, much like John and Arthur were already functioning on their own that he can already start having conversations with, being able to teach them how to fish, shoot, and talk about the injustices in the world around them.

If he had a kid, like about a toddler in age, he would read them Evelyn Miller and explain, even though it would be going over this kid’s head, that “what Mr. Miller is saying is... “

Dutch values an education but has little patience when trying to teach. Even with John and Arthur, Hosea did more when it came to helping them learn how to read and write.

He’d be less of dad that says “I love you’s” and more often be the one that says “I’m proud of you”

He would be able to playful tease his kid and his competitive side would be great when they get old enough to race and play poker.

His relationship with Annabelle was really the only time he considered having a kid of his own. He loved that women and if she wanted a child he would figure out a plan for way for them to have a kid.

He thinks that maybe once they are able to get one good robbery that when they leave to New York or Tahiti, where ever they may land that he considers the idea of starting a family.

[squidproquoclarice]

All the questions for the relationship meme :^)

All the questions for Sadithur (as discussed!), done.  This one’s going largely under a cut because it’s long!  Numerous other people requested a single answer, but since I got this one, please go ahead and refer to this for it.

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

He came to rob her house for survival supplies, and instead ended up rescuing her from being held prisoner by the men who’d murdered her husband.  Not exactly a meet cute.

What was their first impression of each other?

Uhhhh, well.  Arthur’s first impression of Sadie was “poor shocked woman who’s had her house broken into, her husband murdered, and been attacked herself by O’Driscolls for the last three days”.  And Sadie’s first impression of Arthur is probably “large strange man who was in my house, shot the bastards who broke in, and is clearly a violent man himself, even if he saved me, and I’m not inclined to trust pretty much any man right now, let alone one with a gun.”  Not the most promising beginning.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Hosea definitely hoped for them to become a couple at some point if they survived what was to come, even though he knew at that time neither of them was in a good place for it.  Hosea’s very much the cheerleader for his kids being happy, to judge from his trying to get Abigail and John to reconcile, and given I’m sure he knows about Eliza and Isaac, he knows how lonely and traumatized Arthur is, and also sees the remarkable rapport and ease of manner he develops with Sadie.  I also think Abigail, who loves both Arthur and Sadie deeply, kind of hoped for it also.  She knows how lonely they both are, and sees how they are around each other, and we know she’s definitely a bit of a romantic and a believer in the power of love.  I suspect Tilly might have leaned in that direction too, because Tilly’s perceptive AF, and Arthur’s Big Bro. Who felt romantic feelings first?

Arthur.  Understandably so, as his grief for Isaac and Eliza is further in the past than Sadie’s for Jake.  It was still only a matter of a couple of months difference, though. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Not so much resisted as restrained.  They readily accepted they felt that way, and that the person they felt romantic feelings towards was more than worthy of it.  They were just questioning whether it was right and fair to put those feelings on the other person.  Both of them had concerns--Arthur felt like he had nothing to offer Sadie and had no right to impose on her like that with his feelings, and Sadie had concerns that Arthur would just be bulldozed into a relationship from just being happy to be wanted, and she was unwilling to hurt him like that.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think? Almost immediately the two of them click in a profound way and they’re very close and comfortable with each other.  The trust and affection and deep friendship is already there, so I don’t think they’d be shocked to hear they’d be so important to each other.  But they would likely have both been very surprised at the idea of also being together romantically and sexually at some point.  Not as a reflection of the other person being unsuitable, but because after so much trauma and self-loathing and loss, neither of them could imagine having that in their lives.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Neither of them really made a move.  It just sorta happened as a slow change over a couple of years from friends to a cohabiting queerplatonic couple to spouses.  

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

In a sense, their first date was that shopping-and-gunfighting trip to Rhodes, which was pretty memorable, and shows off their immediate easy chemistry and battle couple potential.  But in terms of a genuine romantically intended “first date”, not really.  They were essentially a QPR by the time they admitted to now having romantic/sexual feelings as well, so things were intense and committed enough already that they didn’t need a date.  They just moved right towards getting married.

What was their first kiss like?

They both had resolved to admit their feelings to each other after the wedding of two of their friends.  Then they got a little tipsy at the wedding, ended up saying a bit too much, and Sadie took the initiative and kissed Arthur.  Given he kissed back very enthusiastically, she could be pretty sure he wasn’t just playing along with her.  But they realized they needed to talk, so they tabled it until the next day when they were sober again and could talk about it.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

For Sadie, no.  She’d been married very happily to Jake.  For Arthur, this was the first relationship with solid grounding and a solid future rather than youthful fantasy like Mary, and he’s surprised at how easy it is to be with Sadie, including being vulnerable, because of that trust.  It’s also the first time he’s had sex and actually really been comfortable and enjoyed it rather than just being left feeling awkward and even more alone, given he comes across very strongly as some type of asexual (I write him specifically as demisexual) and didn’t have opportunities for the emotional intimacy he needs to be interested in sex.  Both of them actually had their first kiss in a same-sex romance, though Sadie wasn’t able to acknowledge hers as romantic until much later.

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Given Roger and Alex’s heights, and their corresponding relative heights in-game looking accurate to that height differential, I put Arthur at 6’ish and Sadie at 5’4”ish, so there’s an 8 inch height difference.  As for age, it’s canonical that Arthur was born in 1863.  I have him as a July birthdate, so he’s 35 for the early bits of the game, and 36 for most of it.  Sadie appears to be 30ish (she’s definitely no 24-year-old), and I write her as having been born in April of 1868.  So she’s 31 for all of RDR2.   That puts their age difference as a smidge under 5 years. 

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Both of them have lost their biological parents by 1899.  Arthur’s only bio sibling (David) died even before Arthur even knew him.  Sadie lost an older brother (Henry), and she’s become estranged from her younger sister Caroline, though they patch that up.  Arthur has yet to meet Caro, though, as she’s been living in Oregon.  So the only real family in question was the gang, and clearly Sadie was not only accepted by them, she actually stepped up and led them.

Who takes the lead in social situations?

Sadie tends to, and Arthur readily relies upon and defers to her experience there.  He’ll be the first to admit his life didn’t exactly teach him the boundaries and everyday pleasantries of Victorian social order, and sometimes that’s to the good.  Sadie’s not exactly a paragon of it herself as a hardscrabble farm girl who doesn’t defer to misogyny, but she’s aware of some of those rules, boundaries, and undercurrents in a way Arthur isn’t.  So he’s not too proud to let her take the lead in a social situation, or to ask her advice in dealing with something without giving offense.

Who gets jealous easier?

Arthur would have, early on.  He was far more insecure in himself (and as Sadie admits, he’ll always be a little more fragile than her in that realm), but he was probably more likely to morosely turn doubts on himself as a perceived inadequacy and personal failure rather than to get jealous of Sadie.  Being romantically or sexually jealous really kind of requires insecurity and lack of trust, and they’ve moved far beyond that.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

I had to double check.  Arthur said it first when he proposed to her, but Sadie immediately followed it.

What are their primary love languages?

For both, I think Quality Time/Acts of Service.  Showing love for both of them is in spending time together doing things, doing little things for each other, and basking in that friendship that’s the solid foundation of everything between them.  There’s a bit of Physical Touch in there also due to both of them being somewhat touch-starved.  I do think Arthur has some Words of Affirmation in there as well, because sometimes he truly needs to hear praise and affection deliberately and unequivocally stated to be able to believe it’s real, and Sadie’s come to realize that and respond to it.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

They’re not really an overt PDA couple.  What they have they consider generally very intense but private.  They do like to cuddle in private, and small touches here and there are common enough. 

What are their favorite things to do together?

Just spend time together, to be honest.  It could be reading together (silently or one of them aloud), playing music together, doing chores, cooking, spending time with the kids, training horses, lying in bed talking, or anything.  They just genuinely enjoy each other’s company.  

Who’s better at comforting the other?

It’s a learned skill for both of them since neither was great at articulating feelings, but the months at Las Hermanas when they were both healing psychologically while Arthur was healing physically did a lot. They’re both fairly good at nonverbal comfort, and reaffirming each other. 

Who’s more protective?

Pick a day.  It can vary.  ;)  I think we see in-game they’re both fiercely protective of each other.  I do think Arthur has the knack of being protective of her in a non-patronizing, non-paternalistic way, which Sadie appreciates.  It’s still been hard for her to accept that needing and taking help isn’t admitting she’s weak.  Arthur kind of had to get over that notion during his TB convalescence because he constantly needed help for things.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

A mix of both.  Usually not big overt dramatic demonstrations, since that’s not their dynamic, but quick little affectionate touches (on the arm, the cheek, etc.), using fond nicknames and pet names, and things like that. 

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

I’ll keep working on this and probably post some of my Sadithur playlist at some point.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

“Art” and “Daisy” are their private affectionate nicknames, given Sadie jokingly calling him “artsy Art” as he’s an artist, and Arthur admitting he couldn’t come up with a fitting nickname from “Sadie” and just rearranging the sounds a bit.  After Sadie used it in-game, “honey” is probably the most common pet name they use.

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes?

Arthur did.  That’s not because Sadie is a traditionalist by any means.  But I do think there’s the part of her that likes to know she’s not steamrollering someone, and that they got to take their own initiative.  Then especially in Arthur’s case, I think he needed to ask.  She needed to be sure that Arthur wanted to be with her, rather than it being a case of her wanting him and him going along with it from being happy to be wanted by her.  I also think he needed it too to prove to himself he could be confident enough in what he had to offer Sadie to ask, and to stand equal to her. 

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

They had a very small wedding at their home in Chuparosa, for several reasons. One is because they’re just not the type for huge demonstrative parties for their own sake, even if they enjoy them when they’re celebrations for someone else.  Neither of them really likes being a massive center of attention.  Two, they were fairly alone.  They’d made some friends in Mexico, but aside from Charles (who they knew went to Canada), everyone else from the gang was a mystery to them.  Three, they kept it small and quiet also since they’d sorta accidentally ended up playing fake married since Arthur’s admission to Las Hermanas in order to stick together.  So everyone already assumed they were a married couple, and they didn’t want it to become a big obvious thing.  Sister Calderon was the officiant (since it was a secular wedding of two avowed non-Catholics), and their friends Pedro and Juanita Estevez from Las Hermanas were the witnesses.  Dr. Felipe Garcia, Arthur’s doctor who’d also become a friend, also attended, as did Albert Mason, who they’d found in Escalera a few weeks before on yet another wildlife photography expedition. 

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

Mild Sunrise spoiler ahoy, but as of 1908 they’ll have four: Beatrice (born 1902), Matthew (born 1903), Susanna (born 1905, adopted by them in 1907) and Andrew (born in 1908).  I also see them as likely taking in some older kids later once Susie and Andy are a bit older, because Arthur in particular would be passionate about the need to try to give a couple of orphaned and/or homeless teens and near-teens a home.  He knows the kind of people who take you in, or if it doesn’t happen at all, can make a huge difference.  As for personality, Bea’s very much a fierce no-nonsense sort but very protective of the younger kids, Mattie’s a sweet boy who’s going to become a gentle giant, and as for Susie and Andy, I’ll wait to see what they tell me.  Andy’s not born yet, and Susie’s both very young and dealing with the trauma of losing her family to Micah’s gang, so she’s understandably not showing much of her true personality just now. 

Do they have any pets?

Aside from a lot of horses?  They ended up with a black cat (Dido) at the very end of 1899, adopted during the first weeks of Arthur’s convalescence at Las Hermanas and helping keep him company during all that bed rest.  Then they picked up a stray dog (Dusty) in Armadillo in 1901 during fighting the cholera epidemic--this is the Armadillo “Mutt” in-game.  The most recent addition is a border collie puppy (Dorothy), who they’ve adopted from MacFarlane’s Ranch in 1907, given Charlie the border collie being there in RDR1.  

Who’s the stricter parent?

This ended up being something of a big fight, actually, and probably the first huge blow-out in their marriage.  Sadie felt like she was the only one providing discipline and accountability as Bea got old enough to start to need it.  Arthur understandably was feeling his way through parenting since mostly what he has is negative examples from Lyle (physical abuse) and Dutch (profound psychological abuse).  Even Hosea’s parenting was sort of indirect and elusive sometimes.  So he was being very hands-off on discipline out of a need to make certain the kids knew they were loved, and to not worry that he was hurting them.  But he couldn’t do that and leave Sadie all the heavy lifting while he gets to be identified as the “nice” parent and the joybringer, and the two of them came to realize that.  I’d say they’re about even now.   

Who kills the bugs in the house?

Both of them.  Neither is squeamish by any means.

How do they celebrate holidays?

Usually fairly quietly at home with family, but with remembrances of things dear to them.  Songs and music, decorations, favorite foods, little family rituals.  They like to keep that kind of thing alive where they can.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Sadie.  She knows how hard farming is, so she’s up and at it when there’s work to be done.  But she never had Arthur’s long years of anxious need to stay busy no matter what so he was proving his usefulness.

Who’s the better cook?

They’re both pretty decent at it.  Sadie actually likes cooking, but she doesn’t like being expected to do it just because she’s a woman, so she’s rather protective of that notion.  Arthur came to it late, as kitchen duty was one of the first light jobs a TB patient at Las Hermanas could have after being allowed off total bed rest.  Given how bored he was by then, cooking became something really exciting, and he found out he actually enjoyed it, both the kind of soothing ritual of all those steps, and then producing something tangible by it. 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hii, I'm actually sad-sweet-cowboah and I've always wanted to request something from you! How about modern AU, Arthur surprises reader with a horse she's been really eyeing for a while? Maybe it doubles as a cute proposal? (and just for reference, a gorgeous golden Palomino Quarter Horse!)

Ah I’m so glad you sent this in to me! This was a lot of fun, and Arthur is fucking adorable! 16/10 best boyfriend/husband material, you cannot change my mind! (Will someone make that into a meme?) Anyways, have fun! 

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

(BTW, Arthur’s hot as hell in this pic.....) 

Arthur stands on the deck of his house, lost in thought. He really should be in the barn, finishing up the last of the day’s work, but he’s worried. You should’ve been home half an hour ago and yet he still hasn’t heard from you. He’s texted you, but nothing. Maybe you’re just stuck in traffic. 

You and Arthur have lived together for over a year, and been dating for over two years. He remembers how he convinced you to move in with him, as you’d been adamant. Hell, it’d been hard enough to get you to date him. 

When you both first met, it was like a spark between you. However, you were scared of taking the next step with him, as you were just a natural loner. Not only that, you’d been alone for so long you didn’t think there would be anyone who wanted to be with you. So when Arthur asked you to be his girlfriend, you almost ran off, sure he was pulling your leg. However, something told you that you needed to be brave, to take the leap, so you did. 

About 8 months later, Arthur really wanted you to move in with him on his little ranch, tucked in a canyon not too far from a small mountain town. But again, you were hesitant. It’s not that you didn’t love him, just the opposite in fact. You were so in love, you were constantly terrified that you’d mess up, that he’d end up hating you when you ended up living together. The last thing you wanted was to mess this up. 

Then, shortly after your first year anniversary, the Coronavirus pandemic hit and everyone was sent into quarantine. Luckily you were able to work remotely, so you didn’t lose much money. It was nice working from home, you could stay in your pj’s all day, not worry about makeup, none of that stuff. But you missed seeing your boyfriend and he missed you. The two of you did plenty of video chats, but it wasn’t the same. You couldn’t smell him, hug him, touch him, kiss him… nothing. You tried doing some video sex, but you got outrageously uncomfortable doing it over video chat (what if some hacker got in?), and Arthur wasn’t all that comfortable either. 

Those 60 days were some of the longest and loneliest of your life. You would’ve easily gone to his home and see you, but his little town wanted absolutely no outsiders to come in, so they blocked the roads, preventing you and Arthur from visiting. When quarantine was lifted, that was when you decided to move in with Arthur. After all, you didn’t know if there would be another one. You could work remotely, only having to go into the office a couple times a month for meetings, so the work situation with you was easy enough. 

That was over a year ago, and despite your fears that the two of you would end up breaking up after a few months, the opposite happened. Your relationship grew beyond what you thought and the two of you have never been more in love. Sure, there’s been a few arguments, but nothing bad enough to break things off. For the most part, you and Arthur get along famously. 

Arthur sighs again, still feeling worried. Today was one of the days you had to go into the office for meetings. They never run past five, and the office is nearly an hour away, but it’s nearly eight in the evening. You should definitely be home by now. You must be stuck in traffic, which is why you’ve not answered any of his texts. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. Why he didn’t do this earlier is beyond him. 

A few rings go by and you finally pick up. “Hey, babe,” you say. 

He smiles. “Hey, darlin’. Just worried about ya. Everything okay?” 

“Yeah. Just a big accident on the freeway. I stopped and got dinner too since it’s late. Should be home in like ten minutes.” 

“Good. Kiss ya when I see ya,” he says and hangs up. That’s always how he says good bye to you over the phone and you love it. 

Like clockwork, ten minutes go by and you pull into the driveway. He walks out of the house to greet you, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing you like he always does. He wants to tell you so badly what he’s got planned, but it’s gotta be a surprise. Under no circumstance can he spoil it. Not like this. 

After dinner, the two of you cuddle up on the couch and watch a show before going to bed. He can tell you’re exhausted. These meeting days are your least favorite and they always wipe you out. Arthur cradles your head to his chest as you lie in bed. Within seconds, he hears you snore softly, making him smile. He goes back to thinking about tomorrow. 

Arthur’s owned this ranch for most of his life. It wasn’t always his though. He grew up here with his adopted fathers, Hosea and Dutch. However, Hosea was killed very suddenly a few years ago in a car crash after he’d been hit by a drunk driver. His death had been so sudden that it hit Dutch extremely hard. Dutch ended up just vanishing one day, driven by grief and confusion. Arthur hasn’t seen him since. 

The ranch fell into his hands after Dutch disappeared. He secretly hopes that maybe Dutch will come back someday, if he’s still alive that is. He’d love you two to meet, as he’s sure Dutch would like you better than his last serious girlfriend Mary. 

His thoughts drift to her and he feels even more nervous. He’d been engaged to her for three months before she’d broken it off. She claimed it was because she hated his location, that she wanted to live in the city, not some small mountain town where everything was far away. Perhaps that was true, but he suspected there was more to it than that. After all, when Mary’s father discovered that Arthur had two fathers, he was extremely upset that Mary was dating someone raised by homosexuals. He’s always suspected that her father had a big reason behind why they broke up. Not only that, but he wonders if she was seeing a guy on the side. How could she go from being engaged to being in a new relationship only three weeks after they broke up? Good riddance, though, he thinks. He loves you a hundred times more than he ever loved her. 

You’ve never cared about his upbringing, stating that Hosea and Dutch were at least good parents to him. You’ve known far too many heterosexual parents who were awful, and how many gay couples are out there who’d love to have kids and be the best parents. You weren’t in contact with your parents anymore (he still didn’t even know what they look like), so they aren’t an issue. 

Arthur starts thinking about how sad and lonely your life has been. How you spent so many years alone and how you believed you’d die alone. He’s so grateful for having met you. You don’t deserve to die alone, you’re too good of a person. He kisses your head as you sleep, overwhelmed with his sense of love for you. A smile makes its way to his lips as he thinks about tomorrow. 

Over the past year, as you’ve grown more comfortable to ranch life, you’ve been thinking about maybe getting your own horse. Arthur has a few that you’re certainly welcome to, of course, but you’ve been wanting one to call your own for a while now. A few weeks ago, you’d both been in town to go to the one grocery store there. As the truck went down the highway and passed another ranch, you saw the signs “horses for sale”. In the pasture was a beautiful palomino quarter horse. It looked like it was made of gold as it grazed in the sun. You begged Arthur to stop the truck and just go see the horse. 

He pulled over, unable to resist your excitement, and you went to the fence. The palomino, along with most of its pasture mates, came over to investigate you and Arthur. You patted her nose and Arthur could tell you were already in love with her. However, he had no idea what her temperament was like, so he came up with a plan. 

On the days when you had to go to meetings, Arthur went to the horse’s owner to ask questions and get acquainted with the horse. She was young, only three, but the owner had raised her and trained her himself. He invited Arthur to go on a trail ride using her so he could see how good of a riding horse she was. After only twenty minutes on her, Arthur knew she was perfect for you. She responded to his lightest touch and command. After the trail ride, Arthur bought her, but he kept her at her former owners so you wouldn’t see her too soon. 

Yesterday, while you’d been gone, Arthur went and picked the horse up and brought her back. She didn’t have a name yet, but he wanted you to have that privilege. The man who raised her called her Sierra, but he knew that was your mother’s name and you were unlikely to keep it as you had no desire to see her for as long as he’s known you. He struggles to fall asleep, feeling like a kid on Christmas, excited to show you his gift. He’s also terrified as he’s going to use the horse as a segway for the biggest decision of his life. 

************************************************

The next morning, Arthur gets up much earlier than usual. He’s normally up a bit past sunrise so he can feed the animals and get an earlier start on cleaning before it gets hot. This morning, though, you wake up at the crack of dawn and find his side of the bed empty. After grabbing a cup of coffee, you go out and find him just finishing feeding the chickens. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, a big grin on his face. 

You say good morning and he comes over, leaning across the fence so he can kiss you. 

“Hey, I got a couple more chores to do, but once they’re done, I got somethin’ to show ya.” 

“Okay, I’ll help. What needs to be done?” 

He smiles, loving how willing you always are to help him out. It makes his life a lot easier. He struggles though, as most of the remaining chores were in the stables with the horses, including yours. 

“Um… well, why don’t you go through the chicken coop, see about eggs.” 

You nod and go off to grab the collecting basket. Arthur asks you to finish feeding the chickens as well so he can go into the stable. After collecting nearly a dozen eggs and placing them in the egg storage so they can be sold this weekend, you brush off your hands and start heading into the stables. Arthur darts out, slightly sweaty from his work. 

“Woo, it’s hot. Hey baby, um, maybe you can go get us some drinks?” he says. His tone is weird, like he’s hiding something. 

“Um… okay. Everything okay?” 

“Everythin’s just fine.” He kisses you again real quick and then shoots back into the stables. 

After retrieving two beer bottles, you go out to find Arthur in the paddock, which is attached to the right side of the barn so the horses can go in and out of their stalls. He’s wringing his gloved hands a bit, but smiles when he sees you. What is going on with him? 

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says when you go into the pen and hand him his beer. Instead of opening it, he places it onto a post of the fence. “I wanted to show you somethin’.” 

He looks to the barn and whistles. Odd, he’s looking at one of the stalls that’s been empty the entire time you’ve lived here. Something snorts and out walks the golden horse you’d been admiring for the past few weeks. You gasp and put your hands over your mouth. 

“Arthur, is that…?” 

“She’s yours, sweetheart. I took her for a ride a while ago, she’s a good horse.” 

The filly walks over to you and snorts in greeting, stretching her neck out to bump her nose to your hand. Tears leak out of your eyes as you start rubbing her neck, going down to her withers. 

“Arthur, she’s beautiful!” 

He chuckles softly and walks over to hug you, grinning as you bury your face into his chest. God, you couldn’t ask for a sweeter boyfriend. 

“Thank you so much, Arthur! I love her.” 

“Good. What’s her name?” 

“Did she not have one before?” 

He tells you what her name used to be, but as he predicted, you don’t like it. You think for a moment, studying her golden coat. She swishes her silver tail. 

“Maybe… Freyja? I know you like having names of gods and goddesses for your horses.” 

Arthur chuckles as he thinks about his two favorite horses, Boadicea and Artemis. “If that’s what you want, darlin’. She’s your horse though, you name her whatever feels right.” 

You look at her and smile. “Freyja feels right.” 

Freyja snorts, not giving a single damn about her name. Her eyes are soft as you pat her neck again. 

“Well, why don’t we groom miss Freyja? Maybe you can ride her around the pasture, see how you like her.” 

You nod and go into the stables to grab a brush and hoof pick. Freyja’s very patient as you groom her, standing still as you clean out her feet. Arthur hauls out the heavy saddle after you throw on her saddle blanket and grab her bridle. After cinching on the saddle and adjusting the stirrups, Arthur says, “Oh I forgot somethin’, hold on.” 

He goes into the stables as you pat the horse’s neck again, anxious to hop into the saddle. He comes back out, empty handed and looking frustrated. 

“I thought I left it in there,” he grunts, coming back over to you. 

“What you looking for?” 

“A thing,” he says, ignoring you and shoving his hand into the saddle bag. “I thought I left it… ah ha! Don’t know how it got in there.” 

He pulls his hand out and you see a small, velvety box. He brushes it off quickly and then holds it out to you. 

“Sweetheart, I uh… I been thinking about doin’ this for a while. It would… it would mean a lot to me.” 

You take the box, your stomach clenching. Is this a ring? Or is it something else and you’re just being hopeful? Your heart pounding in your ears, you open the box and see the ring. You gasp. It’s not a diamond, you always hated diamonds. Too common and overpriced. Instead, it’s a silver band, the metal engraved with fancy, swooping curls, a gem in your favorite color perched on top. 

“Arthur?” you say, your voice squeaking as you take out the ring. 

He clasps your hands in his, the ring nestled in your palm. “I wanna marry ya, sweetheart. You… well, you’re more than I could ever hope for in a companion. I never thought I’d wanna marry someone again after Mary…” he looks down and swallows. You know all about her of course. “But that was until I fell in love with you. There’s no doubt in my mind that I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” 

Fresh tears are cascading down your cheeks. You look at the ring again and Arthur’s suddenly afraid you’ll say no, or that you’re not ready. He worries that he might have to try and talk you into this like he had when he wanted to date you and then have you move in. He doesn’t want to do that with this though. Just as his stomach begins to sink, you smile up at him. 

“Yes, Arthur. I will marry you, a thousand times.” 

He smiles, swallowing a wave of his own tears and cups your cheek. He takes the ring and slides it onto your finger, then he presses his forehead to yours. For several moments, you both stand there in this position, letting the world go by as you bask in one another’s presence. You slide a hand over his neck, wanting to be even closer to him, your future husband. 

Suddenly something shoves your shoulder hard and it’s followed by a loud snort. Arthur chuckles, pulling away from you. “Think Freyja wants your attention again.” 

You laugh and kiss him before facing your horse and climbing into the saddle (with his help of course). You adjust yourself in the saddle, sliding both feet into the stirrups. Arthur pats your thigh and tells you to just walk around the pen so that you and Freyja can get acquainted with the feel of one another. 

As Arthur watches you walk with your horse, he feels a sense of excitement and contentment. Excited for the future, of course, but he’s never been so sure about anything as he is about this. Marrying you is the only thing he could do, he’s never wanted anything more. 

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 11

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

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This story is also on AO3

THAT NIGHT

SOUTH OF RIGGS STATION

Sitting underneath the cool night sky, Arthur and Isaac huddled together around a warm campfire that they built mere minutes ago, cooking a rabbit over its crackling flames.

At the moment, Isaac was wrapped up in a blanket and resting against a boulder, lazily watching the rabbit cook as he slowly rotated the spit. Meanwhile, Arthur leaned back against a tree and gazed upwards, taking in the millions of stars dusting the sky as they flickered sporadically.

It was close to midnight now, as far as Arthur could tell. The two of them traveled for several hours after leaving Blackwater, and decided to take a break once they crossed the Upper Montana River.

Fortunately, Arthur hadn’t seen any other signs of the Pinkertons following his encounter with Agent Ross, and the Van der Lindes appeared to be nowhere either.

Right now, it was just the two of them at this camp. The wilderness around them was quiet with emptiness, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the chirping of crickets, and the distant howling of coyotes.

Everything was peaceful.

Despite their calm state however, Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about the deal Agent Ross proposed to him earlier. For some reason, that man’s words embedded themselves in Arthur’s brain like a nail in wood, and the outlaw found himself preoccupied with about a thousand different questions. None of which he had the answers to.

Every fiber in his being doubted that Ross was being sincere with his offer, and Arthur knew better than to blindly throw his trust around, but as a father who cared about nothing more than the safety of his own child, he couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, there was some truth to Edgar’s deal.

Surely, Agent Fordham would protest if Ross went back on his word. That young man made his moral standing rather clear during the bank robbery in Blackwater, and a small part of Arthur hoped he’d be able to sway his superior’s mind the same way he did when Dutch took that woman hostage.

Maybe then, Isaac would have a chance at starting a normal life. This world of outlaws was the last thing Arthur wanted for his son, and if there was any chance he could prevent Isaac from going down the same road he did as a boy, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

He just hoped Isaac wouldn’t fight against it.

“...Dad?” The boy said softly, bringing Arthur back to reality. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” He replied, picking up on the young man’s serious tone. Isaac seemed to be in a much more solemn state than before, and just by listening to the kid’s voice, Arthur could tell something was wrong. 

He guessed he wasn’t the only one with a lot on his mind.

“...I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Isaac finally answered.

Arthur gave him a puzzled look. “Sorry? For what?”

“For everything I’ve done.” He explained. “I’ve... been thinkin’ about it for a while, and I’m just now realizing how much damage I’ve caused over these past couple o’ weeks. Especially to you and your gang. I wanted to kill Shay so badly that I was willing to risk those who did nothing wrong to me. I put you in danger. I killed Cleet. I took you away from Dutch. And now, because of everything I did, it’s possible he’ll want to take revenge on us. I’ve caused so many issue due to my own greed, and... I didn’t even take a moment to think about it. I didn’t care.”

Isaac lowered his head in shame, unable to look Arthur in the eye. “I shoulda listened to you back there. I’m sorry, Dad.”

Arthur had to admit, he was a tad surprised at the sudden confession. He knew Isaac was no killer deep inside, but he didn’t realize how much these past few days had actually affected him. 

It was rather clear Isaac had been thinking about this for quite some time. His eyes carried a heavy sense of melancholy within them, and the longer Arthur examined the disheartened expression on his face, the more he could see the kid’s mind tearing itself apart.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, Isaac.” Arthur replied sincerely. “I know the road’s been pretty bumpy lately, but it ain’t your fault. The truth is--” a short cough interrupted him, “--you... you actually helped me. Before we met, I used to spend my days thinkin’ about nothing except how all this was gonna end. Our gang was fallin’ apart, Dutch was dyin’ of his illness, and... well, there weren’t much I really cared for anymore.”

Isaac threw a confused look at him. “But... what about Dutch? I thought he was like a father to you.”

“He is,” Arthur corrected, “but no matter how close we was in the past, that man’s too dangerous to be around now. He’s like a stick of dynamite waitin’ to go off. That ain’t someone I want in my life. Or in yours. The reality is, you saved me from a heap of trouble I was always too stupid to put behind me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Isaac fell silent at the response, evidently surprised by Arthur’s sentiment. He expected the man to be a little more reserved about everything that was happening, but contrary to his belief, the outlaw actually seemed to be content with this new path they were taking, regardless of how chaotic it may’ve been. 

“That’s good to hear.” Isaac replied, sounding genuinely relieved. “I just keep wondering if I did the right thing, y’know. Killin’ Shay.”

Arthur let out a sigh, struggling to get his thoughts in order. “Revenge is always a messy business, I’m afraid. There’s never an easy answer. I suppose... it really comes down to whether you think the sacrifice is worth it or not.” He paused, glancing at Isaac. “...Do you?”

The young man shrugged, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. “Well... I met you in the process. So I’d say so.”

Arthur chuckled warmly at that. “So it would seem.” He leaned forward, putting a reassuring hand on Isaac’s knee. “Try not to think too much about it, kiddo. We can’t change what’s done. We can only move on.” He gestured to the campfire. “Oh, also, you’re burnin’ the rabbit.”

Isaac cursed in realization and rushed to remove the charred animal from the spit, earning a laugh from the other man. “Shit...!”

Arthur rose to his feet and stretched his arms out, letting out a yawn. “Welp, I’m gon’ get some shut-eye. I’m thinking we can start heading for Wallace Station tomorrow. Make our way up north. Possibly even try to reach Canada.”

“You wanna go that far?” Isaac asked.

“Maybe. It’s the only way we’ll ever get them Pinkertons off our tail for good. We’d be outta their reach if we crossed the border. But I ain’t never actually been there... so we’ll see.”

Arthur took a seat in his tent. “Anyway, we can talk more about it tomorrow. For now, just focus on gettin’ some rest. These next few days are gonna be tough.”

Lying down on the ground, Arthur left Isaac to his own devices as the boy got in a last-minute meal, putting out the campfire now that he was done with it. The both of them were exhausted from traveling all day and constantly looking over their shoulders for Pinkertons, that the older man began to wonder if he should’ve asked John for help.

He didn’t know if Marston was still alive, or if he was even still in the country, but Arthur couldn’t deny that he missed that grumpy old bastard. He hadn’t seen him ever since the man fled Dutch’s gang eight years ago, and part of him wished that they could meet up again.

But... no. He couldn’t do that to John. That man had a possible wife and son to look out for now. The last thing he needed was Arthur bringing the law’s attention onto his doorstep, if it wasn’t already there. He got out of the Van der Lindes for a reason, and Arthur didn’t want to put his family at risk.

Arthur decided he would stay away from John for now. He and Isaac had been surviving well enough so far, and unless something disastrous were to occur, he thought it best if he left the man alone.

There was nothing more to be said between them, after all, and just like he told Isaac mere moments ago, there was no way he could change what happened in the past.

He could only move on from it.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

AN HOUR AFTER DAWN

Waking up to the smell of wet grass and freshly-poured rain, Arthur found himself lying in the middle of a crisp, chilly morning as a thick layer of fog spread across the land, obscuring everything in a fuzzy, white haze. 

He felt well rested -- or at least more rested than before -- and he couldn’t help but notice that this was the first night in a while where he didn’t suffer from some incessant nightmare. In fact, he couldn’t recall having any dreams at all.

Maybe that was a sign things were getting better.

Typically, Arthur would dream of those he had lost in the past. He’d see faces like Hosea, or Mary, or even Eliza, sometimes. They’d always talk to him as if they were still around, and Arthur would believe it. He’d have meaningful conversations with them in his head and laugh along with their jokes... only to wake up a few hours later and feel the cold sensation of reality sinking in once again.

He always wished he could go back to his dreams. They were far more comforting than the brutality of the real world, and usually, Arthur had nothing to look forward to upon waking up.

Now though, Arthur finally had something to care about outside of his dreams. He had the child he always wanted as a young man, and the chance to raise him right, despite their unusual situation.

He was going to do his best to be the father that Hosea was to him, and God willing, never become anything like Dutch. 

Lord knew Isaac deserved better than that.

Bringing himself to a sitting position, Arthur rolled his shoulders and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still feeling a bit groggy. Things were quiet this morning, apart from the neighing of the horses, and it looked like their camp had been left undisturbed by any unwanted company.

When Arthur got a better look at the tent across from him however, he suddenly realized that the sleeping bag was empty, and Isaac was nowhere to be seen.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to bolt out of his tent.

“Isaac?” He called out, searching the small camp. It looked like Aldo was still hitched to his post in the same spot Isaac left him, so Arthur assumed the man didn’t leave.

At least, not voluntarily.

“Isaac!” Arthur exclaimed again, starting to grow worried. He suddenly noticed a note lying on a stump next to his tent. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes, hurriedly reading the scribbled text.

“We’re out of water. Went to the river to get some. Will be back soon.”

For a moment, the man was relieved at the news and let out a brief sigh, but instantly felt his fear spike once again when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot thundered somewhere in the distance.

Isaac was in trouble.

“Goddammit...!” Arthur cursed in panic, grabbing his guns before sprinting to his mount.

Throwing himself onto the Andalusian, the outlaw kicked his spurs into the horse’s sides and galloped in the direction of the gunshot, keeping his eyes peeled as he scanned the region for his son.

He didn’t hear anything else echoing through the fog at the moment, aside from a few muffled voices, but the weather made it so damned difficult to navigate through these fields, that Arthur almost had to rely on his hearing entirely.

Thankfully, he was somewhat familiar with the area and knew where the river was, leading him to make a direct beeline for the south. He only prayed Isaac was still there.

“Isaac!” Arthur shouted. “Goddammit, boy, where the hell are you...?!”

Whipping the reins even harder, Arthur practically soared across the land as he flicked his eyes around in trepidation, desperately searching for any sign of the young man.

He didn’t know where on Earth he was right now, and the only thing he could see was fog, but judging by the fact that he could make out the voices more clearly now, Arthur assumed he was getting closer. 

The outlaw hopped off his mount and decided to proceed on foot from there, not wanting to draw the attention of any enemies that could’ve been nearby.

“...Just tell me what I wanna know,” someone said from deep within the haze, “and this’ll all be over for you soon, princess. I promise.”

Arthur immediately recognized the conniving voice, causing his heart to pound in his chest. It was Micah. That meant Dutch had to be somewhere nearby.

“Lemme go, you sons-of-bitches...!” Isaac barked in a strained tone, clearly struggling against something.

Micah chuckled mockingly. “Afraid I can’t do that, cowboy. Not until you tell me where your pa is. I’m sure he and his sour face are sulkin’ around here somewhere.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” The young man reiterated. “I said I don’t know!”

“Oh, I heard you, alright, but I don’t believe you. There ain’t no way you coulda made it this far on your own. Not without a little help to push you along. You’s a clever little lad, I’ll give you that. But even you couldn’t survive out here. I know you’re travelin’ with the old man, so tell me where he is...” Arthur heard the click of a pistol’s hammer, “...or I’ll find him myself.”

Still, Isaac didn’t budge.

“...My father was right about you.” He said plainly. “You ain’t nothin’ but a snake, Micah. A boot-lickin’ coward who could never look a real man in the eye. You betrayed Dutch, and we both know it. He’ll have your head if he ever--”

Micah slammed his gun into Isaac’s temple.

“You watch your goddamn mouth, boy! You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.” The man scoffed in amusement. “Seems to me like you’s just as delusional as your daddy. What a surprise.”

Micah glanced at Joe who was currently restraining Isaac with a gun to the head and signaled him to bring the kid back to camp, gesturing to their horses.

“Go on and bring Morgan junior here back to Dutch. I’m sure the boss is eager to have a word with him.”

“But what about Arthur?” Joe asked.

Micah waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll find the cranky old bastard some other time. Hell, if we’re lucky, he might even come to us. For now, let’s just see what we can get outta the boy.”

The other man sighed. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna--”

Startling all three of them, a bullet suddenly blasted its way into Joe’s skull and sent him collapsing into the river with a large splash, giving Isaac the opening he needed.

Unwrapping Joe’s arms from his neck, Isaac instantly broke free from his grasp and yanked out his hunting knife, cutting a deep gash into Micah’s left eye before tackling the man to the ground.

“You goddamned miserable wretch!” Micah hissed, blocking Isaac’s attacks. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Shoving the young man’s meager weight off of him, Micah headbutted Isaac and turned the tide of the fight, rolling around so that the other man was underneath him.

Before the boy even had a chance to react, Micah pressed his hands around Isaac’s throat and strangled him as best he could, shaking his grip with the amount of strength he was putting into it.

“You dunno how long I’ve been wantin’ to do this, cowpoke...!” Micah growled. “I shoulda killed you the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Pointlessly gasping for air, Isaac writhed in Micah’s iron hold and desperately tried to pry his arms off with a few punches to the face, but to no avail. The man only continued to squeeze Isaac’s neck and chuckled sadistically, reveling in the morbid sight beneath him.

Just as he was about to finish the boy off however, a third party suddenly barged into the scene, forcing Micah to bring his attention elsewhere.

“Get the hell off of him, you son-of-a-bitch!” Arthur roared, grabbing Micah by the shoulders before hurling him to the ground.

Isaac let out a deep gasp upon being released and hungrily drank the air around him, coughing violently as he tried to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Arthur pinned Micah to the dirt and slammed his knuckles into the man’s nose, practically burying his fist in his face.

“And there he is...!” Micah said with a bloody smile. “I knew you’d come crawlin’ outta your hole sooner or later.”

“You shut your mouth, Micah!” Arthur threatened through clenched teeth. “I’m sick of listenin’ to all your bluster!”

The other man laughed. “You don’t like what I have to say ‘cause you know it’s the truth...! You’re old news, Morgan. The gang’s got a new order. Dutch is finished with you, and he’s gonna nail you to a cross when he finds you.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna be any kinder to you,” Arthur countered. “You know what loyalty means to that man. If Dutch is gonna damn me for what I’ve done, then so be it. But you best believe you’re goin’ straight to Hell with me.”

Micah chuckled. “Then I hope the trip is worth it.”

Throwing a series of punches, Arthur continued to beat Micah to a pulp and stained the river’s water red with his blood, fully intending on killing the man until the ominous sound of someone cocking their gun reached his ears.

Arthur came to a halt and looked over his shoulder, spotting none other than Bill Williamson himself standing in the distance.

He paused, waiting for the man to say something.

“Williamson...” he warned, his voice dangerously rough, “if you’re gonna use that gun, you better make sure I’m goddamn dead.”

The other outlaw hesitated, loosely aiming his rifle at Arthur’s head.

“Arthur, I--”

 Just as he lifted his weapon however, Isaac whipped out his own, causing the four of them to come to a stalemate.

“Christ, Arthur...” Bill muttered in frustration. “You always was a pain to deal with.”

Isaac pulled the hammer down. “Yeah, well you better get the hell outta here now, or I’ll blow Micah’s brains out myself.”

“I... I can’t just return to Dutch empty-handed!” Bill exclaimed, glancing back and forth between Arthur and Isaac. “You know that man. How d’you think he’s gonna react when I come back with nothin’ but Joe’s corpse and a beaten-to-hell Micah?”

Arthur kept his grip on Micah’s collar, glaring Bill directly in the eye.

“...I don’t care.” He said slowly. 

The other man glowered at that. “No. I guess you never did.”

Not wanting to escalate things any further, Arthur finally decided enough was enough and threw Micah’s unconscious body to the ground, admittedly somewhat ashamed of losing himself like that in front of Isaac.

The last thing he wanted was for Isaac to see the side of him that Dutch created all those years ago, but the boy was safe for the moment, and that was all he cared about.

He just hoped the kid wouldn’t be afraid of him after this.

“Bill,” Arthur said as the outlaw began dragging Micah away, “when you get back to camp, you tell Dutch to leave us the hell alone. Otherwise, none of you will be walkin’ away next time.”

“Sure, Arthur.” Bill replied flatly, sounding a little hurt. “Whatever you say.”

Watching the two of them disappear into the fog, Arthur and Isaac stayed back as Joe’s body began floating downstream with the river’s current, bumping into the numerous rocks protruding from the water along the way.

It didn’t look like Dutch was with them at the time being, so Arthur figured it would be safe for now, but that didn’t mean he was letting his guard down anytime soon. 

Within just a couple of days, they had already run into both the Pinkertons and the Van der Lindes, exactly like Arthur feared.

They’d have to be even more discreet from here on out, and that was what brought Arthur to his next move.

He turned to Isaac, shaking his head at the young man.

“What the hell was you thinking?” Arthur scolded fiercely. “Runnin’ off on your own like that, not even botherin’ to wake me up.”

Isaac rubbed his neck in pain, still recovering from Micah’s attack.

“We were outta water, like I said. I just came to collect more.”

“Yeah, and you nearly got yourself killed in the process! You shoulda told me where you was going, or brought me along with you! What if--” Arthur was interrupted by a series of coughs, forcing him to calm down.

“...What if,” he continued, his tone much softer now, “I didn’t find you in time? How d’you think that would’ve gone?”

The young man sighed, drained of all his energy. “I... I know. I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

Arthur let out a deep exhale, deciding to let it go for now.

“Well... just stay close to me from here on out. We got Pinkertons and Dutch’s gang hunting us down. I can’t afford to lose sight of you. Understand?”

Isaac nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. Then let’s get the hell outta here. Before anyone else shows up.”

Placing a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, Arthur quickly guided the boy back to his horse and away from the brutal scene, not wanting to stick around for a minute longer. A part of him felt somewhat bad for shouting at Isaac like that, especially after the kid just survived an ambush, but he couldn’t deny that he had been terrified for a minute there.

What if Isaac had been dead when he found him? What if he was too late? This encounter with Dutch’s men only made Arthur realize just how much danger they were truly in.

They had to get up north to the mountains in Ambarino, and fast. No one would dare follow them into those snowstorms -- well, no one except for Dutch -- and Arthur was willing to bet they’d be safer away from civilization.

He only wondered how much time they had before someone else cornered them.

“Dad?” Isaac said, looking at Arthur with concern. “Are you... doin’ okay? You’ve been coughin’ quite a bit lately.”

Arthur paused at the realization, suddenly aware of his newfound symptoms. With everything that was going on recently, he hadn’t even noticed how much more he had been coughing in the past few days, and he dreaded to think about what it could’ve meant.

After all, he had seen how Dutch was doing with his own illness, and it wasn’t as if Arthur had exactly been keeping his distance from the man. If he was starting to develop the same thing...

...well, that wasn’t something he even wanted to think about right now.

“I’m... fine, Isaac.” He brushed off, albeit not confidently. “Ain’t nothin’ to raise a fuss over.”

The boy wasn’t entirely reassured. “If you say so. Just... keep an eye on it, alright?”

Arthur climbed onto his horse and got comfortable in the saddle, waiting for Isaac to join him as the fog finally started to clear up.

“Don’t you worry. I will.”

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 55)

Choke

Reader has a word with Dutch. Couple of warnings for this one: one use of a racial slur, and some violence.

Tagging @emily-strange ❤

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

-

Dutch seemed pleased when he returned from Saint Denis with Sadie, rolling in on a wagon dressed up like a lawman. I was stunned to see Sadie in a fancy, floofy dress and a big hat, though it was spattered with blood. They climbed down and Sadie immediately strutted off to get changed, her face twisted with a lingering vengeful look, as Dutch spread his arms wide and puffed himself up to get everyone's attention. 

"It's done. Colm O'Driscoll is dead and gone. This is it, people, this is our first real step towards freedom, we just struck one huge thing off the list," he called out, strolling leisurely through the camp towards his tent. "We just gotta make one big bang and then we're gone."

I watched him from my spot on Arthur's bed, hearing Micah's deviant, low titter of a laugh. 

"What'd I tell you, boss? This ain't nothing we can't get away from, with our strongest boys we'll be on our way," he said, swinging back on a chair with his feet propped up on the table. 

"I can taste it, Mr. Bell. Ain't it a beautiful thing?" Dutch responded, then slipped away into the privacy of his tent. Micah glanced at me then, catching my eye for a moment, mouth curling into a smile. I rose to my feet and made my way over to the back of the women's wagon where Sadie was just finishing getting changed, smoothing out her shirt where it was tucked into her pants.

"Hey Sadie, how'd it go?" I asked. 

"It got bloody. But Colm's dead, and whatever lackeys he brought with him, they're dead too," she told me bluntly. "Finally. I've been waiting for the day that those bastards paid for what they did to my husband." 

"Good. I hope it hurt," I said quietly, looking towards the ground at the mention of her husband. I never knew how to act. 

"You should've seen the look on his face when he realised he weren't getting away, pretty sure he shit himself before they pulled the lever," she gave a mean, scratchy laugh and I had to smile at her getting to see some justice finally delivered. "Bastard deserves everything he gets, what he did to me."

"Couldn't agree more. And I'm glad he's gone, maybe now we'll have some damn breathing space," I sighed. 

"Maybe. But I got a word of warning for ya', Dutch got a little pissed off when we was in the bar before we watched Colm swing," she began, picking up her gun belt and buckling it around her waist, retrieving her pistol and sitting down to clean it, "Arthur said some things and Dutch weren't happy."

I frowned and sat down next to her. "What was said, exactly?"

"Arthur asked what the grand plan was, and when he didn't exactly jump for joy at Dutch's answer, his loyalty was called into question. I tried to step in and tell them to buck up, but they butted heads. Well, as much as Arthur'd dare to butt heads with Dutch, said just 'cause he's thinking about the others, don't mean he's disloyal to him. Dutch weren't having it though," Sadie explained, digging her nail into the nooks and crannies of her gun with the cloth. "He weren't particularly kind to Arthur."

I narrowed my eyes, my jaw clenching.

"Dutch said apparently he knows that you and him are talking 'bout leaving," she met my eyes at that, and my chest squeezed uncomfortably. "Arthur looked like he was about to throw up. In the end he just dropped it, and we had to go to the gallows anyway and nothin' more was said about it."

"And where's Arthur now?"

"Ain't sure. We split up and went separate ways after the chaos, I imagine he'll be back later," she told me, and I nodded, rising to my feet. 

"Excuse me," I said, and turned to leave.

I was half way towards Dutch's tent when I realised I'd left my cane behind, I didn't stop though. I very nearly ripped back the canvas and barged in, but the possibility that he could be undressed in there halted me, and instead I stopped just shy of the tent and took a breath. 

"Dutch? May I come in?" I called out once I'd gathered myself. There was a pause, then movement, and the canvas peeled back. Dutch looked a little confused, of course, I'd never really gone out of my way to speak to him in all the months I'd been around. "I'd like to speak with you."

"Of course," he said, his tone jumping up with a politeness that unnerved me. 

He stepped aside and let me enter. I'd never really been inside his tent. They were far more luxurious lodgings than the rest of the camp had, that was for sure, with animal furs on the floor and everything. Dutch gestured for me to take a seat on the bed, and he stood before me with his arms crossed. I sat up straight, my hands clasped in my lap. 

"I want Arthur to leave with me," I said, coming right out with it. "He knows this, and I ain't gonna try and hide it from anyone."

"Is that so?" His brows jumped up. I kept my eyes focused steadily on his.

"Yes."

"And why exactly are you telling me this, may I ask?"

"I wanna make it clear that it's me that wants it, it's me who's asking Arthur to come away with me. And Arthur is… he cares a lot about this gang. He ain't going anywhere," I explained to him, my voice as strong as I could manage despite the fact I was so nervous my hands shook.

"Well, my dear, if you don't wanna be in this gang anymore, you know where the figurative door is. Nobody's stopping you," he cocked a brow, crossing his arms.

"It ain't that. It's not that I want to leave the gang. I just– I want Arthur to be safe. And I want to be with him, where we can try and be free from all those people that're after him," I clarified, shaking my head, "but he ain't prepared to leave all of you, he's known you longer and I ain't gonna force him to choose between us. So I'm staying."

"I still don't know why this has anything to do with me. It sounds like you and Arthur have discussed this at length just between the two of you and have come to a compromise, what do you expect me to do with this information, Miss?" His face was hard but his tone was easy and polite. He had a way of doing that…

"Because I believe you might begin to question Arthur. You heard him the night of my injuries, he mentioned us leaving, but I know for sure he was only saying that in the moment. He didn't really mean it, and I know this because I called him out and asked him to stick to his words. He couldn't," in a way I felt guilty for painting Arthur out as being against leaving with me. It wasn't entirely true, but Dutch needed to hear it. "I just have to tell you this, the truth, so that Arthur ain't punished for my sake," I added.

"You think I'd punish him for wanting to leave?"

"Yes, actually, I do. I think you'd resent him, after all you've done for him," I admitted, attempting to stroke his ego just a bit; I thought it'd help my case, "and I ain't here to tell you whether you should or shouldn't be mad at something like that. I'm here to tell you that Arthur ain't thinking like you think he is. Lord knows I wish he was, but I ain't that lucky."

"But my guess is you're gonna keep on working on him, try and get him to see sense?" He tilted his head, his brow cocking again.

I lifted my shoulders lightly. "I will keep on telling him what I want and hope that someday he'll want it too."

"Well, I'm sorry, Miss, but from where I'm standing, if what you're telling me is true, maybe Arthur ain't all that committed to you. Is it in your best interests to put yourself in the firing line for a man who won't commit to you, one-hundred percent?" He proposed, his head tilting down, eyes peering up through his lashes, partially obscured by the brim of the hat he wore. "Maybe you should… cut your losses and get out of here before it's too late for you, all these Pinkertons about. You've already been injured. Perhaps you gotta start thinking about what's best for you."

"Like Molly did?" I don't know why I said it. I don't know what possessed me, but it gave Dutch pause, his expression flinching to mild surprise before being concealed behind indifference.

"Yes, like Molly did," he responded after some time, voice low and level. "You should know that a leopard don't change its spots, no matter how pretty a lady comes along. This wouldn't be the first time Arthur's chosen the gang over a woman, you likely won't be an exception, and I just don't wanna see a sweet thing like you get hurt," the treacle in his tone made me nauseous, but I forced a smile.

"I appreciate the concern. But I'm not going anywhere, Arthur might not be leaving the gang for me but I'll wait for him, even if that means I'm waiting the rest of our lives," I told him. "Because I love him, and I don't care where we are as long as we're together."

"Oh, that's sweet. I usually like a little naivety in a girl, though it does so often border on wilful ignorance," he said.

"So I'm ignorant?"

"I never said that," he shook his head innocently, brows curving up, "but perhaps you're beatin' a dead horse, so to speak."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're in love with him… and he loves you, I ain't got much doubt about that. I know just what a fool that man can be when he's taken by a woman, after all I was there when he was getting pulled in two directions by Mrs. Linton. He loved Mary, too. But Arthur never could leave this gang then, just like he can't now," he said to me, eyes boring into me, I'd been staring at his face so long in the muted light of the tent that his face seemed to start to warp and twist into something ugly and unsettling.

"So you really think I should leave and not look back because Arthur ain't never gonna come away with me?" I kept my expression neutral and my tone flat, trying not to give away anything about how I was feeling.

"I think that might serve you better in the long run, but that's just my advice. Take it or leave it."

"And you'd tell me that, even after you said yourself that you don't doubt Arthur loves me, you'd hurt him like that?"

"It wouldn't be me doing the hurting, my dear, I ain't got nothing to do with yours and his relationship, this is all up to you," he chuckled, shaking his head. "You came in here wanting to speak to me, and I just gave my advice."

"Well, wanting to speak with you and asking for your advice are two different things. I just came in here to tell you not to treat Arthur like dirt because of me."

"Hm, right you are. Well, unsolicited as it may be, my advice was given. You've worked hard for this gang, it'd be a real shame for you to throw your life away, risk it because of a romance that you can find with any old feller, ones that don't have to run away from anything for you. I love Arthur, I do, but the man is the furthest thing from a good suitor," he laughed and shook his head.

I was quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then I took a breath and rose to my feet.

"Well, thank you for your time."

"My pleasure, why I do believe this is the first real conversation you and I have ever had. If you choose to stick around, I'd be remiss if we didn't do this more often," he chuckled, his overly proper and friendly manner wearing thin.

"I'll leave you to whatever you were doing, take care, now," I nodded to him before letting myself out of the tent, taking a cooling breath once I was out in the open again and away from his suffocating presence. There was something about Dutch that made it hard to relax and breathe, he dominated any space just by existing, took up too much room. I didn't like it at all.

"Workin' on Dutch, now, are we? You like the fellers, don't you?" Micah sniggered from his spot at the table by Dutch's tent. 

"Leave her alone, Micah," Javier sighed from a ways behind him, taking a drink of water from one of our drinking barrels. I stopped dead and levelled my gaze to Micah.

"What? She's already screwing one of 'em, and she's getting mighty close to the likes of Marston and that darkie, always fluttering her lashes at the lot of them," he continued anyway, and I felt Javier looking at me. "Dutch even got a glimpse at Shady Belle. Remember that, sweetheart? Yeah, he told me about that."

I walked towards him, sitting down on the chair opposite. I kept my eyes so focused on his, to the point that he started looking uncomfortable. He glanced away for a second, then back at me. He almost looked confused.

"Keep going. Tell me more about myself, what else I been doing?" I asked. 

Micah's mouth hung open just so, his brow furrowed a bit. 

"So, I'm fucking Arthur," I counted it off on my finger, "flirting with John and– I'm sorry, who else was it?"

"Charles, I think he meant," Javier answered for him. 

"Charles. Course, you didn't use his name. Anyway, Dutch saw me at Shady Belle, sure, but what was I doing?"

"You were prancing around on top of Morgan like a whore," Micah spat venomously. 

"Like a whore? So, I looked experienced, at least. That's flattering," I nodded, and Javier snorted. "What else then?"

Micah hesitated. 

"Sneaking into Dutch's tent," Javier added, and I glanced up to see him grinning, enjoying whatever I was doing… I wasn't really sure what that was but it was happening with a flurry of adrenaline and the urge to wind Micah up.

"Oh yeah, trying my luck with him," I nodded, "thank you, Mr. Escuella, Mr. Bell seems to have forgotten his tongue."

"Then there was you being a little cock tease with me," Micah finally said, attempting to flip it to his gain.

"Cock tease? But according to you I'm dishing it out left and right, I ain't one for teasing," I frowned comically. "Why'd it be any different with you Mr. Bell? Surely I should be throwing myself at you like I do with everyone else."

I raised my brows at him expectantly but he kept his mouth shut.

"No, it's 'cause that was all in your head. Truth is I wouldn't touch you with a barge-pole if your limp dick was the last damn thing on Earth and my life depended on sucking it for sustenance, you're disgusting," I hissed through gritted teeth, letting a fair amount of pent up anger out at him as I rose to my feet and leaned over the table towards him. I heard Javier choke at my foul language.

The next thing I knew, my hair was being yanked; Micah's hand wrapped around the braid that hung forwards as I leaned, dragging me down to his level. I cried out in shock and pain.

"Someone ought to teach you some goddamn manners you nasty little girl," he growled, his face far closer than I ever wanted it. A surge of adrenaline sent my hand up to his neck where I grappled and squeezed whatever I could get purchase on, doing whatever came naturally to get him to let go of me.

"Don't you ever fucking touch me!" I screamed, wrenching my head back out of his loosened grip, shoving him back into his chair by his throat. 

"Woah, woah! Jesus Christ!" Javier was there, a hand on my shoulder, shoving me back, one on Micah's, keeping him in his chair as he choked and rubbed at his neck.

"Fucking psycho!" Micah's hoarse yell was my only evidence I hadn't done any real damage.

"You listening, shit head? You fucking touch me again and I won't let go next time," I spat, whirling around to storm off, slamming straight into someone coming up behind me. I stepped back and looked up to see Arthur's panicked, wide eyes, mouth hanging open. Shame washed through me.

"What's going on out here?" Dutch yelled from the parted flaps of his tent.

"Nothing! Just fucking leave me alone!" I yelled, storming off away from it all, my face burning. Arthur's hand tried to catch my wrist but I jerked it away, not wanting to be kept in that place any longer. I headed down the slope towards the river, the only place I could think to go. Half-way down I regretted not going to the horses, but I didn't even know if I could mount a horse with my leg. I wasn't even really supposed to be walking without support, but it was a bit late for that.

I marched down the edge of the river, my feet slamming down on the rocks below loudly. I stopped soon, the adrenaline wearing off and bringing pain to my attention. My leg throbbed with my quick pulse, but my scalp did too. He'd pulled hard, way harder than I thought. I hobbled over to a rock and slumped down, taking in a shaky, stuttered breath as I released the ribbon that held my braid in, fingering the strands apart and shaking my hair loose. I pushed my fingers through my hair and rubbed at my tender scalp as more shaky breaths came, I felt like I couldn't quite pull a satisfactory breath, and I buried my head in my hands. I felt out of control, like my fingers were slipping from the situation and I couldn't quite grasp my own peace like I'd managed before. 

I was always just about able to keep my head, to go along with things and stop myself from lashing out and snapping at every new blow that came my way. But with Micah… I'd strangled him. Even if it was only for a moment, I had my hand around his throat and I'd squeezed. And for what? He'd teased me about speaking to Dutch, it was mild, really. Sure, he'd pulled my hair but I'd provoked him, hadn't I? It was one bad decision after the other–

I was alone for only a few moments before inevitably the crunch of pebbles underfoot came close. 

"Please just don't look at me. I wanna be alone," I said. 

"I ain't sure if I can do that," it was Arthur, of course. "I'm not leaving you out here with a bad leg and no gun," he added, and I realised he was right. I hadn't equipped my holster that morning, I hadn't felt like wearing it most days while I was sitting around camp. 

"I don't wanna go back there," I whispered, hiding my face from him. 

"That's okay. I ain't gonna make you," he replied gently, the crunching of stones drawing nearer until I felt his hand scrubbing back and forth across the top of my shoulders. "What the hell happened?" 

I heard his breath as he crouched down to my level, his hand on my shoulder, clearly wanting me to look at him. 

"He yanked my hair, pulled me right up close to him," I breathed.

"Yeah I saw that part, I was on my way over there to knock a few more teeth loose. But you had it covered, didn't you?" He sounded amused, almost.

"Don't. I ain't proud," I shook my head. 

"What did he say?"

I paused. If I told him the complete truth I'd have to explain how I'd been to speak to Dutch. I didn't think Arthur would be that pleased about me interfering like I had. But I didn't want to lie or hide things from him…

"He was being a bastard because I was speaking to Dutch. He made some comments about how I'm getting all cozy with the men here… it weren't a big deal, I pushed him, it got out of hand," I sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean, getting all cozy?" He snorted humourlessly and I was relieved that he didn't question why I'd spoken to Dutch.

"Who knows? Apparently just speaking to a man means I'm sleeping with him, or trying to. You know how he is, he's speaking out of his ass and trying to wind me up. I'm ashamed to say he was successful."

"Don't be ashamed. It's been tough these few weeks, everyone's been lashing out. I don't blame you one bit," he said, rubbing at my shoulder soothingly. My heart squeezed and soared for him and I lifted my head, closing the space between us and hugging him tightly, pressing my face into his neck. 

"I don't know why I did it. I snapped. I don't wanna hurt no one, not even Micah, I can't believe I–" I stopped, breathing deep to stop myself from crying.

"You didn't hurt him, he's fine. Well enough to talk shit before I came after you," he assured me but it didn't really help.

"That was so ugly of me, I should just rise above it and walk away. This ain't like me, you're right. About what you said before about seeing yourself change in this gang, maybe that's happening," I leaned back to look at him. He was lost for words, his brows curved in distress and his mouth hanging wordlessly open. "I think I just need a break. I've been there since we arrived. I ain't been out and away from everyone for some time now."

"You want me to get the horses? We can ride out– can you ride?"

"I think I'd be okay side-saddle."

"You can ride with me, then, we can set up a camp elsewhere. You want that?" He cupped my face, thumbs stroking the tops of my cheeks. I nodded my head. "Okay. I'll pack us some things and come get you. You'll be alright here for a couple minutes?" He glanced around as he spoke. I nodded my head.

"Are you sure? You don't have to drop everything for me." 

"I ain't got nothing to drop. And even if I did, it ain't no sacrifice spending time with you, you know that," he pressed a kiss to my forehead before getting up. "I'll be as quick as I can, princess." 

"Can we take Rayna? Been a while since she's been out," I caught him before he left. He smiled at me fondly and nodded, then carried on back towards camp. 

I wasn't waiting long, as he soon returned, walking up the path on the back of Rayna. I heaved myself up off the rock and gingerly headed over to him; he dismounted to help me, taking my arm and helping me up the craggy incline to the path where Rayna was waiting. He grabbed something from the saddlebag and handed it to me. My gun belt.

"Put that on, princess. I don't want you going 'round without it in these parts," he warned, and I nodded and fastened it around my hips, taking my revolver out momentarily to refamiliarise myself with the weight of it in my hand. 

"Okay, let's go," I said, and Arthur lifted me onto Rayna's back, then joined me.

"Anywhere in particular you wanna go?" He asked once we were mounted.

"Hmm, there's a real pretty place north from here, if we follow up the Kamassa river. Brandywine Drop, there's this waterfall there, apparently it's beautiful. Maybe we could camp there?" I suggested, and Arthur immediately began down the path.

"You camped there before?"

"No, I ain't even ever been there. My dad liked to fish up there, he told me about it, showed me all the places he went on a map. I had planned to go up there one day but I never got around to it."

"Well, there might be some predators up there. I ain't worried about that, I've camped in all sorts of places; I just remember how you was when we went on that hunting trip with Charles," he said. I chuckled, squeezing my arms around his midriff, leaning my cheek against his shoulder blade.

"I was okay once I was sleeping next to you," I reminded him, and he hummed softly in acknowledgement.

"Okay then, we'll check it out," he said, and we rode peacefully northward, following the babbling water of the Kamassa river as closely as the path would allow. 

"Sadie told me that Colm's gone," I said quietly, and felt Arthur nod. "How're you feeling?"

"It was a little messy. But it's done, and I'm glad about it. It was nice to see him swinging from a rope after what he did to me," he huffed. "My shoulder still don't feel totally right. Maybe it never will."

"It don't? You never said that," I lifted my head and gingerly rubbed at the shoulder in question.

"Feels pretty stiff, can't move it as much as I can the other. Still does most of what I want it to, but I'm reminded of it every time I lift my arms past a certain point. More of a nuisance than anything," he murmured. I silently kissed it, not knowing what to say. "But I lived, that's more than most people who pissed Colm O'Driscoll off can say."

"I'd say you're lucky, but I can't bring myself to," I whispered, sliding my hand around his front, slipping it between the open top few buttons of his shirt and union suit to press against his chest, to feel his heartbeat. "You've been through enough that it'd be in bad taste."

"I got you getting me through it. I don't say it enough but I can't tell you how much it helps having you, I don't know how I'd be feeling if I was alone," he said under his breath. "The way I was after Guarma, when I– when my emotions boiled over like that. If you weren't there I don't know who I'd turn to. No one's ever seen me like that."

I didn't know what to say again. I felt stupid, even a little bit rude not saying anything at all, but all the words that came to mind weren't enough. 

"I love you. And the thought of you is what's getting me through this; watching Dutch change into someone I barely recognise. Watching this gang become more and more strained, all this tension, like we're all moments away from a massive blow out. When I close up our tent and settle in with you for the night, those times with just you and me, it's calm. I… I need that. Right now it's all I've got," he said, just talking as if he was writing in his journal. He didn't need a response, I sensed that, but I wanted to give him one.

"There ain't a single moment I regret joining this gang. Even when my leg hurts and Micah's pushing my buttons, or the Pinkertons are firing bullets at us, I never, ever think about my life before I joined and long for it. You're worth everything we're put through. I'd stay no matter what. You're worth it and more," I told him. "And you deserve all the love this world can give. You're precious, you really are, I don't care what the newspapers write or anything like that."

I snuggled closer, wrapping my arms around him as firmly as they'd allow, pulling him against my chest like I never wanted to let go; because I didn't. I longed to be like this always and every moment I was allowed to taste what it was like I drank it up with vigour. Arthur was precious. He was a treasure to me, something I wished I could keep safe though I knew it was out of my hands whenever he left for another job. My heart ached with dread when I thought about it because I'd never been so full of love for a single person. I never knew I could feel such a way. It was both beautiful and terrifying.

[bubbleweirdo]

Alegría

Chapter: 2/?

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Summary: Joy has reunited with her little brother thanks to Javier and Arthur but now she has to figure out what to do next.

Words: 1694

Main relationship: Javier Escuella/OC

Other relationships: Charles Smith/OC, Arthur Morgan/OC

Characters: Van der Linde gang

A/N: Second chapter of Alegría! Again, there may be grammatical mistakes because english it’s not my first language. Here appears my second RDR2 OC, Jian. Hope you like it!

---

The ride to camp lasted more than half a day. Joy went with Javier on his horse. She was so tired she had to force herself not to fall asleep in the back of his companion. When they arrived, the first thing she noticed was a palomino dapple mare, grazing with others of her kind in what seemed to be the makeshift entrance to the place.

As soon as her mount stopped, she hurriedly got off to join Berry. The mare approached her and Joy tenderly stroked her face, occasionally placing a kiss on her and whispering soothing words.

A man approached the entrance.

“Are you little Tommy's sister?” She raised her head to nod.

“Yes, Joy Collins, sir.”

“Dutch Van der Linde, pleased to meet you. Your brother is fine, let me take you to him.”

She followed nervously. Although she wanted to trust his words, she wouldn't be calm until she saw Tommy. He was on a cot accompanied by a middle-aged woman who got up when she saw them arrive. Joy rushed over to her knees beside him, stroking his cheek.

“He was shot in the shoulder, but he's better. His fever has gone down.” The woman explained before addressing Arthur. "We have put him in your tent to make him more comfortable, I hope you don't mind."

"No problem, Miss Grimshaw."

At that moment Tommy woke up.

“Joy?” he tried to sit up but his sister carefully stopped him.

“Shhh, easy... I'm already here, don't worry.” She said stroking his hair tenderly. “We are fine already.” The boy smiled, relieved, relaxing under the touch of his older sister.

“Thank you very much, sir. For giving my sister back…” he murmured before falling asleep.

"He’s right. Thank you. To all of you." She looked at each of those present.

"We just did the right thing." Dutch replied. "We’ll leave you alone for a while." He said while gesturing to the others to leave, after which he did the same.

Before long she fell asleep leaning on her brother's bed. Upon realizing it, Miss Grimshaw covered her with a blanket. She woke up at night when a movement beneath her surprised her. Tommy had just gotten up and an asian girl was feeding him.

When the girl noticed, she gave her a shy smile. She put the boy's plate on her lap and took another from one of the boxes that made as a piece of furniture, handing it to Joy. It was at that moment that she realized that apart from a bit of leathery meat that Javier had offered her along the way, she hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day. She thanked the girl, who continued to feed her brother, and quickly devoured the food. It was nothing to write home about, but she was so hungry that it was delicious. When they finished, the girl gave her another shy smile again.

"I'm Xie Jian. Joy Collins, right? Nice to meet you."

"Jian has been the one healing me!" Tommy exclaimed cheerfully.

"Really? Thank you, you don't know how much I appreciate it."

"It’s okay, don't worry. I like to take care of others."

"Miss Collins, can we talk?" Dutch's voice caught the attention of those present. Jian gave the girl a reassuring smile and she nodded gratefully before following him.

“Little Tommy has told me that your house has been burned. Do you have relatives who can take you in? Money to rebuild the house?”

“No, unfortunately not, Mr Van der Linde. Our parents were orphaned as children, and my mother's sister died when I was little. We can’t afford to rebuild it with the money we have.”

“I see... I want to propose something to you, but first I have to confess something about us...”

“You’re criminals.”

“What? No! Of course not!”

"Then why else would you live in a camp armed to the teeth?"

“We are outlaws, not criminals. We steal, yes, but the rich, and we only kill when necessary. We have a code. A plan.” He proudly explained.

“You don't have to worry about me. You have saved me and my brother, you have been hospitable. It had been a long time since anyone had been so kind to us. I am indebted to you.”

“In that case... would you join our gang? I see courage in your eyes, and that always comes in handy around here. I know you’re in charge of a child, but in the camp he will be safer than anywhere else, surrounded by people who will defend him. You will also be protected, don’t doubt it. Here we’re a family. We only ask you to contribute to our day to day and not give us away under any circumstances.” He concluded his speech.

A family. She already had one: her brother. But they had nowhere to go. And they had saved them.

“…I’m good with horses. I know how to hunt, too.”

“Magnificent! You can call me Dutch, Miss. I’ll ask the girls to accommodate you.” he assured before leaving.

  A week had passed since they joined the band. She had quickly fitted into the tasks of the camp. She got along well with Abigail Roberts, Jack's young mother, Tommy's new friend, who treated him like a little brother due to the age difference between the two. Abigail was younger than Joy was, and although it was normal to have a child at her age, Joy couldn't help but feel rejection at the thought of having children of her own. Yes, she had practically adopted the maternal role with her brother, but it wasn’t the same. She couldn't imagine going through a pregnancy, breastfeeding a baby, or being called "mama". To tell the truth, it gave her a certain panic. So she admired Abigail's bravery, raising a child almost on her own.

From her daily discussions with him, she soon guessed that Jack's father was John Marston, whose husky voice was unintelligible when the dispute began. He didn't seem like a bad guy, they'd exchanged a couple of words when she'd been feeding his horse, but it bothered her that he didn't have what it takes to take care of his son.

That was something that scared her of men: their ease of disengagement. Truth be told, in her first two relationships she had been seduced by the promise of something more, but soon realized that it was just a method of getting her to bed. Since then she had only allowed herself sporadic love affairs with which to satisfy her needs.

And certainly, after the stress of the last week, she needed to satiate them, but with what had happened with Cyrus she felt insecure about going to the nearest town to try her luck. And with the boys from the camp it would be weird, considering that she was going to live with them for a time. Also, the person who caught her attention there wasn’t a boy. Her name was Mary-Beth Gaskill. All the girls were nice, but Mary-Beth was so sweet and so kind to her that right now Joy had no room in her head to think of someone else like that.

 It was noon and she was one of the last to get a plate of stew. She sat next to the main fire and began to eat. On the other side of the fire was Javier, finishing his plate.

“How do you adapt, Joy? Do you enjoy the life of the outlaw?” He asked nonchalantly. Joy couldn't contain a half smile.

“Yes, really exciting feeding chickens and grooming horses.” she replied sarcastically. Javier laughed. “Your horse was called Boaz, wasn't he? He doesn't like people very much, but I think we are starting to get along.” She said proudly.

"Are you sure? He doesn't even let Arthur pet him."

"Trust me, one more day and we will be such friends that you will be envious."

“Okay.” He laughed, blowing air out of his nose. "What about the girls?"

"Oh, good. Karen came with me yesterday to buy me a revolver. Tilly, Jenny and Jian are nice, but Daniela is a little scary, she has a strong character..."

There was a silence as she began to think of Mary-Beth.

"And... Mary-Beth?" He inquired.

"What? Mary-Beth? What about Mary-Beth?" She shifted nervously on the spot.

"Eh, nothing, I was just asking." He said confused.

"Ah, well, Mary-Beth is..." She felt her cheeks burn. People had always told her that she turned red very easily when she was nervous and she wished with all her strength that Javier didn't notice. She sighed noticeably.

“…Ah…” He began to understand. “So… You… Ah…” He shifted uncomfortably in his place. It wasn't something he expected, but her reaction said it all and he wasn't stupid. Joy fell silent, uncomfortable too.

"The truth is... I had never spoken to anyone about... This."

"Don't worry. We're not the best ones to judge here. Outlaws, remember?" He tried to reassure her. He watched her shoulders relax so he guessed he did. He realized something. "Now I understand better what happened with Kimbler."

“What?” Joy looked at him confused.

“Tommy told Dutch that you always rejected him. That was why, wasn't it?”

“Ah... The truth is, no. I had an affair with him when my parents were still alive. He was kind but I had made it clear that I didn't want anything serious. When my parents died I only had time for Tommy and the farm so I guess...” She sighed heavily, clenching her fists. “I guess that's why he tried to kill him.” She fell into a pensive silence. “I also like men. I'm attracted to both, it's not something I control. Although with my experience with men sometimes I wish I only liked women.” She gave a tired smile. Javier nodded silently. She broke it. “I'll bet you five bucks that tomorrow I can get Boaz not to run away from me.” She proposed mischievously.

“Yes?” He looked into her eyes with a smile. “I accept.”

“Great.” She got up with a smile and went to wash her plate.

[beautifultypewriter]

Marie’s Wedding ~ Johnny Dogs

Requested: No

Warnings: Language, antiquated ideas of marriage proposal (Johnny thinks he needs Tommy’s permission to marry his sister)

Word Count: 1183

Pairing: Johnny Dogs x fem!shelby!reader

Summary: On her wedding day, the reader reflects on how she got here.

A/N: It was so cool to see the reception that my Alfie fic got and I loved writing for Peaky, so I’ve finally written this idea that I’ve had for like months. I absolutely adore Johnny Dogs. Every time I hear the song Marie’s Wedding, Tinker’s Wedding, or Forty Pound Wedding I think of him, so I had to write this story. And I loved writing some Shelby family drama and love. Also I gave the reader a name just this once so that it matched the title. Send me some requests please!

You stood in front of a floor length mirror as Polly fussed behind you, pinning your hair up and attaching your veil to her creation. You picked at your dress, hoping it all looked alright and that Johnny would like it. You smiled, thinking of him standing there waiting for you. He was going to look so handsome and the day was going to be perfect. And if John did anything to ruin it like he had when you went to Tommy about the marriage in the first place, then you were going to kill him. Polly’s humming lulled you into a comfortable place and you were brought back to that day.

You were in Tommy’s office. He was sat at his desk while Arthur and John stood off to one side and Polly the other. Michael and Finn were sat on a couch in the back corner, watching silently as Tommy lit up a cigarette and stared at you. You cleared your throat and held your head up, “I want to get married.” Your eyes flashed to John as he stifled a laugh, mirth clear in his eyes as he stared back at you.

 Your attention was brought back to Tommy though as he took a drag of his cigarette, “And did you have someone in mind or were you looking for us to make an arrangement?”

 You scoffed, feeling your temper rise slightly, “I want to marry Johnny Dogs.”

 This time John did nothing to hide his amusement as he let out a loud laugh, “Johnny Dogs?” Arthur was chuckling quietly next to him.

 You rounded on them, “Shut it.” John quieted himself, but you could still hear a few chuckles pass his lips. Your face grew hot as you turned to see Finn and Michael smiling into their hands, clearly not wanting to upset you, but finding the whole thing as ridiculous as your older brothers did. You looked to Polly desperately and she gave a reassuring smile to you before turning to Tommy and nodding her head in the direction of a still laughing John and Arthur.

 Tommy was doing a better job of hiding his amusement. He didn’t laugh, but you could still see the smirk on his face as he took another drag, “Does he know about this union or are we meant to convince him?” This set John off again and you clenched your fists, ready to stalk over and punch the laughter right out of him. Tommy noticed your anger spike and decided that he should calm the situation before you destroyed his office. He tapped out the ashes of his cigarette, “Alright, that’s enough then.” The other two stopped laughing and Tommy gestured to you, “Let’s hear what Marie has to say.”

 Pushing your anger down, you maintained your confident composure and cleared your throat, “I love him and he loves me. We want to get married and he knows he has to ask you first,” you gestured to Tommy and he nodded, “but he thinks you’ll say no, so he’s trying to better himself before he comes to ask your permission. I told him that you’d say yes when you knew how much I wanted this, so I came here to tell you.” You stared straight into Tommy’s eyes as a neutral expression took over his face. Gone was the smirk and the amusement in his eyes. Now he was calculating. The room was silent as everyone looked between you and your brother. The tension was rising, and nerves began to settle in your stomach. Trying not to let the nervousness read on your face, you clenched and unclenched your fists. You knew Tommy wanted what was best for you and if you said that Johnny was what’s best then he’d believe you. So why was he dragging this out?

 Finally, Tommy stamped out his cigarette, “When will the wedding take place then?” A grin broke out on your face as he gave you a small smile.

 You smoothed out your dress as Polly kissed your temple. She smiled at you in the mirror, “You look beautiful, Marie.” You smiled back at her and she squeezed your hand before heading to the door, “I’ll see you out there.” She slipped out of the room and you stood alone, feeling a little jittery. The door opened again, and you expected Arthur to peek his head in, but instead you saw John’s smiling face.

 Scoffing, you turned to him, “Come to laugh some more? Because I swear to God, John-” He moved over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders, and successfully cutting you off.

 It was silent for a moment as he stared down at you before he spoke, “You look beautiful.”

 You gave him a wary smile, “Thank you.”

 He chuckled at your apprehension, “I’m sorry for laughing at you when this all started. It was just kind of a big shock. I mean, Johnny Dogs?” You smacked his arm and he stepped back, laughing, “Come on now. I’m trying to be nice here.”

 You scowled at him, “Well you’re doing a shit job.” Turning away from him, you huffed, “Johnny is a good man.”

 Your brother stepped closer to you, his laughter dying, “He is and he’s going to treat you right.” John leaned down to meet your eyes, “I’m happy for you.” You smiled at him and reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. He returned the hug quickly before pulling away, “Alright, Arthur’s waiting outside.” He grabbed your hand and led you to the door, “Let’s get you married, huh?” You smiled as you stepped outside to see Arthur waiting right by the door.

 John passed you over to your oldest brother and he smiled down at you, “Picture perfect.” You hugged Arthur quickly before looping your arm with his and letting him lead you around the corner where everyone was waiting for you. People stood on either side of the cobblestones, creating a small aisle for you to walk down. Johnny stood at the end of the aisle, in front of a large caravan decorated with flowers and white fabric. He smiled when he saw you and you blushed as you stared at each other. You and Arthur stopped in front of Jonny and you turned to place a kiss on your brother’s cheek. He gave you another smile before nodding at Johnny and then taking his place next to Tommy. You looked to your love, whose smile only grew as you both faced forward, ready for the ceremony to begin.

 You looked quickly at Johnny, “I told you Tommy just needed to know how much you loved me.”

 The tips of his ears went red as he looked down at his shoes, “Aye, you were right.” He looked at you then, “As you always are.”

 You giggled, “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”

 Johnny turned to you, a soft smile on his lips, “I could never forget a single thing about you.” You smiled back at him before turning forward again, letting the ceremony begin.

[verai-marcel]

yo bud idk if ya taking requests but like what about arthur and you on a boat #lemon #thirst *chinhands* love, arthurs-wife

Getting Into Character (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+ ONLY)

Summary: Hosea sends you and Arthur on a job to scam some rich gentlemen in a few poker games. As much as Arthur hates being Mr. Callahan, he loves having you be Mrs. Callahan. Maybe a little too much.

Word Count: 3,950 (Too long, I’m sorry)

Tags: high honor Arthur, role playing, smut, riverboat, gambling

Also find it on AO3

——————–

“How do I keep getting dragged into this kind of work,” Arthur grumbled as he pulled on the suit jacket.

“You’ll be fine,” Hosea said amicably. “After all, you have a lot of experience and this will be an easy job. Perfect job for our new girl.”

Arthur grumbled some more. “Where is she, anyway?” he asked.

“Trelawny took her to get a nice dress.”

“And a nice dress it is,” Josiah said as he swept into the room.

Arthur looked up and froze. You followed Josiah into the room shyly, your emerald dress shimmering slightly. It was an evening gown with short sleeves and had a scoop neckline that was “quite fashionable,” or so the tailor had said. The chiffon material was fitting nicely around the curves of your hips. With each step, it swayed around you, and Arthur suddenly felt irrationally jealous of your dress, being wrapped so closely to you.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Hosea said with a smile. Then he looked over at Arthur, who was still staring with his mouth open. Slapping him upside the head, Hosea chided, “What do you say, Arthur?”

The slap knocked Arthur back to the present. “Uh, you look good,” he said, looking away from you. He looked like he was blushing a bit, but you thought you may have imagined it.

***

Ever since you had joined the gang a month ago, you had wanted to contribute more. Mary-Beth and Karen had saved you in Rhodes, sneaking you away from a crazy man who had wanted to punish you in a bad way after he caught you stealing his billfold.

You still pick-pocketed here and there, using your charm and the fact that you had larger “assets” than average that could distract men long enough for you to get away with a few dollars here and there. But it wasn’t enough. Whenever you wrote your donations in the ledger, you saw how much Arthur was pulling in.

You respected him, as he had been polite and kind to you from the beginning. As you got to know him, you began to look up to him as a role model for being in the gang. He always made sure his family came first, and so you took it upon yourself to make sure he was taken care of too. You left little gifts for him when you could find spare bullets or a can of food on your night burglaries. Whenever he came back from a long heist, you took his clothes and washed them for him. You expected nothing in return; you just wanted to help. But when he gently wrapped your arm in bandages after you came back from a robbery gone sideways, you started to fall for him.

So when Hosea pulled you aside to plan a job on a riverboat, you jumped at the chance to prove yourself, and told him of your past as a poker shark. He was delighted and immediately altered his plan to have you play a bigger role. You weren’t expecting who you’d be going with, however.

And now, you and Arthur were on the riverboat as Mr. & Mrs. Callahan, newlyweds on their honeymoon, taking in the southern scenery and doing a bit of gambling. Hosea said it’d be easy, if you were as good as you said you were.

You looked up at the sky as you stood on the deck, waiting for Arthur to meet you up here. The plan was the two of you would go to the tables and he would be introducing himself as the son of a rich land developer out west, helping his father scope out new opportunities. At some point he’d leave to get a drink and let you take over, and you’d sweep the table, and maybe see if you could get some extra expensive bets along the way.

“There ya are, darlin’,” he said from behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You trembled in his embrace.

“You need to relax,” he whispered in your ear. “No one’s gonna believe we’re married if you keep gettin’ all stiff when I’m near ya.”

“Sorry,” you whispered. “Just nervous.” You didn’t tell him why you were nervous; it certainly wasn’t because of the job.

“Just imagine I’m someone you like,” he said. “Sorry you have to be with an ugly old man for today.”

“You’re not ugly, or old.”

Arthur chuckled. “You’re too kind.”

You turned in his arms. “Arthur…”

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said, clearly avoiding whatever it was you had to say, and led you towards the gambling hall. He opened the door for you, guiding you in with his hand on the small of your back. He kept his hand there the whole way to the table, and your body cried out for more.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Name’s Arthur Callahan. Mind if I join your game?”

“Not a problem,” said one of the men at the table. He looked like a good mark; you smiled prettily at him, and his eyes met yours with interest. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“Rose Callahan. My new wife,” he responded, suddenly wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. You stiffened on purpose. You looked over at the man who had noticed, and smiled secretively at him.

“I’m Lewis Chapman,” the mark said, his eyes not leaving yours. “Looks like we’ll have an interesting game tonight.”

Arthur played a few rounds, playing an average game, then he stood up.

“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get a drink. My lady luck will play in my stead.”

The others shrugged, thinking it would be easy winnings. Suckers. There was a reason Hosea picked you for this job.

You went easy on them at first, but then you started winning. And winning. Pretty soon most of them were out; it was just you and Lewis.

“Your husband has been gone for quite a while,” Lewis said, looking at you with a heated stare. Oh, he wanted you. You sat a little more straighter in your chair, letting him get a good eyeful of your bust.

“Oh, he does that sometimes, wanders off to talk to others. I don’t mind,” you said, putting on a wistful tone. “Just get a little lonely sometimes.” You turned your head down, but looked up at him through your lashes, and he had the look of a man formulating a way to get under your dress. Good.

“I’ll keep you company,” he said in a low voice.

“How about one last game,” you proposed. “If you win, you can have… my company, for a few hours.”

His eyes lit up.

“But, you have to bet something that I’m willing to take that chance on. After all, this is supposed to be my honeymoon.”

“I’ve got ten bank bonds in my safe in my room, a hundred each.”

You smiled. This was too easy. “Sure,” you said. “That’s worth it.”

You played the game, which was dicey at first, but you managed to win. The man sighed, but you could tell he hadn’t given up on you. Lewis stood up from the table and gave you his arm. You took it and looked up at him, faking doe eyes.

“I’m a man of my word. I’ll give you the bonds.”

“How honorable of you. Hard to find men like you these days,” you simpered.

Lewis puffed up with your compliment. “They don’t make men like they used to. But I was taught better.”

All the way back to his room, he walked slowly so he could have as much time with you as he regaled you with his family history. You tried your best not to yawn.

Finally you reached his room. He unlocked the door and gestured to let you in first. You hesitated.

“Mrs. Callahan, I find you most enchanting, and I really do wish to have more of your company. I won’t go any further than you want, but please, come in and stay awhile.” He took your hand and kissed it softly.

Lewis wasn’t bad to look at, but he wasn’t the one you wanted. Flattered as you were, your heart was for only one man.

“This man bothering you, Rose?”

Lewis immediately let go of your hand and stepped back into the room as Arthur appeared behind the two of you. You made to hide behind Lewis, touching his shoulder.

Lewis, emboldened by the fact that you had sided with him, stood up straight. “I was only offering her an ear to listen to her troubles. Something any man would do,” he said, pointedly.

“What a kind man,” you said, as you pulled the blackjack out of your dress and knocked him out. Arthur quickly caught him and shut the door behind him. You locked the door and helped Arthur tie him up and shove him in a closet, using a bandana to muffle him in case he woke up.

“Safe’s here,” you said after a bit of searching. Arthur got to work breaking the lock, with you at the door listening for guards. After some fiddling around, he finally got the damn thing opened and whistled. You could hear the rustling of money and whatever else was in there go straight into the pockets of his suit jacket. Abigail was brilliant, sewing extra pockets in there.

The two of you now had to get off the ship. The plan was to make for a lifeboat and row away, but unfortunately the room you were in was the farthest from.

“Let’s just walk through like we belong there. Fake it ‘till we make it,” you said. Arthur nodded and gave you his arm as he led you out of the room, the two of you walking down the hall as normally as possible.

You were not noticed most of the way, but as you reached the lifeboat area, Arthur noticed more guards and signs for no trespassing. As you both kept moving down a hallway, you heard footsteps coming around a corner down the hall, and there was nowhere to hide.

Quickly taking a hold of your waist and urging you against the wall, Arthur covered your body with his as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Sorry sweetheart, but pretend you’re enjoying this,” and he buried his face in your neck. You didn’t need to pretend, you moaned softly as the guard rounded the corner and met your eyes. You smiled at him, made some sexy sounds, and watched his face grow red with embarrassment.

“Um, sir…”

Arthur turned to look at him, and given the way the guard grew pale, he must have given him the most intimidating glare. “Couldn’t find our way to our room.”

The guard pointed behind him. “There’s a hallway behind me that’ll take you back to the rooms, sir.”

“Thank you,” Arthur all but growled as he took you by the hand and stalked past the guard. As soon as the guard was gone, the two of you kept going, but the sounds of more footsteps forced you both to turn back a bit.

Arthur found a storage closet and dragged you into it. It wasn’t too small, a few barrels of wine and other liquor were sitting in the middle, and shelves for dry goods and maintenance tools were lining the walls. At least, that was all you saw before Arthur shut the door, the only light the dim glimmer around the edges of the door.

“Guess we wait for a few hours,” you said.

“Guess so. Too many guards right now.”

There was some silence, and then Arthur said your real name, softly. You turned your head towards him and squeezed his hand to let him know you were listening.

“I know I was sour about this job, but I’m glad I’m with you,” he confessed shyly.

“Me too,” you said as you shifted closer to him. You placed a hand on his chest and slid it up to his stubbled cheek. With your thumb, you brushed his lower lip, and you felt his breath come out unsteadily.

“What are you doin’?” he asked, unsure.

“What any wife would do with her husband, naturally,” you teased. Roleplaying gave you a new boost of confidence as you pushed your body against his. Arthur was stiff as a board, not fleeing from you, but not getting closer either. You could feel the hand holding yours tighten.

“I…” he mumbled.

“Or am I not good enough for you?”

“You’re more than good enough, sweetheart,” Arthur answered hastily. “You’re like an angel, too good for the likes of me.”

You were shocked silent for a moment. Then you gathered your wits; this was a chance of a lifetime. “Arthur,” you said huskily, “what do you think of me?”

He shyly looked away. You cupped his cheek and guided him back to look at you.

“Please. Tell me.”

Unable to look away, Arthur sighed. “You do things to me, make me feel like, I dunno, like there’s a beauty in the world I didn’t know was there ‘till I met you.”

“Then show me, Arthur. Show me what I do to you.”

“You sure?”

“Never more sure in my life,” you whispered.

Arthur’s hand cupped your cheek and he leaned in, his lips brushing your cheek, finding your lips, and oh so gently, he kissed you. You kissed him back, hungry for more of him. Encouraged by your response, his kisses steadily grew more heated as he teased your mouth open, his tongue meeting yours as the two of you made out like teenagers. He soon grabbed your hips and pulled you in close, crushing you to his hard body.

“So, Mr. Callahan, how ever will we pass the time?” you teased as you broke away for air.

Arthur rolled his hips against you so you could feel how much he wanted you. “Well, Mrs. Callahan, maybe you should let your husband take care of you.”

“My my, sounds like fun.”

He laughed quietly, and you felt the low sound vibrate through his body to yours. Reaching up, he slid the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders and down your arms, exposing the corset underneath. He gently kissed your collarbone, then nipped you playfully up your neck and around your cheek until he reached your mouth again.

“This dress is nice,” he mumbled against your lips. “It hugs your curves perfectly.” He reached around you and undid the corset strings, his mouth kissing your shoulder as he worked. Soon he had it off you and you could breathe. He tossed it over his shoulder and slid your slip off as well, the fabric brushing over your sensitive nipples. Now your breasts were exposed, and Arthur eagerly held them and teased you, making your breaths short and quick. You could feel yourself getting more wet as he bent over and licked and lathed each nipple, driving you crazy with sensations.

His hands traveled around your waist, your hips, and gripped your ass, pulling you against him. You gasped and then giggled.

“Hush darlin’, don’t wanna attract anyone,” he whispered as he guided you to one of the wine barrels. He lifted you up to sit on top of one that was against the wall, and you leaned back as he slowly lifted up the hem of your dress. His hands caressed your ankle, calf, thigh, until he reached your lacey drawers, and tugged them off you. He spread your legs apart and his fingers hovered at the junction of your inner thigh.

“You sure-”

“Take me, dammit,” you cut him off as he had started to balk. “I said I was sure, and I meant it.”

Arthur laughed at your impatience. “Alright, I’ll give you what you want.” He slipped a finger inside of you, and you grabbed his shoulders and shuddered with pleasure.

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to yours as he pushed in another finger and started stretching you out, your breaths mingling. He played with you, pushing deeper and curling his fingers up and hitting you in a sweet spot, making you mewl into his mouth as he kissed you to keep you quiet. His thumb played with your clit, making you pant and buck your hips towards him.

Then he took his fingers out and licked them in front of you as you watched. Your eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness, but you couldn’t quite make out how big he was when he undid his button fly and pulled himself out. It was when he started to push himself inside you that you realized how little you knew about being with a big man.

It felt like nothing you’d ever experienced before; his hands on your hips, his cock so thick as he moved ever deeper inside of you. But he was gentle as he moved, listening intently for any sound of distress. You made one tiny squeak of pain and he stopped.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you snarled, and he laughed softly.

“My little lioness,” he joked, and kept going.

You swear he was going slow on purpose to torture you, but from his short, shaky breaths, you could tell he was holding back an urge to go wild on you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, linked your ankles behind his ass, and kicked him.

“More,” you begged.

“Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. I want you to take me like you mean it.”

Your words seemed to finally get through to Arthur as he gripped your thighs to spread you open and thrust in the rest of the way. You felt the fabric of his pants rub against your skin and you moaned, wanting to feel more contact. You pulled at his jacket, and he slid it off, and you unbuttoned his shirt, and he slid that off too. His chest was scarred, chiseled, and beautiful to you. You sighed happily as you ran your hands up his pecs and down his abs, and he moaned with each touch.

He cupped your chin and made you look at him. “I’m gonna move now, sweetheart,” he whispered. You nodded, and he started slow, watching your reaction as he took you. It burned a little at first, and you couldn’t keep the discomfort off your face.

“Keep going, just need to get used to how big you are,” you whispered.

Arthur smiled at your comment; what man wouldn’t? He kissed you then, and kept a slow pace, reaching down to thumb your clit again until you grew more slick, making it easier for him to glide in and out of you.

Then he went faster and harder, and you could barely keep your breath as he showed you exactly what you did to him. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you close as he made love to you, his lips trailing all over your body, wherever he could reach, his hands roaming everywhere.

Arthur then stepped away from you and pulled you up. As you stood, your dress and slip that were bunched up around your waist fell away, leaving you nude before him. He took a step forward and ran his hands almost reverently down your shoulders, your breasts, your waist, before grasping your hips and pulling you closer to him.

He then lifted you up, forcing you to wrap your arms and legs around him for dear life as he gripped you by your ass and bounced you on his cock. The sheer amount of strength it took to do this shocked you; you weren’t a small woman, and for him to do this so easily? That turned you on more than you had ever been.

“Chase your pleasure, sweetheart. I want to feel you let go around me.”

You rolled your hips and he moved you at just the right angle to make you come hard around him. You bit his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming, your head spinning, your body convulsing from the bliss pouring through you.

After you had calmed a bit, he kneeled down, you still wrapped around him, and laid you down on his discarded jacket & shirt. With his body hovering on top of yours, he looked down at you for a few breathtaking moments. You noticed the dim light from the cracks around the door were reflected in his eyes, and you fell ever deeper in love with your strong cowboy.

“I want to remember this,” Arthur said, caressing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You’re so damn beautiful, I can’t even think.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him. He was looking at you so tenderly that you wanted to cry. He wrapped his arms around you and started moving again, building your desire back up with each thrust.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured into your ear as he ran his hands through your hair.

“Harder, Arthur,” you begged, wanting him to lose himself, if even a little bit. You wrapped your arms around his hips, slipped your hands into his pants, and squeezed his ass.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he said, his voice lowering.

“I ain’t afraid,” you whispered. “Show me all of you.”

Arthur wrapped his arms completely around you and started giving your exactly what you asked for. Hard, fast, his weight on you, his breathing heavy, he gave you everything.

“I can’t deny you,” he breathed into your ear. “Anything you want, I want to give it to ya.”

You gave his butt one last squeeze before trailing your hands up his muscled back to his shoulders. His arms were caged around you now, and you felt protected and cared for.

“I’m close,” he growled as he lifted your hips up slightly to hit you inside at a deeper angle, making you gasp and tighten inside. You felt yourself reaching another climax, the coil of desire rapidly reaching its limit.

“Yes, please, spend on me, wherever you want,” you said, half pleading, losing your mind and just wanting to see him lose his.

“Wherever?” he asked, unbelievably turned on by the idea.

“Yes!” you said excitedly.

He grinned, and reached down to play with your clit, giving you just the right amount of pressure to break apart under him, your body arching as you gasped and kept yourself from screaming, but just barely.

He gave a few more thrusts, enjoying watching you squirm under him due to being over sensitive, before pulling out and straddling your waist. He stroked himself, watching you as he came onto your breasts and neck with a low moan of satisfaction.

You happily swirled his spend on your skin. “Such a healthy young husband,” you teased.

“Such a beautiful wife,” he said as he leaned over you and held your face in his hands. He kissed your forehead softly. He looked at you like he meant it, and for a moment, you could pretend that you really were his wife.

He moved away then, and the moment passed. He helped you clean up as best as you could and put your clothes back on, but you knew you looked a bit of a mess.

Arthur listened at the door, then peeked outside for a few moments.

“There’s no guards around. Now’s our chance.”

He held his hand out to you.

“Shall we go, Mrs. Callahan?”

You smiled back and took his hand.

“I’ll go wherever you are, Mr. Callahan.”

The smile he had was glowing, gentle, and just for you.

——————–

End Notes: Hope you like this, @arthurs-wife! Keep those smutty Arthur requests coming: @verai-marcel on tumblr.

[galadrieljones]

A Funeral: Chapter 17 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood

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, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to the insidious dangers of the natural world, as well as to one another, and to their future.

Credit to @bearly-tolerable for the banner! Art is my own.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 17: The Sons

“You wanna talk about me and Arthur?” said Mary Beth, looking down at her hands. Abigail was holding them real tight.

“It’s so romantic," said Abigail. "I been hoping for this, Mary Beth.”

“You have?”

“Of course,” said Abigail. “The two of you together—you’re so right for each other. With the books and the poetry and all that. Now what happened on that trip of yours? Tell me.”

Mary Beth got a little bashful. "A lot happened."

“Like what?"

Mary Beth smiled and gave her a look. “How much do you think I'm gonna spill?"

"As much as you're willing."

Mary Beth's cheeks felt very red.

Abigail became tender then, and kind, like she was reading the moment. “It's no bother,” she said. “I'm just so happy for you. And I just—Arthur. He’s so…stoic, you know? So strong and silent. Mysterious. What’s he like, all close like that? I’m just being nosy. You don't have to tell me anything, but I got to ask.”

“He's just...Arthur," said Mary Beth, a little shy. She was embarrassed in a way. "You know?"

“Not really," said Abigail.

Mary Beth was confused. She felt stupid all of a sudden, flustered. "Oh," she said, realizing. "I—I'm such a moron. I'm sorry, Abigail."

"What, you thought I slept with him?"

Mary Beth nodded, kind of sheepish. "I shouldn't have assumed."

Abigail laughed, at herself more than anything. She looked away, still holding Mary Beth's hands. "You got every reason to assume," she said. "And I ain't ashamed. Not no more. But I never took a turn with Arthur, Mary Beth. Not once. I swear."

Outside, you could hear people talking, getting to work on the day. The sounds of chickens and metal clanging. Mary Beth sighed. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be sorry."

"It's good to know, I guess," said Mary Beth. "Not that it really matters."

“We was only ever friends,” said Abigail, real earnest. “And it does matter. I understand. In any case, he's a different man now than he was when I met him. Things have changed so much."

"You mean for Arthur?"

“Of course." Abigail sighed. “You know, that year I got here, it was just a year or so before you got here."

"I know."

"You missed the worst of it. Lucky you. But back then, Arthur was...kind of a mess. You know about Mary Gillis?”

"Mary Gillis?" said Mary Beth. "Yeah. I mean, everybody does."

“Well, when I showed up, they had just ended things. For good. And he was so goddam busted up about it. I never seen a man wallow and brood like that, and with it, he was a fuckin derelict drunk.”

"A drunk?"

“Now don’t get me wrong,” continued Abigail. “He was a chivalrous drunk. He was still Arthur. Never raised his voice to no woman, certainly never imposed on no woman physically. But he drank, and he kept to himself. And when he didn’t, he was just getting in fuckin brawls in the saloons, and punching holes in pianos and getting thrown in jail for drunk and disorderly. Once when Hosea went to bust him free, he said he just wanted to die there. Wouldn't budge. Hosea literally put him on a salvaged barn door, tied it to the back of his horse, and drug him back to camp like a invalid. He made Uncle look sober that day.”

Mary Beth was surprised, but also somewhat amused. She didn't know why. It wasn't funny. But something about the image, looking back, knowing how things turned out, that made it less pressing somehow. ”Arthur punched a hole in a piano?” she said.

”Yeah,” said Abigail. “He did. Bloodied his hand something awful, too. But for all them antics, Arthur was never the type to buy a working girl. I mean, I'm sure he has, at one point or another, but as a general rule, he's got plenty of vices, it's just that none of them has ever been women."

"I know that," said Mary Beth. "I mean, he told me that."

"I was truly sad for him, in those days," said Abigail, "the better I got to know him, seeing how he'd been done. He didn't deserve that, getting so messed up over some uppity bitch trying to get above her station. Or, well, that's what Miss Grimshaw used to call her. Arthur has always been good to me and Jack. He protected us—that year John disappeared, he made sure we was taken care of, every day. He listened to me. He supported me. He's a good man.”

Mary Beth was just staring, listening. She was grateful for Abigail's honesty and her kindness and her earnest nature. “Thank you for telling me," said Mary Beth. "About you and him. And I'm sorry again, for assuming like I did. I guess I just got...kind of nervous."

“Why?"

“Because I ain’t so experienced.” Mary Beth looked away, out the window, to where the birds were singing. There was a quiet breeze coming in off the river now, too, cooling things down.

“That would never matter to Arthur," said Abigail. "And there's different kinds of experience. Trust me."

“I mean, it’s not like he was my first or anything," Mary Beth continued, "but he might as well’ve been, in some respects. I mean, a man like Arthur? I just got insecure for a minute that you’d—you know…”

“That I’d been there first?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, it ain’t true.”

Mary Beth smiled. She was, in truth, relieved, though she did not make a show of it. “Did Arthur ever propose to Mary?” she said.

“He did,” said Abigail. “He’d bought a ring and everything. And I believe she said yes at first, but then she broke it off. Kept the ring and everything."

“Jesus Christ,” said Mary Beth.

“Yeah,” said Abigail. “But none of that matters now.”

“The drinking,” said Mary Beth. “Is that why he don’t get drunk much no more? But for seldom occasions, I guess.”

“Probably,” said Abigail. “It weren’t pretty.”

Mary Beth sighed.

“You really love him, don’t you?” said Abigail. “I can see it in your eyes. He's caught your heart. You worry about him.”

“I do love him,” said Mary Beth. “He’s easy to love.”

“It’s just so romantic,” said Abigail.

Mary Beth felt herself relax a little then. Her shoulders loose. She studied Abigail’s hands. They were clean. The nails were very clear. “He’s real giving,” she said, suddenly wanting to open up, to talk.

"Like how?" said Abigail.

“In all sorts of ways," said Mary Beth. "Generous. With talking, and touching. He never told me about that drinking thing, but I get why. It’s of no consequence. He told me so much else. Sad things. Real sad. He has all of these…layers. I see it sometimes, like he’s so nervous that I’m just gonna…disappear. He’s such a good man. He’s smart and his brain is so strong and it works so fine. I just want him to know this, you know? Sometimes I get the sense that he don’t love himself, not like he should. You know?”

“I get it.”

“I know people think I’m some sort of dippy idiot,” Mary Beth continued. “That all I do is walk around with my head in the clouds. But it ain’t like that with Arthur. It’s like having my feet on the ground for the first time, and not feeling like I gotta run from nothing. Like I’m safe. And I don’t just mean physically. I mean like—in my soul.”

Abigail was breathless, put a piece of hair behind Mary Beth’s ear in a sisterly fashion. “That’s beautiful,” she said.

“Anyway,” said Mary Beth, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. “I’ve talked enough about myself. You get it.”

“Has he asked you to marry him?”

“No,” said Mary Beth. “We ain’t discussed marriage. I think though—I think with Arthur, that’s sort of implied.”

“How many of his babies you gonna have?”

Mary Beth blushed. Her face got hot. She took back her hands to push the hair off her cheeks. “As many as I can.”

“He’ll be such a good daddy.”

“I know.”

Abigail sighed. She was so genuine in her happiness for them. She was this pure soul.

“You know,” said Abigail. “John is—he’s starting to come around, and I think it’s a lot because of Arthur.”

“That don’t surprise me.”

“Yeah. After Jack got taken by that fuckin snake, Angelo Whatever, and the boys went after him in the city, John changed. It was like—on a dime. He listens to me now. He’s here. He reads to Jack, though he ain’t no good. He tries. It’s sweet.”

“You still love him, don’t you, Abigail?”

Abigail straightened her skirt, looked down at her knees. “Of course,” she said. “I’m all bluster sometimes, but inside, I am a woman like any other. I am soft for that man. And him coming around like this, trying to be better, it’s made me miss him like I never knew I could.” She looked up then, hardened a little, but seeming desperate. “Do you think I’m a fool, Mary Beth? For having faith?”

Mary Beth was surprised by the question, the outpouring. She didn’t know that she was worthy to answer, but she tried anyway. “No,” she said, being as honest as she could. “Of course not. If anyone knows John, it’s you, Abigail. And if you got faith in him and the man he’s becoming, that’s all that matters.”

Abigail sat up a little, smiling after this, like she was relieved and so gracious. Her eyes got full, glassy. “Thank you,” she said.

“Any time.”

She wiped a quick tear from her cheek now. More seemed to be coming. “Gosh, I’m such a dumbass,” she said.

“No you ain’t.”

“Don’t go telling no one I’m saying these things,” Abigail went on. “I can’t have them all thinking I’ve done forgiven John Marston.”

“Why not?” said Mary Beth.

“Because it’s none of their goddam business,” she said, smiling now, stopping her crying. She sniffled a little, held Mary Beth’s hand again. “You can know though, Mary Beth. You understand.”

“I will always try.”

“Anyway,” said Abigail. “I hope I haven’t scared the shit out of you here. I didn’t mean to cloister you off and force you to confess your love for Arthur, and then start going off about my own complicated carryings-on with John Marston.”

Mary Beth laughed. “It’s fine,” she said. “It saved me a trip to go see Miss Grimshaw.”

Abigail waved her off then and became exasperated. “That woman needs a vacation.”

“She definitely does,” said Mary Beth.

They sat together as the breeze came in through the window, blowing their hair, making the air smell good.

Outside, Arthur chopped some firewood. The exertion made him feel clean and strong. He said hello to Cain, patted him on the head, and he said hello to Tilly and to Jack. They were happy to see him, sitting together beside one of the covered wagons, drawing pictures of trees and people on paper with crayons.

He found John then, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette by the scout fire. He was silent and content, wearing a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, staring off into some infinite distance all by himself.

“Marston,” said Arthur, coming up along side him. He had his thumbs hooked through his belt loops, his hat on to guard his face from the southern sun.

“Arthur,” said John, flicking his cigarette. “You’re back.”

“That I am.”

“How was your trip?” He sipped his coffee. “You look rested.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “And the trip was fine. Just fine.”

“Good," said John.

“What are you up to?” said Arthur. "You got plans for the day?"

They both looked at the fire. Somewhere nearby, there was a sound in the trees. A boar went flying through, squealing like an idiot.

“Nothing much,” said John, studying the tip of that cigarette. “It’s warm today. I was thinking of maybe heading out in a bit, fishing some.”

“You know any good spots?” said Arthur.

“A couple. Javier gave me some tips last week. Nice and shady." He finished his coffee down to the sludge, dumped that out to the earth. "You wanna come?” he said.

Arthur nodded, regarding the warm air on his skin. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?” He lit a cigarette.

“Sounds good," said John. "Let me just go grab my gear and tell Abigail.”

“She’s, uh, she’s up in the house, with Mary Beth,” said Arthur, smoking. “You mention it to both of them, okay?”

John gave him a look, interested. He smiled. “Okay.”

They cut through Scarlet Meadows, north of Braithwaite Manor till they found a nice shady spot down the banks from Clemens Point. It was nearby to where Arthur had gone fishing once with Kieran, many months before when the world did not yet seem like it was coming to an end. Hitching their horses, they went along in a comfortable silence, Arthur carrying the tackle, John carrying a crate full of beer, each of them with their fishing rods resting on their shoulders.  

They set up with their boots close to the water. John cracked a couple bottles of beer and passed one to Arthur who took a long drink. It wasn’t cold, but it was good. They cast their lines with the beer bottles stuck in the sand. They fished like that, for a while. After some time with nothing biting, Arthur took a deep breath, and then John glanced over looking expectant. He reached for his beer, took a long drink, set it back in the sand.

“So,” said John, rocking back on his heels.

“So.”

“What’s going on with you and Mary Beth?” he said. “She your girl now?”

“She is,” said Arthur.

John smiled, kind of sly, squinting past the sun. Arthur was looking out at the water. “That’s great,” said John. “I'm happy for you two. How’d it happen?”

Arthur sighed, gently spinning the reel. “The trip, north. It just kind of...put things into perspective a little bit. We met with some danger up there, a lot of beauty, too. She makes it easy.”

“Makes what easy?”

“Living,” said Arthur.

John was looking at him, like he didn’t quite catch his drift.

But something bit on Arthur’s line then. They both flung their heads to see. John got big with excitement and encouraged him on as Arthur dug back into his heels and reeled in hard. After a minute or two, Arthur pulled in a real sturdy Steelhead. It must’ve weighed fourteen or fifteen pounds, a delightful catch.

“Look at that!” said John as Arthur steadied the fish. “We can cook that one up for the both of us.”

“And we shall,” said Arthur, smiling. He was proud of this one. He gave it a nice, hearty shake.

Once it quit the fight and its gills went steady, Arthur wrapped it up in a big cut of paper and went over to Sarah, stashing it on the back of her saddle. He dusted his hands, went back to the lake, picked up his beer and drank. He gestured to John, then to the water. “Your turn, brother.”

“I can’t top that,” said John, recasting.

“You never know until you try,” said Arthur.

John continued fishing. Arthur finished his beer, decided to cast out one more time. It was a fine temperature in the shade. Not too humid. The day felt good.

After a little while, John spoke. “Hey,” he said. "Arthur."

“What’s up.”

But then John got stopped up. He seemed stifled. He seemed like he was going to say something, something big and important, and then he choked.

“You were saying?” said Arthur.

“I just—I been thinking.”

“Thinking about what,” said Arthur.

“Thinking about…that year." He got quiet, lowered his voice like he was embarrassed. "That year I spent away. How it—how it weren’t right. How angry you were. After what happened to Jack, I been thinking about it a lot.”

“Is that so,” said Arthur.

“Yeah,” said John. “It is. And I just—I’m glad you’re here, with me now. So I can tell you.”

“Tell me what.”

“That I’m sorry,” said John.

They got steady, together. Arthur looked at him, but he was looking at his boots, in the sand. The fishing rod was sagging. He had all but abandoned it. Arthur pulled in his line, set the rod against his shoulder. “I appreciate that,” he said.

John swallowed something, hard, glanced up at Arthur very seriously, as if ashamed. “You took care of her,” he said. “While I was gone. You helped me get Jack back. You done nothing but look after me and mine over the years, and I just—thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur felt full up, heavy and still. He nodded, adjusted his hat, looked back out to the water. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“I just—” John continued. “At the time, I was so inside my own head, you know? I couldn’t see straight. I never understood why you were so goddam angry. Why the hell you cared so much.”

Arthur looked down at his boots.

“But I get it now,” said John. “I get it.”

“What do you get?” said Arthur.

“It wasn’t long after Mary, you losing her. What that did to you, and how it drug up bad things. Real bad things, Arthur. Maybe you don’t think I saw, but I remember. And seeing me, running out on Abigail, this little baby—it was like me, repeating your old mistakes, wasn’t it?”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Marston,” said Arthur. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Eliza,” he said. “And Isaac.”

Arthur blinked, quickly, finished his beer, tossed the bottle to the water. He looked down. He said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” said John. “Arthur, I am.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur, squaring up with him. “You’re a better man now. That’s what matters.”

“You are, too,” said John.

“Yeah well,” said Arthur, “Mary Beth keeps trying to convince me of that. I keep telling myself, if she thinks it’s true, then true it must be.”

They looked at each other, real earnest, like brothers.

Then, John lurched toward the lake as something bit on the line. “Oh, shit,” he said, nearly stumbling into the water. He steadied himself, reeling in perhaps a little too hard.

“Ease off the reel, Marston,” said Arthur. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna break the line. Ain’t you fished before?”

“It’s strong,” said John.

“Guide it in,” said Arthur. “Real easy. Easy. Like that. There you go.”

“Like that?”

“Yep,” said Arthur, giving him a long look as he finally got the damn fish under control. “Patience is not your virtue.”

John smiled. “You’re right about that.”

He brought in the fish. It was another Steelhead, as big as Arthur’s catch, maybe bigger.

“Now look at that,” said Arthur, clapping him on the shoulder. “You did it. Nearly all by yourself.”

“Shut up, Arthur,” said John, but he was joking. He wrapped the fish. Together, they decided to call it quits. They built a little fire. Arthur cleaned up and fileted one of the trout, sprinkled it with salt and a little bit of ground pepper. He pan-fried it while John led the horses over to the water and opened a couple more bottles of beer. He came back and sat down across the fire from Arthur. When the fish was done, Arthur served them both. It was a fine lunch.

The sun was getting long over the water by now. It was afternoon. They leaned, looking at the water with their legs straight out. Some canoeists went by, a man and a woman who looked happily in love.

After a little while, Arthur spoke. “So,” he said. “How’s it been going. With Abigail.”

John sighed. “It’s going,” he said. He sat forward, plucked a couple long blades of grass from the earth, began shredding them between his fingers. “I been trying to get back there, you know? To where it was when it was good. She even looks at me now. Sometimes like she used to.”

“And how’s that?” said Arthur.

“Like she can stand me.”

Arthur laughed.

“How’s it with Mary Beth?” said John.

“It’s new, but we already know each other pretty well. So it’s steady, too.”

“I mean, the two of you? You’re perfect for each other if you ask me.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because,” said John. “She’s kind of…you know.”

“She’s kind of what?” said Arthur, sipping his beer.

“She likes the things you like.”

“Which are?”

“Writing,” said John, tossing the pieces of grass to the fire. “Words and drawings and stories and all that. I think a girl like her, especially in a life like ours, that’s one in a million, Arthur. And she’s nice to boot.”

“That, she is,” said Arthur.

“Pretty, too.”

“You wanna marry her?” said Arthur. “Or, shall I?”

John laughed. “I’m just saying.”

“I know,” said Arthur. “And I appreciate it.” He finished off the beer. John popped the top off another, handed it to him with an absent mind. Arthur thanked him, cleared his throat. “You ever think about leaving?” he said.

John cracked another open for himself. “Leaving Shady Belle?”

“Leaving the gang,” said Arthur. “Packing up your family, getting lost.”

John paused, gave him a look, curious. “Have you?”

Arthur nodded, looked back out toward the water. He took a long drink. “Yes,” he said. He could almost picture it now. The more he said it out loud, the more real it seemed to become. “We are leaving," he went on. "Mary Beth and me. I don’t know exactly when, but soon. That's why I asked.”

The world seemed to get real quiet around them. If you listened close, you could hear the sounds of nature, birds and bugs and rushing water. “You and Mary Beth?” said John. “You’re gonna leave?”

“That’s right.”

“What’ll you do?”

“I don’t know,” said Arthur, peering down into the bottle. “Anything." He looked up, looked at John. "You know, you could come with us.”

“Me and Abigail and Jack?”

“That's right," he said. "You could come along, and our luck might be that much better.”

“You think?” said John. He was staring at Arthur, staring at him hard, listening really close, rapt.

“I do,” said Arthur. “Between you and me, we got a lot of know-how, plenty of skill. Mary Beth and Abigail, they’re capable women, and little Jack, well he won’t be little forever.”

“What are you thinking?” said John, taking a long drink. “Buying a ranch or something? Headed back west?”

“Not west,” said Arthur. “No, there’s too much unfinished business back there for us.”

“Then where?”

“North,” said Arthur.

“North?”

“The Midwest.”

This seemed to concern John at first. “I don’t wanna go back to Chicago. There's nothing there for me, Arthur.”

“Not Chicago,” said Arthur. “No, closer to the Mississippi. Wisconsin, maybe.”

“I ain’t never been to Wisconsin,” said John.

“Me neither,” said Arthur. “But I know somebody who spent time there in his youth, and I think there’s a life to be made. An honest life.”

John finished his beer. He chucked the bottle. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees. He seemed torn and contentious all of a sudden. Real young, thought Arthur. Still searching, cynical and unsure. “You really think we could make it work?” he said, looking at Arthur. “You and me? After years of living outside the law.”

“I ain’t saying it’ll be easy,” said Arthur. “It’ll take…patience. But it’s a possibility, and I think between the two of us, along with the girls, we could get it done.”

John nodded along. He was thinking about it. He was. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I have,” said Arthur. “In truth, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I just never had a reason before.”

“You talked to Dutch? Hosea?”

“Only Hosea,” said Arthur. “He supports it. It was his idea I come talk to you.”

John hung his head. He closed his eyes. “And Dutch? What’s he gonna say?”

“The way I see it, John, we do this, he don’t have much of a choice.”

John sighed, real big. He was picking at the grass again. “This whole thing—it’s crazy,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything that’s happened,” said John. “Since Blackwater. I mean, how the hell did we end up in the goddam swamps?”

“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “But that’s part of the reason I need to get Mary Beth out of here. It’s too much goddam uncertainty for my comfort.”

“Is she pregnant?” said John, looking at him, in earnest.

Arthur took a drink, looked down at his hands. “She could be,” he said. “I don’t know. If she ain’t now, she will be soon. And I just—after what happened to Jack. That was a best case scenario. You realize that, John, don’t you? It could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

“You mean like, not getting him back?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

John straightened up then, his jaw real firm. The day was already getting on. Some ducks and geese had come to float in the water. The fire was low. “What does Mary Beth think?” he said.

“She’s ready,” said Arthur. “She don’t push me, but I know she’s done with this place. It ain’t for her.”

“It ain’t for Abigail either,” said John. “And it definitely ain’t for Jack.”

Arthur sighed. Together, they watched the ducks, cleaning and pruning their feathers in the dark water. They thought about life, and madness, and what it would take to get gone with the wind.

“Let me talk to Abigail,” said John.

Arthur nodded, finishing his beer. “You do that.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 31

May the Wind Be At Your Back 

Warnings: I guarantee you will cry (I sobbed writing this), swearing, blood, gore. 

Word count: ~10,700 (sorry it’s long!) 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The next morning, you wake to an empty tent. You rub the tiredness from your eyes and get out, finding Arthur setting down the percolator to make coffee. He smiles and stands up when he sees you, folding you in his arms. He’s changed from his blue shirt to his black one with the red vest and green shotgun coat. He must know you love seeing him in it. The scent of leather and pine envelopes you. 

“Reckon we oughta make a quick breakfast and head out,” Arthur says, letting you go. You nod and join him by the fire, pulling out a can of peaches. He adds a small loaf of bread and some salted, dried beef to the mix. As you eat, you make easy talk. It feels more normal than you expected it to be, but that in itself is a comfort. 

Arthur douses the fire while you fold down the tent and pack it into Artemis’s saddlebag. She’s standing particularly close to Rannoch, has been since you made camp. Arthur walks over, smiling. 

“Think she missed him,” he says, rubbing Rannoch’s neck and feeding him a sugarcube. 

You pat her fondly. “Well, I’m sure he missed her too. When I was at Charlotte’s and he was loose in her pasture, he used to watch the trail as if waiting for her to show up. Was kind of sad, really.” 

Arthur smiles down at you and loops an arm behind you, bending down for a brief kiss. “Well, they won’t ever be parted again.” 

He lets you go and you mount up, heading slowly to Beaver Hollow. It’s clear Arthur doesn’t want to go back again either, not that you blame him. You can only imagine the rage he must feel towards Dutch for being abandoned. You’re angry about it too. If things have digressed to the point that Dutch no longer sees Arthur as someone worth having around after everything he’s done for the gang, then it’s hard to say how he will feel about you coming back. 

It’s midday by the time you and Arthur arrive. The camp is even more empty and quiet than before you left. The wagon that sheltered Mary-Beth and Karen is gone. As you and Arthur walk towards your shared tent, there seems to be fewer people. It appears that Mary-Beth, Karen, Uncle, and Charles are gone. You already know Charles left; Arthur explained how he stayed to help the Wapiti. You’re surprised about the others though. 

Your eyes drift over to Dutch’s tent, where he sits inside. Micah’s at the table, which isn’t unusual. He’s never far from Dutch anymore. However, two new figures sit beside the tent, looking out of place. One of them is rather thin and lanky, his face too long under his blond hair. When you see the other, your heart drops. You recognize the flabby, long face, the drooping jowls, the dull eyes hidden underneath moppy brown hair. He’s one of the men who attacked you. 

You latch onto Arthur’s arm, your eyes glued to the man, who hasn’t seen you so far. Arthur stops and looks down at you. 

“What is it?” 

“Him,” you whisper. “He-he gave me this.” Your hand reaches up to touch your face where the cut is. Arthur glares across the clearing at them.

“That son of a bitch, what’s he doin’ here?” Arthur growls. He’s about to stomp over to him when you grip his arm harder. 

“Don’t, Arthur. It’s not wise to kill him here. Let’s find out what he’s doing here in the first place.” 

Arthur raises his lip in disgust but agrees. He gently instructs you to stay in the tent, away from the man, while he goes and talks with Dutch. You sit on the cot and watch him leave, but when he’s far enough away, you get up and follow him, skirting along the sides of the mountain towards the cavern’s mouth where Dutch’s tent sits. Arthur throws the strangers a foul look and then stands at the opening of the tent. 

“Well at least you ain’t run off,” Dutch growls from inside. “Pearson left, old Uncle, the traitors. Both gone, took some of the girls with them. But I see you brought your girl back.” You hear the venom in his voice as he talks about you. “Micah brought in a couple of friends of his to help with some things. Anyways, Pearson and Uncle told young Tilly they were runnin’ to save themselves.” 

“So it goes,” Arthur says. 

“They are goddamn cowards, Arthur. Cowards. After all the time we spent, just to run off.” Dutch saunters out of the tent. 

“Well, I guess they don’t wanna die, Dutch.” 

“Ain’t nobody gonna…” Dutch grabs Arthur’s shoulder and guides him around the tent to where you’re standing. You quickly dart to the back of the tent that stares down into the mouth of the cave. The stench of decay floods your nose, choking you and an overwhelming feeling of being trapped envelops you. You force down the desire to run as you listen and peak around the tent. 

“This is a tough time,” Dutch continues. “But we, our community, we will survive. They will not crush us.” 

“I hope so,” Arthur pauses and looks out at the camp. “But if we let Jack and the women free then maybe we can-” 

Dutch cuts him off. “There ain’t no freedom for no one in this country no more, Arthur. One more big score, we got enough money to leave. All this turmoil has the army and the Pinkertons spinning. We take a boat and slip away.” 

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Dutch, but it sounds like I heard it all before.”

“Just one more train-” 

“Yeah, there’s always a goddamn train!” Arthur’s voice raises loudly. 

“Arthur! This is different.” Dutch puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We know this is full of cash. Army payroll. Money and supplies to repair the bridge that you blew. This is all going to plan. We rob Uncle Sam and we leave. What do you think?” 

“It sounds wonderful, Dutch. However, I think it should be just us. None of Micah’s friends. You know, Y/N said one of them fellers is the one who attacked her on the road a week back. She said he was told to try and kill her. Now I know what you think of her lately, Dutch, but that don’t change the fact that she’s gonna be my wife soon and I don’t want those men around.” 

Dutch gives him a hard look. “We need their help, Arthur. With how many folks have left, we need their gun power. Now as soon as we have the money from the train, I’ll send them off. Does that suit you?” 

Arthur sighs heavily. “I suppose. But if I end up putting a bullet in his head-” 

“That ain’t gonna happen. Perhaps Y/N is mistaken and he’s not the same man. Even if he is, he’d be a damn fool to touch her here. Like I said, they won’t be here much longer, so just keep your head.” 

“Fine, but…” Arthur gestures to the camp. “You know the women and the children, and John and his family, I’m afraid I have to insist. We gotta let ‘em go, because if the Pinkertons find us again, they will kill everyone.” 

“John? Insist?” Dutch says quietly. 

“Yes,” Arthur says resolutely. “Insist.” 

Dutch pauses and takes in a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is higher than usual, giving you a sense of unease. Has Arthur stepped an invisible line? 

“Of course, pal. Whatever you think is best. I will see to it. Now, we gonna rob a train?” 

“Sure,” Arthur growls. 

Dutch pats him on the arm and starts walking away. Arthur follows him and you take the opportunity to slip out of the cavern and towards your own tent, sitting down on the cot as if you’ve been there all along. 

Dutch approaches the fire where most of the remaining gang have settled. “Alright everyone, we have work to do. We are gonna borrow a little money from Uncle Sam and be out of his hair once and for all.” 

Dutch walks over to the horses. The way his shoulders move and the speed of his step, you can tell he’s angry. Arthur beckons for you to come to him, so you do, avoiding the gaze of the strangers. Despite trying to not see him, you can’t help but keep an eye on him. The one who cut you and you lock eyes. You can tell he’s trying to act like he doesn’t recognize you, but his eyes give him away. He says nothing however as he and the other stranger mount onto their horses. 

“Let’s go, gentlemen!” Dutch hollers from the back of the Count, ignoring the fact that you and Sadie are among the group going along for the robbery. He leads the gang south, past Butcher’s Creek and towards Lemoyne

You wish Arthur was riding next to you, still feeling nervous about the strangers. He’s riding up near Dutch though, probably trying to ease him into complacency about letting you and the other women and Jack go. Sadie gallops beside you, her horse sweating as heavily as Rannoch in the humid heat. 

As you’re approaching the border of Lemoyne, Dutch calls out behind him that the train is due in Saint Denis in an hour. Arthur automatically questions the wisdom of robbing a train in the middle of the city. Dutch explains the gang won’t be robbing them there, just hopping aboard and hiding until it gets closer to the bridge Arthur and John destroyed. Micah adds in; he must have had a hand in planning this robbery. How could he not, with how close he’s kept himself to Dutch. 

Dutch orders John to grab the remaining dynamite left and Arthur volunteers to go with him. You almost go with him but realize that to do so would be a mistake. You’re sure you’re not back in Dutch’s good graces for leaving, not that you’ve been in them recently anyways. It’s clear he hasn’t liked your relationship with Arthur since he proposed to you, convinced you’ve been trying to take Arthur away from him. You watch John and Arthur ride off into a woodland as the gang continues south. 

As you’re riding along, you realize how much things have changed with how Dutch runs things. On previous jobs, Dutch never let any of the gang leave in groups of more than four, even if the whole gang was involved in the job. Now there’s only one group, being more conspicuous than ever. 

When the group reaches the train tracks just outside Saint Denis, Dutch stops in order to wait for Arthur and John. Only a few minutes pass before they regroup. Arthur glances at you and then takes his spot beside you, nodding to you in order to reassure you. You nod in return. After this is done, you and he will be abandoning the gang, heading off to begin your new lives. With any luck, things will go smoothly. Of course, you’re not too optimistic when it comes to luck, not with the way things have been going.

Dutch throws the cigar he’d been smoking while waiting and leads the gang into the farms lying on the outskirts of the city. 

“One last time, gentlemen!” he calls out. “I got us a riverboat, it’ll be waiting for us at Annesburg. We’ll head up to New York or Chicago and get a real boat from there out to the tropics. It will be paradise.”

“It’s all coming together, Dutch,” Micah simpers at him. “Just like we planned.” 

“I hope that’s okay with you John, and you Arthur. Or do you insist on something different?” He puts a particular emphasis on the word that makes you even more nervous. 

“Sounds about as good now as every time I heard it before,” John says. 

“Abigail must be real excited, all packed up the way she is,” Micah retorts. “I can just see her and Y/N and the other girls in little grass skirts.”

Dread fills your stomach. While today’s been your first day back in camp, you did notice Abigail had packed her things up. How long has Micah known about them leaving? Does he know about you and Arthur as well? And if he does, is he planning on stopping you, or worse? Questions begin running through your mind until John cuts them off. 

“Don’t talk to me, you son of a bitch.” 

“That’s enough, boys,” Dutch commands. “Let’s keep it down for now, don’t want to be attracting any attention.” 

“Any more attention, you mean,” you say before you get the chance to stop yourself. You haven’t been back in this shit-hole of a city since Hosea died, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your face, along with everyone who was involved, is plastered on a wanted poster in every corner of the city. You hate being back here, too much bad has happened. 

“Just take it nice and easy, fellers,” Dutch says, but his voice portrays that he’s irritated with your comment. 

“Ah, Saint Denis. Good to be back. Happy memories, huh John?” Micah says. 

“Will you shut up, Micah?” Arthur snaps. 

“Enough!” Dutch says. “Quiet, all of you.” 

The gang falls silent as you trot in single file down the main street of the city. This all feels wrong. There’s so many of you riding along like this, the first person who’s seen you must already be reporting your suspicious activities. You just pray that no one else dies. Well, maybe Micah or the strangers, but no one else. 

Dutch pulls to a stop at the trolley station just across the street from the railroad tracks. He hops off and addresses Sadie along with the blond stranger, who he calls Cleet. He instructs them to board half way along the train, and then he tells John, Arthur and you to board at the back. The rest will be riding along with him as they tail the train on horseback. The gang nods their heads and approach the tracks.

After a few seconds, the distant rumble and bell from the train echo, signaling its approach. You sniff a little and stand close to Arthur, glaring down the tracks. The train chugs down the track, going far too fast. The horn bellows and the train passes the group without stopping. Has the engineer been tipped off about a possible robbery in the city? Arthur looks as confused as you do as he looks down the passing cars. 

“Should I just sneak on now?” he asks Dutch in a gruff voice. 

“Goddammit,” Dutch says. “Everybody mount up. We’ll do this on horseback.” 

“We still going through with this?” John asks. 

“Of course we are.” 

The gang quickly get on their horses. You give Rannoch a reassuring pat before kicking him hard into a gallop, joining the others as they trail the train. It hasn’t slowed down at all, in fact it seems to have sped up even more now that it’s leaving the city. John calls back at you and Arthur, stating you can jump onto a flat car from the side. 

Just as the train’s passing the farms outside the city, you and Arthur ride alongside the last car, which happens to be a flatbed. You’ve never jumped onto a train like this, which makes you nervous. Despite your anxiety, you position your feet on the saddle and leap towards the car with as much strength as your legs can muster. Surprisingly, you feel your shoulder slam onto the flatbed. Arthur lands beside you with a heavy thud. He pulls you to your feet and slides the rifle from his shoulder. In your overthinking of how to jump onto the train, you’d forgotten to grab one of your own. Your pistol and sawed-off will have to do. 

Just as John’s slamming down on the flatbed, guards come out of the boxcar ahead and begin shooting. You and Arthur take cover behind some of the cargo, returning fire. The men go down quickly, allowing you and the other two to head up. The next car is another flatbed, and the one after is another boxcar. You watch as Sadie jumps onto the boxcar. Cleet, the blond stranger, leaps on and Sadie offers her arm to pull him up. More men are coming out of the boxcar and you fire at them, continuing to move up. John keeps hollering to push up. 

Just as you’re climbing up to the top of the boxcar after Arthur, you hear him yell, “This is crazy.” 

“You feel like ditching?” John responds.

“Of course not. We gotta get this done.” 

As you’re straightening up from climbing up the ladder, a man climbs up on the other end. He’s barely put his hands on the roof when a bullet slams into his forehead. Arthur reloads his rifle as you whip out your revolver again. You and Arthur hop onto the next car and then drop down to another flatbed, followed by John. 

“Where the hell is Dutch and Micah?” Arthur roars, shooting more guards. 

“I don’t see ‘em!” John answers. 

“Who knows, this might have been their goddamn plan all along,” you say as you shoot a guard on the roof of the next car. 

As you and Arthur run through the cars, a guard at the end pops out and fires quickly. You’d seen him before Arthur so you push him as hard as you can into the wall. The bullet glides above your arm, missing you and Arthur’s chest by inches. You raise your revolver and shoot the guard in the neck. 

Arthur hardly has any time to say anything before two more guards barrel in your direction, raising their rifles. As you and Arthur take them down; John calls up. 

“Just like the old days huh, Arthur?” 

“This ain’t nothin’ like the old days,” Arthur growls, heading up with you. 

There’s nearly half a dozen men ahead, so you pull out your sawed-off and fire, causing the head of one of the men to explode. You and Arthur push up, taking down more men with John’s help. 

One guard is left standing in the doorway of the next car. Arthur shoots him in the chest and he stumbles back. As he lands on the floor, he fires again but his bullet strikes a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Bits of burning glass and metal fall onto his body, the fire spreading quickly since the hot oil from the lantern splattered onto him and the floor. The fire spreads to some of the cargo and a crate suddenly explodes, making the car completely impassable. 

John runs to the side of the flatbed you’re all on and waves towards the back of the train. “Come on, we can’t get through!” 

Micah, Dutch and the mop-headed stranger gallop up to the side of the car. John hops behind Micah. Dutch yells at Arthur to jump onto his horse, but Arthur ignores him and leaps onto the stranger’s horse, allowing you to take Dutch’s mount. 

You’re nervous once again about jumping, but you kick off the car as hard as you can, landing on the Count’s narrow hind quarters. You fold your arms around Dutch’s waist as he gallops ahead, passing the burning car to the next flatbed. Sadie and Cleet are already waiting on it. You carefully position your legs and leap onto the flatbed. A heavy thud tells you Arthur’s landed. 

As Arthur gets up, he points to the burning car and yells to John. “Uncouple that carriage before it blows us all up!” 

John runs to where the cars are connected. You look down, trying to catch your breath and see in an open crate the components of a gatling gun. You call Arthur’s attention, but he’s staring out at a cliff the train’s passing. You follow his gaze and see a man standing on top of it. He looks behind him and hollers something, waving his arm. 

“Shit, I think that was a lookout,” Arthur says. “They must have known the train was gonna get hit.” 

“Come on, Arthur,” you say. “Let’s get this going.” 

You lift up the heavy tripod that holds the gun up and slam it onto the ground, spreading the three legs as Arthur grabs the barrel, the chamber and the pin. He puts the gun together quickly. 

“Get behind me,” he tells you, taking position behind the gun. Just as you stand behind him, John gets the burning car uncoupled. The three of you watch as the car slows down and then explodes after the cars behind it crash into it, causing whatever was inside to blow. 

After watching the cars derail, Bill hops onto the flatbed after Dutch tells him to go stop the train. As you turn to watch him, a guard on top of the boxcar ahead appears. He aims his gun and shoots, the bullet striking John in the shoulder. Before you or Arthur can do anything, he stumbles back and falls off the flatbed. 

“John!” Arthur screams. 

The guard shoots again, causing you all to flinch. You and the others aim at him, but it’s Arthur’s bullet that takes him down. 

Dutch, galloping alongside the train, calls to Arthur. “I’ll get John, you protect that money.” He and Micah fall back, turning down the tracks. 

“Man the gun, Arthur, I’ll go stop the train!” Bill calls.

“No! Whatever you do, do not stop the train!” Arthur yells back. “You secure up ahead, but keep us moving. I’ll deal with that patrol when they come through.” 

He finishes putting the gatling gun together and then turns to you. “Go with them, see if you can find that money.” 

You nod and approach Sadie when you hear the gatling gun begin firing. The patrol has arrived. You and the others take cover behind the cargo on the flatbed, firing at the horsemen. Your revolver does little at this distance, so you run over to Arthur and tug on his rifle, removing it from his back and hiding behind him as you reload it. 

“Take cover!” he yells at you. Quickly, you slide back behind the crate again, taking down two riders with the rifle. Of course, Arthur does a much more thorough job with his gun. 

“You sure you can handle that gun?” Cleet shoots at Arthur, “‘Cause I can take over if you want.” 

“Just shut up and kill these bastards,” you snap. 

“Hey, we all gotta work together on this.” 

“And that’s what we’re doing, now just shut the hell up and shoot!” 

Arthur continues firing at the riders, but they just seem to keep coming. 

“How the hell I get saddled up with you two girls?” Cleet snarls. 

“Watch your goddamn mouth!” Sadie says. 

The next several moments are filled with you and the others shooting the patrol, Arthur taking down the majority. It seems like every moment or two, Cleet says something to antagonize you or Sadie. It takes all your willpower to not point your rifle at him and you tell him so.

“I ain’t afraid of you, woman.”

“You should be!” Arthur hollers over the gunfire. “She’s already got your friend tagged for murder. Hope you ain’t close to him.” 

Cleet says something that’s drowned out by the engine’s horn as it approaches a short tunnel. Your car is temporarily covered in cool, damp darkness before bursting back out into the hot sunlight. The few riders remaining suddenly scamper off, probably figuring it’s a lost cause at this point. 

“Get off the gun, we need to go for the money,” Cleet says. You and the others follow him over two more boxcars and then another flatbed. The last car before the engine is another box but Cleet says it should have the money inside it. Arthur runs up to it and slides a stick of dynamite in the door handle. He lights it and you all take cover behind some crates and barrels. The metal door is blown free with a loud shriek of wrenching metal. Just as the smoke clears, the train enters a long and dark tunnel. Arthur pulls out his lantern as he runs up to the doorway. 

The train exits the tunnel just as Arthur comes out, snuffing his lantern. “We got somethin’!” He goes back inside and then exits again, tossing a large burlap sack to Cleet. He throws another at Sadie and one more at you. The heavy weight of coins and stacks of bills inside the sack pounds against your chest as you catch it. 

Just as you’re setting down the sack to catch another, Bill climbs down from the car. 

“Morgan! The driver’s dead, we gotta get off this train, it ain’t stoppin’!” 

“Let’s go, then!” Sadie says, grabbing her sack and throwing it over the side of the train and leaping off. Cleet and Bill do the same. Arthur comes out of the carriage, hauling another large bag. Slightly breathless, he gestures for you to jump. You heave the sack onto your shoulder and toss it onto the grass, painfully aware of the quickly approaching chasm with the broken bridge. You breathe out and jump, your feet landing painfully on the grass and your knees buckling, slamming you down. Arthur grunts loudly as he lands.

You and the others get up and watch as the train barrels down the tracks, falling down the broken bridge and crashing into the canyon below. The engine breaks apart, crushed under the weight of the cars and then the canyon finally falls silent. 

“Jesus,” Bill says quietly. Arthur agrees and tells you and the others to move. You go back to where you’d dropped your sack, heaving it onto your shoulder just as Dutch, Micah and the stranger trot up, followed by everyone else’s horses. The trotting is oddly quiet after having heard the loud chugging of the train and the screeching of shredding metal. However, as you and the others walk up to Dutch, John is nowhere in sight. 

“Where’s John?” Arthur asks. 

“I tried,” Dutch says heavily. “I tried.” 

“He didn’t make it. That patrol killed him. We had to run.” Micah says. Something about the way he says this feels off to you.

Arthur puts down his sack and looks down, his face hard. You can feel his grief rolling off of him, but when he looks up, he almost seems disbelieving. 

“Come on,” Dutch orders. “Let’s go, before another patrol turns up.” 

You take Arthur’s free hand in yours after he lifts up his sack again. He only responds with a gentle squeeze. The two of you throw your sacks over your horses. He sighs heavily as he mounts up on Artemis. You understand why. The two of you only came back in order to save John and his family, and now he’s dead. You just hope Abigail has enough sense to leave with her son for good. 

Arthur kicks Artemis into a gallop, Rannoch rushing to keep up, as the gang begins heading back to Beaver Hollow. You’re glad that you and Arthur are only returning to pack your belongings and then, when things are quiet, you’ll disappear with Arthur, taking one of the sacks of money you’ve just stolen.

The gang rolls pass O’Creagh’s Run. You glance to Hamish’s cabin, spotting Buell standing in the small paddock beside it. He lifts his head from grazing as your horses thunder by. 

As the gang approaches the hills marking that you’re close to Beaver Hollow, a horse comes over the rise and a shrill voice calls out. 

“They came and took Abigail!” 

Dutch stops his horse at the head of the group as Tilly rides over with Jack in front of her. 

“We hid, but they took her!”  

“Who did?” Arthur demands, walking his horse to stand next to the Count. 

“Agent Milton and his men took her to Van Horn to be put on a boat and tried for murder.” 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Dutch says with no warmth in his voice.

“We gotta let her go,” Micah says. “John’s um, well sorry son.” He looks pointedly at Jack with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Without John, she’s just bait. Got a bunch of money, Dutch, she’s just a girl. They won’t do nothing to her, but me, Cleet and Joe know we need to keep riding on this one, Dutch.” 

Cleet and the other stranger Joe nod behind Micah. 

“So we just gonna let this boy be made an orphan?” Arthur says. 

“It ain’t like that!” Dutch shoots, waving his arm at Arthur. 

“What is it like?” 

“I wanna live, cowpoke!” Micah sneers. “Dutch, it’s just a girl.” 

Dutch pauses and then nods. “You’re right.”

“Dutch!” Arthur yells, dismounting and standing near Dutch’s leg. His eyes beg him to see reason. 

“It pains me to say it, Arthur, but Micah is right.” 

“Dutch!”

“Now come on boys,” Dutch says, taking a tighter hold of his horse’s reins. He kicks the Count into a gallop and Arthur is forced to take a quick step back to avoid being trampled. He glares at Dutch’s shrinking form as everyone except for you and Sadie follow him. 

“Well I guess that’s that then,” Arthur growls. He looks over at Tilly, who looks confused and scared. “All them goddamn years.” 

“Come on, Arthur,” Sadie says heavily. “Let’s go get her. Us three is all we need.” 

He nods and glances at you before addressing Tilly. He heaves the sack of money from Artemis and throws it over Tilly’s horse. 

“Take this,” he says heavily. “Take Jack and wait at Copperhead Landing for Abigail and Mrs. Adler.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” she says a bit breathlessly. 

“You’re a good girl,” he says. “You live a good life now you hear?” 

“And you too, Arthur. I’ll miss…” 

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” His eyes flick down momentarily. You feel like crying as he smiles at her and then turns to Jack. “Be brave, son, I’m gonna go get your mama.” He takes Jack’s hands in his and looks him hard in the eyes as he says this. Finally, he lets them go and turns to you and Sadie. “Mrs. Adler, Ms. Y/L/N, ride with me.” 

He kicks Artemis into a run and you and Sadie follow. You glance behind and raise a hand in farewell to Tilly, painfully aware that you’ll probably never see her again. Your heart grows heavy at the thought of how much your family has fallen apart. You swallow tears at the thought that you didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to Mary-Beth, Pearson or even old Uncle, useless as he was. 

As you and the other two ride, Sadie and Arthur discuss the best way to get into Van Horn since it’s been overrun by Pinkertons. It’s decided you’ll go in on the south end near the lighthouse. 

“Those goddamn bastards,” Arthur growls. “Now he don’t care if he orphans his friend’s child so long as he gets rich? All his goddamn talk all them years. Seems like it was always a lie, or he went crazy. Goddamn this mess.” 

“Sure,” you say. “Guess he began to believe he was God or something.”

“The Dutch we know now is not the Dutch who put a blanket on my shoulders in the snow all them weeks ago,” Sadie adds. 

Arthur sighs. “I’m sorry you both got dragged into this, into us.” 

“Listen, if you hadn’t shown up at my house that night, I’d be dead.”

“As would I, Arthur. I don’t think I would have lasted much longer if you hadn’t found me when you did. Even this bullshit beats dead.” 

“I thought I could find a way to get John, Abigail and Jack out of this mess,” Arthur says. “To try and give them a life. Seems like I left it too late.”

“Let’s just get Abigail, they could still have a chance,” you say. 

Arthur sighs again. “John, Hosea, Mac, Davey, Jenny, Sean, Lenny. We have to put an end to this! And Eagle Flies. Another angry fool he used, just like he did with the rest of us. No one else is dying for Dutch’s crazy dreams. ” 

“Like I said, Arthur,” Sadie growls. “We don’t need them. We’re gonna make this right.” 

The three of you run on to Van Horn. Once the lighthouse comes into view, you dismount and send the horses off. Sadie asks Arthur to take point in the lighthouse with his scoped rifle and keep watch while you and she run up to the boathouse where Abigail’s likely to be held. He clearly doesn’t like you two doing the most dangerous part of the job, but he agrees when you tell him he’s the better shot and that  you and Sadie are the faster runners.

As he runs over to the lighthouse, you and Sadie take cover behind a broken wagon. You look over the edge, counting at least a dozen Pinkertons standing at different spots on the street. The way they’re glancing at each other and the points of the road, it seems Micah was right about one thing: they’re holding Abigail as bait. 

You check your rifle quickly and then the Pinkerton standing closest to you and Sadie is suddenly thrown back, blood gushing from his head. The Pinkerton standing closest to him yells out, pointing his gun in your direction. You raise your rifle and shoot him. 

“Come on!” Sadie yells, moving forward as more Pinkertons fall from Arthur’s shots. You skirt around a crumbling brick building close to the river since it is harder for the Pinkertons to shoot you from this spot. You and Sadie continue shooting at them, moving up considerably fast, thanks to Arthur’s keen aim. 

Within moments, you’re running up the deck towards the boathouse. Sadie slams the butt of her rifle into a Pinkerton’s face and then goes to the door. You’re suddenly slammed into the ground by a heavy weight and realize a Pinkerton must have been hiding and grabbed you when you passed him. He’s suddenly wrenched off you as Arthur’s bullet rips through him. You stand up and find Sadie gone. She must already be in the boathouse, so you run inside it. 

As soon as you step in, you know something’s wrong. Abigail’s tied to a chair, her mouth covered by a thick bandana. A Pinkerton is tying Sadie up and your vision suddenly flashes white as something hard slams into your head. You fall back and the breath is knocked from your lungs as you land. You blink and your vision clears, showing Milton standing above you. 

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N, I had a feeling I’d be running into you. By the way, I failed to send my congratulations for your wedding announcement.” 

You’re about to ask him how the hell he knows about that when you’re rolled roughly onto your stomach and tied up and gagged by another Pinkerton. He picks you up and throws you into the corner of the room near Sadie. She looks at you, but there’s no fear in her eyes. You doubt you can say the same about yourself. 

Milton walks around the room slowly. “Alright, men, now we wait. I doubt these two ladies were alone, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the men comes charging in, guns blazing. Prepare yourselves.” 

He slides into a storeroom behind the counter, which blocks your view of him.

Gunfire suddenly echoes from outside. Arthur must know you and Sadie are in trouble and is advancing. You wish you could yell for him to run the other direction. You and Sadie can find another way easy enough to save yourselves and Abigail. Of course, you know better than anyone that’s the last thing Arthur would do. 

The door slams open, revealing Arthur, bathed in sunlight. He pulls the hammer of his pistol, which he’s already unholstered, and shoots the two Pinkertons waiting by Abigail. They fall heavily and Arthur marches in, pulling out his knife to free Abigail. 

“Okay, ladies,” he says as he removes Abigail’s gag and begins cutting the bonds around her right wrist. “Let’s get out of here.” 

You try yelling through your gag, but the click of a hammer comes from behind Arthur. He stops and straightens up. 

“Calm down, Mr. Morgan,” Milton says. 

Arthur clenches his jaw and lifts his hands, turning to face Milton. 

“Game’s over, Mr. Morgan. I was honestly hoping you’d be the one to come to the rescue. I had a feeling Dutch wouldn’t fall for the trap, he isn’t that foolish. But I’ve heard about your… habit of swooping in to the rescue.” 

“Then I guess I’ll be dead soon, and you with me, Mr. Milton.” 

“Oh you’ll be dead, but I’m gonna be just fine. We offered you a deal, Mr. Morgan, you should have taken it.” 

“I’m a fool, Mr. Milton, like you said.”

“Sure, but not all you boys have quite so many scruples. Old Micah Bell-”

“Micah?” Arthur cuts him off. “You mean Molly.” 

“Molly O’Shea? We sweated her a couple of times, never spoke a word so we had to let her go. But Micah Bell, we picked him up quite some time ago. Just before Dutch’s famous failed attempt to rob the Blackwater ferry. I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear he wasn’t completely compliant until you and the others came back from the Caribbean. He was particularly stubborn about the bank job in Saint Denis, but he’s been a good boy ever since we picked him up from the boat.”

You can hear Arthur breathing harder. Micah Bell, the goddamn rat. Now you understand why he started spouting that there must be one when the gang moved up to Beaver Hollow, he was trying to point the focus from his own ass. Worse, he’s been playing the gang for fools the entire time. He’s responsible for Jenny and the Callendar boys and Hosea and Lenny’s deaths. Rage burns in your chest and you strain against your binds. 

Arthur bends down as though personally struck by this news. “Okay,” he says. Suddenly he launches himself at Milton, grappling for the gun in his hands. The two men struggle for a moment, but Arthur has a poor grip on the gun and Milton begins overpowering him. You scream his name through the gag as the barrel lines up with his head. The sound of a gun fires, making your heart stop and a body thuds. You crane your neck, trying to see who’s left standing. 

Abigail lowers the gun she’d taken from one of the dead Pinkertons. You hadn’t even noticed her freeing herself. Arthur must have cut the ropes enough so she could do so. She raises a lip and throws the revolver at the body. “Horrible man.” She picks up Arthur’s knife and cuts you and Sadie free, then approaches the wall. 

“Now come on, all of you.” Arthur’s hand reaches up and takes the knife before he stands up as you untie your feet. You stand up and clutch him, pulling him close. 

“God, Arthur, I thought he got you.” 

His breathing is heavy but he pats your back. “I know, darlin’, I know. But come on, we got work to do.” 

He pulls himself free from your grip and the four of you run out of the boathouse. As you’re running down the deck with the others, shots ring out. You look to the path and find a patrol of Pinkertons running up on horseback. One aims at you and shoots, ripping the hat from your head. You flinch and aim, but he’s already falling from Arthur’s bullet. 

Sadie whistles loudly and the horses come running down the path as you and the others continue trading gunfire. You notice the sack of money you put on Rannoch’s back is gone. It probably fell off at some point, but you can’t worry about that now. 

“Where’s Jack?” Abigail yells as she runs towards the horses. 

“Tilly’s got him, he’s safe,” you respond, shooting again. She breathes a sigh of relief as Arthur tells her to hop onto his horse. Sadie mounts up and Arthur climbs up behind you on Rannoch. You kick Rannoch into a gallop, following Sadie and Abigail out  of Van Horn, pursued by the Pinkerton’s. They seem to come out at you at every turn in the trail, but Arthur’s more than a match for them. 

The group gallops up towards Annesburg, but the path gets blocked by a troop of Pinkertons. They even flank you from the train tracks, forcing you to take the trail heading west. You run along with Sadie and Abigail for several moments, Arthur gripping your waist almost painfully as he shoots. You shoot as much as you can as well, but the fighting is hotter than you’ve ever experienced and you have to carefully guide Rannoch down the twisting trail. Finally, as the road heads in the direction of the river, the Pinkertons finally seem to stop appearing. 

Abigail speaks up from the front of the group. “Bastards grabbed me outside camp. I was with Tilly and Jack, it happened so fast I couldn’t do anything.”

“It’s alright, Jack and Tilly are fine.” 

Arthur suddenly squeezes your waist. “Ladies, we need to stop. Stop!” 

Abigail and Sadie do so, looking back at him. You pull Rannoch to a halt and Arthur lets go of you. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

He dismounts as Sadie says, “Arthur, there’s no time.” 

He puts a hand up to her. He takes off his hat and then goes to Abigail, puts his hat in his saddle bag and then lifts his arms to signal he wants to bring her down. 

She looks at him almost as though worried. “What happened to John? Where’s John?”

“I don’t… I think…” Arthur stumbles. He gestures to her again and she humors him, sliding off Artemis’s back and letting him catch her. 

“Arthur?” she says.

“He, um, he got killed or he got captured.” 

“No!” Abigail cries out.”

“I’m really sorry, Abigail,” Arthur says as Sadie dismounts and hugs her as she begins to cry. “I was on the train and I didn’t see it.”

He pauses as Abigail continues to cry. You dismount and walk to his side.

“Listen,” he says, “we got Jack, he’s safe. Mrs. Adler will take you to him, but John… I want you to know this: he loved you. He loved you and Jack, he did.” 

She looks away as she sobs as though torn between wanting to believe it and not being able to.  

“He wasn’t perfect, but he did. Now you gotta go get that boy.”

She looks at him and her head twitches in a slight nod. Arthur looks to Sadie and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Now go on, get outta here.”

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Sadie says as she climbs onto her horse. 

“I gotta go have a little chat with Dutch, try one last time to turn his head to reason.”

He walks over to Abigail to pick her up, but as she’s still distraught over John, she cries out, “Oh Arthur!” 

“Don’t you ‘oh Arthur’ me. I’ll be fine.” He picks her up and places her on the horse behind Sadie. “Y/N will go with you and take you to Jack-”

“No I’m not,” you say, staring hard at him. “I’m not letting you go back there alone to get shot by Micah, not when you’re going to point out how much of a rat bastard he is. He ain’t gonna like it.” 

“Y/N-”

“Don’t, Arthur! You asked me to be your wife and I agreed, that means that where you go, I go, remember? And I just got you back, I’m not going to lose you again. Not like this.” 

“Dutch won’t kill me-”

“He already left you to die, Arthur! I’m not banking on that chance. Now I’m going with you, whether you like it or not. We’re in this together and we’ll get out together or we’ll die together.” 

He stops and looks at you, his mouth pulled down in a frown. “Okay,” he finally says. He looks back up at Sadie and Abigail. “You’re good women, good people. The best. You go get that boy. They’ll be time for good-byes later.” 

He starts to turn away when Abigail speaks up. “Since you’re headed back there, Arthur, take this.” She breaks a chain necklace she’d been wearing and removes the key hanging from it. “I don’t need it anymore. There’s a chest in them caves. Dutch’s chest. With all our money.” She tells him where to find it in the cavern at Beaver Hollow and then pauses as a fresh wave of tears comes.

“Why, Abigail Roberts,” he takes the key from her as she starts to cry. For some reason, the emotions hit you and you have to wipe your cheek.

“I always been a good thief.”  

“That you was. Now go on, get outta here.” He pockets the key and then turns to you. As Sadie rides off, he helps you onto Rannoch and then he climbs onto Artemis. He pauses a moment, almost as though the weight of everything has finally hit him. He pulls his hat out of his saddlebag and puts it on, his face set. He glances at you and then kicks Artemis into a run. 

Rannoch follows obediently, but you say nothing. The heaviness of what’s about to happen rushes through you and it feels like everything you’ve done comes to you. You remember your parents, the things they said, your grandmother, watching Rain being born and then dying. The day you found out your grandmother passed. 

Just as you’re passing Butcher’s Creek, you remember finding out your father paid James to marry you, the cruelties he put you through. Murdering him and then your parents. The loneliness of the year you spent alone. Arthur finally finding you and how you created a family with the gang, only to watch it fall apart. You wonder what it all means and if it could have been stopped. 

Artemis runs down the path heading to Beaver Hollow. Arthur hasn’t said anything the entire ride, but you feel he’s in the same mindframe as you, wondering if it could have been different, what everything he’s done really comes down to. 

Rannoch slows to a trot and you see the few remaining gang members milling about, packing up as quickly as they can. Cleet and Joe are still here, unlike what Dutch said, not that you’re surprised. 

As you and Arthur dismount, you hear Micah bark across the clearing. “Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw. Hurry up, we ain’t got long!” 

“We’re doing our best!” Grimshaw snaps. 

“We got plenty of time, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking slowly into the clearing. Micah looks at him, almost as though surprised to see him. You follow, glaring at him, your hand on the butt of your revolver in its holster. “We all need to have a little chat.” 

 “Cowpoke, you’re back. Hooray.”

Arthur ignores this and glares at Dutch, who’s doing his duty by standing in his tent. “I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay, not that you care. You rats.” He glowers at Micah and his friends. “Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton.”

“What the hell you talking about?” Micah demands. 

“You talked. Been talkin’ to Milton for some time.” 

“That’s a goddamn lie.”

“Milton told me.” 

“And you believe him, cowpoke?”

Arthur narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “It all makes sense now.” 

“No, it damn well doesn’t,” Micah hisses. 

Suddenly he and Arthur whip out their pistols and point them at each other. Cleet and Joe point theirs at Arthur and you point yours at Joe. Dutch doesn’t move from his tent, just stares between the two groups.   

“Dutch, think, just think!” Arthur says without taking his eyes from Micah. 

“Dutch,” Micah simpers, “be practical now.”

Your finger traces the hammer just as another voice calls out Dutch’s name. The group looks and down the path walks John, clutching his shoulder and limping along. 

“You left me. You left me to die!” he screams. 

“My boy,” Dutch says, finally taking a few steps away from his tent. “I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t have a-” 

“You left me!”

Dutch glares at him. You wonder now how genuine Dutch was being when he said he tried to help John. You’ve no doubt that he abandoned him just as he did with Arthur. 

“All of you,” Arthur demands. “You pick your side now, because this is over.” He glances at Dutch and shakes his head as John stands beside him and pulls out his gun. “All them years, Dutch, all the things we sacrificed. For this snake?”

“Be quiet, cowpoke.” 

“No!” Grimshaw says, walking up to your side, holding a shotgun. She cocks it. “You be quiet, Mr. Bell. Put down your gun.” 

Javier rushes in suddenly, calling out, “There’s Pinkertons coming fast.” 

Grimshaw looks to him, distracted and Micah takes his chance, shooting her. His bullet strikes her in the stomach and she cries out.

“Susan!” you say, dropping to her side as she cries out again. You look up again, pointing your revolver at Micah, your other hand on Susan’s shoulder. 

“Now!” Dutch yells out, whipping out both pistols and pointing them both at Micah and Arthur. “Who amongst you is with me and who is betraying me?” 

He walks between yours and Micah’s group. Bill now also points his gun at Arthur while Javier, looking confused, points his pistol up in the air. John and Arthur back up towards the cavern. You stand up slowly, realizing Grimshaw’s dead. You can’t think about that now as you back up to Arthur’s side, still pointing your revolver. 

“Bill, Javier, think!” Arthur pleads. “Think for yourselves.”

“He’s lying,” Micah says. “He’s lying!”  

Just as it seems like Dutch is about to pull the trigger, a voice echoes down the pathway. “Put your guns down!” Shots ring out suddenly as men dart between the trees.

“Goddamn it, move!” Arthur shouts, grabbing you roughly and shoving you behind a table. He tips it to act as a barricade as John takes cover behind Dutch’s tent. 

“This is Agent Ross with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Put your guns down!” 

“Everyone get into cover!” Dutch hollers. He and the others disappear from your view as you, Arthur and John open fire upon the Pinkertons. The fading light makes it more difficult, but you keep shooting. More and more Pinkertons seem to arrive. 

“Dutch, we gotta move!” Micah yells. “There all yours, Morgan!” 

“Come on, we need to get out of here!” John screams at you both. Without hesitating, you and Arthur follow him into the cavern. You ignore the pungent stench of decay and the sight of the cage you’d been kept in when you were a captive here. Arthur runs behind you, shooting the few Pinkertons who run into the cave. 

As you and the others run deeper, Ross’s voice echoes through the cavern. “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston, Ms. Y/L/N, stop! You’re trapped. Surrender and we will take you alive.” 

You and the others ignore him, heading to the back of the cave. You see the wagon where Abigail said Dutch’s chest is hidden under. You’re tempted to stop and grab it, but a shot rings through, the bullet whizzing past your elbow. 

“Come on!” John says, climbing up a ladder to a ledge. “Those bastards left me for dead.” 

“Seems that’s what they do now.” Arthur says as he pushes you to the ladder. You climb up as quickly as you can and you run down a ledge after John, climbing up another ladder and over a bundle of rickety boards to another ladder. There’s light flooding in from the top of it, signalling you’re almost out as you hear the Pinkertons hollering from down below.

“Stay with me, Arthur!” you yell.

“I’m here,” he replies. “Micah was the rat, John. Milton told me.” 

John reaches the last ladder. “We should have killed him months ago.”

You reach the top of the ladder as you hear Ross snarl from the ground below, stating he doesn’t care if you all end up dead. Arthur climbs up and then leads you and John down the slope of the hillside. He whistles for Artemis and the other horses, and then looks to John, panting hard. 

“Abigail, she’s safe. So’s Jack. They’re with Sadie at Copperhead landing.”

John grabs Arthur’s hand. “Thank you, brother.” He looks over at you. “Thank you. Both of you.” 

Just as he begins to let go of Arthur’s hand to run to the horses, Arthur stops him. 

“I want you to not look back on any of this, okay?” 

“You’re co-” John’s suddenly cut off by another round of shots in your direction. Glancing briefly, you see Micah leading the charge, his pistols aiming at you. You and the others run and mount up, kicking them into a gallop as Dutch sends a bullet your way. 

“After all these years, boys!” Dutch calls. “I took you in! Y/N, you’d be dead without me!” 

“Arthur saved me!” you call back. He replies by shooting again, but the bullet slams into a tree trunk. 

“Pinkertons!” John cries out. Ahead, more men on horseback come down towards you. Arthur and John open fire and the path is clear again. 

You weave down the trails as the darkness deepens, making it even harder to spot your quarries. Micah and Dutch still follow, continuing to holler up, but their taunts go ignored. Pinkertons keep coming from every turn in the trail again, guiding where you and the others go. The horses climb out of Roanoke Valley into the Grizzlies East, grunting and sweating as they’re kicked to go faster. 

The path ahead gets blocked again by a wall of horses and Pinkertons, forcing the three of you off the trail and up the foot of a small mountain. Just as you leave the cover of the trees, Rannoch grunts and he takes an odd step. Before you even have the chance to wonder what’s wrong with him, he collapses just as Artemis rears up and falls. John’s horse suddenly crashes to the ground. 

When Rannoch lands, he pins your knee between the saddle and the ground. Your shoulders slam down, knocking the wind out of you. Because of the continuing gunfire, you quickly sit up and shoot the arriving Pinkertons. They go down and the gunfire pauses, but you know it’s temporary. 

You try pulling your leg out from under Rannoch, but it’s pinned and he’s not moving. You pat his neck as hard as you can, crying out his name. Not another horse, you think, not another one. But no matter how hard you smack him or how loud you cry his name, he doesn’t move. 

As the realization that Rannoch is dead hits you, your eyes find Arthur. He’s dropping to his knees beside Artemis’s head. She’s grunting and struggling to breath, her legs twitching. He pats her neck gently, trying to calm her. 

“Come on, Arthur!” John says, rushing over to you to try and help pull you free. “Brother, let’s go!” 

“Gimme a minute,” Arthur says. He pats Artemis’s neck again and she nickers softly. He bends low and says in her ear, “Thank you.” 

“Arthur!” John calls again. “Help me get her!” 

Arthur finally looks up at you. Even from where you’re sitting, you can see the tears in his eyes. He gets up and runs over to you and John, lifting Rannoch’s body up as John grabs your shoulders and pulls you out. When you’re free, you start to stand up, but struggle due to the pain in your knee. Arthur takes your arm and drapes it across his shoulders, then wraps an arm around your waist. 

“Come on, let’s go,” John says. 

“What-what about the money?” you ask. Without the money you stole from the train, you and Arthur will struggle to start a  new life. In order to escape, you have to have money. 

Arthur nods a little. “Abigail gave me the key to Dutch’s chest.” 

“I head down there, I’m a dead man, no question,” John says. “I got a family. I care about them more.” 

“Ah, maybe you’re right but…”

“You want the money? Go get it, but I’m going to my family.” 

Arthur looks at you. By his eyes, you can tell he’d rather help John. He silently asks the question and you nod. At this point, you’d be surprised if any of you make it out of here alive. The least you can do now is try and get John back to his family. They need him more than you need money. 

Arthur puts his hat back on. “We’re coming with you. Gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last thing I do.” He pauses and looks at you. “Can you walk, sweetheart?” 

You nod and let go of him, putting weight on your knee. It twinges angrily but you ignore it. With the adrenaline still pumping in your blood, you’ll be able to keep you going. 

“Thank you, both of you,” John says, running up the hillside. You and Arthur chase after him, trying to ignore the pain in your knee. 

Shots begin ringing out again, plummeting into the rockbed as you continue to run alongside the bend of the mountain. There’s a small break in the cliffs of the mountain, forming a gorge and you run through it, climbing up the next hillside just as the Pinkertons show up. 

You and the others take cover behind some boulders. Arthur’s behind the shortest one and he stands up to get a better aim at some of the Pinkertons. He takes down four of them and then is suddenly thrown backwards, grunting in pain. 

“Arthur!” 

He starts sitting up and then cries out in pain. Staying hunched over, you run over to him and see blood seeping from just above his left hip.

“Oh God, Arthur!” you cry out.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He pushes you away and stands up, despite the bulletwound. He puts his free hand over it and shoots again, taking down another Pinkerton. You begin reloading when white hot pain skids across your upper left arm and shoulder as a bullet grazes you, causing you to drop your sawed-off. 

“Come on, we need to get out of here!” Arthur roars as John takes down the last visible Pinkerton. John runs up the hillside to a ledge that levels out. You chase him, clutching your bleeding arm, and Arthur hobbles after you. He only takes a few steps towards the ledge when he stops, clearly in tremendous pain. 

“Come on, Arthur, let’s go!” John calls back. You stop, wincing from the pain in your arm and knee. 

“You go,” Arthur grunts, clutching his hip. 

“Keep pushing, Arthur.” 

“No. No, I think I’ve pushed what I can for now. Now go on, take Y/N and go, I’ll hold them off and then when the bleeding stops, I’ll follow you.” 

“Arthur!” you cry out. “Where you go, I go! I’m not leaving you.” 

“Don’t, Y/N! Please, I don’t wanna split up either, but I ain’t letting you die.” 

“We’ll die together.” 

Arthur looks up at John. “You gotta take her. Even if you have to pick her up and run, do it.” 

He pauses and takes off his hat before gazing at you again. “Sweetheart, you gotta go. Please. I… I’ll never forgive myself if you die with me. Now come here.” 

“Arthur-” you start, your voice shaking. He grabs you by the shoulder and puts his hat on your head. 

“I’ll see you again, darlin’, alright? Maybe in a few days, or maybe in the next life. I promise, I’ll find you. But please, please for me. Go with John. It would mean a lot to me.” 

Your heart breaks as you realize you haven’t got a choice. It becomes painfully obvious that he doesn’t plan on leaving this mountain alive, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You sob and nod your head. He smiles at you. 

“I love you, Y/N. You’re a good girl. You saved my life, least I can do is return the favor.” 

He pulls you close and kisses you hard. 

“I’ll always love you, Arthur. No matter what happens, I won’t stop loving you.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I wish it could be different, but this is the way it is.” 

He lets you go and looks at John. “Now get her out of here, John. There ain’t no more time for talk.” He removes his satchel and throws it to John. “Now go.” 

From the other side of the mountain, shots begin ringing out again, warning of the approaching Pinkertons yet again. 

“Arthur…” John says. 

“Go to your family, John and save mine while you’re at it.” 

“Arthur!” you call out. You can’t leave him now, not after he’s called you his family. 

“Come on, keep pushing, Arthur. We’re almost out-” 

“Get her out of here and be a goddamn man!” Arthur roars, clutching his hip again. Despite his wound, he starts climbing up to the top of the mountain. 

John pauses and gazes at him, torn as you. “You’re my brother,” he finally says. 

“I know.” 

“Arthur. No. No! Arthur!” You’re about to take a step to him when John grabs your right arm, dragging you along. You continue to cry out his name, tears streaming down your face. 

“Come on, Y/N, you heard him. We gotta go!” 

“Arthur!” 

John growls and suddenly picks you up, throwing you over his uninjured shoulder. You begin screaming at him, throwing as many insults as you can and poudning his back and sides, but he ignores you. 

“This would be a lot easier if you would just shut up and run with me, Y/N!” 

“Fuck you, John Marston! Put me down!” 

He stops and throws you down, your injured arm slamming onto the ground, making you cry out.

“I got a family, Y/N! I don’t know about you, but I want to see Jack grow up! Now I thought you and Arthur promised to help me. So help me, goddamnit!” 

You begin sobbing, folding your arms around yourself. John’s patience is waning, you can feel it. When you look up at him, you see the sky through the trees beginning to lighten as dawn approaches. He glares down at you. 

“You gonna help me or what?” 

You clench your jaw and get up painfully to your feet. “Alright, let’s go, John. Arthur and I made a promise. Guess all I can do is try to keep it.” 

John nods, his face relaxing. “Thank you, Y/N. Now come on.” 

He begins running through the forest again, heading south. You limp after him, your knee, arm and lungs burning from the night’s activities. You just hope you have the strength to make it. 

You seem to run for a lifetime, pain shooting through every inch of your body. It’s nothing compared to the agony of your heart. All you want to do is fall to the ground and lie still, let nature grow over your body, but you keep pushing with John’s encouragement. You both burst through the trees, the river greeting you as it glitters with the light of the glowing horizon. You stop for a moment to try and catch your breath. After a moment, you straighten up to see the rising sun, bathing everything in gold. It truly is stunning.