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deputytrash · 4 years ago

Text

Shotgunning

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)

Relationship: Javier Escuella/Female Reader

Words: 3898

Summary: Javier teaches you about how good smoking marijuana feels, among other things

Featuring period accurate underwear, the historically accurate spelling of marijuana and some inclusions of how I felt the first time I smoked weed (which was 100% less saucy than this reader's first time smoking).

Read on AO3

It was quiet around the camp. Darkness had long since rolled in as everyone settled in for the night, finished with their drinking and chatting. You'd drawn the short end of the stick on chores earlier in the day so you were just finally wrapping up. When you'd gone to Miss Grimshaw to bring her the mended and washed clothes, she had taken them and told you to "go on and do as you please then." You fully intended to do just that.

You stopped by your bedroll, stripping off your day clothes down to your underthings, a simple off-white slip of fabric over your bloomers, and made your way to Pearson's wagon. You were determined to spend what little was left of the night relaxing with a bottle and a book. You'd more than earned the lazy time, after all. You managed to find a bottle of whiskey in acceptable condition and made your way to the scout campfire. It was always quieter just a bit outside of camp, and you were eager to get away from the bustle of it all for a moment.

You started that way, noticed Javier lounging in the area. Nervous butterflies fluttered in your gut and you paused, considering turning back, if only for the sake of your nerves. You certainly weren't unhappy to see him. Honestly, you quite liked the man. Your instantaneous friendly affections had quickly developed into a pesky crush that had been frustratingly unyielding in your attempts to suppress it. His smooth words and warm smiles always managed to pull you back and get you terribly flustered.

Javier was settled with his back against one of the logs circling the fire. He'd slipped down to his union suit and pants, suspenders hanging off his hips and falling in the dirt. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle as he smoked. His movements were slow and languid as he glanced over at your approaching figure and gave you a lazy little smile. You smiled back.

Your grin faltered as you came closer, though, your nose picking up a strong, unfamiliar scent. You looked around searching for the source. "Javier, what the fuck is that smell?" Your eyes settled on the twisted cigarette between his fingers. It looked hand-rolled. Had he run out of regular cigarettes? "Are you sure that tobacco's still good? It seriously smells like rotten shit."

"Hey, that's not nice," Javier laughed, eyes red-tinged and mirthful. "And that's 'cause it's not tobacco," he said, cryptically.

"What the fuck is it then?" You wrinkled your nose, but you were already noticing the smell less as the smoke drifted off with the wind. He laughed again, shaking his head.

"Hosea is gonna give you a lecture on bad language if you keep that up," He teased. You blushed and rolled your eyes, but he wasn't wrong. "It's marihuana. I used to smoke it all the time back in Mexico. You want to try it?" He raised his eyebrows, offering you the twisted up cigarette with one blackened end.

"Marihuana?" You tested the word in your mouth. It sounded a lot weirder without Javier's smooth accent. "I've never heard of it." When you don't take the cigarette from him, Javier shrugs, bringing his arm back down to rest on his lap.

"Same thing as cannabis. It's in some medicines around here," he explained.

You shifted on your feet, embarrassed at your sheer ignorance on the topic at hand. "Sorry, I don't really know medicine stuff." You sat down on the other half of the log he was leaned against, movements somewhat stiff and awkward. "Been meaning to learn, but it's hard to know what's real and what's snake oil these days…Anyway, if it's medicine why are you smokin' it?" You hoped Javier wasn't sick or something.

"Well, It's not always medicine. It also just…feels good. Kinda like when you smoke too much tobacco, but a lot better and without the sick feeling," he said with a pointed smirk. You let out an embarrassed laugh, knowing he was thinking of the first time you'd smoked tobacco. It was a few years ago when you had, foolishly, tried to keep pace with Dutch's smoking and had ended up dizzy and green. You'd tried to play it off, making some excuse to shuffle away, but Javier had caught on. He'd stepped away from the group, making you promise not to throw up on him as he led you to your bedroll. Once there, Mary Beth had promptly shooed him away and insisted on taking care of you, herself; God bless the woman.

Javier brought a swiftly lit match back up to the cigarette at his lips. He inhaled, pausing and coughing on the exhale as he shook out the match, throwing the little wooden stick into the sandy dirt.

"Are you okay?" His cough worried you. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no." He coughed again, tried and failed to pass it off as clearing his throat. "Just…been a while since I've done this." He gave you a goofy grin that you couldn't help but return.

You looked down to take a drink of your whiskey. Was that too long of eye contact just then? You hoped you hadn't weirded him out. God, was a quick smile really all it took to muss up the entirety of your composure?

Javier called your name, breaking you from your thoughts. You looked over to find him with a curious smile on his face. "I've got an idea if you want to try this." He waved the cigarette in his hand. "Just to ease you into it. Don't have to, but I think you'd like it."

You thought for a moment, some nervousness building again before saying fuck it and nodding. You knew Javier would never rope you into something that might hurt you. "Yeah, alright. I'll give it a try."

"Come over here and sit next to me, then." You hesitated before gathering your bravery to settle down beside him. He smiled at you, noticing your tenseness. "Don't have to be nervous, I promise. It'll be fun."

You nodded, but you were more nervous about the proximity than the drug.

"Okay, so, what I'm going to do is get some smoke and breathe it out to you. You just breathe in, hold it for a little, and let it out, okay? And if you want to stop, just tell me." You nodded again, dizzy at the inherent intimacy of the proposal.

Javier took a deep breath off of the cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment and motioned for you to move in closer to him. He managed to maintain a just on this side of platonic distance from you as he gently blew smoke to your lips. You breathed in as deeply as you could before, twisting away to hack out the smoke, forgetting about the holding it in part entirely. He laughed, patting your back as you relearned how to breathe.

"Sorry," you muttered, coughing, feeling embarrassed.

Javier was nonplussed. "'S no problem. You want to try again?"

"Gimme a minute," you replied. He nodded.

Your mouth was bone-dry and desperate for liquid. "Fuck, where's my whiskey?" Javier grabbed it, taking a swig for himself before moving to hand it to you.

"Here," he said, handing it to you. "Don't drink too much. I know you've got a good tolerance, but marihuana makes alcohol a lot stronger." You coughed again, taking a drink. You were really wishing that you'd brought some water up here.

It took a moment before your breathing settled down, lungs thankful for the return of regular old oxygen. You took another moment, preparing yourself. "Okay, I'm ready."

He followed the same series of steps as before, but this time you managed to hold it for a few seconds before hacking it back out. He patted your back again, settling his arm to stretch out on the log behind you afterward.

You felt yourself relax. Something distinctly not alcohol was working through your blood, plying your muscles and calming your mind. You blinked. Your eyes felt swollen and heavy. Everything felt like it was moving just a bit more slowly.

You looked over at Javier and he gave you a conspiratorial smile. "You starting to feel it? You look like you are."

You nodded, the simple movement spurring a heady, dizzy feeling. "Shit, I think so."

"Good. Let it settle in for a minute and I can give you some more." You nodded, again, eyes settling on the fire. It was beautiful. The chaotic pattern of the flames shifting and licking at the sky entranced you and, as you glanced at Javier again, you felt how absolutely beautiful he was as well.

He smiled lazily as he met your gaze. "You having fun? Feel good?"

"Y-yeah," You breathed, suddenly recognizing your staring for what it was and looking down at your hands wringing them together, embarrassed.

"Do you want some more?" He asked.

Did you? You felt good, better than you had felt in a while, despite the nervous thrumming of your heart in your rib cage. You nodded and watched him as he effortlessly worked through the same routine again.

He inhaled the smoke into his lungs and leaned in to breathe it out to you again. His eyes were heavy as he watched your lips drink it in. Fuck, was he closer? Your tongue was dry and sticky in your mouth as you tried to lick your lips, holding the smoke in your lungs. Your eyes fell closed on the exhale, mind wrapped in a warm swirling haze before you pulled away and coughed out the smoke into your hand.

His palm was rubbing your back now, cooing at you, softly working you through your hacking. Your inability to smoke without coughing was starting to feel more amusing than embarrassing and you choked out a laugh.

It was starting to get cold outside, now, as the night fully rolled in. The cool night air soothed your burning throat and chilled your flesh, the breeze raising goosebumps on your skin. Javier noticed, beckoned you closer. "Come here. You can lean against me if you're cold."

You shifted to move closer, dizziness hitting again as you fell into a fit of giggles. Your face felt ridiculous, like little bugs were dancing along the outline of every feature. You didn't want him to think you were laughing at him, but you couldn't hold it back. Everything felt hilarious.

"Hey, hey what's so funny?" He laughed nervously, ducking his head to meet your eyes.

You laughed again. You felt bizarre and goofy and light all at the same time. "I'm sorry, Javier. I ain't laughin' at you, but…I-I can feel my eyebrows." He gave you an amused but confused look as you bust out laughing again. "That sounds so stupid but they feel fuzzy." You reached up to scratch at your eyebrows, failing to hold back another giggle when the feeling stubbornly returned. You knew you were acting like a fool, but you couldn't seem to help it.

He laughed as well, shaking his head with a smile. "God, come here and get warm, giggles. You're ridiculous."

You shifted over obediently, laughter fading into a smile as you let your body melt into his side. He was warm and comfortable. He smelled like the smoke that still coated your throat mixed with something indescribable, but so distinctly him.

The weight of his arm settled strongly against your shoulders as his warm palm gently smoothed down the little bumps scattered across the skin of your arm. The texture of his hands against your skin was almost overwhelming as your hair follicles relaxed into the heat. Was this cuddling? Holy shit, you were cuddling Javier, you realized, belatedly.

"You're so soft," he murmured, fingers still brushing over your skin. Your cheeks flushed. Were you? You brushed your own fingers against your skin experimentally and found yourself strangely fascinated by the smooth texture.

"Oh shit, I am," you laughed and he raised his eyebrows, grinning down at you like you were the most lovely, silly, little thing he'd ever seen. You couldn't handle it. You pressed your face into his shirt, feeling sleepy and giddy and warm in too many ways.

"Look at me," he whispered. You peeked up at him with dazed, reddened eyes. "You're beautiful."

You hid your face again, picking at the skin of your fingers. "God, Javier you're not fair."

He chuckled, fingertips dancing lightly over your arm. Your skin momentarily pinched back up into little goosebumps before fading again "How am I not fair?" he laughed. "I'm sharing my marihuana with you. I'm warming you up. I even complimented you. I think I'm being very fair."

Goddammit. Your head was spinning. Where the fuck did he learn to be so charming? You wanted to tamp down this nervous energy bubbling inside you, get brave again. "Can I have some more?"

"Of course," he smiled. Flicking another match against the box, he readied the dwindling cigarette.

You were mere inches away this time. Javier's fingers moved to play with the soft hairs against your neck, rough thumb rubbing circles into your skin. Anticipation coiled in your belly, the thumping of heart louder than normal. Somehow, you managed not to cough this time, breathing the smoke back out to mix with his exhale. You met his eyes, felt the heat in them as he watched you. If your mouth felt dry before, it was the Sahara Desert now.

He leaned forward and kissed you. It was brief, quick, and chaste, but you felt like your world shifted, opening up before you. You stared at him before quickly kissing him again, the touch just as fleeting as the first. You stared at him, breathless, eyes searching his face, simultaneously frozen and utterly desperate for more.

He pulled you onto his lap, legs side-saddled, meeting your lips again. You were still riding an amazing high, body light and airy. He was warm against you as you deepened the kiss before pulling back for air. "I feel real good, Javier," you mumbled, breathless.

"I can make you feel even better if you want," he murmured, shifting to kiss down your jawline as his palm settled on the bare skin of your thigh. "Just say the word." Fuck, was this really happening?

"Please," you breathed, your voice knowing what you wanted before your thoughts had even caught up.

His teeth nipped at the flesh of your ear lobe as his palms felt over your body, his hands warm enough to feel even where your skin was still covered with cloth. He took his time, exploring you, slipping his fingers under the edges of your clothing to swipe over your skin, brief and teasing.

"God, Javier, I already said please," you breathed, overwhelmed and desperate.

"Patience. I want to savor you," he murmured against your cheek, kissing it. He worked your nightgown up until the bottom stitching fell around your thighs. "Spread your legs for me."

You shivered when the cold air rushed into the open crotch of your knickers as you shifted your legs. His fingers played with the fabric there momentarily, before lightly brushing over the hair covering your core. You stared at his every movement, fighting the urge to shove his hand further, press his fingers into you.

You looked up to find his eyes studying your face. Had he been watching your reactions this whole time? "I meant it when I said you're beautiful." You felt overwhelmed, tried to impress your feelings back with your lips against his.

You pulled back, hand resting on his cheek before pinching it lightly. He gave you a look.

"And I meant it when I said you're not fair," you complained, squirming in his lap, attempting to goad him into action. "Come on, Javier." You started to undo the line of buttons on his union suit, kissing his neck.

"Ay, I'm not fair, she says." he grinned, rolling his eyes, pulling your hand and mouth away from himself. "So impatient. I'll show you unfair."

He continued his gentle ministrations, escalating even more slowly than before. His palms worked over your breasts, squeezed over your thighs, fingers just barely brushing over your dripping slit. The frustrating heat in your belly grew heavier with every passing moment. Maybe you should've just kept your mouth shut.

"Javier," you groaned in exasperation.

"Yes?" he asked, mirthful and teasing.

What did he want? You were ready to do just about anything at this point, promise the man anything he wanted.

"Fuck, okay. You win. I'm sorry, Javier. You've been real nice to me; I mean it. Please touch me. Please," you begged, making no effort to hide your frustration.

Javier laughed. "Yeah? Where do you want me to touch you?" He spoke softly back to you. You resisted rolling your eyes. Of course, he was going to make you say it.

"My c-cunt," you squeaked out, lips embarrassingly falling over the word.

"Can't believe there's a word you're shy about saying," Javier laughed. "Come on, lift yourself up." He tapped against your butt. You raised up slightly as he worked your nightgown up past your hips. His fingers pulled at the tie on your knickers, loosening it and working them off as well.

"Shit," he hissed, palms immediately feeling over the revealed skin. "So good, you're so beautiful."

The warmth of his hands felt wonderful, but it wasn't what you wanted right now. "God, Javier, ain't I begged enough?"

His laugh shook against you. "You're so fussy." His fingertips shifted down to slip between the lips of your pussy as he groaned out a curse. You were soaked. You opened yourself wider for him, arm moving to grip behind his shoulder for balance. His fingers dragged the slick up to your clit and back down to your entrance before finally, finally pushing inside you.

"Oh, God, Javier," you whispered, more breath than words.

You clenched around his fingers, momentary relief at the stretch flooding your mind before he began fucking them into you, building you back up to desperation. The heel of his palm hit at the hood of your clit perfectly with each thrust as he quickly found the spot that made your legs shake.

"Never would've thought you'd be this needy," he laughed. "Always act so tough with everybody. You're real cute. I love it."

You buried your face against his shoulder, doing your best to stifle your whimpers and ragged groans. You gripped his shirt between your fingers, hips pressing back against his hand as wet noises echoed in your ears.

He shifted underneath you and you felt his cock, firmly pressed against your hip. He ground himself against you, hissing out a moan. "You make me fucking crazy."

"Fuck, Javier, I want you inside me," you whimpered, any resistance to begging left behind in the dirt. "Please fuck me. I'll do anything."

His teasing patience seemed to break at your words. He made a broken sound, hissing out a "shit" before pulling away to desperately wrestle with his belt buckle and the remaining buttons on his underclothes. "You have no idea what you do to me. You have no fucking idea how many times I've thought about you saying those words."

You lifted up, giving him room as he tugged his pants down just enough to pull his cock out. He shifted his body to a slightly more stretched out angle as you straddled his legs. His heated eyes jumped from your dripping pussy to your face. He looked dazed and desperate and you felt the same as you kissed him.

His hands gripped at your hips, tugging at you to move closer. "Come here, let me feel you."

"You sure I shouldn't show you some unfairness now?" you teased, palm wrapping around his cock to drag his foreskin over his tip.

The withering look he gave you was priceless. You didn't have any more patience in you either, admittedly, and, after a kiss on his frown, you clambered up his thighs, holding him at your entrance. He pulled you down to himself and you let him, sinking down to wrap yourself around him.

The fact that you were still a dizzy, inebriated mess really hit you once you tried to move in any cohesive way. Your rhythm was sloppy and unrefined as you ground your hips against his, hands gripping his shoulders for balance. The pleasant, heavy drag of him against you was building you back up, regardless.

You grew impatient, though, and quickly became frustrated with the nagging complaints of your muscles, already tired from the day. Javier must have noticed as he gripped your hips into the right position before planting his feet in the dirt to thrust up into you, hitting you at the perfect angle. He fucked into you with a far better rhythm than you had managed, hard and fast. The sudden change of pace had you whimpering out a throaty moan. He kissed you, drinking down the sound with a shushing noise.

"Gotta be quiet," he whispered, chuckling and obviously damn proud of himself. "Still got people on guard duty." You sobered up a fraction of an inch at the thought. You'd forgotten your surroundings, wrapped safely in your addled mind.

A well-aimed thrust from Javier had your attention snapping back to him and slipping back into your own foggy world. You struggled not to let out another noise, only somewhat successful. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hooded eyes focused on you, tracking every twitch and show of ecstasy that slipped over your face.

The tug in your core was becoming more and more insistent with every perfect hit Javier landed. You knew what you needed as you slipped two of your fingers into your mouth. You moved them to your clit, pressing against it and massaging it in rough, hurried circles. It wasn't long before you felt your body tensing and clamoring for the release Javier was pounding you towards.

Your lips stumbled over his name, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to add visual stimuli. "I'm-" was all you managed to skip out before your mouth fell open in a breathy, too-loud moan. Your pussy clenched tightly around him, falling into trembling aftershocks as he kept pace, chasing his own end.

"Fuck, yes, you're so good. You did so good. Feel so good," Javier mumbled, praise slipping out of his mouth mindlessly. His thrusts became deeper, less coordinated. He hissed out a final "fuck," fingers digging into your hips desperately before pulling out and jerking himself onto your thighs.

The pair of you fell to the dirt, exhausted and boneless and feeling so fucking good.

Javier picked up the cigarette from wherever it had landed, wagging it in front of you. "Still have a tiny bit more. You want to finish it with me?"

You grinned. "Fuck yeah, I do."

You wiped your thighs off with your knickers, settling in his lap as you breathed down the last of the cigarette with him, inhales interspersed with kisses and laughter.

Yeah, you were gonna have to find some more of this marihuana shit.

#Javier Escuella #rdr2 #fanfiction #Javier Escuella/reader #nsft #my writing

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purplecatdad · 3 years ago

Text

Of Bears and Friends (RDR Reverse Bang)

Written for the @rdrbigbang reverse bang for the wonderful picture of @mgcoco

Arthur sighed as he closed his journal. He had just finished up the sketch of their new camp at Clemens point as he reminisced about the things that had happened.

Colm had attacked them, right in the middle of the little town of Valentine. That bastard had taken John (and Strauss, but Arthur wasn’t very fond of the feller), and had threatened to shoot him right in front of them. Gladly both him and Dutch were skilled enough with their guns to get the situation under control, even when they were heavily outnumbered.

Arthur still had been worried about John for a moment, even if he’d never admit that to the other man. He’d become like a brother to him and he’d never forgive himself if he had been too slow to protect Jack from losing his father or Abigail her husband.

He lit himself a cigarette after his journal was safely stored away in his satchel again and took a long drag, feeling his lungs filling up with the smoke before he breathed out again. He still had to sell that gold bar that he had gotten from that weird German guy. Arthur had thought about just donating it to the camp funds for others to take care of the selling, but right now he felt like taking a break anyway.

Cigarette dangling between his lips he got up, stretched until his bones cracked and shouldered his satchel.He didn’t plan to stay away too long but he knew that sometimes things went differently than you plan them and so he packed up some cans of beans from Pearson’s wagon. He was usually good at hunting his food but sometimes it was nice to just heat up a can instead of crouching in the bushes.

“I’ll be gone for a bit. Maybe a week or two,” he announced to Dutch, who rested in his little tent, the gramophone blasting some random tune that Arthur had heard one too many times before.

“Alright. Be safe, son. And better come back with a good lead or two,” the gang leader responded and Arthur just tipped his hat in response. He wouldn’t promise anything but of course he’d keep his ears open and his mind sharp. Life as an outlaw had taught him that there was money to be made at every corner and that one shouldn’t miss out on the opportunity.

He tacked up the Black Shire he had named Thor, packed his bedroll and some more supplies to make camp before heading out. Firstly he would make his way up north. He had discovered this little, almost dead town called Van Horn before and knew that he’d make good money with the gold bar there. He also realized that it had been a while now since he’d last visited the widow Charlotte who lived up north the Roanoke. He decided to pay her a visit as well, just to make sure that she was alright and skilled enough to take care of herself.

The sun was still rising as he made his way out of camp, setting a steady pace but making sure not to push his horse too hard. Arthur loved riding fast but it had cost him too many good horses when he was still young. He had learned when it was time to push them and when it was better to let them choose their own pace.

"You‘re a good boy,“ he praised the stallion as he patted his neck. Back at Horseshoe Overlook, Thor had been quite the brute. One time he had even kicked him hard enough for Arthur to land on his ass. He had thought about selling him when Hosea told him to but something had told Arthur that he should keep his horse. He still missed Boadicea and longed for a horse that he could rely on. The Shire didn‘t seem to be that kind of horse at first but Arthur found him far too beautiful to just give him away to end up in front of some poor farmer‘s wagon.

He had taken Thor out with him into the Heartlands, naming him after the god of Thunder as the sounds his hooves made when galloping over the endless meadows. It had taken them a while to properly get along, to train him to come when he whistled and to follow up. After two weeks of back and forth between them, Arthur knew that he could rely on Thor, though. Some daring Bounty Hunters had been chasing him, nearly getting him by ambushing him as he was making camp. But Thor didn’t let them. He had kicked them right off of their horses and stomped one of them to death as Arthur had shot the other.

Since then, they had only been separated whenever he had been at camp or sleeping in a hotel rather than on his bedroll.

His first few hours of travelling were calm and uneventful. The people he passed didn‘t seem interested in him and he also wasn’t interested in them as none of them looked like they were carrying great amounts of cash. He knew that there weren‘t many rich folk up Roanoke Ridge so he hadn‘t expected it anyway.

As he had passed the swampy area around Lagras the ground became more firm again and the road was taking him through the forest. Arthur felt better here, without the high humidity, surrounded by trees. He generally enjoyed being in nature, especially if it was the forest or the desert … but he hated the cold that they had in Colter as much as the warm and humid air around Lagras. He took a deep breath to enjoy the scent of the trees around him when he heard a familiar voice mumbling.

"Where are they … I‘m sure they must be some somewhere here …,“ Arthur brought Thor to a halt and looked around the trees until he spotted the man with his camera. A smile spread over his lips as he watched him searching for something. Albert Mason was a strange man but he had actually become a good friend of his during the last few weeks. He had met him several times before, trying to photograph wolves, horses, and alligators. Albert seemed to be that rare kind of person who was born into wealth and still seeked out the adventurous outdoors - without being disgusted by its reality. Arthur still remembered that “gentleman” he had met on his way to Strawberry who had demanded to get a ride into the town while constantly complaining about it. It had annoyed Arthur immensely, so much that a part of him had actually thought about just robbing that man blind and leaving him behind. But Albert was different. He saw the beauty in nature, saw the dangers that lay in it, but also the wonders. And that was why he had started taking his photographs - and why Arthur thought of him as a friend.

“Did ya lose something’?” Arthur called over to Albert who jumped and almost threw over his camera. He looked around until he saw Arthur and a wide smile appeared on his face.

“Mr. Morgan!” the photographer exclaimed as he walked up to him and Arthur got down from his horse. “It’s good to see you again. Have you been well?”

Arthur thought about the shootout in Valentine and the German family that he had rescued from the O’Driscolls. “Hmm, mostly,” he mused with a faint smile on his lips and lit himself a cigarette. “So, whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Oh, uh …”, Albert seemed to need a moment to remember what he had been doing. “I was looking for bears. I’ve actually found quite a few black bears already but I’d like something more …” he seemed to be at a loss of words and just waved around to indicate something big.

“More … impressive?” Arthur suggested.

“Impressive, yes! They are pretty alright but something like … like a grizzly! That might be a great motive for a picture!”

“A grizzly?” Arthur barked out a laugh in disbelief and shook his head. “You really do wanna die taking pictures, don’t cha?”

Albert chuckled at that and it almost sounded a little nervous. “Well, now that you’ve stumbled upon me … Maybe you want to make sure I don’t just yet?”

Arthur looked back at him. “Ya know that we’d better head up to the Grizzlies for that, yeah? Ain’t many grizzlies around here. And I first gotta get some business done in Van Horn and then go visit a friend up at Brandywine Drop …” He wasn’t sure if Albert would be up for so much travelling but having some company actually sounded kind of nice.

“Oh, if you don’t mind me traveling with you I’d love to join you on the road. I’m sure there will be some more opportunities for me to take pictures on the way.” Albert seemed to be delighted about the prospect of traveling alongside him and Arthur wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. What if Albert would realise what kind of person he actually was and decide that he wasn’t a person he wanted to keep around anymore? What if he himself got annoyed at him? What if … but Arthur stopped his thoughts, took a last long drag from his cigarette and flicked it away.

“Alright then … do you … have a horse?” Arthur had realized that he had never actually seen him traveling around and looked around until he saw a small Criollo hitched to a nearby tree who looked over at them like it was aware of him asking for it.

“That’s Daisy,” Albert said as he followed Arthur’s gaze on the horse. “She might be small but she is very reliable. Has never let me down so far.”

Arthur walked up to the little horse and offered his hand for her to sniff. Her fur looked like red and grey marble, her mane a dark brown. She gently nudged his hand as if asking for treats and Arthur chuckled low in his throat. “She’s quite the sweetheart, ain’t she?”

After Albert had packed up his camera, eager to get moving to find some grizzlies up north they crossed the Kamassa River. It already started to get dark, the sun slowly setting over the horizon in the distance. It would have been possible to get to Van Horn and rent out a room somewhere there but considering the state of the town, Arthur preferred to make camp before heading in there.

“You know, we actually should make camp somewhere. I’ll hunt us something. You can …,” he hesitated, not sure about Albert’s survival skills. “Can you make a campfire?”

Albert looked up at him from Daisy’s back. “I, uh … can certainly try.”

Arthur sighed at that, only now realizing that he would have to do the muscle work on this trip. “How did you survive in the wild up until now?”

“Well, I was always staying over in Hotels, mostly. But I’d happily learn a thing or two from you.”

“There’s an old fort close by … if there’s nobody else right now we can use it as a camp for the night,” Arthur suggested and Albert’s face lit up.

“An old fort? Oh, how exciting!”

They headed over there, Arthur holding the big doors to the fort open while Albert rode past him inside it. Luckily there was an old, abandoned campfire right next to a small hut within the fort that Arthur brought back to life with some matches and dry twigs that were lying around.

“You can find some more wood and add to it so it’ll last us overnight. I’ll be back in a bit, there are plenty of turkeys and rabbits here,” Arthur announced and left the fort after Albert nodded.

After their time in Colter, Arthur actually preferred to hunt on foot with his bow and arrow, at least when it came to harmless animals like deer or rabbits. He had become good at it, thanks to practising it a lot with Charles, but not good enough to guarantee him a kill on attacking wolves or cougars.

He went into the nearest line of trees and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light there before he looked around for animal tracks. Arthur heard a turkey’s gobble coming somewhere from his right side and ducked down so he wouldn’t get their attention. There was a small group of four of them, so he had a good chance of getting at least one.

He slowly got closer to them, raising his bow with an arrow ready when he was in shooting range. He was a good sharp shooter but he still needed a little more time to prepare for a shot with the bow. Arthur breathed in, pulling the bow back at the same time and released it as he breathed out again. The arrow hit the turkey at the base of the neck and it fell to the ground with a gentle thud. The others ran off immediately and Arthur went to collect his prey.

When he got back to the fort, roughly ten minutes after he had left, Albert was gone. Sure, he had told him to collect firewood but Arthur hadn’t seen him around the fort as well and he wasn’t anywhere near the line of trees. He dropped the turkey on the floor, worried that something had happened to his travel companion.

“Mr. Mason?!” he called out, looking around the fort for a hint where the photographer could’ve vanished too. Both Daisy and Thor, who were hitched at the corner of the fort, looked at him like he was disturbing their peaceful evening. Arthur cursed under his breath, hoping that his friend hadn’t been taken by some ill meaning asshole.

There weren’t really any tracks on the ground that he could make out as it hadn’t rained in a while. He noticed that Albert had left his equipment at their little campsite though so he figured that he was either still closeby or that somebody had taken him.

“Mr. Morgan! I’m down here!” He heard a voice calling from … somewhere. He approached the little cabin that was still somewhat standing and looked inside. There was no trace of Albert still but he was certain that it had come from this direction. He walked into the dark room, holes in the wall and the ceiling shining dim light into it. Soon it would be too dark to see here. He made out a ladder that led downwards and peeked inside, noticing a shadow and a dim light.

“Mr. Mason?” he asked again and got a “you should come down here, Mr. Morgan. Check it out!” Arthur sighed and climbed down into the basement, wondering if the building would collapse and bury them underneath and if whatever was down there was actually worth it. When he turned around, there was a dagger directly pointing at his nose.

“This must be the last few remnants from the war!” Arthur took a step to the side and gently removed the knife from Alberts grip. It was big, like an actual hunting knife. There were traces of blood on the blade, long dried out, the victim probably dead for decades by now.

“That’s a pretty knife alright. You want to keep it? I’ve got my hunting knife but this might come in handy for you some time.” “But .. it belonged to someone!” Albert seemed shocked that Arthur suggested to him to just take it and the outlaw was reminded that not everyone grew up just taking what they needed. Arthur shrugged and stored the knife in the sheath of his hunting knife.

“He ain’t gonna need it no more. But I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” He might as well just sell it at the fence, along with the gold bar he had found.

“I also found this …” Albert noted and held up a cigarette card of a black panther. “Isn’t it a fine specimen? Oh, I’d LOVE to take a picture of one some time!”

Arthur chuckled gently, shaking his head along with his. “You really wanna die, don’t cha?”

A few minutes later Arthur was finally settled around the fire, strips of turkey meat roasting above it and an opened can of beans slowly warming up right next to it. Albert had excused himself to take some pictures of the fort from the outside and left him alone for a bit.

Arthur looked up to the stars and enjoyed the silence for a moment. This was what he had longed for when he had left camp. To not be surrounded by nearly thirty people, all chatting and babbling, everybody wanting something from him or expecting him to bring in money. He didn’t mind helping people and he loved the gang like a family. But sometimes it all got too much. Sometimes he just wanted to travel, see the world and enjoy nature. Sometimes he didn’t want to be the great enforcer of the Van der Linde Gang. Sometimes he was content with just being Arthur. A wandering soul, ever moving, traveling to wherever his horse carried him.

“This really is a lot more … rustic than I am used to.” He heard Albert’s voice coming from the side and was suddenly pulled out from his thoughts. For a moment he had forgotten that he wasn’t completely alone. “But this is very exciting! I’ve always wanted to sleep outside when I was a little boy. Never gotten around to actually doing it.”

Arthur blinked at Albert who settled down on the floor next to him, the camera neatly packed away again. “You’ve never slept outside?” It seemed so strange to him, like a completely different world.

“Well, I grew up in the city. There weren’t any good spots to sleep outside in New York, Mr. Morgan. And as I said, so far I’ve usually slept in hotels. I’m glad to have this opportunity now, I hope to venture even further out west some time but I’m certain I’ll need more uh ... outdoor skills for that.”

He wondered if the photographer had any idea about how dangerous the west really could be. “The west ain’t a place for city folk, Mr. Mason. Especially not if they’re all on their own.” Of course, it would be Alberts decision alone but Arthur really didn’t want him to get hurt because he was foolish enough to venture out alone. “Better get yourself someone who knows their way around and who you can trust.”

“What about you, then, Mr. Morgan? Would you like to join me some time?”

“Join you? Out west?” Arthur hadn’t expected Albert to just offer it like that... or to be quite so serious about it all.

“Yes. You obviously know your way around, and I like your company. Of course, I can pay you for your time and the protection as well! I imagine it must be quite the trip there. As long as you don’t have any responsibilities here … I mean … I don’t really know how involved you are around here, of course. It just seemed to be like you’re … well, you seem to be quite a free spirit, in a sense...”

Albert was babbling again, like he sometimes did. But Arthur didn’t mind it, it gave him time to think about the offer. What if he took it? Earning some honest money for a change and still doing things that he loved sounded good. But he knew he couldn’t just leave the gang behind. He wasn’t John who just left for a whole year or Trewlawny who didn’t even stay with them most of the time. He belonged in camp. What if something happened when he was away for multiple weeks, maybe even months?

“I’ll think about that offer. Let’s first see how we’ll get along on this trip, shall we?”, He suggested. So far they had only ever spent an afternoon together. Maybe they wouldn’t even get along if they’d be around each other for longer. Arthur knew that he could tolerate a lot - after all, he was in a gang with Sean MacGuire for several years now and had only almost strangled him once - but he wasn’t sure if Albert would still like him if he got to know the real Arthur Morgan. Outlaw, killer, bastard. Nobody a proper man like Albert would usually keep around.

“Yes, you might be right. But I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. So, my good Sir, what will we have for dinner, if I may ask?” Albert asked, his tone shifted from his usually happy babbling to something that resembled a fine gentleman in an even finer establishment. It made Arthur chuckle and forget his grim thoughts for a moment. Maybe Albert really could stay his friend.

The night had been uneventful and calm, just like Arthur had hoped. After they had eaten the turkey with the beans, Albert had shared his last bit of chocolate with him. There had been some smalltalk, mostly Albert telling him about places he had been before and places he still wanted to see. All those that Arthur had never seen and probably never would. New York, Chicago, Philadelphia. Crowded places that he’d rather avoid.

They had packed up their things after a quick breakfast with coffee, leftover meat and a shared bread roll, saddled their horses and made their way up to Van Horn.

“So, what’s that town like? Van Horn, you said? I’ve never heard of it,” Albert asked him as they were moving along the path.

“It’s a shithole, really,” Arthur explained as he lit himself a cigarette. “Not many people left there aside from some whores, gamblers, and alcoholics. Ain’t sure what happened to the town but it died out at some point and now there’s just the scum left.”

“Oh…” Albert didn’t seem to have expected that kind of answer. “So, what are you doing there?”

“Well, a German fella that I’ve helped get rid of some … nasty folk .. he paid me with a damn gold bar. And I know I can sell those to a gentleman in town.”

“Oh, there's a bullion dealer in town?”

“Something like that, yeah.” It wasn’t exactly the truth but Arthur didn’t want to elaborate any further right now.

They rode in silence for a while, occasionally stopping when Albert found something he wanted to photograph.

The first thing they saw was the lighthouse of Van Horn. Once built to guide ships at the broad Lannahechee River it now started to rot away since it got neglected by the townsfolk. Arthur suspected that they simply ran out of funding. Most ships would probably rather find a harbour in Saint Denis down south, with more people being able to board in such a big city and more trades to me made with the large warehouses. He had seen plenty of towns like Van Horn in his life. Promising little settlements who had died out for various reasons. Bad investments, too many outlaws passing through and robbing the place, illnesses and sometimes for no reason at all. Sometimes, like here, there was still business to be made but other times it was best to just stay away.

He noticed that Albert had grown more quiet since they had passed the last road bend. Arthur suspected that he was a little shocked due to the state of the town, despite Arthur warning him beforehand. He wondered if it was Albert’s first time in a place like this.

“Don’t worry, we ain’t gonna stay long. Just stay close to me and don’t talk to anybody,” Arthur assured him and he felt Albert’s gaze on him for a moment.

They rode past the fallen down houses and the saloon. He could see some lonely patrons in there, those who probably hadn’t left during the night and were still there in the late morning, slowly waking up to start drinking again as they had nothing left anymore. Arthur averted his eyes, painfully reminded of his own father. Sometimes he had waited for him in their shabby room right down the street from the saloon. Lyle had often promised him to come back with money that he’d win gambling but Arthur had to learn early that it were mostly empty promises, the money oftentimes just spent on liquor and women while he had waited at home with a hole in his stomach.

Some women who stood next to the remains of the hotel looked at them with hope in their eyes for a moment, probably hoping for some money from lonesome travelers who wanted to let off some steam but they soon realized that Arthur and his companion were just passing through the town.

He stopped next to the old post office, telling Albert to wait while he was doing his business. Arthur hitched Thor to a nearby post and walked up to the building in which he knew the fence did his business. It didn’t feel right leaving Albert behind in such a place and the photographer did look a little lost but he preferred it like that. He didn’t only have the gold bar with him but also a few pocket watches and belt buckles that he had taken from some unfortunate souls on the streets. He didn’t want Albert to just see it if there was no need to.

“I’ll give you 550$ for that,” the fence said after Arthur had put all of the items, including the old knife he had found, on his table.

“50$ more and we got ourselves a deal,” Arthur responded. He wouldn’t let the fence cheap out of this.

“560$, last offer.”

He took out his gun and held it up to the fence's face. “600$, or I’ll take the money and the merchandise. We both know there’s no law around to help you.”

The fence stared at the gun for a second, then nodded shortly. “Alright. 600$. I don’t want any trouble here.”

“No trouble at all,” Arthur agreed with a content smirk and holstered his gun again before he grabbed the money that was offered and stashed it away in his satchel.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” He tipped his hat and left the small warehouse before heading back to Albert. Arthur lit himself another cigarette, glad that he turned the gold into some money now. He frowned as he saw Albert in the distance who was being surrounded by some women who seemed to be a little too interested in him.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur heard one of them say as he got closer. “I’ll give you the time of your life. Just two dollars, you won't regret it, I promise.”

Albert’s face was red as a tomato, stammering something unintelligible and raising his hands in defense. It seemed like this was his first time being approached by prostitutes desperate for money and so Arthur walked up to them to rescue him out of that situation.

“Leave him alone,” he snarled. “There’s cheaper ways to catch syphilis. Get lost!”

“That’s rude of you, Mister!” One of the prostitutes said but she also scuttered off like the rest of them when Arthur placed a hand on his gun and said “I ain’t gonna ask again.”

Arthur unhitched Thunder and jumped up on his back again as Albert collected himself. “You alright, Mr. Mason? They’re a little obtrusive here sometimes.”

“Y-yes .. I’m okay. Thank you.”

They headed out of the city again, up North and following the Lannahechee River that was glistening from the sun standing high in the sky. Arthur knew that there were lots of mean folk around here but he still loved the area for it’s lush greens. They rode in silence for a bit, sharing the occasional oatcakes and Albert stopping to take pictures now and again. It was a calm, beautiful day and Arthur enjoyed the ride a lot, even with Albert babbling about some rare species of bird that was rumoured to be seen around here. His babbling was simply different from the buzzing in camp. He didn’t expect anything from him and instead of complaining about too many chores or not enough money, Albert just seemed to be … excited about the things he saw.

In the beginning, Arthur had found it childish for a grown man to get so excited about animals or nature's beauty. It reminded him of Jack who sometimes got all happy about dandelion seeds in the wind, even if it was such a mundane thing. After meeting Albert multiple times though and getting to know him a little better he found it endearing. It was contagious to see him all excited and Arthur had often caught himself smiling about the same things and always ended up sketching the animals that Albert had taken pictures of. Nature was beautiful, after all. And Albert had reminded him of that.

“Not long until we’ll reach Annesburg,” Arthur started after a couple of hours of riding. “Should we rent a room there to spend the night?”

Arthur noticed Albert blushing for a second and wondered why but before he had the chance to come to a conclusion the other man responded. “Ah, I enjoyed camping out with you far too much to get back to the confines of a hotel room just yet. If you don’t mind.”

Arthur chuckled at that, amused that Albert seemed to have found some joy in staying outside now. Unusual for a city boy like him, he mused. “Sure, we can. I’d say we look for a good spot after we passed Annesburg then. Have you been there before?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been, no.”

“It’s a mining town, air’s awfully dirty there. But you’ll see it soon.”

Arthur chose the path that wouldn’t lead them directly through the city but rather around it. He wasn’t in the mood to pass through the town, not long ago he had a little argument with the Sheriff because he had accidentally run over a miner. The man had been fine and so Arthur had refused to see it as a crime. He didn’t want Albert to get mingled in that if the Sheriff saw him again and decided that it was a day of justice to be served.

As they got closer to the city, the air started to taste of smoke and stone. It was a strange thing that Arthur had never experienced before and while he was an avid smoker, this just didn’t seem right to him. It got harder to see into the distance as well.

“I see now what you mean, Mr. Morgan,” Albert said as they approached the town. “It really is awfully dirty.” They passed the entry of the mine above the town and both of them shortly looked at the men walking past them and towards the mines. Their faces and clothes black with the dirt, their expressions tired and bodies hunched over from the hard work.

“Oh, what an awful job this must be …,” Albert mused and Arthur hummed in agreement. “Not seeing the sun, always in danger of being buried alive … There must be better ways to earn a living.”

“Some ain’t got no choice, Mr. Mason. And this is what civilization does to us - we got bad air and awful jobs.” It was the reason he preferred to be out west. The air was clean and there were less people. Less big towns, less crowd … and less law to get in trouble with.

“Well, it also gives us modern technology and science!” Albert exclaimed, patting his camera equipment that was strapped to his horse’s saddle. “I wouldn’t be able to do my job without it.”

Arthur thought about it for a moment. Yes, he enjoyed the photographs that Albert had shown him so far and their little adventures together but was it really worth all the hassle of civilisation? “I think I’d much rather miss out on some pretty pictures if that means I can stay away from cities. They’ve never done me any good. But I get that they’re important to you.”

There was a soft smile on Albert’s face on that and Arthur wondered if the other man could even understand him all that well as someone who was born and raised in the city. There was no way he could understand what it meant to always roam free and to do what you want. “Maybe you’re right, Mr. Morgan. Maybe there really are things that are more important than pretty pictures.”

After a little while they passed a cabin on the road. It was painted red and Arthur remembered that he had looked through the place before. Nobody had been home back then and there actually hadn’t been all that much to take. It seemed like there still was nobody at home and Arthur wondered if the place might be deserted for good now. He figured that it would be a bad idea to check again, just in case somebody would come home and Albert was still around. So they just passed it by and moved to a small incline behind it.

“This should be a good place to stay for the night,” Arthur decided as the sun set on the horizon. “Brought some salted meat with me, we can eat that tonight so I won’t have to hunt.”

Albert agreed and together they set up a tent. Last night they had slept within the confines of the old fort but tonight they weren’t protected by any walls. Albert really had two left hands when it came to setting up the tent so Arthur just told him to tend to the fire while he set it all up. He spread their bedrolls within the tent and realized that there really wouldn’t be much space between them. Arthur wondered if it would make Albert uncomfortable or not, he probably wasn’t used to sharing his breath with another man at night so he started to remove his own bedroll from the tent again, intending to sleep out next to the fire instead.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to sleep in the tent?” Albert asked him with big eyes.

“Well, there ain’t much space in there, Mr. Mason. No need to make you uncomfortable. I can sleep outside just fine.”

“Make me uncomfortable? Oh, now don’t be silly Mr. Morgan. It is your tent we will be sleeping in and it’s supposed to get plenty cold tonight. If anybody should sleep outside, it would be me. However, I wouldn’t mind sleeping right next to you, if that’s what you’re so concerned about.”

He hadn’t expected Albert to be so assertive about it and stopped in his tracks, musing over the words for a moment. Albert was right, it was supposed to get cold tonight with the sky as clear as it was and if it really didn’t bother him Arthur would very much prefer to sleep in a tent tonight.

“If you’re sure ‘bout it…”

“I am, don’t you worry about that. I don’t just say things that I don’t mean.”

Arthur gave him a small smile at that and nodded. He turned around and unrolled the bedroll in the tent again, preparing their bed for the night before he settled in around the fire next to Albert. Tonight he heated up some canned peas that he served Albert and himself with a piece of bread and the salted meat. It wasn’t fine cuisine but he somehow always enjoyed these thrown together meals at the beginning of a trip when he still had some provisions to choose from.

“So, how did you meet this lady that we’re visiting?” Albert asked him halfway through their shared meal.

“Uh, well…,” it had been a tip from a guy he had freed from a prison wagon. A lone lady in a little cabin, rich apparently and an easy way to make money. After Arthur had met her he had refused to take her money, though. “Met her when I was passing by, heard her crying ‘bout her husband. Showed her how to hunt. She was more city folk before, much like you.”

“You really like helping people, don’t you?” Albert said with a smile on her face, munching on some of the peas. “I like that about you, you know?”

Arthur hadn’t expected to get a compliment, he cleared his throat and looked down onto his plate, unsure what to respond for a moment. “Well, can’t just let her starve just after losing her husband, can I? She wanted to create a new life for her so … I helped her achieve that. Was mostly her doing.”

“I’m curious to meet her. She sounds like a very interesting person.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. And afterwards, we can find a grizzly for you. Might even see a cub or two, it’s the season for ‘em right now. Just gotta be careful around them, the mothers don’t like people ‘round them.”

Albert’s eyes lit up at that. “Oh, cubs would be so wonderful! I’m sure seeing them would help people see that they need to be protected.”

He chuckled at that. Albert’s reason for taking pictures really was a noble one. But he wasn’t sure if he could reach that goal, especially with so many people each day being attacked and killed by wild predators that roamed America.

“Maybe, yes. But remember that they are still dangerous, much like their mommas.”

“Of course! But I also have you with me to protect me, don’t I, Mr. Morgan? “Sure you do.”

They finished their dinner, easing into some conversations about nothing in particular, sharing a bottle of whiskey and some cigarettes until Albert announced that he was tired and lay down in the tent.

Arthur got out his journal, sketching their little campsite before he wrote down a few sentences about their adventure so far.

Met this photographer again on the road. Decided to travel with him for a bit. Guy wants to see some grizzlies so I’ll take him to see one. First we’ll see Charlotte again though. Will see how she is holding up.

He followed Albert into the tent after he had fed the fire one last time and tucked away his journal into his satchel again. The other man was already sound asleep, snoring very softly and his mouth hanging open a little.

Arthur entered carefully, trying not to wake the other man as he lay down on his bedroll. He sat down his hat next to himself, stretched and yawned before he turned onto his side to sleep. Albert shuffled a little next to him, mumbling something in his sleep and moved up to him. Arthur felt the heat of the other man’s body getting closer and for a moment he thought about waking him or shoving him away. Instead, he sighed and just relaxed as he enjoyed the presence of another person sleeping so close to him. Just a few minutes later he drifted off to sleep, tired from the long journey during the day.

When he woke up he felt the cold at the tip of his nose and gently rubbed it to warm it up. He frowned when he noticed that Albert had already gotten up and looked out of the tent to see if he was sitting at the fire but there was nobody to be seen. The fire didn’t even look like it had been tended to at all.

He got up, stretching and popping his bones to wake and warm up a little. Albert was still nowhere to be seen but he figured that the man probably just went to do his business in peace. He sat down by the fire to bring it back to life and to make some coffee. A lit cigarette dangling from his lips he opened up a can of baked beans to heat up as well. When he was alone on the road he usually just had a cigarette and maybe some coffee to wake up in the morning but Albert had told him that he was used to a proper breakfast in the morning so he figured he could take care of that while the photographer was still busy.

Arthur started to get worried when he had finished his cigarette and Albert still hadn’t shown up again. He got up and looked for traces of him. The bag with his camera equipment was missing but his horse - and all the other valuable things they had - was still around so Arthur figured that they hadn’t been robbed during the night. He guessed that Albert probably had seen a pretty squirrel and just wandered off.

“What a fool,” Arthur murmured, shaking his head as he started to follow what he suspected were the other man’s footprints.

The track led him down the incline they had been camping on and towards the path that they would continue their travels on. And there he saw Albert standing, fumbling with the settings of his camera.

“Morning, Mr. Mason,” Arthur said, loud enough to startle Albert and make him jump.

The photographer turned around to him, his chuckle sounding a little nervous after he got scared.

“Good morning to you as well! I’ve just ah- I wanted to capture the beautiful sunrise over the river, you know? Didn’t want to wake you up.”

Arthur followed his gaze towards the river. The sun has already risen by now but the sky was still painted in pretty colours with the river glistening in the early light. Albert was right, it was a beautiful view and Arthur had a hard time to blame him. “Could’ve still woken me up, wasn’t sure where you had gone, just like that.”

Albert seemed to be surprised about that and blinked at him for a moment. “Oh, I … didn’t think you’d be that worried about me, Mr. Morgan. Otherwise I would’ve- “ “No, no. It’s alright,” Arthur assured him and realized that it probably had been a little stupid of him to just assume the worst, especially because Albert was a grown man, after all.

After a quick breakfast they went on their way again, following the Roanoke Ridge up North. Most words between them had been spoken, so they rode in a comfortable silence, just broken once or twice when Albert pointed out a pretty tree or animal to him. Arthur usually had seen them before and if he had been alone he might’ve stopped to sketch it as well but he just wasn’t used to people he traveled with caring about the marvels of the world.

They rested at one particular interesting tree that both of them found fascinating and while Albert set up his camera to take a picture of it, Arthur got out his journal and sketched it as well. It didn’t take long for Albert to notice the Journal and what Arthur was doing. After he w3as content with the pictures he had taken, he walked over to Arthur and asked him to have a look at his drawing.

“It ain’t much, Mr. Mason…”

“Just let me have a look, Mr. Morgan … I really do enjoy art and I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

With a sigh Arthur presented the journal to Albert who suddenly made surprised sound. “Oh, that IS wonderful, Mr. Morgan! You’ve captured it so well!”

Arthur felt himself blush. He wasn’t used to getting compliments like this and he felt a bit embarrassed to be praised like that for a simple sketch of a tree. “Well .. thank you. It really ain’t special, though.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. I wouldn’t be able to draw such a thing. Now, take the compliment and leave it at that, yes?”

Arthur shook his head in amusement. Albert really was a special kind of person. “Sure thing, Mr. Mason.”

Eventually they reached the little cabin that Arthur probably would have never found out about if it hadn’t been for the tip he had gotten. Instead of robbing the place, he had found a friend there. Someone to visit whenever he needed a break from the gang. Someone much like Albert.

He led Albert up the path and dismounted the horse after he passed the little entryway. Charlotte had started to try and make something of the little garden and had also fixed up the fence. He wondered if she would follow her advice and get some goats for milk and meat, just to help her when hunting didn’t go well. They hitched their horses and as Arthur turned around he saw Charlotte leaving her cabin. She stopped in her tracks, probably surprised to see two horses on her property. But her face lit up as she saw him and Arthur smiled right back to her, equally happy to see her.

“Arthur!” she called over and dropped the basket she had been carrying onto the chair on her porch. Charlotte approached them and Arthur was happy to see that she really looked well now. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were bright and she looked like she was back to a healthy weight again. “It’s good to see you here. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Albert Mason. Him an’ me are traveling up to the grizzlies to see some bears,” he explained to her. Charlotte’s face darkened in worry and Arthur, the fool that he was, suddenly remembered how Cal had died.

“Oh, just to take some pictures of them,” Albert chimed in cheerfully. “You see, Ma’am, I’m a nature photographer and I’d like to capture the beauty of the American wildlife. So this isn’t going to be a bear hunt or anything like that.”

“Well, I hope that you stay safe…,” Charlotte said in a low voice while mostly looking at Arthur. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. But .. how can I help you?”

“I was actually on my way to check on you when I met Mr. Mason here, so … I suggested we make a break here first before heading West. If you don’t mind. Otherwise we can be on our way again, of course.”

“No, of course I don’t mind. It’s nice to have visitors, it tends to get a little lonely here sometimes. Feel free to come in … I even got some stew on the stove that I wanted to eat after the laundry. But that can wait, I’m not the biggest fan of washing anyway,” she admitted with a cheeky smile.

As they entered the cabin Arthur noticed a stretched out grey tabby cat right next to the fireplace. It rolled around, got up and stretched before lazily walking up to Charlotte. “Did you wake up from your nap already?” Charlotte asked and picked up the cat before she kissed its head. “This is Artemis. She helps me with the rats and I share my fish with her. If I manage to catch one, that is…” The cat started to struggle a little so he let her go again. Artemis landed on her paws rather gracefully. She ignored the men in the house and sat down on a pillow that was placed in front of the fireplace. “I’ve always wanted a cat but Cal didn’t really get along with them. He also always had to sneeze and got watery eyes when he was near them, weirdly enough… I found this one a few weeks ago and she’s really great company.”

“Well, I’m glad that she’s keeping you company,” Arthur said and pulled his gaze away from the cat who had started to stare him down like they were having a staring contest. He had never understood cats very well and usually preferred dogs over them. But he wasn’t there to judge Charlotte’s choice in pets.

They settled around the table in the middle of the room and Charlotte got out some bowls and spoons for them. “So, how have you been, Arthur?” she asked him and gave him a small smile before she got the pot down from the stove.

“Ah, it’s been a few busy weeks. I’m glad that I’ve got some free time to spend now. Just wandering ‘round a bit, seeing some folk.“

"You know, you‘ve never actually told me what kind of work you‘re doing,“ Charlotte mused as she served all of them a steaming hot bowl of stew. "Very few jobs offer this kind of freedom.“

Arthur had already wondered if she‘d ever ask him this question. Maybe, he had thought, she had already guessed it. Maybe she had been avoiding the question on purpose, afraid of what the answer might be. Albert also looked at him expectantly now, curious probably what kind of man he was travelling with now that it was brought up.

"I just … do some odd jobs here 'n there. Whatever brings in some money, really. So between jobs, I like to travel a bit. Means I see more than just one place of the world.“ It was the truth, even if not all of it, but it seemed to be enough for them for now. Arthur knew that even those folk who stayed on the legal path oftentimes went from job to job. It wasn‘t unusual to just go where the money was, after all.

"Oh, that sounds so adventurous!“ Charlotte exclaimed. "You must tell me a story or two sometimes, maybe I can put something of it into my writing.“

Albert smiled at that, curious now about Charlotte as well. "Oh, you‘re an author?“

"Well, I try to be. I haven‘t published much, just a short story or two in the newspaper in Chicago. But I‘m working on my first book now and it‘s going well. It‘s like the muse has kissed me after Arthur came to my rescue.“

"He really has a habit of doing that, doesn‘t he?“ Albert said and chuckled softly.

Arthur cleared his throat and shook his head, focusing on his stew. He wasn‘t quite used to people talking like that about him. If he was praised, it usually was for his strong fists in people‘s faces or his ability to shoot someone in the head from 200 feet away.

Albert and Charlotte eased into a conversation about Chicago and other bigger cities that they visited. Arthur had never been to any of those but to him it seemed horrible. Bigger cities like Saint Denis? That seemed like outright torture to him. More civilisation, more law, more rules to follow. No, he was content being out in the wild. And he now understood even better why both Albert and Charlotte chose to flee from all of that and built new lifes out here. Nature gave them room to breathe and to live and to just be, whereas the city restricted them.

After dinner they played a few rounds of poker. Albert had a horrible poker face and was easy to beat but Arthur was surprised to learn that Charlotte was actually really good at it. She ended up winning almost all rounds they played and smiled brightly as she stashed away the money that she won.

"I‘ve used to play a lot with my sisters and we all had to have a good poker face for when we had some higher up guests join us for dinner,“ she explained. "But it was fun to play with you.“

It was time to sleep afterwards, and while Charlotte had a spare room in her house she only had one bed to sleep on. "'s alright, I‘ll sleep here on a bedroll.“ Arthur assured Albert after he offered to sleep on the floor multiple times. "I‘m more used to it than you, don‘t worry 'bout it.“

They settled in for the night and after being woken up by a purring cat who shoved her butt into Arthur‘s face twice before settling down and rolling up on his butt Arthur actually had a pretty good night‘s sleep. He was used to sleeping outside, with and without a tent, but sometimes he actually enjoyed having a real fireplace nearby and a roof above his head.

He was up early in the morning, before Charlotte or Albert had gotten out of their rooms, so he decided to brew up some coffee for them. Charlotte actually had one of the better brands, one that he‘d probably never buy for himself, even if he loved his coffee in the morning. It was simply not a luxury that made sense when you have to feed over twenty people in a camp. He also found some eggs that he cracked open and scrambled in a pan, roasting some bread along with it. The sizzling seemed to have woken up the other people in the cabin, both Albert and Charlotte got out of their rooms shortly before the eggs were fully cooked.

It was a peaceful, quiet moment, both of them thanking him for the coffee and sitting down on the table for breakfast. Sometimes Arthur wondered what life would be like, in a place like this. Away from society but still living in a home. A place to make his own, with people to love and care about. He loved the gang, of course, but he couldn‘t call them a family. At least not all of them and not with the way they were living right now. Always fighting, always on the run. What kind of man would he become if he had a cabin like this? If he didn‘t have to fight just to survive? If he wasn‘t wanted with a bounty that could probably feed him for a whole year?

“So, you’ll be heading out again today?” Charlotte asked and interrupted his thoughts with that.

He blinked for a moment to process her words, then nodded as he put bread and eggs on each of their plates. “Yeah. Don’t wanna bother ya for too long.” “Oh, don’t worry about bothering me. Both of you. I enjoy company, especially if it’s as pleasant as yours," Charlotte assured him with a smile and again Arthur thought about how different she would perceive him if she knew how he made his money. “You can also feel free to take some supplies with you. I’ve got plenty of cans to spare.”

“Oh, that would be very kind of you, Mrs. Balfour. It was definitely a pleasure meeting you. If I’m ever in the area again I might drop by,” Arthur was glad that Albert and Charlotte had gotten along to the point that he actually considered visiting her again.

And Charlotte also seemed to like the idea. “Oh, please always feel free to come and visit whenever you wish to. My door will always be open. To both of you.”

Arthur was happy that she was inviting him but unsure if he would be able to come to her much longer. Dutch had talked about all the things that he wanted to change. About Tahiti or Australia or some other island that they would do to flee the law. He knew that it was unlikely that they’d actually go that far … but he knew that at some point he should stop coming here. Just to avoid Charlotte getting dragged into something that she didn’t deserve to be dragged into. He always hated letting go of people like that but he knew that it was for the best. The only people he could keep around for long was the gang. Because they knew what they had signed up for.

They finished their breakfast and packed some of the bread that Charlotte had baked the day before and she insisted that they had to take it with them. Arthur refused to take some of her meat though because he was “Very capable of huntin’ my own food,” and wanted her to keep it as she still was very much a beginner when it came to hunting animals. Charlotte agreed eventually and after saddling their horses they continued their travel.

They crossed the Roanoke River alongside the train tracks, passing by that weird building with the tower that Arthur had seen when he had been around these parts before. The building had been vacant though with nobody close by so he had just let it be. There had been some expensive looking machines inside but nothing that he could’ve loaded onto the back of a horse so he had figured that breaking in wouldn’t have been worth it anyway.

The further they got to the west, loosely following the train tracks, the more their environment changed into some rocky paths. There were less trees and the patches of forest weren’t as lush as the ones around Roanoke Ridge. It was easier to see further ahead - but also easier to be seen. Albert, of course, wasn’t worried about that - Arthur suspected that he wasn’t even aware of that. He kept chattering about Charlotte. About her lovely cabin, the beautiful waterfalls close to her home, her lovely little flower patch and her hospitality. Of course they also had to stop, again and again, for new photo opportunities. Arthur still didn’t mind it though, the trip to O’Creagh’s Run wasn’t too long of a ride and he was certain that they would make it in time to make camp right by the water.

And Arthur had been right. The sun just started to set when they reached the lake. They approached it from the side at which the old veteran named Hamish was living. There were no lights coming from inside though and Arthur figured that it wouldn’t make sense to tell a hunting-loving man that they would go looking for some grizzlies, not if Albert wanted to take those pictures with the bears still alive.

“What a beautiful place this is,” Albert marveled as Arthur led him around the water. He didn’t want to camp just next to the cabin, so they needed to ride a little further. “Nature really is gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Arthur agreed, following his gaze over the water that lay almost still in the evening light. It really was beautiful and Arthur had the urge to draw again. Instead, he looked over at Albert. “What do you think of some fish for dinner?”

“Fish?” Albert asked. He sounded like he hadn’t expected Arthur to suggest fish for dinner at all.

Arthur gave him a short, crooked smile before answering. “Well, these waters are great for fishing. Have pulled out some big fellas out of here. Besides, if we want to attract some bears tomorrow, some bait will be good. And nothing’s better than some fish.” “Well, then … It sounds absolutely delightful. You’ll have to show me how it’s done, though.”

They set up camp close to the water, not quite on the shore because Arthur knew how uncomfortable it was to sleep on the gravel right next to the water. They made a small fire, mostly to make sure to keep the nearby animals that were lurking away from them. Albert had already gotten better at setting up a camp and knew how to arrange the firewood so they were finished fairly quick and still had time to catch a fish. All they needed was a little luck.

They stood at the shore next to each other, Albert holding the rod because he had requested to actually learn it. Arthur leaned in closer, correcting the grip on his hand and directing him how to throw the line out to the water.

“I see why so many people enjoy this … it is fairly relaxing if you- oh! Oh, I think one bit!!”

The rod almost slipped out of Albert’s hand and Arthur jumped in to take over. He leaned back and reeled the line in, huffing as he felt the pull of the fish.

“Oh, this sure is a big one, Mr. Mason …,” he said as he took a step back to have a better posture. “Can’t reel ‘m in too quick, otherwise the line will break,” he explained further as Albert hopped around on the balls of his feet to get a better look at what was in the water. The fish broke through the surface as he was fighting the pull, even more so when he was dragged closer to the shore.

Finally he got the fish out onto the shore. He grabbed it and killed with a quick hit on the head before presenting it to Albert. “May I present you - dinner.” “Oh, that’s a salmon, isn’t it?” Albert asked, still excited and moving closer to expect the fish. “I’ve always just seen illustrations or photographs in books. And ate them, of course. But never this fresh.” “Yeah, you’re right. They’re also the grizzlie’s favourite fish. So this should be perfect.”

He lay down the fish on a bigger stone nearby, gutted it and wrapped up the guts in a piece of cloth. Albert wrinkled up his nose, it was obvious to Arthur that he hid his disgust. He agreed that it was a rather nasty thing but it had to be done. He put the gutted salmon onto a stick and hung it above the fire to cook.

“Alright, now we just gotta wait until it’s done. Can cut up some of the bread that Charlotte gave us and we'll have a decent enough meal.” Arthur said and stretched out his legs by the fire. “And tomorrow we’ll find some grizzlies to take a picture of.”

“That really does sound wonderful,” Albert agreed with a soft sigh as he sat down next to him. He shared his cigarettes with Arthur and both of them watched the fire for a moment, enjoying the quiet and the darkness that started to wrap around them like a blanket, held off only by the fire.

“So, Mr. Morgan … is this how you live?”, Albert asked. Usually those words would have sounded like a criticism, like it was something bad. But with Albert it sounded more like he was simply wondering and trying to get to know his friend a little better.

“Most of the time, yeah. Sometimes hotel rooms, but I prefer being outside. Less rules to follow,” he said with a short smile towards Albert who chuckled softly.

“I know what you mean, yes …” he said in a low voice. “But you’re not alone all the time, are you?” Albert’s voice was gentle, almost careful. Arthur wondered if he really wanted to know the truth or if he wanted to find out if he should start distrusting his travel companion.

Arthur took a drag from his cigarette, contemplating his answer for a moment. There weren’t many groups of people living outside, always traveling around. He was sure that Albert knew this as well as any other … and it was pretty obvious that Arthur was no circus clown, even if he felt like it sometimes.

“No, I’m not,” he answered eventually, his voice low as well. “It can be a hard life and we’re always .. moving ‘round. But I’ve got my folk and they’ve got me.”

There was a little smile on Albert’s face as he looked at Arthur. “And I’m glad that’s the case. Life must be awfully lonely with nobody around when you’re living on your own. Especially out in the wild. So … I’m happy to hear that I always meet you on your own because you chose to and not because you got nobody else.”

Arthur had not expected Albert to be worried about something like that of all things he could be worried about. “You really ain’t got no reason to be worried ‘bout me, Mr. Mason,” he told him with a short smile. “I’m fine. Just needing some peace and quiet from time to time.”

“And then you choose to travel with a blabbermouth like me?” Albert laughed and Arthur joined in. Albert really wasn't good at keeping quiet but he had never minded that. If all he enjoyed the things that Albert talked about and how joyful his perspective on life was.

“Well, I tend to be a fool, you should know that by now,” he said with a grin and Albert shook his head.

“So am I, Mr. Morgan. So am I.”

They both got hungry because of the tasty smell of the fish so Arthur cut up some slices of bread that they dunked in oil and ate with some of the oregano leaves that they could easily pick from the plants growing nearby. They added the succulent fish meat as it was done cooking, both of them enjoying the texture and the warmth in their bellies.

With each evening, Arthur had enjoyed Albert’s company even more and it didn’t even feel awkward anymore to get into a tent with him. They slept side by side on their bed rolls and when Arthur woke up during the middle of the night because Albert had put his arm around him in his sleep he found that he didn’t even mind that. It was nice in fact to have a warm body right next to him and he dozed off again with a smile on his face.

“Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan, wake up!”

Arthur felt someone gently shaking his shoulder and he opened up his eyes, blinking in the process at the early sunlight that was hitting his face.

“There are some bear cubs!” Albert exclaimed with a shouted whisper. Arthur was awake instantly, knowing very well that cubs would always be close to a very protective mama bear.

He got up and out of the tent to see what was happening. Roughly 70 feet away from them were actually two bear cubs playing in the water at the shore and trying to catch fish. He put on his hat and watched them warily, searching for their mother.

Albert, on the other hand, set up his camera quicker than Arthur had ever seen him do it before to start to take some pictures of them. The clicking of the camera made the cubs look over to them and Albert mumbled something in excitement that Arthur did not understand in the slightest.

Suddenly there was a growl behind them, Arthur turned around and saw the mother of the cubs, standing on her hind legs and glaring at them angrily. “Shit…” he said and grabbed the revolver in his holster.

“No, don’t shoot her please!” he heard Albert plead behind him.

“Well what ELSE would you suggest?!” Arthur hissed back to him as the mother dropped down on all fours again and started approaching them. At least she wasn’t in full attack mode yet.

“Maybe we can … distract her, somehow?!”, Albert suggested and Arthur remembered the fish guts that were still in his satchel.

He moved slowly, not to piss her off in any way, and took the smelling bundle out of his bag. He threw it over to her, right in front of her big paws and she started sniffing it with interest.

“‘Right, now or never …,” Arthur said and dragged Albert behind him. The photographer was clutching his camera as they slowly moved away from the camp, the bear now munching on the innards of the fish. They reached their horses and unhitched them, both Thunder and Daisy running away on their own, smart enough to know that they were in danger. “They’ll find their way back later,” Arthur assured Albert as he tried to grab Daisy’s lead.

They moved further into the bushes, now watching the mother and her cubs on the shore from a safe distance. For once, Albert wasn’t talking and Arthur suspected that he knew very well how important it was now not to attract the bears anymore. The mother started rummaging through the things that they had left, ripping the tent and chewing up the last bit of fish bones that were left of their dinner. Eventually she decided that it was time to move on and so she did, followed up by the cubs.

Arthur took a deep breath and lit himself a cigarette to calm his nerves, offering Albert one as well who gladly took it. “Well, that was close. Hope the pictures will be worth it.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will be. Playing cubs was so much more than I expected! Thank you again for joining me. Someday I really ought to pay you for always having my back!”

Arthur shook his head. “Ain’t no need for that, Mr. Mason. Your company is reward enough for me,” he assured him and it almost looked like Albert was blushing.

“Well, if you say so …” he cleared his throat. “I really enjoyed traveling with you. Maybe you should really join me some time … venturing out west.”

Arthur looked back at Albert and thought about it again. He had his responsibilities. People who needed him. Who relied on him being there. But they’ve managed without him before, for a few weeks. Who said that they wouldn’t manage again? Who said that he had to spend all his life running with a gang of outlaws if he also could spend it with Albert? He found himself smiling at Albert.

“I think you might be right, Mr. Mason.” “You know, you can call me Albert…”

He smiled again, knowing that this would only be the beginning of their friendship full of new adventures. “Albert. I’d love to join you out west.”

#rdrbigbang #reversebang #2am #albert/arthur #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #fluff #dad writes #arthur/albert #mgcoco

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porkchop-ao3 · 4 years ago

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 64)

Loose Ends

Yep, I’m still alive! Just not spending any time at all writing 😅😬 Here’s another chapter anyway, I hope you enjoy! Also, happy holidays and here’s hoping for a better 2021!!

Tagging @emily-strange and @actuallyhansolo ❤

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

We moved west, staying north, and found a place to camp far from where any Pinkertons were still patrolling. We travelled for hours, all through the remaining hours of the night, through the morning and into the afternoon. We ended up at Cotorra Springs when the sun began to set; it was cooler there and when we found a spot away from any trails, pretty secluded, we decided it was as good a place as any. The rushing sound of the geysers erupting every now and then kept making me jump at first but soon became a somewhat comforting sound. A reminder that no matter what happened, life always carried on, the world wasn't going to stop spinning and fall to pieces just yet.

We set up a small campsite with a few tents and a fire, over which we cooked meat from a deer that Charles had hunted while the rest of us set up. None of us knew how long we would be there but it was clear that we all needed some food and some rest before we even attempted to figure out our next move. We all sat around the fire with our food and little Jack was asleep with Cain by his side; the dog had tagged along with us on our journey, jumping atop the Marston's wagon whenever he got too tired.

"What exactly are we all gonna do?" John was the first one to bring up the elephant in the room, and everyone turned to eye him almost irritatedly.

Nobody spoke up or offered any sort of response, and after a moment, Lenny threw his hat in the ring.

"It's a good question. We can't live like this forever, can we?"

"Course not," Arthur said. He didn't quite snap the words but they weren't untroubled. "We've got a chest full of money on that wagon, we'll… we'll figure out what everyone wants to do and split it accordingly."

"I don't want a penny of that money," Sadie hissed, then spat into the fire, "reeks of Dutch and Micah and dirty betrayal."

"Hey, that implies it was all their money. Dutch barely put a penny in if it weren't from a job we all did together," John scoffed.

"I don't want it either but let's be rational. We're gonna need it," Charles said, looking at Sadie. "We didn't just go through all that only to starve to death at the end of it, all because of pride."

"He's got a point," I agreed. "I don't think any of us should have a problem taking that bastard's money," I added.

"Ain't his money," John shook his head, picking at something stuck in his teeth, "it's our half, fair 'n' square."

"Yeah," I nodded after a moment, but frowned a little. Silence lingered.

"It's obvious none of us feel too good about takin' it," Abigail broke it, stating the unspoken.

"I feel fine," John snorted.

"Me too, for the most part," I hesitantly agreed. Arthur sighed beside me and everyone looked at him.

"For the love of God, not a single one of you refuse that money. This is hard enough, at this point, that money's the only thing that made this possible. Without money, we're trapped, and if we're trapped, we'll end up in the damn ground," he told us through tensely gritted teeth. More silence followed, broken by Susan.

"You're right, Mr. Morgan. This ain't no time for pride and making things needlessly hard on ourselves. We've just gotta take this opportunity to get the heck out of this mess, so I don't wanna hear no bellyaching from any of you," she said sternly, and John nodded in agreement. Lenny took a breath, and nodded too.

"And what're you gonna do Miss Grimshaw?" I asked her softly. She met my eyes across the fire, her brows arching a little in surprise that I'd asked.

"Me? I'm- I'm–" she began hesitantly, and glanced at the others before letting out a breath.

"You ain't thought about it none?" Abigail asked, and Susan turned her gaze to her.

"Quite the opposite," she scoffed a laugh, then patted the side of her hair bun in an attempt at brushing back fly-aways. "Maybe I'm just a little bit ashamed to admit that I've been planning for this for a while."

My eyes widened, and so did most of the others'.

"Oh come on. Please. A woman would have to be foolish to not consider a few back up plans in this way of life. Especially with how things have been the past few months. Even Miss O'Shea had her plans," she added, and my eyes dropped down at her mention. I always felt strange about the whole Molly situation, considering I was potentially the last person to really talk to her.

"You ain't wrong. So what's your plan?" Abigail asked.

"I know a lot of people Miss Roberts, I have options," she chuckled. "But I think I envision a future in moonshine. An old friend of mine's been wanting to go into business together for a while now, I think I'll pay her a visit."

"Which old friend is this, anyone we know?" Arthur questioned.

"No. If you knew her, you'd know exactly who I'm talking about. She ain't a lady you easily forget," Susan chuckled, shaking her head.

"Ain't nothing to do with those Braithwaites, then?" John snorted and Susan rolled her eyes.

"The Maggie I know would sooner hang than have anything to do with those idiots," she laughed. I smiled as I watched her laugh, feeling my admiration for her swell. Susan was a woman I would never be like, and I knew I'd miss her sorely despite all of the times I'd giggled when one of the girls would roll their eyes or pull a face at her behind her back. I knew everyone had a lot of love for her, and I did too.

"What about you then, Lenny?" Arthur asked. "What's your plan?"

"Ohh, I'll be a rolling stone for a while I think, see where life takes me. I’d like to… learn,” he said almost hesitantly, a mild frown puckering the skin between his brows. His eyes lifted and settled on Charles for a brief moment, “maybe, if the stars align, I might just have a chance at making something of myself,” he laughed, but there was an ugly reality behind his words that bittered them slightly, though he kept smiling, and it was no accident that it was Charles that his eyes landed on. The smile that Charles returned to him was one of quiet understanding.

“My father, he wanted me to be a lawyer,�� Lenny turned his grin to me, his eyes brightening a little. “From bank robber to lawyer, can you imagine that?”

I chuckled, despite the fact that with Lenny’s intelligence, charisma and articulateness, I didn't doubt his capability.

“Dutch always said I had too much potential to stay robbing banks for the rest of my life,” he breathed, looking down into the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes, making them shine bright even though his energy dulled a little at his mention. Yet another silence fell across the campfire and I kept my eyes on the young man before me, so full of potential yet held back by so many factors far out of his control, and my heart hurt.

“I think that's the only thing I know of that came out of his mouth and made a lick of sense,” I noted. He looked at me, held my gaze for a few moments, then released a quiet breath.

“Maybe I’ll head to Washington D.C. Try to get a job, or go to school. I don't know about being a lawyer,” he breathed a laugh and shook his head, “but doing something… more than what I have been doing. That’d be good. I think my dad would be proud of that.”

“Your dad would be proud of you already, Lenny. I mean that. You’re a good kid, got a good heart,” Arthur told him, and everyone made a show of agreement, nodding, humming confirmations and patting him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, all’a you, I… it's been quite a ride, ain’t it?” Lenny sighed.

“That it has…” Charles trailed off.

“And I think I’m gonna hit the hay,” Abigail announced, dropping her plate on the ground before rising to her feet. I watched as she very carefully bundled Jack up into her arms. “Goodnight, y’all.”

“Goodnight,” the rest of us whispered softly, as if suddenly we would all wake up the boy, even though he’d been sleeping just fine before.

“I need some sleep too,” John agreed, and it set off a chain reaction, and Lenny and Susan retired to their sleeping spots. Charles drained the contents of his bottle of the beer that Sadie had managed to snag before we all left.

“Arthur, tomorrow night we should…” he said quietly as he rose to his feet, trailing off. Arthur met his eyes and stared silently for a while, then nodded.

“We will.”

“Alright. Thank you,” Charles nodded, then headed towards his tent.

“I weren’t planning on leaving him, not for a second,” Arthur called after him and Charles waved a hand dismissively, smiling over his shoulder at him.

“I know. Goodnight, folks,” he added, then crawled inside his tent to bed down for the night. I glanced at Arthur for some clarification and his eyes dropped to the ground.

“Eagle Flies got captured by the army. I said I’d break him out, I have to, princess–”

“Don't think I’m gonna try to stop you,” I whispered. He turned his head towards me, and I kissed his cheek.

“Thank you. He got caught when I was helping Dutch screw the lot of ‘em over, pretending to be helpful. I gotta speak to him and his father, tell them about what happened with the gang today. Eagle Flies can’t keep on trusting him, getting sucked in by his fancy words just like I did at his age. It won’t do anyone any good in the end,” he explained, and I nodded in agreement.

"You need some help breaking him out?" Sadie questioned. Arthur met her eyes and shook his head.

"Charles has a plan, shouldn't need more than the two of us."

"In that case, maybe there's something you can help me with instead," she said, leaning forwards, elbows on knees. My stomach squeezed a bit at the way her eyes lit with devilish determination. "O'Driscolls. There's a bunch of 'em hiding out over at Hanging Dog Ranch."

"Sadie–" Arthur began, his hand raising.

"With Colm gone and with just a few stragglers left, we can end those bastards for good," she cut him off, her hands clenching into fists. I took a breath and looked down at my feet, pressing my lips together.

"Sadie, I… I don't think we– we just got out of a bad situation, we're doing all we can just to get by–" he began again, and I could feel his tense but careful sympathy in his tone.

"We can finish 'em. We can. This is all I got left now, bringing some kinda justice to those sick bastards after what they did to me, what they did to my husband," she leaned forwards even more, her body tensing up, I could see her from the corner of my eye, getting full of desperation. I sensed Arthur glance at me.

My heart ached. We were finally away from Dutch and I had hoped that it would be the end of Arthur risking his life over grudges. I could handle him going with Charles to break a good man out of prison, I wasn't happy about the risk he was putting himself at but I knew he had to do it. But going to kill O'Driscolls? I was so conflicted. Sadie deserved closure over what happened to her husband, but I didn't want to lose Arthur over it. I couldn't stand it if we came this far only to–

"Please, Arthur. I need someone to ride with me. I can't go in there on my own but if I got no one–” Sadie's voice cracked and my eyes flashed up to her. "You're the only one I trust to do this with me and do it right. And I gotta do it, Arthur, I can't just let them get away with it. Please."

I stared at Sadie, feeling her pain emanating from her in waves, it made the hairs on my arms stand up and bile rise in my throat. My eyes tingled as tears threatened to form there, and Arthur looked at me again. Then Sadie did. Suddenly, I found, it was my choice, without even saying a word.

I nervously toyed with the locket around my neck, and saw Arthur's eyes momentarily flitter down to it.

"Arthur you–" I began after some time, when it was made clear that they were waiting on my blessing. Mine. Like I had any control over anything. "Sadie's done so much for us," I said monotonously, though it wasn't without feeling, "it's clear she needs this."

"Thank you!" Sadie exhaled, and I rose to my feet.

"I need to sleep," I whispered, then stepped over the log I'd been sitting on and headed for the tent I shared with Arthur. "Goodnight."

I climbed inside and laid down on my bedroll, wrapping myself up in the blanket and curling up on my side. I could hear quiet voices outside the tent, a muffled mix of soft tones from both Sadie and Arthur, none of which I could make out as words. It was only a few minutes before cool air filled the tent as the flap was pulled back, and Arthur climbed in beside me. He shuffled around, getting under his own blanket and scooting up behind me, his hand gingerly resting on my hip.

"Princess," he whispered. I made a small hum of acknowledgement. "Are you okay?"

I nodded my head, and Arthur exhaled, then kissed the shell of my ear.

"Talk to me, please."

"I'm sorry Arthur. I'm trying not to put a leash on you, and trying to give Sadie the opportunity to get justice for her husband. All the while I'm worrying any one of these jobs people have you doing'll be the one that kills you. Right when we're finally doing what we've been waiting for," I whispered. Arthur's hand gently drifted up and down my side, his lips still at my ear giving me little pecks.

"I could try to reassure you, but it won't help, will it?" He said softly, sadly. I shook my head. "What do you want me to do instead?"

"Nothing. I don't want you to do anything, Arthur. I can't ask you not to do all these things. That's why I came in here to sleep, cause I know anything I say ain't gonna do any good."

"Are you angry with me?"

"No, I'm not," I breathed, then rolled over to face him. "I'm not mad, I'm worried. And I'll be worried until we're away from here for good. That's it. All I need from you is just to hold me right now, so I can enjoy the time I have with you," I told him, and kissed his chin. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head.

"Just a couple more jobs, princess, then it's over. I promise," he told me.

"Please keep your word," I whispered, closing my eyes and nestling my face into his collar.

"I will. I'm under nobody's thumb no more, I do what I want. These things, they're just… they're things I gotta do for my friends. I know you understand that, right?"

"I do. It's why I'm not stopping you."

"I'm real lucky I have you. And that you're like this. You're a good woman," he told me and I chuckled, shaking my head a little.

"You don't have to flatter me, Arthur."

"I ain't flattering. I'm thanking you. Thank you," he said, pressed his lips momentarily to the crown of my head. "I love you."

"I love you too," I replied.

After a few moments of silence, Arthur spoke again. "Can I ask you something? Or shall I let you sleep?"

"Now I'm curious about the question. Go on," I answered.

"Where'd you get that locket from? The one you been wearing since I got back. Looks familiar."

The question surprised me. It wasn't anything like what I was expecting, and I laughed. Then stopped when I considered my answer. My heart was suddenly pounding because I knew I had to address how I had felt while he was away in Guarma.

"It was Susan's," I told him. "She gave it to me."

"That'll be why it's familiar," he mused.

"It has a photograph of you inside it," I added. He was quiet for a moment.

"It does?" He questioned, tone going up a note.

I hummed my confirmation. "I… I was real bad for a while when you was gone. Susan wanted to cheer me up. I haven't taken it off since."

"Did it make you feel better?"

"A little. It was nice to have something of you, at least. But it didn't hurt any less, that you were gone."

"It would've been a comfort to have something of you with me while I was away. I thought about you constantly, I wanted to see your face just once… I didn't even have my journal, with my drawings of you. They don't live up to the real thing but they're something, at least," he whispered, squeezing me tight.

"Let me see them," I whispered, kissing his collar bone. He made a small sound, a sort of hum, sort of sigh.

"My drawings?"

I nodded as I moved back a little to look at him. "I've only seen a couple of your drawings of me. How many have you done?"

"More than you've seen," he chuckled sheepishly, then rolled onto his back, staring up at the top of the tent. I shifted onto my elbow and gazed down at him.

"May I see?" I questioned insistently, his grin widened. He was embarrassed, it was clear. "It's just me," I whispered, stroking my hand over his chest.

"Just you? That's the problem."

"Problem?"

"I'm worried I'll embarrass you."

"Why would I be embarrassed?" I laughed. Arthur sighed and met my eyes.

"Get my journal," he acquiesced. I giggled and sat up, reaching for his satchel that sat by his feet. I retrieved the journal and handed it to him, but he nodded towards me, urging me to keep it. "Take a look, princess."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #rdr2fanfic

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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 5 years ago

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A Smile is Something to Be Cherished, Dear: an Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader Fanfic

"If I have to chop one more piece of firewood," you say as you brandish your axe, "Imma start wearing flannel. Y'all can call me Lumber Jack. Or maybe Jack Lumber. Or Lack Jumber. Or--"

"For chrissakes," Micah snarls. He's sharpening his knife at a nearby table. "We get it, Y/N."

You shrug and bring the axe down hard, splitting a piece of wood clean in two with one swing. "I pretended it was your head."

To give him credit, Micah doesn't do or say much of anything in retalition. Instead, he just sighs, mutters to himself, and leaves. You're glad to see him go. Over the last few weeks, ever since Arthur found you in the Grizzlies, freezing and terrified, you've decided Micah Bell is your least favorite out of the bunch. Something about him just screams "psychopath." You're surprised that Dutch, for all his intelligence, can't see it.

You've only been with the Van Der Linde gang for a little while. Honestly, you're not too sure what to make of all them. Hosea seems nice enough, and Dutch treats you fair, which is all you can ask for. They may not be the most conventional people, but they're trying their best to do right by you. The whole thing makes your head spin. A few weeks ago, you were in your living room, screaming through a twelve-page essay due the next day. Now? Now you're a hundred and thirty-ish years in the past... and running with a bunch of outlaws at that.

Yeah. Not exactly the life you thought you'd live. But hey: at least you're not dead.

You finish chopping firewood and set the axe aside. Nobody really says for sure that you have to do chores, but you don't like feeling useless. And besides: everybody in the Van Der Linde gang does their part. Why should you be the only exception?

A few of the girls--Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth, if you've got their names down--lounge by one of the wagons when you approach. They look up and offer you what seem like genuine smiles. You give one of your own and plop yourself in the grass next to them.

"How're you holdin' up, Y/N?" The blonde one--Karen, you think--asks. "I know this all must be pretty strange."

"Yeah," Tilly murmurs. "We just wanna make sure you're doin' okay."

You blink, then immediately switch gears. They didn't catch you off-guard. Nosiree. "I'm okay." You shrug one shoulder. "Beats what I was doing back in my time."

Mary-Beth leans forward excitedly, and you briefly think she's going to grab your hand. You get ready to pull away, just in case.

"Must be quite the experience, time travel and all," she says, practically vibrating. "What's the future like, Y/N?"

"Mary-Beth," Karen admonishes with a roll of her eyes, "don't ask them that. Haven't they been through enough?"

"Oh lay off." Mary-Beth swats her away with a mischeivous grin. You can practically see the gears turning in her head. "I'm just askin' what everybody's thinkin'."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you think overtime about what to say. You're still not sure how this whole thing works, if there are things you shouldn't say, things that might prove catastrophic to the timeline and whatnot. Every science fiction movie you've ever seen suddenly plays in your head. And even though they all vary in success, one thing's clear: time is messy. Space-time is even messier. Travel through both? Might as well call it a goddamn hurricane.

Thankfully, Tilly notices your discomfort and gives Mary-Beth a hard look. "Y/N doesn't have to answer all your questions, y'know." She shifts into a glare. "Maybe give them some time to get used to everything first, okay?"

Bless Tilly Jackson, you decide. The only voice of reason in the bunch.

You're about to thank her, or maybe you're about to change the subject, when Uncle comes tearing up to your little group, that wild smile on his face you've learned means trouble. Still, when he mentions going to a small livestock town, you all but jump at the offer. You've been meaning to see what ordinary life looks like in the past. Maybe this is the perfect opportunity.

And no, you tagging along has nothing to do with the fact that Arthur's going to be there, too.

// // // // // //

The journey into Valentine is pretty uneventful, save for a broken wagon... and someone getting kicked to death by their own horse. The girls scream when they see it, and Uncle jumps a little. Even Arthur mutters a soft "shit" under his breath. You, though, just stare. It isn't the first dead body you've seen. Probably won't be the last, either, if you have to guess.

"God, I wish that were me," you find yourself saying, thinking of the internet back in your time, of the dark humor, and how it's used as a coping mechanism.

Five heads immediately swivel your way. Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen stare at you with their mouths agape, while Uncle watches you like you've grown a third arm out of your chest. Arthur eyes you with a look you can't read, and you briefly wonder what's wrong. Then, it hits you like a sledgehammer and you internally groan.

Right, you think. Generational gaps.

"I'm joking," you explain. "It's how we cope in my time."

Luckily, Arthur chooses that moment to urge the horses forward, and the wagon starts toward Valentine again. The incident quickly fades, and the girls are soon buzzing with excitement. You can't help but feel a little anxious. Adjusting to the Van Der Linde gang has been tough; you don't want to be overwhelmed by everything once you get into town. With that in mind, you decide to stick close to Arthur. Just since he found you, that's all. It's the familiarity, you tell yourself. Nothing else.

Valentine isn't the most glamorous of places, but it's not too shabby, either. Immediately, you're in awe. A frontier town. An actual frontier town in the 1890's. The history nerd in you threatens to explode as you pass by the shops, the saloon, and the stables. Arthur stops the wagon in a little clearing just after the general store. You barely notice.

"Alright," he says, low and firm. "Remember: keep a low profile, but try an' find some leads. No trouble now, ya hear?"

The girls murmur various replies, then hop out of the wagon, dashing off like little dogs to sniff out something interesting. You watch them go, then look back to Arthur, silently waiting for him to send you off on your own. He watches you for a moment, as if debating with himself, before he sighs and starts shoving Uncle out of the wagon.

"Go make yourself useful, old man."

Uncle grumbles something under his breath, but ultimately does as he's told. After a few seconds, he disappears into the general store. You're left alone with Arthur. Not that you particularly mind. It's better than any alternative you can think of. As you climb to the ground, legs cramped from the ride, you take a moment to look around. The town isn't really anything special. Oddly enough, you think of the time your best friend dragged you to a rodeo in the middle of Wyoming. Valentine looks something similar to that.

"Holding up okay?" Arthur says, startling you out of your thoughts. You can't help but jump a little when you turn around and find him right behind you. He gives you a look, then sighs and motions toward the stables with his head. "C'mon."

He starts off in their direction. You practically have to jog to keep up with him, but you don't really care about that. Honestly, the thrill of being in a different place (and the past at that) is enough to make you forgive just about anything.

"What d'ya think we'll find?" You ask, almost bouncing up and down with excitement. "Are we gonna--" You break off and lower your voice. "Are we gonna steal some horses?"

Arthur glances down at you and huffs out a laugh... well, half of one, for that matter. "You ain't stealin' anything for a while, Y/N."

"Oh." You don't even try to hide your disappointment. "No horses, then?"

He shakes his head, laughing again when you pout. Briefly, you think of sticking out your foot and tripping him, but something tells you that wouldn't end well. You don't want a six-foot-something, pissed off outlaw chasing you around... especially when he's your ride home.

The two of you reach the stables, and Arthur holds the door for you. You skip past him, stopping dead when you catch sight of the rows and rows of stalls. The horses are absolutely beautiful. Almost instantly, your eyes zero in on a Appaloosa gelding, and before you know what you're doing, you're walking over and gently touching the tip of his nose. He whinnies softly, nuzzling your hand a few seconds later. And as you stare at him, absently stroking the side of his face, you realize Arthur's moved to stand beside you.

"I think he likes me," you say. You brush the horse's mane back from his forehead. "Always wanted a horse."

The corners of Arthur's lips twitch, but he doesn't smile. Instead, he looks at the stall--at the price--and shakes his head.

"Maybe next time, Y/N." He gently steers you away. "Why don't you check on Uncle, make sure he ain't dead. I'll finish up here."

You sigh and head out of the stables, narrowly missing a pile of horse manure. A quick peek at the general store reveals Uncle's passed out cold in the front. You shake your head with a small grin. At least you don't have to worry about him causing any trouble.

As you start to head toward him, you catch sight of Tilly. You can tell by the look on her face that something's wrong, awfully wrong, and almost on cue, an angry-looking man grabs her arm and hauls her toward an alley. You feel your breath hitch. Still, you're practically running their way before you can stop and think about a better approach. You have no ideas, no plan other than go go go. Not that it matters. From what it looks like, Tilly needs somebody there--right now.

You round the corner and see her pressed against the wall, the angry man's face close to hers. Neither one of them seems to know you're there. Good. Taking those blessed extra seconds, you spy a rock on the ground and quickly pick it up. It's decent in size. Won't kill a man, but it'll hurt like hell. That's all you need.

With aim that's really more luck than skill, you hurl the rock at the man with all the force you can muster. It strikes him square on the side of the head. Solid. A great hit. He stumbles to the side a little as Tilly's wild, frightened eyes find yours. Something about them makes you more brazen than before, and you take a few steps toward the man, hands clenched into fists.

"Back off," you hiss. "Now."

The man, who unfortunately looks like he's recovered from his shock, glares at you. Then, before you can even track him, he's barreling toward you, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you against the side of the alley. You feel the breath leave your lungs in one big gust.

"You made a helluva mistake," he snarls, putrid breath wafting over your face.

You gag and try to get a knee or a leg or something up to hit him, but there's no use. He's got you trapped. Dimly, you're aware that Tilly's gone, and you have a brief moment of triumph. Smart girl. The last thing you need is for her to get hurt, too.

"My entire life's a mistake," you gasp out between gulps for air. "... Why don't you add this to the list?"

Whether that was the right thing to say or not, you'll never know. In the next few seconds, just as you're certain the guy's reeling his fist back for a punch, his weight's suddenly gone and you're slumping to the ground. You can hear shouting, cursing, and words you really don't want to repeat. And through it all--one thing is constant.

Arthur's here.

Several seconds later (or maybe it's minutes; you honestly lose track of time), strong, warm hands are hauling you upright. They're also surprisingly gentle. Calloused and slightly bloody, but gentle.

"Easy, Y/N," Arthur soothes when your breathing becomes frantic. "You're alright."

Somehow, you find the courage to look up at him. He's watching you, concern in his eyes, and you hate that you're the cause of it. Still, you've never been more glad to see him.

"I thought he was gonna kill me," you find yourself saying. Then--you start to laugh. Hysterical, unstoppable chortles that come from no rational part of your mind. "Oh man, I looked the Devil in the eye and walked backwards into hell, didn't I?"

Arthur frowns, then glances around. You're suddenly aware that a crowd's gathering... and that it's probably a good idea to get the hell out of town.

"C'mon," he says, carefully leading you back to the wagon. "I think that's enough excitement for one day."

Finally got around to writing my Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader multi-chapter fic. Y’know... the one I promised ages and ages ago. Hope ya enjoyed! I’ll also be posting this to AO3 under the username Nopride4531, so if ya wanna leave a comment or a kudos, feel free!

Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated! Take care y’all!

Next Chapter: Lionheart

Inspired Playlist Track: Panic! At the Disco -- “High Hopes”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #modern!reader #arthur morgan x modern!reader #arthur morgan x reader #2nd person pov #hurt/comfort #fic #my writing #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #cowboys #outlaws #yeehaw

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splat-dragon · 4 years ago

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For reasons wretched and divine ~Jackie and Wilson, Hozier

Whumptober 2020, alt. #7: Found Family

Charles never regretted burying Arthur. The man deserved a burial, deserved a headstone, deserved more than to be left to rot.

But he’d give anything to be able to close his eyes without seeing Arthur laying on the mountain, without seeing his corpse. To remember Arthur without first seeing him dead on the ground, to remember him living and bright, even if it was angry and cruel, before he’d tried to redeem himself if only because it meant he didn’t first think of him half-rotted on that stone.

INSPIRED BY THIS ART BY @amesegue

@whumptober2020

When they’d said goodbye, when Arthur had tried to come with him, when he’d refused to let him, Charles had known he’d never see him again.

He’d been half right.

He’d never seen him alive again.

And he never regretted burying Arthur. The man deserved a burial, deserved a headstone, deserved more than to be left to rot.

But he’d give anything to be able to close his eyes without seeing Arthur laying on the mountain, without seeing his corpse. To remember Arthur without first seeing him dead on the ground, to remember him first living and bright, even if it was angry and cruel, before he’d tried to redeem himself if only because it meant he didn’t think of him half-rotted on that stone.

He hadn’t found out that the gang had been scattered for a day or so after the fact.

Rains Fall had, face more solemn than usual (which was saying something) stepped into his tent, a newspaper in hand. Pressed it into his palm without a word, and he’d known before opening it what it would say.

He’d been gone by morning, but it took days to reach Beaver Hollow.

Though he’d hated Beaver Hollow, seeing the camp decimated hurt. He’d not run with them long - only a year and a half, maybe a bit longer, they’d been his home, been his family, even towards the end. And though most of it had been reduced to ash, he could still determine what most of it had been - there was Dutch’s tent, there, the remains of the campfire, and there, Arthur’s wagon.

Half tangled in Dutch’s tent, Grimshaw’s body, skull picked near-clean by crows that he chased away.

They had never been particularly close.

She hounded him when he came back bloody from hunting, and more than once had boxed him around the ears when he hadn’t been quick enough to wash clean.

But she’d been like a mother to him, if a poor one. Chased him to his bedroll if he didn’t sleep after taking the night watch duty, shoved ‘dinner’ and ‘breakfast’ into his hands if he didn’t eat. He didn’t remember much of his mother, they’d been separated when he was too young to remember her, but he liked to think she’d be like Miss Grimshaw… if a bit nicer.

So seeing her left to be picked clean by scavengers hurt. He took the time to stoop down, cutting the tent and wrapping it around her carefully, mindful of her exposed skull and keeping it together as best he could, her mandible nearly coming loose, before fastening her to Taima’s rump.

She deserved better, but he didn’t have better, so he gave her the best he had.

The trail wasn’t hard to follow.

Corpses, picked half clean by scavengers, led into the cave. Led to the ladder, and he knew where it led out, so he left the cave and led Taima up to the hole, followed the trail from there - horse carcasses left to rot where their riders had been collected, though he didn’t know why the Pinkertons back at the Hollow had been left behind - until he found Old Boy and Dipper, pain a shearing wound in his chest.

Old Boy had been largely eaten, a gaping wound in his side - a bear, maybe, seeking the nutritious innards - but Dipper had been left to decompose, untouched as though she were something holy, something that would bring sour luck on any who dared touch her, though flesh had begun to slough away from her dark face, baring her gleaming skull, and he took the time to kneel and stroke her mane, hair coming out in chunks caught in his fingers, thanking her and then Old Boy though he hadn’t known the Half-bred half so well.

Up the mountain, and he struggled to keep the trail. Finally found himself clambering up a ledge - then down, and the crunch of breaking bones trickled ice down his spine.

He saw, first, what was easily the largest coyote he’d ever seen. Black as a starless night, it stood impossibly still aside from its head, jerking from side to side and -

though Charles was not one who was quick to anger, or to fault an animal for its instincts, he reached for his gun and fired at the coyote.

But it was quick and, as though it had known what he was going to do, danced back with the grace of a deer, paws so light they didn’t seem to touch the ground, stopping to stand in the middle of the ledge and just barely he was aware of its paw resting on a revolver, but couldn’t look away from its muzzle, dangling open and dripping blood.

His eyes met its - dull yellow, like spoiled egg yolks - and he couldn’t look away. It went still, didn’t seem to even breathe, and then the spell was broken as a drop of blood splattered to the ground and he brought his gun up again, firing over its head. With a nonchalance that no wild animal he'd ever met had, it sauntered away, turning the corner and kicking away the revolver as it went.

He stared after it until long after its paw-steps had faded away, jerked as though coming out of a trance and looked over at the form the coyote had loomed over and

“Oh god, Arthur,”

he’d thought he’d never be unable to see his brother, and he’d been right.

One of his eyes was gone, only a bloody socket left in its place, skull bared, long stolen away by a scavenger, a bird or something precise, looking for an easy meal, something soft that wouldn’t require much fuss to get to. His stomach churned and he fought the urge to gag - he’d dealt with many corpses in his time, but never one of a man he’d call brother, and finally he lost control and turned, emptying his stomach, as a fly crawled out of his nose, fluttering down and crawling into his mouth, dangling open as though he’d been gasping for air when he died (or, some part of him hoped, his face had relaxed in death, he’d seen that happen before.)

Blood and… and other liquids, he didn’t know the name for them, wasn’t much of a learned man in such a way, decomposition fluids he supposed they were called, oozed from his nose, from his eyes and mouth and ears, and he had to turn his head to keep from vomiting on Arthur. Though he hated the sight of it, he prayed that the way his nose was at a wrong angle, looked crushed and shattered, was because he was dead and that it hadn’t happened as he died, though from the bruising on his face - at least, he thought it was bruising, but Arthur’s skin sat odd on his face, those frown lines that once lined his mouth now stretched strange down near his cheekbone and jawline, so who knows what it could be - he had a sinking feeling it was due to how he died.

Charles never did know how he died.

He’d thought Arthur looked beaten in, though he’d been dead long enough that he’d started to look small, skin sliding and falling along his bones, and he’d been sick in the end, losing weight and muscle mass until he’d looked more skeleton than man, so he wasn’t entirely sure.

Hoped, almost, that he’d been shot, that he’d suffered the short death of a well-placed bullet.

But when he’d sat back, unable to look his brother in the face any longer, unable to see that single stony eye staring accusingly back at him, he’d found a mess.

The coyote hadn’t been the first to get there. That, or the coyote had been there for a long time as he was torn open from stem to stern, a mess of torn flesh and bared meat, shredded organs and shattered bone, the flayed remains of his beloved coat, writhing with maggots and he couldn’t unhear the coyote cracking Arthur’s ribs between its teeth.

He lurched to his feet, put his hands on his knees and gasped for breath, tried desperately to ground himself even as he shook apart. Shucked his jacket - wished he had that tent but he’d have to make do, refused to leave Arthur behind for fear the coyote came back, or any other scavenger for that matter - and lifted him carefully, swallowed convulsively, stomach rebelling at the feel of his loose skin shifting beneath his hands. It wasn’t his first time handling a body, even one long rotted, many rotted even more than this one, but it’s different when it’s your brother.

There was a chunk missing from his leg - the coyote, he thought, it fit for its size, and maggots poured from it as he scooped him up, cradling him like a bride, holding his breath against the scent of rot and sick, turning and beginning to walk up the cliff.

He wanted, more than anything, to bury him near the Overlook.

Arthur had been happiest there, he knew. When the gang had been happy, before it had all fallen apart. When they were all alive, before Dutch had well and truly lost his mind. Where Micah had been gone - first in jail, then hiding while he made reparations.

But he feared trying to bring him down the mountain, wasn’t sure he could hold together for even that small trip, much less on the back of a horse that far of a ride, and he didn’t have enough room on Taima if he managed to either way.

So he went up the mountain, cradling Arthur as though he were something precious - which he was - mindful of the open wound in his leg, of the hole in his stomach, painfully aware of the eye staring into him. Looked and looked, determined to find somewhere to bury him - he deserved, at least, that much. Remembered overhearing him talking to Lenny and Tilly and Hosea once, a long time ago—

“Face me to the west, so I can… watch the settin’ sun an’... remember all the fine times we had that way.”

—and Arthur, when he found him, had been facing east, and so Charles was determined to bury him facing west if it was the last thing he did.

He looked up, frowning as he carefully stepped down a small ledge, and the coyote was staring back at him.

If his arms weren’t full, he would have shot the damn thing for the mess it had made of his brother.

It huffed, tilted its head, licked its lips, and trotted away.

Behind where it stood was the perfect spot.

An outcropping, not too far out but long enough for a man of Arthur’s size, a massive rock at the end like some natural headstone. The grass thick and lush, cradling Arthur when he set him down and knelt to feel the dirt, finding it loose enough to be dug with a tool but hard packed enough that an animal would have to work their paws bloody.

It was perfect, almost too perfect, and he looked back, frowning when he didn’t see the coyote anywhere. Felt a chill run down his spine, shook it off.

He moved Arthur so he could keep an eye on him, ready to chase off any birds that might be attracted, not trusting the coyote - clearly brazen, used to humans - not to try its luck.

Charles carried a trowel in his satchel, having found it useful for a great many things, so he pulled it out and set to work.

Hours passed. By the time he was done his clothes were sticking to him with sweat and he was shaking, muscles throbbing and near to giving out. But he had a grave, ten feet deep just to be safe, and so he wiped off the trowel and set it aside, picking up Arthur as carefully as he could with hands that shook with more than just exhaustion, said a prayer and set him down in the grave, making sure to face him west before clambering out of the hole, collapsing onto his side and gasping for breath.

He didn’t dare to rest though, knew that just a hole wouldn’t deter any scavengers, and set about filling the grave. Hated to cover his brother with dirt, wished he could give him the dignity of a coffin but had no way of getting one, so could only offer an apology as the dirt scattered over the side of Arthur’s face.

He doesn’t remember much of burying him. Pouring the dirt back in took hours, he had only his hands and a trowel and he’d dug it deep, but finally he could collapse onto his side after patting it harshly, making sure it was packed down until, aside from the lack of grass and plants, it looked barely different from the rest of the ledge, barely disturbed.

He dozed on and off for the rest of the day, waking as the rising sun cast its light into his eyes. Reached up and wiped his face, was jerked back down to reality when he found himself with a streak of dirt across his face—

—looked up, and found himself staring down the coyote again. It shifted from paw to paw, looked back over its shoulder, and his only warning was the faintest, far-away clattering of hooves before the most golden stag he’d ever seen strode up to stand beside the coyote as though the coyote wouldn’t eat it if given a heartbeat’s chance, peering down at him critically, before turning right back around and walking away, gone as quick as it had come.

The coyote looked down at him for a moment longer, then turned and trotted after the stag.

He shivered, and stood, grabbing his satchel - he’d intended on eating and having a drink, but he wanted to get started on Arthur’s grave marker, could always eat as he worked.

Arthur’s grave marker took him five days. Finding the wood took the better part of the first, breaking down the trees took the second. And then was the matter of carving it, of working the wood into a circle, of making it take the shape he could see in his mind’s eye, of making all the separate pieces come together and, more importantly, stay together.

He intended on taking as long as he needed to make the grave marker. Every time he closed his eyes he saw it, saw it look a certain way, and though he didn’t know why he knew it needed to look as such.

And on the fifth day, every one woken to find the deer and coyote peering down at him, he had the marker, and all he needed to do - though it was no easy undertaking - was engrave it. He was no religious man, but he knew some sermons, knew some verses as any man of his time would, had spent most of his time carving trying to decide, trying to picture them carved into the wood until it fell to rot, and finally he planted the grave marker carefully and stepped back to look it over a final time,

His knees went weak, and he sank to the ground.

The culmination of a week - two days ride, five days taken to bury and make his grave marker, a break taken only to bury Miss Grimshaw - stood before him. He felt… oddly empty, until a tear trickled down his face, and then another, and another, and he’d never been one to cry and his face didn’t twist and he didn’t sob but he couldn’t stop.

Something soft nudged against his face, a warm puff of breath, and he caught a glimpse of golden fur before he was nearly knocked over with the force of the stag’s shove.

Despite himself, he grinned - it was watery, and shaky, and tasted of salt as tears ran over his mouth, but the stag sighed into his face, smelling of sweet-grass and smoke and horse-sweat and familiar and he reached up, tangling his fingers in the thick fur of its neck, bringing their heads together.

ARTHUR MORGAN

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO HUNGER AND THIRST FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years ago

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Thirty

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

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

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

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

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

Epilogue

The sky was beautiful, a light blue and a dusky pink in some areas, orange in others.

Ada gazed at the colours, watching the sun slowly set behind the hills far away. All around her, crickets trilled gently and birds whistled softly. It was so still, so peaceful.

Folding her arms, she rubbed at one of them lightly, looking towards the faint outline of the mountains beyond the hills, Mount Hagen somewhere amongst them.

She hadn’t wanted to die. The moment the bullet had passed through Dutch to her, the numbness had fallen away, crumbled, and she knew she wanted to live. So fiercely she wanted to live, and it was all that had gone round and round in her mind as Arthur had taken her down to Valentine. Coming in and out of consciousness, she’d felt terrifying waves of fear, anger, grief, denial, and, in one moment, she truly thought she had died as finally peace had suddenly washed over her.

A corner of her mouth lifted a little. Morphine would do that.

Somehow, deep in her mind, she’d always known that the final moments on the mountain was what it would come down to; her or Dutch, one way or another. And, once upon a time, she wouldn’t have known what decision he’d have made.

They hadn’t spoken about what had happened since the night before they’d returned home. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t, not yet... though she’d had to with Thom, barely an hour after they’d arrived, in fact.

That had been a week ago, and he and Charlotte had left the next day, the former still cold towards her, the latter reluctant and apologetic.

“He just needs time,” her sister-in-law had murmured to her as they’d embraced, her lovely features full of concern for both of the O’Driscoll siblings.

“I know.”

Ada wasn’t angry at him, though, and she certainly didn’t blame him for being so, either.

Mercifully, they’d managed to prevent Millie from catching on to anything that had happened, despite the heated argument. She just thought her mother had caught a cold and bruised her stomach so “gentle hugs for a little while, angel.”

While she couldn’t help but dwell on her brother and his hissed words to her, full of a venom of a former self, there had been some bright moments since then, and not just from Millie making her laugh every day. John had written, telling them he’d wasted no time in asking Abigail to marry him... and she’d said yes. Ada had cried into her morning cup of tea while Arthur had grinned and grinned, reading the words over and over.

The wedding was due to be in a week’s time, and, as a result of her now strained relationship with her brother, Millie would be going with them, something the little girl was very excited about. Ada and Arthur didn’t think they could ever be separated from her again, anyway. Sadie and Charles would be there, too, naturally, and it was nice, having something to look forward to.

She should feel well enough to ride by herself, then, too, even though they’d take the wagon for Millie’s comfort. Her wound was healing, slowly, but healing. The first few days after they’d returned she’d just slept and eaten and drunk and slept, more exhausted than she had known, the argument with Thom having not exactly helped.

And, through it all, Arthur had been... well, Arthur. She’d never loved him more than she did right now. He’d tended to her, looked after Millie and kept her entertained, looked after the animals and had even started drawing up plans for the new stable. She’d catch the way he’d looked at her sometimes, though; sometimes grateful, other times like he was afraid, like he was reliving the days in Valentine, like he’d been reminded once again of how very much human they were.

They would just be brief moments, though, and then he would smile, fear turning to love. She knew he was waiting for a sign of melancholia, too, but none came. She’d learned to not just wait around for the spells or dwell on the possibility of them, knowing that, though they would come, they would also go, as surely as night turned to day, and life would continue on as it always did.

“Well, if that ain’t the prettiest sight in all the land. Sun ain’t bad either.”

Her lips twitched as Arthur pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his arms sliding around her. She leaned back against his chest with a quiet sigh, her hands settling over his.

“How long did it take you to think of that one?”

“‘bout thirty minutes. I’ve been stood by the window just starin’ at you.”

She laughed, the fingers on one hand lacing with his. “Wow, quicker than last time.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ there.”

Ada laughed again, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.

“You okay?” he murmured into her hair, and she nodded, tilting her head to lean it back against his shoulder.

“Yeah.” She traced light, absent-minded patterns on the back of his hand with a finger tip, the sky now turning from dusky pink to fiery red. “There’s gonna be good weather tomorrow.”

“Looks so. I was thinkin’ of goin’ out tomorrow, doin’ some huntin’ while Millie is havin’ her lessons with Martha.” His chin rested on her shoulder as he rocked her slightly. “Thought maybe you’d like to join me, if you feel up to it.”

He had to lift his head a little as she turned hers, smiling softly at him. “I’d love to.”

“All righ’. You can hold my coat while I shoot down that Grizzly that’s been spotted, I think I can get ‘im...”

Ada shook her head as she turned in his arms to face him, her lips twitching. “You’re a very funny man.”

His smile was wide, very much pleased with himself. “I know that by how much you laugh.”

“I should stop encouraging you.”

“Oh, you can try, sweetheart, but I see miserable failure...” he murmured, lowering his head towards hers.

And he was right. She couldn’t stop her smile as he captured her lips in a tender kiss, his fingers splaying across her back. Barely moments later, her arms slid up and draped around his neck, her lips moving slowly against his. He teased her for a few moments, his tongue gliding against her mouth, and just as a soft sound came from the back of her throat, he pulled away, one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

“C’mon, there’s still a God damn load of cake left that I am not lettin’ go to waste.”

“You and your insatiable appetite, Mr Morgan.”

He grinned at her as he took her hand, their fingers lacing together. “Oh, I’m insatiable all righ’, Mrs Morgan.”

And she failed again.

Her laugh was carried across their land by the gentle breeze, lifting it through the trees and into the air as she followed her husband into their home.

And life continued on.

The End

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I just wanted to take a few moments to thank each and every one of you for reading this story. I spent about a year planning it and writing the first half, then as lockdown here came in March, I thought why the heck don’t I just start posting it? And here we are, thirty chapters later!! I can’t quite believe I’ve done it, this is the first series I ever started writing and my longest to date.

I want to say a special, huge and just brimming with love thank you to those who have commented. You genuinely kept me going at times and I really can’t thank you enough, you all hold such a special place in my heart.

I’m sorry for making you all wait so long for the final two chapters! I wanted to make sure I was happy with them and that they were the best they could be. I’ve loved living in this world and thinking about Ada and Arthur and I really don’t want it to end... and I’m not quite done yet! I have a short story planned for Thom and Charlotte that will involve Ada and Arthur, their wedding and Millie, and so much more, and maybe some other stories in the future, too...

Thank you so, so much, everyone, I hope you’re all doing okay in these trying times, that you have a lovely day and end of the year, and 2021 brings you all that you hope for.

All the best x

Ghosts of Ourselves — 2021

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Comments and reblogs make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in this series!

Questions?

Tagged: @belfry-bat, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @ntlmundy, @monster363, @cowboisadness

#arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x ofc #rdr2 fic #my writing #flamehairedwritings

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years ago

Note

Could you do 5: “ Why do you hate me? ” with Arthur and his crush because I live to suffer

Oh my God, how many weeks ago were these requests sent in? Well, here it is! For once, it turned out shorter than I imagined!

Request sheet here

Read all my works here on AO3

You finish cleaning the last of the laundry for the day. It’s nearly sunset and the tips of your fingers have been rubbed raw from the washboard, but you ignore the slight burn. Your hands have been getting tougher the last few weeks, calluses developing on your once soft skin. Your entire body is growing firmer living here with this wild bunch.

You’ve been with the gang just a little over a month now and your life couldn’t be more different. You spent most of your life with your parents until they both died years ago in a drowning accident near the banks of Blackwater. Since you weren’t quite an adult yet, you were sent to live with your uncle. He was a pastor for the local church, but he was as far from Godly as he could be.

For the next few years, your life with your uncle was horrible. Your uncle, despite his preaching to be good, clean people, he constantly got drunk and beat you. There were a few times he even touched you inappropriately, and when you tried fighting back he’d beat you even harder. He dragged you to church every Sunday and you’d have to sit through his sermons and hear the hypocrisy spill from his mouth. How you hated hearing him tell everyone else to be kind and patient, to give charitably, to avoid excessive drinking and to be as much like Christ as they could be. How dare he say those things when he was doing such terrible things to you behind closed doors?

When you got to be older, you tried many times to leave, to run away, but he seemed to have a sense of when you’d try and break out. It got to the point he started chaining you to your bed at night, and sometimes left you there for days, bringing you just enough food to stay alive. When people mentioned your absence, he’d wave them off by saying you were visiting a cousin and would return shortly. He also brushed away any visible marks he left on you by stating you were a wild child, falling from horses and running through the brush, but that he wouldn’t try to curb your active nature.

Finally it all got to be too much, the beatings, the rape, the lies. The hungry nights chained to a bed. One night at the table, he started getting drunk and you could see the telling signs he was preparing to attack you. You armed yourself with a large knife and when he rushed you, you shoved it into his throat and killed him. It was only a day or two before people discovered him, but you’d already fled town. Everyone knew it was you and you heard rumors they wanted to hang you for killing the preacher.

A week after killing your uncle, you were in desperate need of help as you knew nothing of living outdoors and on your own. You had no food or any kind of shelter. All you had was your horse and a few sparse supplies. You didn’t even have a gun.

You went to Blackwater, where no one was looking for you. You became a street beggar, but with little success, so you started pick-pocketing people when you could risk it. One day, you picked the pocket of a tall man with black hair and a thick mustache. He caught on quick and dragged you down an alleyway where he was met by another man, thin and grey-haired.

You thought these two men would shoot you, and for a moment they seemed to think they might. Then they surprised you by suggesting you come with them, join their gang of outlaws. You took their offering.

Not long after you joined, the Blackwater heist fell apart, forcing you and everyone else to flee and leaving a couple of the others scattered or dead. A young girl close to your age named Jenny was killed and another man named Mac was shot. He died on the way to a frozen town named Colter.

Now, here in Horseshoe Overlook, you and the others are settling in. You’ve become quite close with most of the others. You work with the other three girls, Karen, Mary-Beth and Tilly. They welcomed you with curiosity and friendship. They helped teach you how to survive in this gang, how to pull your weight to keep an old crone named Grimshaw from getting after you.

When you first arrived, you were horribly afraid of a man named Swanson as he was a drunken reverend. It didn’t take long though to realize that he was completely harmless and he never showed interest in attacking anyone. In fact, he was more prone to hurt himself instead of any of the others. He was a man of God who’d just fallen on hard times.

You get along with pretty much everyone, and most of them seem to like you. Or at least they’ve accepted you. There is one exception though: a man named Arthur Morgan doesn’t seem to like you at all. He’s pretty much ignored you this whole time and he only spoke with you once when you first arrived. He did nothing but ask your name and your story and when you finished telling him, he wandered off and said nothing more.

A few times, Dutch and Hosea, the patriarchs of the gang, have suggested to the other girls that you go with them and learn how to do some proper robbing. Whenever Arthur heard though, he’d come over and tell them you were the worst choice to go out and do any work like that, you simply couldn’t handle it.

There’s been other instances where Arthur seemed to think you were too weak to handle yourself. Sure, you grew up in a luxurious life, but you were willing to learn. Arthur just didn’t want to let you for some reason. In fact, he seemed to think you didn’t belong here. You wondered many times why he disliked you so much. It unsettled you a bit how you often found him staring at you, and when you looked at him, he’d look away. The other girls said that Arthur had an extremely tough exterior but he possessed a good, soft heart. They could always depend on him to protect them when they needed it. You just couldn’t see how that could be.

Grimshaw comes over and tells you to stop working, that the day’s chores are done and to get yourself some dinner. You go over to Pearson’s wagon and scoop yourself some of his stew onto a plate. Most days, this is what Pearson makes, but on occasion, he’ll mix it up with some cornbread or fresh vegetables. Of course, he always has cans of food and other provisions available at his wagon. You take a can of peaches before heading to the round table to eat.

Just as you’ve sat down and begun eating, Arthur walks over and sits down across from you. You don’t know why he does since he clearly doesn’t like you. He’s done this a number of times, sitting near you at the fire or coming to listen when you’re chatting with the others. He never says anything and you can’t read what he’s thinking from his face. You swallow heavily and debate on whether or not to leave. After all, he’s a high-ranking member of the gang, directly underneath Dutch and Hosea. You’re just some dumb newbie compared to him. But you decide to stay, not wanting to seem rude and give him a reason to like you even less.

The two of you sit at the table and eat, not speaking. He glances up at you every so often, making you feel incredibly small and pathetic. As you finish your meal, Pearson walks over.

“Arthur, can you go to Valentine tomorrow? I need some supplies picked up from the store.”

“Sure,” Arthur says and Pearson hands him a list.

“Oh, and can you stop at the post office too?”

Arthur nods and looks at the list. “Guess I’ll need to take someone along. Quite a list, Mr. Pearson.”

Pearson looks at you and points in your direction. “Take Y/N here. Sure she can handle it just fine.”

“No,” Arthur says, returning to his plate of stew. “No, she needs to stay here. Stay where the others can keep an eye on her.”

Your heart sinks. You’d been hoping you could go to town, you’ve been cooped up here for weeks. You’re tired of seeing the same trees, the same people. Pearson sighs. “Just take her, Mr. Morgan. What’s the worst that can happen on a shopping trip?”

Arthur throws him a look as if to say Pearson didn’t know how dangerous a shopping trip could be, but then he shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. Y/N, I’ll be leaving early. Be ready.”

“Yes sir,” you say quietly.

He throws you a curious glance but then he gets up and takes his empty plate over to the wash barrel. He doesn’t say anything or even look at you the rest of the night. You know he’s only taking you because Pearson twisted his arm.

In the morning, you get ready as soon as the sun is up, but Arthur doesn’t even stir from his cot until the sun’s well up. Even then, he doesn’t leave immediately. He gets himself some coffee, chops some wood and then has a quick discussion with Dutch. You stay ready to go at any moment though, not wanting to give him a reason to get angry with you.

Finally, Arthur calls you. “Let’s go,” he says. You rush over and climb into the wagon. He sits down next to you and you stiffen up. He lights a cigarette and then grabs the reins.

“Know anythin’ ‘bout drivin’ wagons?” he asks.

“A little,” you say. “My dad taught me the basics when I was young.”

He hands you the reins and you drive the wagon to Valentine. Nothing happens on the way there, but you’re happy to see the little, muddy town. Other people mill about, most looking like ranchers and farmers. You drive the wagon down the main street and stop near the stables, not too far from the store.

Arthur hops down without a word and throws the butt of his cigarette into the mud. He hands you Pearson’s list. “I’m gonna go check the post office,” he says and walks off.

You go into the store and hand the clerk the list. He snaps at a shopboy who begins piling items into a box. You help him carry the boxes out to the wagon and start sliding them into the back. Arthur comes back after a short period, his hands empty. Post office must not have had anything.

When the shopboy’s done loading up the wagon, you both climb up into it. You’re about to grab the reins but Arthur takes them and whips the horses into a steady trot. You wait for him to say something during the trip, but he doesn’t. He seems tense, anxious. You are, too. Why does he dislike you so much? Sure, you’re extremely inexperienced, but he won’t give you the chance to go out and learn. It’s not that you’re unwilling, you’ve even begged Dutch and Hosea a few times, but Arthur wins them out, pointing out that something is surely to go wrong.

When you get back to camp, you start unloading the wagon when Bill and Lenny come up to you.

“Y/N, you ever rob a stage before?” Bill says.

“I’ve barely robbed anything before,” you say.

“She’s perfect for the job!” Lenny says with a smile. He explains that the stage he and Bill want to rob will have drivers that are heavily suspicious of being robbed. They want you to go and stop the stage and pretend to be lost. Since you have no experience robbing, you’re the most innocent person in camp.

“It’ll be easy,” Lenny finishes.

“Just make sure you get into cover as quick as you can if they start shootin’,” Bill adds.

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur says, attracted by Lenny’s excitement. Lenny tells him the plan and Arthur lowers his brow. “Absolutely not. You ain’t takin’ her nowhere. She’s gonna stay in camp, work with the girls.”

“But she’s perfect, Arthur!” Lenny pleads. “You’ve robbed this company before, you know how quick they are to draw fire.”

“Exactly my point! She don’t know nothin’ about robbin’, ya ain’t takin’ her!” Arthur says.

“Mr. Morgan!” you say sharply. “I want to help! People keep asking me to help with jobs and you won’t let me! Dutch and Grimshaw are always saying that everyone needs to earn my keep, now let me do my part!”

“You ain’t goin’ and that’s final!” he snarls. You hold your ground. Arthur turns to Bill and Lenny and orders them to get someone else. When they turn away, muttering, you glare at Arthur.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” you ask.

He sighs. “Fine.”

You lead him into the trees and then round on him as soon as you’re out of shot from camp.

“What is your problem with me?” you demand.

“I ain’t got a problem-”

“Yes you do, Mr. Morgan! Ever since I showed up, you haven’t liked me for even a second. The others want to teach me how to do work and I want to learn, but you always get in my way! I can learn, I’m a fast learner. I know I don’t know much now but that’ll change.”

“You ain’t goin’ robbin’, Y/N. You ain’t right for the job!” he says.

You stand there for a second, your anger rising. This man has done nothing except make your life even more difficult than it is, given the situation. You can see now he’s arrogant and prideful, and he doesn’t want you taking a share of the profits.

“Why do you hate me?” you demand of him.

“What?” he says, clearly taken off guard.

“I said why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate-”

“Bullshit, don’t lie to me, Mr. Morgan! You haven’t liked me from the start. I don’t know what I said or did to piss you off, but you’re being an ass! All the other girls keep telling me I’ll see that you’re a nice guy, but you’ve done nothing to prove them right!”

He sighs, his mouth in a tight frown. He looks down, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. “I don’t hate ya, Y/N. Farthest thing from it, actually.” His voice is soft and rough.

“Then why are you doing this?” You put your hands on your hips.

“Because I… I’m afraid for ya. You’ve been hurt a lot by that awful uncle, I just want ya safe.”

This is the last thing you expected. Safe? Why would he care for your safety? Then you begin recalling all the arguments you’ve heard him have with the others when it came to you going out and working. He’s always mentioned that something could go wrong and you might get hurt, but not that you’d be the one causing it to go wrong.

“I’m sorry if I’ve come off coarse,” he continues. “It’s just I… when I first met ya I…. I just wanted to… just wanted to protect ya.”

He rubs the back of his neck. You take a step back from him, confused still.

“Protect me? But you seem to be unhappy that I’m here.”

“I’m not. Y/N, I don’t dislike ya. Maybe that’s the problem. I…. I really like ya. Been wantin’ to talk to ya for weeks, just didn’t know what to say.”

“You say hello. You ask me my favorite color, for God’s sake, Arthur!” you say a little more harshly than you meant to. Is he being serious? Has he been so stern about you doing work because he wants you safe because he has a crush on you? That can’t be right. You’re a nobody and he’s, well, he’s Arthur Morgan! When you first saw him, you noted how tall and broad he was, and how lovely his eyes were.

“I know. I been doin’ this all wrong,” Arthur says. “I just didn’t think you’d want to talk to me, big ugly bastard that I am.”

You frown at him a bit. Those are the last words you’d use to describe him. “You always assume things when you meet someone new?” you ask quietly. “Don’t you?” he says. “I’m real sorry I came off that way, Y/N. Do you mind if maybe we start over? Try to get off on the right foot?”

You sigh. “Sure, Arthur.”

He smiles and it brightens up his face. “Thank ya. By the way, what is your favorite color?”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #writing prompts #awkward asks

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squidproquoclarice · 5 years ago

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Really, really pleased for have gotten to write for @rdrsecretcupid2020. I was asked to write for @my-funky-little-cowboy, who requested some soft Sadithur. For Valentine’s Day I decided to go for a super soft UA (despite where it starts, heh) where the worst traumas of 1899 didn’t come to pass, and so most people lived. Hope you enjoy! Soft Sadithur with some Tillier and Abijohn, and maybe a nod towards potential future Charen, which she also requested. ~~~~~~~~~~ March, 1901 White Deer Crossing, Minnesota For the second time in her life, Sadie Griffith was getting married. That fact carried with it both love and a particular sobering reality, given she’d said I do once before less than five years before, and she’d meant it with all her heart then too. Hadn’t truly thought about the weight of till death do us part until she’d sat there in that cabin in Ambarino, holding Jake’s hand as the pneumonia won the fight. There one moment, gone the next. She’d had the rest of that whole winter to rage and grieve and rail against God, to be numb, to cry herself to sleep. But at least she’d been there, at least he’d been able to say goodbye. Far too soon, but a good death, compared to some. She’d buried him in the spring when the ground thawed, packed the wagon, and drove away, knowing she’d never return. She couldn’t run that farm alone, so far from everyone else, but she could have let the livestock and the few crops go and become some kind of hermit, surviving by her hunting and trapping, living as alone as she’d been through those endless snowy days and nights. But she couldn’t live with the gaping wound of Jake’s absence everywhere she turned. So she’d headed south. Run into a gang of toughs calling themselves O’Driscoll Boys who’d shot Betsy, and seen a lone woman and her few belongings as easy pickings. She could have given in, but that part of her that felt frozen since Jake took sick three days after falling through the ice, not only thawed, it exploded. If she was going to die, she was damn well going to fight as much as Jake had, and she wasn’t going to be pushed by some swaggering bastards who viewed a widow and saw only prey. Especially since Jake had ridden that route to avoid bandits in the hills, and gone hunting to replace the provisions they stole, as far as she was concerned, they had as good as killed him themselves. The next wagon by found her standing there over four corpses, blood spattered. Rifle still in hand, pointed at the driver as he hopped down, ready to make it five. Ragged, feral, furious, taking out some of that anguished scream that had lived inside her for months. He’d looked at her, looked at the dead men and the dead horse still in the wagon traces, nodded slightly, and said, voice almost nonchalant despite the horrible sight she must have made, “Seems you can hold your own, ma’am. But as you got no horse now, and being as there are more of their kind roaming about,” he gestured towards the bodies, “I wouldn’t recommend camping alone. So if you’d like to travel with us a bit, you’d be welcome.” Seeing curious faces poking out from wagons further back in their caravan, she’d relaxed a bit, seeing women there with them. Not the most auspicious first meeting, perhaps, but looking back, all she could see was that Arthur had been kind to someone with nothing left to lose. But that was the way of things. They all had stories about how they’d been alone, desperate, scared, lost. How this ragtag band had taken them in and forged them into family. Their leader had died, but Dutch Van Der Linde was still spoken of with a sort of hushed reverence like some kind of hero or god. Secretly, she much preferred Hosea, warm and approachable and so human, with his roguish twinkle and his jokes about how all he wanted in his dotage was to sit around and dandle some more grandchildren on his knee. Children--a hope she and Arthur had both had to put away, and now taken down again, dusting it off with care. They’d traveled for a long time, and somewhere along the way she’d become fully one of them, an outlaw wandering and hunting and killing and scamming alike. But that didn’t matter. They were family. This was what they’d all wanted in the end: home. A good place, peaceful and happy, where this bunch of orphans and outcasts could believe that finally life might be gentle and kind, that something fine could grow from settled roots.

Though Tilly and Javier would provide Jack’s first baby cousin, and she expected Swanson would have another wedding to perform soon enough. She slipped down the hall to Arthur’s room, though like her, he would have packed all his things to move it to the cabin they’d built for some privacy, like John and Abigail’s. Knocking, she heard him answer, tone distracted, “Yeah?” She didn’t reply, just opened the door and stepped in. He stood at the window, looking out over the preparations in the yard, looking pensive, or nervous, or both. They’d talked so much, starting in those long hours out hunting together, about Jake, about Eliza and Isaac, and the sadness in him made sense. He’d had part of his soul ripped from him too, and something about that drew them to each other. Paradoxical that in sharing sadness, it also made her more able to joke and laugh with him, but perhaps that feeling of kinship and trust and comfort stood behind it all and made it so easy to be that free with him in both joy and sorrow. He turned to see her. That smile, that glow in his eyes, a man who’d learned the feel of hope all over again, still caught her heart with a fierce tug. He was a pleasant looking man to begin, but God, seeing him alight with happiness and wonder and hope made him beautiful. She only hoped that fate would be kind, and she’d get to grow old with him. Crossing to the window, she peeked out at the bustle going on. “That is--quite the commotion, ain’t it?” “Too late to elope, I suppose?” he asked her, and she sensed he was only half-joking. She reached out, taking his hand in hers, glad for the reassurance of it. “They’re our family. You’d be sorry if they didn’t get to be a part of it.” “Sure.” “Besides,” she couldn’t help but tease him, “we’re gonna get plenty of time just to ourselves, I promise you that.” “Well, we’re gonna get teased like hell whenever we come out of that cabin, so I’d say let’s make it a few days at least before we take a chance and emerge.” There was a blush alongside that lopsided grin, but that gleam in his eyes told her that he was more than eager to keep making up for all those lonely, loveless years. They watched for a few more minutes, standing there together without a need to say anything. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d come to see him one last time before meeting him before Swanson and taking his hand as he changed into her husband. He was her friend, like Jake had been, and he’d be her friend before anything else, no matter what. But it comforted her all the same.“I didn’t ever think…” She knew what he’d started to say. He hadn’t ever expected a day like this, a future like this. Neither had she. After Mary, after Eliza, after Jake. After becoming a killer and an outlaw. There was no way to turn back the hands of time. She could never be that Sadie again, and he would never be Jake, and she could never be Mary or Eliza for him either. But they didn’t need to be. This would be a different happiness than she’d had before, but not a lesser one. Maybe this peace and this second chance meant even more so for its coming after such darkness. “We ain’t young, no, and we ain’t innocent no more.” She heard the husky edge to her voice, fighting against the swell of emotion. “But Arthur, that don’t mean we won’t be happy. That we shouldn’t be happy.” She had to believe that they could. They’d been damaged, torn, broken, but they had chosen to be good people all the same. Both of them helped people where they could, chose kindness rather than hatred, and that soothed something.His hand tightened around hers. “Sadie?”

“Yeah?” She turned away from the window, towards him. “Thank you.” She understood he meant it for far more than a few words. He looked like he wanted to kiss her, but he smiled, touched her cheek with his other hand. “Guess I’ll save all that for later.” Just then, Mary-Beth burst in, asking, “Arthur, Sean wants to know if you’ve seen--” She gave a little cry of alarm, looking at the two of them. “Arthur Morgan, you know you ain’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding, it’s bad luck!” “She came to my room, how is this my fault?” “Just go talk to him, you know how he gets when he gets a notion in his head, and I don’t want him ruining a lovely wedding!” Ushered out by Mary-Beth back towards her own room, she let herself be shepherded, trying to not laugh. Tilly, Abigail, Jenny, Karen, and Susan already waited there. “Well, Mrs. Morgan,” Susan said, giving her a smile, “should we get you ready?” She gestured to the dress laid out on the bed. A widow couldn’t wear white, not for a second wedding. She had to reflect with some amusement it wasn’t as though any of them in that room, though none of them was technically a wife, could claim virginal purity regardless. But in truth, Sadie would rather not wear white, even if it had been an option. She’d seen more than enough of icy, pristine white. The rich yellow called to mind the glow of light and fire, the vivid burst of spring flowers, and that was what she needed, a dream of life and warmth. They’d all helped her make the dress after Arthur finally mustered the courage to ask her to marry him at Christmas. There were long hours of loving labor in every stitch, every pintuck, every bit of embroidery. She looked at all of them: Mary-Beth with her love of romance, practically vibrating with glee. Tilly, and the slight curve beneath her skirt, with her own hopes and dreams. Abigail, still hoping John would marry her in truth, but eyes shining with happiness as she clipped a few last threads on the dress. Jenny, shy and sweet, deftly twisting flowers into a circlet for her. Karen, briskly polishing Sadie’s boots to a high shine, and she wondered if she could prod Charles to finally ask Karen to dance. Susan, who’d loved and lost, more than once, and sometimes she was still as prickly as anything, but in the end, she loved them all and fought for them like a she-wolf. In a way, this was their day too, their celebration. Caroline was in Oregon, and their rift as sisters might never be mended. Her mother was long gone, dead shortly before she and Jake finally gave up on their family’s farms in Tumbleweed and ran off to Blackwater to marry, and from there to Ambarino. So she’d been alone that day, and so had Jake. She was getting married again today, but this time, it wouldn’t be alone. She’d have family around her today, and for the future, the kind of love from a large and boisterous family that she’d never known before. After struggling so long either alone or with only Jake to help her, that thought of belonging, of the support of being woven into something strong and sturdy with so many threads from other people, made her smile. She threw up her hands in mock resignation. “All right, all right, I put myself in the capable hands of you gals.” ~~~~~~~~~~ “It’ll be fine, Arthur, you’ll see.” Hosea said, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re as jumpy as a cat.” He glanced over at Hosea. “And I suppose your wedding day went smooth as silk?” Hosea let out a laugh that barely skirted turning into a cough, but he waved off John’s offered arm, sitting down on Arthur’s bed unaided. “No, I spent the whole morning pacing a trench into the floor, threw up an hour before the ceremony, and then the thought of kissing poor Bessie at the altar after that about threw me into a panic.” “Sounds like a poor start to things,” John remarked, leaning back against the chest of drawers, crossing his arms. “Well, I talked the preacher into getting me some whiskey. Wasn’t quite sure whether I wanted to make myself a stiff drink or clean my mouth out, but it seemed it’d suffice for either. I chose the latter, in the end.” “Why’s that?” “Cause tense as I was, I wanted to see her on that day as clear as I ever had.” Hosea glanced over at John first, then at Arthur, giving one of his self-deprecating smiles. “Though I still wasn’t quite sure she wouldn’t come to her senses and leave me at the altar, mind.” “Hosea, please…” The last thing he needed right now was that worry. Even now he could feel it trying to take root. Sadie would see sense, and say that there was no way she could tie herself to the likes of him. There had been two women in his life who’d seen something in him fit to refuse to be his wife, and for good reason, so why should this time be any different? Because this was Sadie. Because ever since he’d seen her, terrifying and magnificent on the roadside, dead O’Driscolls and a dead horse, things had simply worked. With Mary it was all back and forth, giddy dreams or ferocious fights, and nowhere solid to build, just castles in the air. With Eliza, he’d started so far back, feeling like he must be a shame in her life she didn’t quite know what to do with--the outlaw and the drunken fool who’d gotten her pregnant. With Sadie, it had always been possible to just be, and she saw fit to accept that, and somehow, even love him for all that he both was and wasn’t. “She won’t run,” Hosea said, voice going soft. “She knows you. She’s family. Been with us long enough to understand who we are and what we all come from. She’s that rare type--the ones who can stand right by your side as a partner, who make you want to be better without making you feel like the lowest fool in God’s creation.” She was just like that, and he supposed that was the difference. She was his friend, his partner in so many things, and that made it easier more often than not. Though he’d still agonized plenty before asking her to marry him, and suspected he’d made a hash of it all the same in his anxiousness. Arthur heard the bittersweet note in Hosea’s voice, and sensed he knew precisely where that longing ache stemmed from, because how could it not? “I wish Bessie had met her. That she was here today.” Hosea managed a wistful smile. “Me too. But however long you’re given, it’s worth it.” Sadie had said much the same. It hadn’t been an easy thing for her to risk this again, after such a short time with Jake. Just like opening himself up to the possibility of children, of being a father for real this time, terrified him even as much as he hungered for it. They were going into this with their share of scars and fears, but they would be there for each other through it. That was what made it bearable, and what made him able to cautiously step out onto that bridge they’d built together back from that wilderness of pain where they’d been so lost, trusting that it could hold his weight. The other side of it was still a mystery, because he wasn’t sure he could truthfully say he’d ever been fully happy for more than moments, but he looked forward to seeing where that road led. They’d gotten a good start on it, all of them, by settling down here on this land where the woods met the prairie, living a quiet and simple life. Dutch had died two and a half years ago now, dead in some senseless brawl across the western Grizzlies. At first Arthur had blamed himself for not being there, which was stupid since they’d all understood that Dutch justifiably hadn’t wanted company while going to town to scratch a particular itch at the saloon. Then he’d felt lost as anything, as had all of them, bereft of that father-leader who’d drawn them all together with that magnetic charisma and the sense that Dutch had some magnificent bigger plan behind it all. What were they now? A bunch of vagabond nobodies, bandits and whores and scamsters that no place wanted. And yet, they were each other’s still--they were family. They’d hunkered down that winter near Strawberry, paralyzed by that loss, and hit the road in spring as much out of habit as anything. It was the woman and her dead horse and those dead O’Driscolls that snapped them out of things. She needed a place, she needed people, and they’d given her that, without Dutch there to lead them to it. They could stand for the best of Dutch’s notions without all that high-flown shit from Evelyn Miller that frankly most of them hadn’t cared about all that much, and which lately had seen them seem to stray so far from those ideals anyway, becoming more violent, more selfish. The system was too big and vast to fight, and they were too tired, needing something simpler and surer than to be on some visionary quest. They wandered the land, and things boiled down to a simple, pure code they agreed they could and should live by: we’ll help those who need it where we can, and stand against those who hurt others where we can.

By last summer, the notion of a hearthfire rather than a campfire called to all of them. They belonged to each other, but having somewhere to call home, a place to belong, mattered. If the world wouldn’t give them that place, they would damn well make it themselves, and so they had. They’d bought this land and built on it, and they’d make this their home. Civilization was civilization, and chances were it would follow them, and they’d have to deal with that in the end, but it meant neighbors and friends, not just the horrors of the big city. Another knock on the door, and he couldn’t help hoping it was Sadie again. But it was Tilly who came in. “Hosea, Pearson’s about ready to murder Bill.” Hosea sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll handle it, sure.” His was a quieter, less thunder-and-lightning leadership than Dutch’s, but it proved what they needed. They needed to be a family, not a rebellious cause, and having Susan and Hosea in charge marked that shift. In the end, it had been strangely easy to just stop fighting an impossible cause, and to cherish the things they already had. Tilly turned to go, but Hosea held up a hand. “Stay a minute, before I go deal with it.” He chuckled lowly. “Though I suppose you don’t need a murder on your wedding day.” “Don’t make for a good omen, I imagine,” he agreed dryly. He yielded the chair to Tilly, gesturing for her to sit. Hosea looked at the three of them, and smiled. “Well. Look at you.” That smile flickered into nervousness. “I told myself I’d do better saying the things I need to say before I…” He cleared his throat. “Any luck, I’ve got a few years left in me anyhow.” “Aw, Hosea, don’t be talking that kind of crap.” “John, don’t. I’ve had a good run, and it’s a better end, when it comes, than I ever would have thought. I love all our dear miscreants, but you three, you’ve always been something special. You’re the children I never--you’re my children, all right?” He understood that, looking at John and Tilly. He’d been fourteen, John twelve, and Tilly fourteen when they’d been taken in. They were something different than the others. They were the ones who’d still been children, who Dutch and Hosea and Susan, and Bessie when she was alive, had helped finish raising. The ones that Hosea had taught to read and write, whose nightmares he’d heard. His brother and his sister in the truest kind of way. “Arthur’s getting married today. Tilly, I expect that’ll happen soon.” “Javier asked,” Tilly said softly. “We just ain’t said anything yet.” She gave Arthur one of those cheeky smiles of hers. “We didn’t want to steal the thunder. You waited long enough for this, I figured.” He gave her a smile in return. “Thanks.” “John’s already provided me with one delightful grandson, but I do hope you plan to do right by Abigail, being as we’re now honest folk ourselves.” “I asked after Arthur asked Sadie,” John protested. “But Abigail said just the same as Tilly, all right?” “All right, John. I expect young Lenny and Jenny might be next. But anyway, seeing all of you settled, comfortable...it does me good.” His eyes brightened, and his smile was genuine, guileless. “Thank you. For making an old man’s last years so happy. Now, I expect you’d best tend to the bride, Tilly, and John, you should check that boy of yours ain’t got into any mischief. Arthur, why don’t you help me prevent whatever Bill-based mayhem we got?” Following Hosea down towards the stairs, hearing the raucous female laughter from Sadie’s room as Tilly slipped in the door again, he said, “You know you’re enough to cow Bill all by yourself, Hosea.” Hosea paused on the stairwell. “Smart boy.” He looked Arthur in the eyes for a long moment. “I do love all of them. But you’re my oldest, and the one most like me, and we all know how they rely on you. So they’ll look to you, and Sadie too, when I’m gone.” He put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “You went and became a man. And I don’t mean by marrying. Got nothing to do with that. But you finally came into your own these last few years, and I’ve watched it happen. You’ll be OK without me. You’re a better man than me, Arthur. You always were a good son, but now you’re a man a father can be proud of.” Oh, Goddamn, was a groom allowed to cry on his wedding day? He held it back only with effort, but he couldn’t help reaching out to give Hosea a hug for those words that felt like they meant everything. “Thank you.” “Of course. You need a bottle of whiskey?” His tone was light and teasing. “No, no, I’ll be fine.” He’d drunk far too much in the past to try to not feel things, to numb the guilt and sorrow and crushing self-loathing. Like Hosea said, today he wanted to see everything, to feel everything, to remember everything. It came down to simple belief: Sadie wouldn’t feel compelled to abandon him, and he wouldn’t fail her. They would work together, be happy together, because the love and trust and friendship was there. He’d seen it in Hosea and Bessie for all those years. The rest? It would work itself out. He was here, surrounded by family, surrounded by love, with a home. Things looked pretty good. Hosea smiled, giving him one last pat on the shoulder, then letting go. “Damn right you will. Now you head back up to your room, I’ll get the boys together to get you ready, and let’s get you hitched.”

#arthur morgan #sadie adler #sadithur #rdrsecretcupid2020 #rdr2 #hosea matthews #tilly jackson #john marston #my-funky-little-cowboy #fic from the parking lot

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whirlybirbs · 6 years ago

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it’s so important to me that miss turner gets shitfaced and arthur has to look after her

a/n: the van der linde gang robs the bank in valentine. celebration ensues. arthur watches as miss turner gets her first real taste of brandy, makes a home on his lap and the not-so-wonderful aftermath of too much liquor. these two are hopelessly pining – it’s ahh it’s a slow burn to death. here’s the masterlist!

It’s your first real taste of what the Van der Linde Gang is all about.

A bank robbery.

They ride back into camp with hell on their heels late in the night, whooping and hollering and cheering like sinners sweating out the devil. Karen is the first to throw herself from her horse, laughing so hard she’s doubled over in the dirt and Lenny follows – dollar bills flying from his hands like doves in the night.

It’s… amazing.

To say the robbery was a success is an understatement.

Your jaw drops when you see the thick stacks Arthur Morgan is carrying in each hand. He’s laughing, face split into a proud smile as Bill greets Dutch with a hand full of hundreds. The celebration strikes like the moon pulls high-tide, rolling and washing over the whole camp as the clips of money are handed around like trophies and crates of moonshine are dragged from the backs of wagons.

You’re fleeting around camp, eyes shining with admiration and awe as you watch the celebrations take hold. Karen – she’s too funny – already has a drink in hand, swinging into the chorus of some song you don’t know. She’s handed you the money – her share – and you’re holding it with wide-eyes when Arthur finds you by the bulk of the group.

You gawk up at him by the fire.

“This… This is…”

He grins, settling next to you as you knock knees with him. He swigs the handle of whiskey in his hands. He thinks that if this is your reaction every time they rob a bank, he may just have to do it more often. It’s adorable. You’re… gobsmacked.

“Arthur, this is – so much money!”

“That,” he grunts, “it is. And!”

He digs another clip from his back pocket – his eyes glimmer with amusement as you peel into a round of delighted laughter. You just… blink at it, full of disbelief at the weight and thickness and crisp feel of the thousand dollars in your hands.

“There’s more where that came from,” he says, leaning and nudging you with his shoulder. All you can do is just… shake your head. This isn’t real. There’s no way.

You hand off Karen’s share to her and marvel at Arthur’s; when you turn, moving to hand it back to him, he simply waves you off. You blink.

“Keep it.”

“… What?”

“Yea, well,” he chirps, swigging his drink, “I was gunna give y’ some a’ my share anyways –”

Your heart hammers at the prospect of him already having considered giving you part of his share. The fact you’re on the fore-front of Arthur Morgan’s mind, even in the midst of a bank heist, leaves you even more stupefied than before.

“Can’t have y’ stealin’ more journals, y’know?”

“That… this is…” you gawk at him, face blooming into a ridiculously big smile is worth more than any of the money in the world to him, “Arthur!”

“Look at her!” it’s Uncle who exclaims it, “Even the rich lady is impressed with us simpletons!”

The laughter that seizes the group is full and honest and you can hardly keep your hands from shaking at the awe of it all. You are… amazed. There’s no other way to describe the feeling that sweeps you entirely – back home, you’d be surrounded by women in high-collars mocking the headline of the bank robbery. It would be a topic over brunch, something snobbed about for hours.

“How much?” you ask, leaning and catching Arthur’s arm, “How much did you get away with?”

Blue eyes dart to your face. He can’t hide the smile that worms it’s way onto his mouth. Arthur laughs into his whiskey.

“Twenty-thousand.”

“… Twenty-thousand?!”

He peels into loud laughter, along with the rest of the gang as you spring up, hand slapped over your mouth. You… this… oh my god.

“I need a drink.”

Arthur perks up, watching as Mary-Beth and Tilly pass you a bit of the brandy they’ve been sipping on – you take a glass with hearty thanks, settling back down on the log beside Arthur. You can hardly speak, really, just busy thinking about the heroics it must take to rob a whole bank of $20,000.

Your gaze falls to Arthur and the light of the fire dancing across his face.

You sip the brandy.

You sputter, cough, then gag.

“Eugh!”

“And th’ lady finds she hasn’t yet aquired th’ taste of fine alcohol!” Arthur chirps, hand clapping your knee, “Don’t worry – it goes down smoother after the first glass.”

And boy, does it.

And after the fifth, you’re sipping it like water.

Arthur has stopped his own merriment for the time being, settled on the easy glow of a drink or two as you inch closer and closer and closer to him with each swigged drink.

There’s a sense of protectiveness that washes over him. He knows that you’re new to this tougher way of life, new to drink and gamble and merriment and robbery. So, he keeps a careful eye on you through the night, handing you some of his canteen and a few biscuits all the while.

As the fire begins to die (but, not the party – no, you’ve successfully kept the lot going. If you can keep up, well, no one has an excuse to let up), you’ve finally wound up in Arthur’s lap – one arm is draped around his shoulders and the other planted firmly above his heart.

(He’d been grateful when you’d finally plopped yourself there. After nearly falling off the log three times, this way he could make sure you wouldn’t crack your head open… and admire the openness with which you touch him.)

Talk has began to lull about, stories being wound around the fire. Javier talks about home, Charles talks about his mother’s tribe, Mary-Beth talks about the most recent book she’s read. Gang politics fleet about, for a moment, on the lips of Arthur and Hosea and Dutch.

All the while, you’re settled in Arthur’s lap.

You are a sight for the whole camp to see, staring at Arthur Morgan like he’s the sun to your stars. It paints him all sorts of colors humble; his hold on you is respectful.

He ducks a hand to your thigh, patting you.

“How y’ holdin’ up, Miss High-Society?” it’s gentle.

It’s late now – a good number of the camp has wandered off to bed, save for you, Arthur, Bill, Lenny, Javier, and the girls.

“I’m… hm,” you shrug, blinking at him with a hazy look. Your faces are so close, your noses nearly brush. Arthur’s eyes dart to your lips as you speak on instinct, “I suppose – drunk.”

That riles a wave of laughter from the group.

“First time?” Karen cheeps.

You nod, adjusting in Arthur’s lap and pulling your arm from his shoulders. You play with the glass in your hands. He catches his breath with the distance.

“I was never allowed t’ do things like this – party and laugh and have fun,” you slur, “It was all… straight-back chars and piano fingers and this fork and that spoon and la-la-la. So, I dunno – this… This is nice.”

“Piano fingers?” Tilly questions.

Arthur laughs at that, bouncing his knee a bit. You giggle.

“Oh, did I not share? Our lovely Miss Turner can sing and tickle th’ ivories.”

You swat at his chest. “Shut up.”

He laughs. His thumb moves to draw a lazy circle on your hip. You can feel it through your dress. Everyone dissolves into hazy chatter but all you can feel is Arthur’s thumb. It’s hot and leaves a trail and it’s distracting. You blink at him, eyes stuck on the way his features look soft in the flickering light of the fire. He looks happy.

God, you have it bad.

“Earth t’ Miss Turner –”

You blink.

Arthur notes your distraction.

“I said, why? Y’know,” Karen drawls, waving her drink, “Why make you some… pretty little parlor piece? What’s the point?”

“To catch a good husband,” you grumble, “Or, well, wait for your parents to marry you off t’ one. That way you can be his pretty little parlor piece.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Mm,” you sip your brandy, swallowing the rest down, “But, I learned how to play piano, so that’s somethin’.”

“You any good?” Javier asks, eyes bright at the mention of music. His guitar sits in his lap, “With the singing, too?”

“Yea,” Lenny urges, “Sing us somethin’, Miss Turner.”

You laugh, jaw falling open as you shake your head and dodge the requests. “No, no – I think m’ a bit too drunk to even remember any words now, let alone a tune.”

“Can’t be any worse than Arthur –”

Bill snorts. Arthur shoves the man while balancing you.

“You sing?” you ask, eyes brightening at the man in question as you joke, “Be still my beatin’ heart.”

“Oh, shut it,” Arthur chirps, thumb going back to it’s modest ministrations. It’s a strategic tactic. You lurch in his lap, “I am a shit singer. We all know that. No need t’ rub it in. Now, Miss High-Society, I think it’s about time you drank some water.”

A pout.

“Up,” he pats your knee, “And the lot of you – It’s late. When morning comes, we’ll all start feelin’ sorry fer ourselves if we keep this up.”

There’s a murmur through the group of protest and agreement, mingling to become one consensus that it is time for bed. With the $20k take-away from the day, there will be plenty of celebrating left to do in the morning, though, and you say goodnight to the lot with a slur over your words.

“M’ fine, m’fine.”

Arthur is there, though, giving you something to hold onto.

His hand, more specifically.

Ever the gentleman.

“C’mon, princess,” he jokes, beginning to help you up and lead you towards your tent with a guiding hand, “You’re gunna have one rough mornin’ if you don’t get to bed now –”

“Y’ didn’t have t’ give me some a’ yer share y’know –”

You stand and the last of your drink hits you like a train. Suddenly, it’s a bit harder to think. One step, and another, and the world spins.

“Oh –”

Arthur feels horrible when you hit the ground and he isn’t quick enough catch you.

#simpler said aloud #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan reader insert #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 reader insert #Anonymous

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journal-of-an-outlaw · 5 years ago

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Price to be Paid

Chapter 3

Three more weeks. That’s how long you were all stuck in God damn Colter. Tensions ran high as blowhards like Michah started to feel too cooped up, and you had to verbally beat him away more than once. Someone was always with you to help but you dreaded the day he managed to find you on your own.

Finally, finally, the storm broke and Dutch decided to make a break for it. Last week a group attacked a rival gang for dynamite supplies to rob a train which ended up being a success. They managed to grab some bonds that Hosea promised he could sell quick and get the gang money, something that was desperately needed to buy supplies once off the mountain.

“Alright, Ms. Grimshaw. Get this place packed up and ready to go! We are finally leaving this mountain!” Dutch cried out one morning. Whooping rang out as people scrambled to gather their few belongings. It wasn’t long before the 5 wagons were packed and ready to go. The 4 covered wagons were filled with people who were injured or healing, so you got stuck in the semi open wagon with Hosea and Arthur. The snow wasn’t falling by this time so it wasn’t too cold. You listened to them talk comfortably with one another and forget you were in the back. Every once in awhile Hosea would ask you a question. His eyes were kind as they turned to give you their full attention.

Once the wagons passed the snow line, the green valley was in full view below. You had never seen anything like it, Blackwater in the fall couldn’t even come close to this beauty.

Trees towered above you and reached upwards towards the blue sky, their leaves contrasting against the dark mountains with sprigs of the brightest green. Rivers and lakes could be seen below, and everything was so different from the dead grass you were used to seeing during June back home. Crossing one such stream proved too much for the wagon Arthur was driving, for as soon as it made it over the back left wheel fell off.

“Ah, shit!” Arthur jumped down as the whole wagon veered back. You tried to grab everything you could from falling but a few bags and canisters still managed to land in the mud.

“Everything alright back there?” someone called from ahead.

“I broke the God damned wheel.” Arthur’s tone was serious but you couldn't help but laugh. He glanced up, surprised to see you still in the back. “You hang in there okay, Miss Moore?”

You nodded and motioned to the bags you were restraining from joining those that had fallen out of the back. “You boys need help with that?” Charles had ran up to offer Hosea a hand at lifting the wagon while Arthur rolled the wheel back into place. Arthur waved his hand at you to stay and the whole wagon lifted suddenly. In no time everything was set in place and ready to go.

Charles swung himself up to the back to sit with you on one of the crates. Hosea and him started talking about the Native Americans in these parts, the Heartlands, and how they were so mistreated by the government. Your grandfather on your mother’s side had been Native American, but he moved off the reservation when your mother was born and resided in Boston. You had only known him as an infant but your mother was very fond of him. Charles explained his sad story of how he ended up on his own, and it only occurred to you then that you and your family had been so lucky.

Talk soon turned to where you were headed to make camp. Hosea had been there before and thought it would be suitable. “There’s a livestock town not far from here, called Valentine. Cowboys, outlaws, working girls. Our kind of place.”

Arthur chimed in, “O’Driscolls?”

“Probably them too.”

“Pinktertons?”

At the mention of the large detective agency your father was a part of, you gripped the side of the wagon too hard. A splinter caught your hand and you shook the pain out, but not before you noticed Charles watching you intently. You had flinched massively when Arthur mentioned their name.

“Let’s hope not,” Hosea answered. It had never occurred to you that that was who the Van der Linde gang was on the run from. You knew the agency was based in Chicago but had a large force down south and must have been called in to see about catching the gang. The man in charge of the Blackwater division was a mean old thing that waltzed around and scared the town to bits. Someone your father, of course, admired greatly.

The wagons eventually moved through a small forest and came out to a clearing. Hosea called it Horseshoe Overlook. A morning fog hung over the new campsite and gave a glow to the tents that were already set up. You hoped down and walked out to where Abigail was setting up their new home. John had to be carried in, his leg still bandaged and aching. The scars on his face looked better from the weeks of healing in Colter, but Abigail hadn’t let up on him for one moment. Little Jack was running and chasing a butterfly through the grounds, happy and free. Not everyone had the same enthusiasm for the new place. Javier, one of those most loyal to Dutch, was sour at being on the run again. He grumbled in Spanish while hoisting his tent over the standing poles. Ms. Grimshaw pulled you to a few standing barrels and asked you to fill them with water from the stream.

“The one way down at the bottom of the hill?” you stared incredulously. She looked as though she was about to swing at you so you darted under her pointing arm with two buckets and began the trek.

All around you were new sights. Bushes, and animals, and trees softly swaying in the breeze. You wished you could draw to try and capture some of the newfound beauty, but art had never come easy. Your hands had been made for great things but holding a pencil was not one of them.

By the time you had all three water barrels brimming to the top you were hot, sweaty, and the camp was almost entirely set up. Ms. Grimshaw had orders from Dutch to set up a temporary site for you just past Arthur’s wagon and next to a tree. You figured this was so you couldn't run without either passing Arthur, or jumping headfirst off of the cliff. Neither, surprisingly, seemed like viable options.

Dutch was talking with Arthur and Hosea when he started walking back towards the center of camp. “Now, everyone put down your tools for a moment. Come on gather round, quickly now. I know that things have been tough but we are safe now, and we are far too poor. So it is time for everyone to get to work. It is time for everyone to earn their keep!”

The gang moved off back to whatever they had planned after the speech when Dutch motioned to you. He and Hosea were in his tent with Molly O’Shea. “Now, Ms. Moore, what can I expect from you?”

Three sets of eyes watched you think of something to say. Clearly he had set this up so that Abigail couldn't sweep in and save you. You tried to come up with some ways to make money. You had no clothes besides those on your back, no discernible skills besides pickpocketing and singing, and a whole camp of people to prove yourself to.

“Well, I - I can sing real well, and pickpocket the best of them. I’m a fast learner and decent with a bow, I learned to hunt from up high. I promise that I can pull my weight and hold my own here, I just need to be given a chance.”

You must have sounded desperate because Molly spoke up. “Moore? That’s an Irish last name. She’s good to stay with me.”

Hosea and Dutch were very surprised by her contribution but agreed that you could stay on a trial period. You left with renewed confidence, and set off to see about a horse. If you could head into town and sell the few items you had in your pockets you could pick up a decent bow. Bows meant hunting, and there was your contributions all in place.

A group was planning on heading into Valentine to check it out and you were pleased to see Mary-Beth was among them. Abigail decided to stay with John and Jack but you promised to grab some herbs for her while you were out. The wagon kicked into motion and rolled up the hill to meet the town of Valentine.

Overall, it was not a great place. Blackwater was larger, and at least had some paved roads. The mud on the main road got stuck everywhere and somehow it always seemed wet. The people were friendly enough and bought your cover story about why the gang was in the area.

The bell in the general store dinged quietly when you pushed the door open. A man was hunched over the catalogue and in deep conversation with the owner so you decided to browse before making any purchases. All the same goods as your general store back home greeted you, but there was no happy memory associated with being in that place. Finally the shopkeeper called you over and you handed him the list of what you needed. Canned fruits and vegetables that could last, dried meats for the hunters when they headed out of camp, treats and food for the horses, herbs for Abigail, and some drinks for sitting around the campfire.

“Of course. I can gather these for you. Is that your wagon out front? I’ll load them onto it for you while you shop around town.”

You smiled and thanked the man. The bell above the door dinged again and Mary-Beth walked in to greet you. “Oh, Y/N, let’s get you set up with some new clothes. Those old things haven’t lasted well through our travels and I would love to see you in something blue. I would say green, but thats Molly’s color and she’s hotter than a fire poker when someone else wears it.”

“Did I tell you she’s the reason I get to stay? When Dutch and Hosea asked what I could contribute I couldn’t think of one darn thing, but because my surname sounds vaguely Irish she laid down the law that I must stay.”

Mary-Beth looked at you with wide eyes. “Most days she won’t even share the same air as these folks. You must have really done something to her, YN!”

She held a stunning blue cloth up against your torso. “This. I am adding this to our pile before he notices so we can make you a new dress. Or shirt, it would look keen tucked into your pants now.” Mary-Beth snagged some lace for herself and rushed out the front door, smiling at the attendant as she passed him on her way out.

Discussing your contribution reminded you that you needed to see the gunsmith before the wagon left for the day. Walking back to camp through the mud sounded like a nightmare.

Arthur was in the gun shop trying out a new long range rifle. He was holding it up in the air while the attendant repositioned his shoulders. “Now sir, you should know that this one has quiet the kick. Be careful and don’t hold on too tight or your shoulder will go right out.” Arthur nodded and placed the gun down on the counter. You browsed the bows on the opposite wall and picked a sturdy one out. It was tall, almost to your shoulder height, but you knew the power it held in its limbs. Testing it out proved you right, and you asked the shopkeep how much it was.

Your jaw dropped at the total and you quickly put it back, embarrassed you had even touched it. Arthur chuckled lightly before reaching over you and plucked it back out of the case.

“Mr. Morgan, please, you know I can’t afford that.” He looked back over at you and said, “Way I see it this is for the camp. You know how to hunt, we need meat, camp only gets fed if meat comes in. Therefore, you ain’t paying for this one.”

A flush of embarrassment covered your face and neck and you muttered a thank you to Arthur before rushing out the door. Everything has been checked off your list and you headed back to the wagon, but before you reach it you heard a sucking sound and your left boot flew off your foot. Hopping over to a post by the saloon you desperately searched for your boot. The mud smelled, and you scrunched up your nose while you tried to yank and pull but to no luck.

Tilly Jackson was your hero this time. She laughed so hard watching you stumble about she almost didn't make it to the middle of the street from falling over sideways. You watched from your seat in front of the saloon, one foot with a boot and one with only a sock. After a few moments of digging and pulling she succeeded. You whooped with her and quickly laced up your boot.

“I can’t believe this smell! Tilly what awful things does Valentine do to have this affliction sit over the town?”

“Well, Y/N, this here town doesn't have the luxury of being situated by a lake like Blackwater. I reckon the breeze came in and swept away everything that didn’t want to stick around.”

As you contemplated that and watched the wagon being loaded up to head back to camp, the sadness that sat in your heart shocked you. After over a month on the road you began to miss Blackwater and the comfort of being home. It was a strange thing knowing that you were happier now. Your mother and father and friends were all back in that city, going day to day about their normal lives. You wondered if they missed you. But this was your decision and you knew it was for the best.

You chuckle back at Tilly. “Well, I guess that breeze decided to take me too then.”

#price to be paid #chapter 3 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #fanfic #fanfiction #sorry this chapter is short!!#I promise the next ones are better #had to establish some stuff first

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galadrieljones · 5 years ago

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that he may hold me by the hand: chapter 3

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 3: Only god knows, dear friend.

Arthur worked hard around camp at Clemens Point. He fished, chopped firewood, helped Kieran with the horses. He rode into town to collect a debt from an imbecilic youth that made for a grave-robber just to save his own hide. Arthur didn’t prefer robbing and killing anymore. He didn’t bother strangers unless they bothered him first. It was just too much of a hassle, a never-ending cycle he had finished with. So he hunted for food and pelts, sometimes with Charles, and he provided in his sturdy fashion. He drove Sadie into town to help her regain her confidence and also simply as a means of escaping his modern day existential boredom. They sometimes shared simple conversation down by the lake now, throwing rocks into the water and cleaning their guns. Dutch had made plans with the local law and together they had gone to take down moonshiners in the bayou, but all of Dutch’s reverie and promise-making sounded like a fantasy to Arthur by now. Far away, sophomoric. He was still living his same monotonous life, trusting as hard as he could, chipping away. Sometimes it felt like the things that Dutch wanted, he wanted as well, but for the most part, he wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and the land no longer felt free.

There were some times he would break up the days to drink some water or a bottle of beer and sit on the lake shore with Mary Beth. They would read together, or she would write while he sketched, and they would talk of their goings on in life and out in the world, and these were some of the most memorable moments he was spending those days in the camp. A couple of times, she took him pickpocketing at the parlor house in Rhodes, and boy was it a sight to see. Arthur counted Mary Beth as perhaps his closest friend in the gang. She could discuss matters of storytelling with him and held an interest in his art.

Arthur could have easily allowed himself to fall in love with a girl like Mary Beth. He could tell she would have liked him to open himself up to the possibility. Once or twice upon drinking too much whiskey late into the night, she had stolen a kiss from him. It was nice. She demanded little of him, and for her laid back disposition, he did like her. She was easy to be around and very pretty, and she asked him questions about his life. But the omniscient truth was, that just like almost everything else, Arthur had done all of this before. He had gone to the edge of happiness with a woman and drunk from its well. But it all ran dry. He was unwilling to do it again, as he had grown accustomed to failure, or at least he thought so. Mary Beth was very young and life was too fucked-up, and that really is all there was to it.

Yet he still had days where he felt free from the past, where he could roam at will and be a master of his own endless domain. He saw Albert several more times over the next couple months after their excursion in West Elizabeth. It was easy finding him, because he wanted to be found. They’d camp or drink in the Rhodes parlor house, making quiet fun of the ingrates who ran that piece of shit town, though Arthur had still never been to see him in St. Denis. During their talks, Arthur learned all about Albert, the modest but not inconsequential wealth from which he derived. But even as he was composed, well-traveled, and educated, he did not seem to hold this above anybody or anything, least of all Arthur. He seemed to count his experience in the world as frivolous and even juvenile in comparison to Arthur’s. He wanted for recklessness, even as Arthur attempted to council him otherwise. He said his mother was a suffragette in Philadelphia. He said he would have killed for half the bravery it must have taken for her to fight for the right to be heard.

Arthur was fascinated by the stories of Albert’s life and how different they were from his own. Albert never made Arthur to feel small and valued his tales of living in Oregon until the death of his mother, and how his father dragged him halfway to Colorado robbing and killing until he, himself, got strung up for dead. Arthur told him about how he had lived back then, on his own as a teenager, a hustler mostly, counting cards in the saloons of northern Wyoming and the vast, rocky stretches of the Tetons. He tamed horses, broke them to his touch, sold them, and worked as a ranch hand for a year. He told Albert about Dutch and about Hosea but without mentioning them by name. In talking to Albert, he realized how little of his life he was proud of. He told him about Mary but he skipped over Eliza, the same way he did whenever he was talking to Mary Beth, or to anybody about his life.

He became withdrawn in camp. Distant. He had begun speaking to John again on okay terms, and John noticed this one day right before Arthur was headed to Braithwaite Manor with Hosea on some sort of matter involving that confiscated moonshine.

“You okay?” he said, about to mount up, going into town on an errand for Dutch.

Arthur was smoking a cigarette, and John’s question surprised him. They were not in earshot of Hosea who sat reading a book on the back of the wagon, full of the moonshine jugs. “I’m fine,” he said. “Why you asking?”

“You just seem…preoccupied,” said John. “Or more bored than usual, maybe. I was wondering if maybe something happened.”

Arthur tossed the cigarette and adjusted his hat. He was flattered that John had thought to ask him about his life but entirely unwilling to share. “Nothing’s going on,” he said, even still. “Worry about your woman, Marston, and your boy. Don’t worry about me.”

“Whatever you say,” said John, though Arthur could tell he still didn’t really believe him. He rode off, leaving Arthur challenged into introspection for several days.

One night, he found himself in a scrape when a stagecoach robbery went south on account of Uncle’s ignorance, and he had to make himself scarce for a couple days. He found his way into the bayou, pretty deep, and there he ran into an outlaw woman named Black Belle. She was in a bind herself, and so he helped her—together they took down a whole crop of bounty hunters with a good deal of bullets and explosives, and truth be told it felt like the old days. Afterward, she left him with a photograph and a few stories from her younger, more rigorous years as a gunslinger. She fed him coffee with a bit of whiskey, too, before she went on her way.

The experience, though random, surprised Arthur. It was out of the ordinary. For this woman was truly golden and admired him for his acumen with a weapon and his rough and tough way of speaking about the world, but she was also warm. She was alive and doing things in the world. She was like him, and she was living, and she was alone, but she was tough and hard and mean, but she had blood pumping through her veins. She was not without smiling, and she was not without humor on the matter of her circumstances. Hanging with her was downright refreshing. It made everything seem simple again, like it should have been. After she was gone, Arthur became emboldened. Toward what he could not say, but he camped south of the train tracks that night, dodging gators, and then the next morning, he rode into St. Denis. He was looking for Albert, to sate the existential cycle of perpetual boredom that John had seemed to point out for him, and that he was more certainly becoming aware of. It seemed to be an old merry-go-round, his life, but he’d begun to realize that he could get off.

The city was new to him, but it was easy enough navigating the manicured cobblestone streets. He asked around until a nice young woman with a heavy French accent directed him to the high saloon. When he got inside, it was lunch time, and he went straight to the bartender and ordered a glass of whiskey.

“You seen a man named Albert?” he said after a minute, nursing his drink. “Been boarding here a few months I think. A little smaller than me with a beard—real nice, talks fancy?”

“You mean Mr. Mason?” said the bartender. He was shining up a glass as they spoke.

“Yeah.”

“He’s right over there.” The bartender directed his glance to a quiet table by the window where Albert was sitting with a book and a cup of coffee. He was writing in the margins of the book furiously. Arthur admired for a moment.

“I hope you ain’t wanting for no trouble,” the bartender went on, setting down his glass and his rag defensively. “Mr. Mason always pays his tab. He’s never once missed his rent either.”

Arthur looked back, realizing how intimidating he must have looked in a town of such well-established civility. “I don’t doubt that,” he said. “And there’s no need to worry. I want no trouble. I’m just a friend.”

“Oh, good,” said the bartender. He smiled, relieved, and went back to his shining. “That man is too often alone if you ask me. He could do with a friend.”

“Makes two of us,” said Arthur. He then took the whiskey down in a single gulp, placed his payment on the bar, and smiled. “Thanks, mister.”

“Any time.”

He walked across the room to Albert’s booth. He slid in across from him casually.

Albert looked up right away, startled at first, but then genuinely and pleasantly surprised. “Arthur,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” he said, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. “Thought I might pay you a visit.”

Albert was smiling, like he was caught in disbelief. “Well, that is—”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur, nodding his head. “If you’re busy, I don’t need to stay long.”

“No, please do,” said Albert. He closed his book with the pen inside it, tucked it away and leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. “I’m never too busy. I’m just—I’m lost for words. I’m thrilled to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” said Arthur, feeling a warm streak across his cheeks, around the back of his neck, looking down at his gloved hands. He spoke almost as if to reassure himself. “That’s good.”

It turned out that Albert was on his way up to Bluewater Marsh to photograph snowy egrets along the banks of the Kamassa that day. He already had his bag and his camera packed. He invited Arthur, expressing relief.

“Up there, I believe it’s little more than beavers and copperheads,” said Albert as they mounted their horses outside, “but to get there one must pass through Lagras. I’m not sure my relationship to the gators there has improved any since our previous excursion in the bayou.”

Arthur laughed at this. “You’re a little bit more adept than you give yourself credit for, Albert,” he said. “I’m not saying you should be wrestling gators any time soon, but try not to sell yourself short.”

Albert steadied his horse, Martha. He smiled down into the reins. “Well, thank you, Arthur.”

They rode out of the city and followed the road north. Little by little, they freed themselves from the constraints of civilization and all of their previous attachments and concerns. As they went, their horses picking up across the muddy expanse of the bayou, Arthur told Albert all about his encounter with Black Belle, because it still stuck so strongly in his mind—her bravado and her explosives and ultimate pyromania. Albert was fascinated, as Arthur knew he would be, especially since he had not heard of many lady gunslingers, but he knew they must have existed. He asked whether it would be possible to get in touch with her again.

“I don’t think so,” said Arthur. “She was pretty much long gone last I saw her. I did get a picture though.”

They slowed down so that Arthur could dig the photo out of his satchel. He handed it over, their horses idling on the mucky pass. Frogs and birds churned all around, filling the world with their pretty, green songs. Albert was very much impressed by the photo. Arthur had sketched her, too. Little by little over the past weeks, he had been working up the courage to show Albert these pages in his journal. He showed him Black Belle. Albert was taken with the lines and the detail and very interested in Arthur’s artistic acumen, and he asked to see more. Arthur curated a few pages he thought Albert might like—wildlife and old abandoned churches and things. Albert returned the journal after he was finished and asked Arthur if he had ever considered painting. “If you had access to a canvas, paints and brushes, perhaps, is that something you would consider?” he said.

Arthur grew bashful. He declined to answer in any meaningful way and just smiled. He put away his journal and urged them forward instead, and they continued on their ride into the marsh. Albert was accustomed to Arthur’s reluctance by now, when it came to discussing certain parts of his life. He knew Arthur would share more when he was ready. He didn’t press him.

They stopped around some deep curve of the river and tied up their horses well away from the water. They tucked their pants tightly into their boots and began to make their way through the marshy brush and down to the river’s edge, mostly in complete silence. Arthur was chewing mint leaves and then he was chewing a reed he had plucked from the earth, and then he was smoking a cigarette. Albert found a good spot for his camera, hidden away beside a tree. There were already several egrets roosting on the opposite bank, picking at their feathers. They were not skittish birds, Arthur had surmised. They liked to sit and sun and did not nurture their disturbances. The snowy egret was a loner. The other egrets liked to travel in little bundles, but not the snowy egret. Albert called it a veritable ghost of the marsh and showed climactic focus as he took its picture again and again and again. Arthur leaned against a heavy rock as he did, proceeding to sketch the summery surroundings. He had forgotten what month it was and did not care to remind himself.

After Albert finished with his camera, he went down a little closer to the river bank to splash some water on his face, brighten up a bit. It was a warm day, and the flies were buzzing, but the Kamassa flowed down from the mountains to the north and as they got closer to the Roanoke Valley, the water got sweeter and cooler. The bank was a grassy drop off, and Albert was caught by surprise when, as he tried to kneel forward, his boot slid, and suddenly he splashed knee-deep into the river. He swore, loudly. Arthur got up to see what was going on, and when he saw Albert standing there, half-stranded in the river with his arms out and his pants soaked, he started laughing.

“What the hell’d you get into?” he said.

“I slipped,” said Albert, looking around. “Is there anything that wants to eat me in here?”

“Not really,” said Arthur. He steadied his stance on the river bank and held out his hand. Albert took it and Arthur hauled him in and slapped him on the back a couple times and straightened his collar and dusted off his shoulders. “The beavers bite, but generally speaking, they’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

Albert blushed, almost furiously. He sat down in the grass then, and took off his boots to shake the water out. “Well I pity any beaver that’s afraid of this imbecile.”

“You’re not not an imbecile,” said Arthur. “These banks are slippery.”

“I should be more careful.”

“That, Mr. Mason, is the story of your life.”

Albert put his boots back on. The sun was starting to get a little weak, going down past the trees, and the air was getting a chill. He got to his feet and sighed. “I believe I’m finished here,” he said. “Would you prefer to camp, or should we head back to the city? I’d love to get some shots of the orchids around here, but I won’t lie when I say this place makes me itch.”

“Let’s head back,” said Arthur, helping Albert dismantle his camera from the tripod. “I agree with you. I more or less despise camping too often in the marsh. We can come back next week, look for orchids.”

"I believe I got some good shots today,” he said, sighing. He watched Arthur with a sense of pride in his heart. Hands on his hips, he admired. He wished to talk more but was not quite sure what to say, even after all this time. He wanted to say something about the way he felt, anything, but the way he felt was more or less wayward to his ability with language, and the words didn’t make sense. It was all too dispersed, like buckshot caught in mid-air.

Meanwhile, Arthur picked up the tripod and folded it under his arm. Full of action, he exhaled and proceeded to lash it all up to Albert’s horse, Martha. He then put his hands on his hips, hung his head and looked back to Albert. Eventually though, he broke the moment with a small grin. “Let’s follow the river back,” he said. “Instead of taking the road.”

Albert straightened up, surprised by this. “Is that safe?”

Arthur shrugged. “Probably not,” he said as he mounted his white horse. “But I’ll keep you safe. Come on.”

Albert placed his hat on his head. He followed.

They rode along the river a little ways, going slowly. The sun went down, angling behind the trees and the sky became a long combination of fiery oranges and deep cerulean. Eventually, the night grew dark. They came across a rundown pier after about an hour or so, and bobbing there to its anchor was a house boat that neither of them had ever seen before. It seemed inhabited, so out of curiosity, they knocked on the door, and when no one came, they went inside to explore and see what was going on. All the lights were on and there was music playing from a gramophone, but nobody was home.

Arthur and Albert looked at one another. They felt funny being inside the house boat, like they might get caught by the ghost or hillbilly who owned it, so they went back outside and stood on the little boardwalk, surveying the lights and how they glanced off the river as beautiful orbs instead. The music from the house boat made the Bluewater Marsh feel alive with a party, almost haunted. There were gators nearby but they seemed disinterested in the men.

Arthur wanted badly to sketch the boat. It was something he would normally do, but he thought it would be strange to take the time to do so in the moment. It was so lovely in the evening. He made a mental picture, taking note of its angles and the way that the light shining from its insides balanced with the darkness of the marsh in dynamic fashion. He thought about how he felt. He thought about the whimsical beauty and the happenstance of finding such a strange thing so abandoned in the southern wilderness. He looked at Albert then and wondered if he felt the same, only with taking pictures. There was something so special, he though. The randomness, and the romance.

Arthur took a deep breath, suddenly all full of feelings. The feelings came without his permission. That was not a bad thing. Before he could say or do anything, Albert had become dreamy and seemed to breath a little bigger, like he was filling up with the natural wonder of the sky. He was looking at the boat and said, “I must say, Arthur. These days, and our time together—I find myself getting lost. I’m sure I sound like a school boy, but I’ve never had a friend like you. I don’t want the nights to end.” He sort of laughed to himself, like he was not sure of what he was trying to say.

“That means something,” said Arthur, glancing at him. "I get it."

“If anybody actually lives in this boat, I wonder what their life is like.”

Arthur looked back to the boat. “Who knows."

“Yes,” said Albert. “Who knows.”

As they continued to look on at the boat then in its well-lit abandon, they both reveled in the freedom such a clear night in the lonely marsh could afford. The music from the boat went through their blood and into their bones and lived there.

“There really is music playing, correct?” said Albert. “Or have I gone made.”

“No, there’s music,” said Arthur.

He forgot the boredom, forgot the days gone by and all of his inhibitions. Their hands touched briefly. It was not a bother to either of them. But then that brief touch turned extended, like an unexpected exchange of permission, given and received, back and forth, until at some point, their fingers laced together, and they held hands. The moment was charged, as if with a current of electricity, and at once, they both looked down, surprised. Arthur’s hand was rough and warm where Albert’s was softer. With this, they each seemed to get ahold of what they needed from the other. They then looked at each other, and it was vulnerable, and their joint confusion sparked opportunity. Arthur saw it and made the move.

He leaned in, sort of fast, like he thought he might otherwise lose his nerve. Their mouths locked together into a certain kiss. For a moment, what he’d done felt unreal, like a dream. But sooner or later, feeling his hand along the soft of Albert’s throat, and then to the back of his neck, as Albert held onto his wrist just to keep him there, he knew that it was solid. It was true. The blood pumping between them was a million miles per hour even as the earth seemed to turn in slow motion. It deepened. When they parted, their mouths made a sound that reminded them both that their bodies were alive.

They looked down first, at their muddy boots, then up at each other, still holding hands, almost disbelieving but that gave way quickly to a quiet and communal joy that they both hid well beneath stoic smiles and warm cheeks, and then they looked back out at the water, at the house boat.

When they heard men coming up the path some ways behind them, a stagecoach on a late shipment to the general store in St. Denis, they each dropped their hands into their pockets on instinct, infused with a silent speed and pretended to be just two old friends standing close to one another on the boardwalk. After the stagecoach went past, Arthur took a deep breath.

“Come on,” he said to Albert, still with his hands in his pockets. “Let’s get you home.”

They got back on their horses, rode silently at a gallop for most of the way, but they spoke some as they went, about this or that, as they always had something to share between them. When they got to the saloon, they tied up the old girls. Albert usually boarded Martha in the local stable, but he said she would be okay for the night. Arthur walked with him through the busy saloon and up the stairs and all the way to the door. The piano was going and it was raucous. Nobody noticed them. Albert turned the key and went inside. Arthur leaned in a gentlemanly fashion against the door frame but he did not enter. There was a moment in which they paused to see if anything else might happen, but even as their hearts would have it they were not ready for that yet.

“I’ll come calling next week then,” said Arthur. “Tuesday morning. We’ll go find some orchids.”

Albert was smiling. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

Arthur gave him a quiet grin, glanced down to his boots and then he straightened up off the door frame and slapped it once as if to make a clean break in the moment. “Goodnight, Albert,” he said.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

Arthur backed away and turned to recede back down the hallway. Albert watched him go. He stood for a moment, waiting, even when Arthur had gone down the stairs and disappeared, as he feared his knees may buckle if he moved too soon.

Arthur rode all the way back to Clemens Point feeling free and like he’d struck some sort of jackpot. The emotion was widespread all over his body and he couldn’t pin it down. He tied up his girl Amelia and walked to his tent without really speaking to anyone. It was late and most were asleep, but Karen was singing with Javier at the fire, and the drunken Reverend tried asking him to sit, but he declined. He felt sympathy for the old man, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be alone. It was still like coming awake from a dream, and he wasn’t prepared yet.

Arthur was living two lives, that was for certain. One was better and more awake than the other. He pulled his tent flaps closed, took off his boots, loosened his gun belt and lay down to sleep. There was no time to consider the logic behind all that lie in store for him. He had no idea what the goddam hell he was doing. But whatever this was, this thing he had going, it was his.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #albert mason #arthur morgan x albert mason #arthur x albert #albthur #john marston #mary beth gaskil #that he may hold

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ceruleanchillin · 6 years ago

Text

I Missed You/I’ll Miss You

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Warnings: “light” smut, slight spoilers of chapter 2

A03

There was true irony in the fact that you’d dramatically flitted about the camp comparing it to a prison prior to getting a horse, but you’d spent the last three days in camp doing less than you had before. It didn’t take the best of learned men to figure out what your problem was. However, only the women had the gall to call you on it.

Arthur had been gone for three weeks, and while bounty hunting was rarely a quick job, you were still worried. You were sure everyone was worried in their own way, but the the simple fact that it was their way of life, softened the edge of said worry. You understood that yourself, it was your way of life too. However, you had something new and fragile with Arthur, so it wasn’t quite the same as it was before. You hadn’t expected that either. The bounties had been particularly nasty, and thus worth a decent penny, the only way Arthur would consider taking them. He was a capable man, that you knew, but you were a well traveled woman. You’d seen enough to learn, even for yourself, that no one was a god.

Miss Grimshaw tried to busy you with chores, “What’s a wandering mind ever been good for besides trouble? That boy’s too stubborn to die. Now, clean laundry is a different story and I got a wagon fulla potential”.

Karen had suggested going into town to play the ‘Chaos Game’, something you and she had invented on a whim to drive the men in camp crazy when they had to “save” you. It was especially fun when it was John and Arthur. Start a major saloon fight here, plant an idea in a girl’s head about her fella to start a screaming match there, sloppily pick pocket and pin it on someone else, steal a horse, etc.

Of course, how much fun could that be when the best part of the game, for you, was being ‘punished’, and you didn’t think it appropriate to ask John to fill Arthur’s shoes.

Abigail told you it was downhill from there. Now that you and Arthur had fallen into something resembling being together, you should expect the aches of disappointment more often. “They fuck you so good you think the next time might be different, but nope. That’s about the highlight of their use.” And no, she wasn’t “bitter” she’d quickly informed you at your side glance of her.

Mary-Beth had tried to get you to see it as something romantic and adventurous. “Just imagine when he rides up like a knight, and sweeps you off your feet.” she sighed, a wistful smile playing on her lips. “Then you’ll be able to make some more of that pretty soap with the flowers in it that you make. We’re running low.” Ah, thanks for caring.

The men had been the ones to pussyfoot around the topic. They just wanted to entertain you in the moment, never mentioning or hinting at what was wrong. John suggested you take him spearfishing, “For your benefit of course.”.

Dutch sat audience while you sang a duet with Uncle, and was kind enough not to comment when you kept falling out conversation with the two men. Uncle wasn’t.

Tilly was the one to really snap you out of it though. You two were playing poker for candy with Karen, and where you normally walked away with a store’s stock full, that game wouldn’t make the books as one of your best.

“If you ask me, Arthur wouldn’t even recognize this mopey piece of furniture. I mean what happened to the girl who jumped off the top of a cliff into a lake for fun?” Karen reclined in her chair in time to her unapologetically sharp statement.

Tilly snorted. “Poor Arthur, may as well have climbed into a coffin his damn self as close to death as you took him that day.”

“You two could make sitting on the pot a headline. I’ve just been taking things easy for the past few days. I’m still me.” you knew what she meant, but she’d essentially called you boring. For you, that was worse than the ugliest of vulgar insults that could be hurled at you.

“Girl you better stop lying like an old rug,” Tilly crossed her legs in a matter-of-fact way. “You miss your man, and that’s ok, but you can’t get down everytime things look dark for him. You’ll kill your spirit and not even realize it!”

You heard, rather than saw, her kick Karen under the table for attempting to peek at her cards.

“And I swear if you kill that crazy spirit of yours, and make laundry some horseshit chore again, I’ll murder you myself.”

“Hey!” Karen nearly lowered her cards out of indignation, recoiling at the last second. “I make laundry fun too. I make all the chores more fun.”

“You make us have to do them all over again the same day. The second time being set to Grimshaw’s fussing.”

“Fun!” Karen rocked the table with her boisterous laughter.

Tilly’s response was lost to you, because you were starting to focus more on what she’d said before. You didn’t think it had been that serious. You were fine with him accepting the job, just when it started to approach a month since having last seen or heard from him, it hit you in a way you hadn’t been expecting. You’d been fine when you two were just friends who flirted a little too much.

It was far past that now. Arthur was the first time you weren’t flirting and fucking for fun. The new territory excited you, and you’d went in head first, but this wasn’t a part you’d been informed of.

That being said, you had to admit Tilly’s statement struck you because there was some truth to it. It was a matter of when, not if, Arthur would get into another harrowing situation. You couldn’t lay around in bed, or half ass your way through the day, every time that happened. It wasn’t you, and replaying the last three days to yourself turned your stomach.

“Well Tilly, you went and broke her.” Karen snapped her fingers in your direction.

“Opposite actually.” you shook your head with a grin. “I fold.”

“Look at that hand!” Karen gestured to the cards you’d placed down. “You definitely broke her. Oh well, can’t be helped. Whaddya got?”

“Fold.” Tilly rolled her eyes.

Karen hooped loudly as she pulled all of the candy that made up the pot to her side of the table. “Thank you kindly ladies, I do so hope we do this again soon.”

“Yes ma’am, I intend to get my title back. Enjoy it for now.”

“So that means you’re back?” Tilly swatted at Karen’s teasing pokes and jeers of ‘loser!’.

“I told you I never left. Now I’m going to make a kite, who’s in?”

Both women exchanged looks of pure puzzlement, before turning those looks to you. Unlike most people you were comfortable with being looked at funny. It occured to you, that no one had looked at you that way in days without there being an air of sympathy behind it.

“How adventurous.” Karen replied sarcastically. “I think I’ll retire for the evening and enjoy my winnings instead.”

She not-so-quietly made her way back to her tent with an armful of sweets. Stopping every so often to inform a camp member she had beaten you at Poker.

“Don’t worry, when she’s drunk I’ll steal it all back.”

“It’s Karen, so by morning then?” you grinned while Tilly snickered into her palm.

“She’s right though. A kite? For you that’s pretty tame...unless you’re planning on jumping off the cliff here with it.” her widened eyes indicated she wasn’t joking about thinking you capable of that. “Tell me you’re not planning on jumpin off the cliff with it.”

“Of course not,” You said, though the thought was a fascinating one. “It’s only tame because you haven’t seen where I’m getting the material.”

----------

In a testament to your revelation the previous night, you were up before the camp even began to stir. You’d been up for most of the night with Tilly working on a complicated kite. You’d learned how in a caravan comprised mainly of Chinese men and women, and regaled Tilly with tales of their beautiful culture. The longer the conversation went on, the more the tense anxiety that’d filled your being lessened it’s grip. You were still worried, incredibly so in fact, but you weren’t going to let it take you out of character another minute.

You scribbled a quick note for Miss Grimshaw, knowing she’d be among the first to wake soon, and set out a little ways from camp. Finding a spot where the forest danced along the edges of plains, you tried recalling everything you’d been taught about catching the wind.

Such a seemingly simple activity could demand so much of your attention, that you might miss the sound of a horse’s light trot behind you. You might miss the softening gaze of a rugged cowboy once he spots you. You might even miss him dismounting and hitching his horse in favor of sitting back against the base of a tree to watch you.

“Beginning to think I’m never gonna come back to find you doing something normal. Like baking a cake...or cleaning a rifle. Anything else I suppose.”

You froze, your grip tightening on the fishing line you were using for a kite line. You turned carefully, mindful to not bring your hard work crashing to the ground. Arthur gave you a lopsided grin, and though you couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hat, you were sure his smile reached them. He didn’t look worse for wear that you could see, but you couldn’t be sure until he undressed. Just to look him over of course….

“Then you’re beginning to realize who you hitched your wagon to.” you finally found your voice, though it cracked under the pressure of euphoria. “Arthur Morgan I would both hug and slap you, if my magnum opus wasn’t at risk.”

He laughed, from deep in his chest. “My hats in the ring for first one.”

A quiet moment blossomed between the two of you as you readjusted to being in each other’s presence. It was beautiful to you, and better than any fantasy scene a novel could propose. You wondered if it was putting him at ease to be back around you the way it was for you.

“It wasn’t my intention to worry you my lady, things got crazy out there. Did my best to get back at a reasonable time.”

“Well I figured that, I wasn’t that worried.” you fingered the fishing line gently. You were suddenly embarrassed to tell him you’d moped, and defaulted to lying.

“You’re lucky you’re so damn beautiful, even when you lie.” he chuckled. His smugness let you know the camp had already told him everything.

“Ok, I missed you and I was worried. If you make fun, I’m leaving you on your own horse. She likes me better anyways.”

“Fair enough I think. I’d have to keep the winnings from the bet though.”

You knew immediately what he was talking about. You, unintentionally, provided many opportunities for the gang to make quick money off of your antics. You didn’t mind the audience, it amused you.

“What’s the bet this time?”

“Whether you can fly that thing or not.” he nodded up at the kite, that while lower than when he first got there, was still still sailing through the air. “I reckon some of them are gonna have to learn about betting against you the hard way. Like I did.”

You grinned, and ducked you head at the slight compliment. Arthur had a way of empowering you that you were sure he wasn’t even aware of most times. He swore he wasn’t a romantic, and to some degree he wasn’t, but in his own way he was better. Genuine.

“Well, you won. How are you gonna prove it?”

The sound of rustling caused you to turn halfway to face him again. He slid his camera out of his satchel and patted its top.

“I’ll be ok giving up the winnings to you if I can keep the picture.”

That was how Arthur Mogan obtained a photo of his sweetheart after he’d redenered her a bashful mess. Every other photo of you he had, drawn or otherwise, you were confident and radiant. This one felt different, and perhaps why it would go on to become his favorite.

“Now,” he carefully packed the camera back in his satchel. “You gonna keep putting that before your own feller? For shame Miss (L/N).”

“Jealous of a child’s plaything? That’s a new low Mister Morgan.”

Arthur made a noise of mock surprise. “Child’s plaything? Well what are you doing with it then? The things you’re capable of certainly are not childlike.”

Hard work be damned, you turned on your heel, yanking the kite down after you. In a swift, and for you, unsurprisingly graceful movement, you’d tackled the man to the ground. You laughed at his hearty grunt, eyes following the bouncing movement of his now dislodged hat. The kite came crashing down near you, but neither of you were too focused on it.

“Someone should shut you up Arthur Morgan.”

He shifted to allow you to fall into a more comfortable position on top of him. “If anyone’s gonna try I’d rather it be you.”

Up close, hat gone, you could see evidence of his journey. You gently ran the pad of your thumb over the bruise under his right eye. He closed his eyes, cheeks reddening under your loving gaze. Unspoken words traveled through touch instead. Your soft examination admitting you were worried, his gentle lean into you a form of apology.

You pressed your forehead to his own, and let your lips collide. Soft hands slid up his neck, over his stubble, and into his light locks. You shivered when you felt the combination of warmth and rough texture, that was his hands, grip your waist under your shirt. You felt him standing at attention, straining against the fabric of his pants. You gripped his shoulders to fight the urge to grind down on him.

He broke the kiss, and your lungs greedily took the opportunity for air. His lips roamed your neck with no particular destination in mind, simply trying to soak up the feel of your skin. Distracted by his mouth, you jumped feeling his hands travel beneath your skirt to grip your thighs. A dizzy laugh left you when he roughly lifted you up to remove your panties.

A mewl escaped you when his thumb carded through your folds. The tiny pricks of pain his stubble caused, juxtaposed against the soft touches to your heat, made you see in tunnel vision. You needed him.

“Ar-..Arthur…” you voice was a husky, broken whisper that indicated you were having trouble gathering your words.

Arthur understood. “Drawn out?”

He broke the kiss breathing harshly against your cheek. Your hips jumped after a particularly swift swipe over you.

“No,” you shook your head. “Been such a good girl since you’ve been gone. I won’t last long.”

His deep chuckle against your collarbone drew another moan from you because of the sound alone. “I have not been that well behaved, I must admit.” his lips split into a sheepish smile. “But it’s about the same for me too.”

His dirty admission drew a laugh from you. You began covering his face in kisses while you released him from the confines of his pants. “It’s fine.”

His hands captured your hips and carefully lined you up. You inhaled sharply once he was inside, overloaded by too many feelings. Arthur’s hands trembled, and you imagined it was the same for him too. He waited patiently, painfully, for a sign from you to move.

You rolled your hips once, and he went from there. The two of you worked out a rhythm and fell into it rather quickly. Your hands found purchase at the base of neck and held on tightly. Every night you two had been apart, the frustration of not knowing if he’d come back, the sheer loneliness neither of you could fix without the other. It all came out in the shared act.

You’d both been correct when you admitted you wouldn’t last long. You lost it first, having been more tightly wound, and you weren’t quiet about it. Your raw moans spurred Arthur on, and he drove you through the blinding heat coursing through your being. You cradled his head and whispered loving words of encouragement to push him to his own release. He dropped his forehead to your shoulder and bit down, as a fierce shudder ripped through his form. You rubbed his back and guided him through it.

A final kiss was shared between you two, one that spoke of a love growing between you two. It said there was plenty of space for it to fill, and that was something you both wanted. He cupped your face, about to speak, when something caught his eye.

“Did you use one of Dutch’s silk shirts for your kite?”

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

The two of you walked rather than rode back to camp, and it was filled with effortless conversation and teasing. You came so close to blurting out that you loved him, but bit it down every time. You’d never had anyone in your life to say that to, and weren’t sure if it was too soon. You weren’t too sure about Arthur, but it terrified you to think about sending the words out there only to have them hang alone.

“We should go to the lake.” you commented as the camp came into view.

“To bathe.” you emphasized when you saw his wolfish grin.

“I’ll meet you there, Miss Grimshaw wanted to see me. Sounded pretty important, but I wanted to see you first.”

“Flattery may change your luck.” you winked at him and headed for your tent to grab your bathing kit.

Arthur never met you at the lake, and you went forward with bathing, figuring he’d fallen asleep. Possibly one of the cold souls you now called family had roped him into an errand. Either way, he was making it up to you later.

The first thing you heard when you got back to camp was the distinct sound of an annoyed Miss Grimshaw, and a firm toned Dutch, coming from the direction of Arthur’s tent.

“Let the boy make his own decisions Miss Grimshaw.”

“Boy is exactly right!” Grimshaw’s hands shot up as if to ask ‘why her’. “Only a boy could make such a foolish decision. You don’t line up for a second helping of disrespect with a side of humiliation Arthur. It ain’t right….she ain’t-”

The others in the camp pretended to be busy, but kept a decent distance away. You frowned and sped up your pace.

“A man has to learn on his own,” Dutch shook his head in Grimshaw’s direction. “You can’t make this choice for him. Accept that.”

Arthur, meanwhile, hadn’t said anything. He simply continued his task which, as you got closer, you discovered to be packing.

“What’s going on?” you walked past Dutch and Grimshaw, straight for Arthur himself.

You felt the heat of numerous gazes on your back, but you stayed focused on the only one you needed to see at that moment. Arthur hands slowed, enough to see the tremble, but not enough to stop his task.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your tone carrying more edge than you wished had escaped.

“I gotta go into Valentine on some business. I’ll be back in a day or so.” he still hadn’t met your gaze which started to upset you.

“Tell her where you’re going Arthur. The girl deserves that much. She’s so sweet on you she nearly rotted thinking something bad had happened to you.” Miss Grimshaw crossed her arms, eyes locked on Arthur’s tense form.

“Grimshaw!” Dutch barked taking her by the arm to lead her away. “Leave.It.Alone.”

Whatever she said in protest was lost to you. Everything else may as well have fallen off the face of the earth for all you cared at the moment. Every perceptive instinct you’d honed in your nomadic life was screaming so many possibilities at you, that you almost shook Arthur to demand an answer simply to make them stop.

Instead, you reached for his hand and grasped it. “What’s wrong? You know you can tell me.”

Arthur pulled away from your touch, still refusing to meet your gaze. “I believe I did tell you, business.”

“I’ve robbed coaches with you, setup hold ups, spied for information. What kind of business can’t you say all of a sudden?”

“The kind I don’t have time to get into right now. I’ll explain when I get back.” he placed a few small supplies into his satchel, carefully fitting his journal in after them.

“So you were just gonna...just gonna leave and not tell me? What the hell is that Arthur Morgan?” you snapped, stubbornly blocking him from going for his clothes chest by sitting on it.

“I wouldn’t have done that to you.” he lifted you from the chest with ease, ignoring your cry of indignation.

He got a few articles of clothing while you cycled through what to say. You had so many questions and he was moving so quickly. By the time you figured out what you wanted to say, he was already moving towards his horse.

“I’ll go with you,” you jogged to keep up with his pace.

You expected him to snap at you, with how tightly he was wound up, but you didn’t care. You weren’t afraid of him, he couldn’t brush aside your concerns so easily.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. “(Y/N). I’ll be back, I promise. I’ll tell you everything then, just let me handle this on my own.”

One hand cupped your neck, while the other gently grasped your cheek. You leaned into his touch and nodded. You would trust him, and pray he didn’t give you a reason not to.

#RDR 2 #Arthur Morgan x Reader #RDR 2 x Reader #red dead redemption 2 #Arthur Morgan #reader insert

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