#hosea is regretting some life choices

[roamingtigress]

"It's selfie time, Hosea!"

[verdemoun]

i have one simple question:

assuming Dutch's original plan all went right and the gang was able to get the money to buy some land and settle down, what do you think they'd do with their time now that they don't have to constantly fight to survive? i imagine them living in a small commune doing their own farming and living off the land, still maybe committing small petty crimes but nothing that would get them back into deep trouble. How do you think they'd live their life in a universe where it all went well and they settled down? How do you think the characters would develop now that they have more time for themselves and their personal likings and endevours? Feel free to write about whatever characters you'd like !!

PS: i love your blog

I think it comes down to what the gang believe in.

PS: thank you so much!! it really touches my heart knowing people enjoy my mad ramblings

Hosea? Hosea was ready to settle down in his virgin lands in the west. I think the older he got, the more he regretted not being emotionally and mentally ready to settle down with Bessie. He left the gang (which was just Dutch and Arthur at the time) only to go back while Bessie was still alive, and lost time he could have spent with her. He wanted to spend that time with Dutch (and Arthur), craving the exhilaration.

Dutch? Dutch wanted fame. He wanted infamy. He had a message to deliver about the nature of mankind and delivering that message took priority over everything. He would abuse and manipulate minorities to deliver a message about inequality.

When you look at money, in contrast the cost of land in canon era - the gang had enough. In 1907, John bought Beecher's Hope for less than $2k (including land, building the house and barn). If you go back for the money, Dutch has $42, 875 in the chest.

The gang could have settled down whenever they wanted. Whenever Dutch wanted, because they trusted Dutch with the money. And Dutch didn't want to settle.

If Hosea realised Dutch never changed, there was never a good old Dutch and Dutch had always been willing to compromise the ideals he preached for his own goals? I think Dutch would have honored what he once had with Hosea enough to at least give Hosea enough money. Because enough money to start anew wasn't that much money in the scheme of things.

Then it becomes - if given the choice, who would choose the safety and stability and a home with Hosea, and who would still choose to follow Dutch. Because Dutch would never settle down.

For Arthur, it would be an impossible choice. Arthur uses his dying breath still trying to save Dutch. Everytime Dutch brings up loyalty, Arthur backs down and blindly agrees with Dutch. We know what a big deal it is the first time Arthur disagrees: when Arthur insists. Would Arthur really be able to choose between Dutch and Hosea, if he had the choice?

People who would go with Hosea: Abigail (who wanted her son to be safe), Jack, John (begrudgingly, because Abigail and Jack were goign), Lenny (who believed in the better life Hosea wanted for him, like his father wanted for him), Javier (who only became an outlaw for a woman, who was tired), Karen (a former prostitute traumatised by her past, willing to abandon it), Mary-Beth (a poet who became a thief to survive), Uncle (an old man), Pearson (a cook who only ever wanted purpose), Kieran (who never had a choice but to become an outlaw until Hosea offered otherwise).

People who would stay with Dutch: Bill (still seeking Dutch's validation), Micah (who craved order, or to implement his own agenda), Sean (who wanted to continue the fight his father died for), Sadie (who had known how fragile that life of peace was), Tilly (who owed her life, and therefore loyalty, to Dutch), Grimshaw (who loved Dutch, and loved the gang as her children), Swanson (who saved Dutch's life once, and had Dutch save his life every day since).

I think Arthur's choice would come down to Charles. Not just charthur but because Charles was a voice of rationale. And Charles could go eitherway: Dutch, the man who believes in equality, something Charles hasn't been able to find his entire life before the gang, never entirely belonging to a community of his own, or Hosea, promising safety, promising that equality in a way Charles has never experienced, an independent community that relies on one another but without the aspect of criminality, a commune almost in parody of his distant childhood memories.

Hosea's gang would very much still live like the gang - in tents, spending nights singing around a campfire, until they figured out farming was easier than hunting, and raising chickens meant selling eggs and slowly starting their own self-sufficient group where they learned to hunt and farm off the thousands of acres they'd be able to own with fractions of the money the gang had. Jack and Lenny would pursue their education. Abigail would find herself in Grimshaw's position, taking care of the housework for people who never learned to look after themselves. Karen would follow after either Abigail or Uncle. Mary-Beth would write her novels. Pearson would still cook, to a more grateful crowd. Assuming Arthur and Charles went with them, they would be the ones to first figure out farming livestock and spend their days moving herds across the open plains and nights under the stars knowing they were safe from the law.

The others would meet their end at Dutch's whim, one way or another.

[dharshareddy189]

DIGITAL MEDIA: SOURCES AND SIGNIFICANCE

BLOG POST 7

Deciphering the identity of Arthur Morgan from Red Dead Redemption 2

I got connected to this character because of his emotional journey and I feel Arthur Morgan is more than just a video game character he's a complex tapestry of contradictions, flaws, and humanity. Decrypting his persona is a rewarding journey that explores themes of loyalty, redemption, and the twilight of the Wild West.

ORIGIN - Arthur Morgan was born in 1863 to Lyle and Beatrice Morgan, the former being a petty criminal, and the latter dying when he was young. Arthur described his father as being a "no good bastard", and witnessed his death. Despite not liking his father, or knowing his mother, he keeps their photos, sensing some fondness.

In approximately 1878, Arthur was recruited by Dutch van der Linde and Hosea Matthews. Arthur quickly developed a strong bond with Dutch and Hosea, considering them as his surrogate paternal figures. Consequently, Arthur embraced Dutch's ideology of pursuing a life devoid of societal norms and legal restrictions, ultimately becoming one of the initial members of Dutch's gang.

Here's a breakdown of his enigmatic character:

The Facets of a Flawed Hero:

Loyal Outlaw: Arthur is fiercely devoted to the Van der Linde gang, his surrogate family. He carries out their often-questionable deeds with stoic efficiency, a testament to his unwavering loyalty. But beneath the rough exterior lies a growing unease with the gang's moral trajectory.

Haunted by the Past: Arthur's past as an outlaw is littered with violence and regret. He grapples with his sins, seeking redemption through acts of kindness and mentorship. These internal struggles add depth and vulnerability to his character.

A Code of Honor: Despite his outlaw status, Arthur adheres to a personal code of honour. He protects the innocent, helps those in need, and stands up for what he believes in, even against his own gang. This internal conflict between loyalty and morality fuels his character arc.

Redemption in a Dying World:

Facing Mortality: As the Wild West crumbles around him, Arthur grapples with his own mortality. Diagnosed with tuberculosis, he's forced to confront his life choices and seek redemption before it's too late. This adds a layer of urgency and pathos to his journey.

Choosing his Path: The game's honour system allows players to shape Arthur's redemption. High honour choices lead him towards acts of selflessness and altruism, while low honour choices push him further down the outlaw path. This player agency makes Arthur's journey feel personal and impactful.

Leaving a Legacy: Arthur's ultimate fate shapes his legacy, whether seeking vengeance or finding peace. His choices ripple through the lives of those around him, offering a poignant reflection on the consequences of our actions.

CONCLUSION -

The complicated story arc and moral development of Red Dead Redemption 2's protagonist Arthur Morgan is unforgettable. Arthur's transformation from a Van der Linde gang enforcer to a man searching for his ideals and atonement is moving. He is an interesting and relatable protagonist due to his internal problems caused by a changing world and reflection. Arthur Morgan's persona shows how video game storytelling may evoke strong emotions even after the game ends.

REFERENCE -

https://levelskip.com/action-adventure/Arthur-Morgan-A-Red-Dead-Redemption-2-Character-Analysis ( Accessed on 7th December)

https://hero.fandom.com/wiki/Arthur_Morgan#Biography ( Accessed on 7th December)

https://gamerant.com/red-dead-redemption-2s-arthur-morgan-bullets-horses-self/ ( Accessed on 7th December)

https://reddead.fandom.com/wiki/Arthur_Morgan ( Accessed on 7th December)

[reddeadreference]

Journal - Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook

(This post is all of the journal pages and typed transcripts that were written specifically for chapter two. This post will not include stranger missions or side stuff.)

(Some entries may differ depending on certain choices/events. For instance: in Spines of America Hosea and Arthur waited until night to rob Carmody Dell, in A Quiet Time both Lenny and Arthur were arrested, & Arthur choose to help Mary in We Once Loved and True )

Finally, a thaw in this god awful weather. We got off the mountain, and rode east into some pretty enough country called The Heartlands.

Ain't been this far east in many a year. Hosea seems to know the country a little. Ain't been much of a spring. Now holed up at a place called Horseshoe Overlook, outside of some dumpy little cattle town, name of VALENTINE.

Dutch seems a little better. His eyes are sparkling once more and I can see he's thinking a little clearer.

I think we all feel a little happier, in spite of Blackwater and that whole mess.

After Polite Society, Valentine Style

Headed into Valentine with uncle and the girls. Girls went scouting out work while Uncle and I had a few drinks and he explained more of his theories on existence and bare faced lies about his past.

Things took a strange turn - some fella seemed to recognize me, or us from Blackwater.

Guess we had been holed up there too long while Hosea and I scouted the job that never was. I chased the bastard

Choice: Spare

and he nearly fell off a cliff - I spared him and he gave me an ink pen.

I hope I won’t regret my leniency, but I reckon he got the scare of his life. Jimmy Brooks was his name.

Choice: Kill

then I killed him anyway. Sometimes, there's no point taking a chance.

After Exit Pursued by a Bruised Ego

Took a day off and went off hunting with Hosea. He really seems to be getting his strength back a bunch, although he was lucky not to die as this big bear he’d been after turned on us.

I thought when we was stuck up in the mountains that the cold and the misery would kill him, and we’d bury him like we buried Jenny and Davey. But he pulled through and he’ll live a while yet.

I love Dutch like a father, but in many ways, I love Hosea even more. He’s kind and fair and like a human being. Dutch is something else.

This bear was also something else. Size of a god damn hotel, it was and mean with it.

After Paying a Social Call

Colm O'Driscoll slipped through our fingers once more and I saw my own life slip through mine. That gentle buffoon we kidnapped up in the mountains took us to a cabin. We were planning to kill Colm but he had just gone elsewhere. We shot a bunch of his boys and one was about to end my life when Kieran shot him. This FEUD, it’s bled out from Dutch and Colm’s mutual hatred into a loathing that permeates all of us and all of them.

Still, I found quite a shotgun in the cabin.

After Money Lending and Other Sins

Herr Strauss is back lending money, and I'm back collecting it.

The work mostly revolts me and shames me. Somehow, robbing people honestly with a gun and fists is less repellant than robbing them fully in accordance with the law.

It'll be the usual sort of desperados - sick farmers, pregnant maids, lovesick young men, and other dupes desperate enough and stupid enough to take Strauss' terms.

A usurer's life may be a comfortable one, but it is foul work.

After The Spines of America

Hosea and I went robbing, just like in the old days. A father and son pair of clowns at some farm house. Stole a wagon, sold it to some rat Hosea had met at some odd place called Emerald (?) Ranch. What goes on there, I cannot tell, but this little purchaser of stolen goods had us go rob his own family.

Even by my standards, that was low, but the father and son we robbed was proof that even God makes mistakes sometimes.

Choice: Day

Hosea performed brilliantly as some kind of huckster selling restorative care to crooks' backs. Whole thing was utterly ridiculous and brilliant. 

Choice: Night

I snuck in at night and we robbed the loathsome bastards blind.

After We Loved Once and True

Saw Mary again. I feel like the luckiest man alive and I feel like a fool. That woman confuses me and plays me for a fiddle like no one else alive. Her little brother Jamie had joined some religious order and needed saving, or so she and the god awful DADDY seemed to have thought. I took him home, after a pathetic little squabble. Poorboy. Wonder what will become of him. Education and an unpleasant father have been a terrible curse for him, I fear.

As for Mary, I trust I will not make a god awful fool of myself once more but somehow I imagine I shall. 

A <3 M

After A Quiet Time

(Note this page is for if you get arrested with Lenny, I am working on getting the alternate page.)

Went off drinking with young Lenny. Thanks to my own peculiar genius for trouble when drunk, the evening did not go quite according to plan, but somehow neither of us got killed or arrested for murder, I mean, we got arrested, of course, but not for murder, at least I don't think it was for murder because they let us out. Whole thing is a bit of a blur. Somehow, I don't imagine that the saloon owner in Valentine likes me very much after the mayhem I have caused there.

After Americans At Rest

Got into some god awful fight in the town saloon. Bill started it. He's wound so tight about something I reckon he'll start hitting himself soon enough. I was stopped from beating some big yokel to death by a local do-gooder.

I could not tell if this made me pleased or real angry. The local crowd seemed to want to see BLOOD however.

Afterwards Dutch accosted me with old Josiah Trelawny, back and quite as slippery and confusing as ever.

He'll come and go again, no doubt and leave none us any the wiser as to who or what he is.

Trelawny told us that Sean had not been killed in Blackwater, but was a prisoner there, held by scalp hunters awaiting payment. Charles Smith, Javier and I met in Blackwater and rescued that loud mouthed maniac. Before we'd even cut him free from the tree he was mouthing off at us.

Javier said Blackwater is an impossible situation and I guess I had better forget about all that money.

All them years wasted earning that stuff! Guess I'll never quite know what happened, but the upshot is, we're on the run, and known to more folks in authority than we would like.

After A Fisher of Men

Took young Jack out fishing as a favor to Abigail. Many years ago, before she fell so hard for that fool MARSTON, perhaps I should have married her. I think part of me has always thought that, yet, God damn you, Mary! Jack is a good boy. A dreamer. A boy with a momma who loves him. I wonder if he will find what we seek - peace and truth away from all this nonsense and lies. If that is what we still seek? Not that that’s a new development. Not sure I know myself anymore.

Sometimes I’m not sure Dutch does. As we fished, a couple of Pinkerton agents appeared - Milton was one of them. I forget the other fella’s name, they knew all about me. That’s a new turn of events. Apparently there’s five thousand on my head alone. After Blackwater, or maybe before, it seems we may be in real trouble. I just don’t know.

Dutch don’t seem too worried but I am beginning to have some doubts as to this wisdom in his indifference.

After Money Lending and Other Sins III

I went to call in a loan, some farmer, local do gooder. Think I'd seen him in Valentine before when I was fighting that big fella. He begged and coughed and spluttered and I beat him half to death. Such is life. Such is the world. His boy looked at me like I was the devil and perhaps for him, I was. The whole thing confused me. Maybe that's wrong. The whole thing revolted me/my part. These sad, sad, desperate bastards, their silly expectations of life and their tawdry reality. The unkindness of existence I can handle that just fine. But I do not love it, nor those who try to make things otherwise, I guess.  

[wasteofanarrow]

cowboys at da club

Thank you to @jelliebeansaregood for the prompt!

Remember, requests are OPEN!

Group Headcanon:

Lemme tell y’all, these motherfuckers go HARD to Friends in Low Places

I’m talking full on dancing with their arms around each other

Just the thought of this has me up in my feelings

Dutch:

Overdressed because he’s extra

Top shelf liquor ONLY because he’s def lying to himself

Works with Hosea to get into the VIP section

Chain smokes cigars in the comfy velvet seats

Chats up a few women and ignores Molly’s text messages

Only dances to a few songs

Dances way too hard to SexyBack...ends up throwing out his back

Hosea:

Didn’t really want to go because he’s “too old

But if he’s gonna go out he’s gonna do it right

Works with Dutch to get into the VIP section

These females are all up on him and he’s kinda shocked because he’s an old man—really boosts the confidence

Is up dancing until 4am...he feels like death the next day cuz he’s not used to this kind of life anymore

Arthur:

Arthur “stays at the bar until I’m sloshed” Morgan

Feels awkward at first but those whiskey shots tho

Once he’s good and drunk he’s super affectionate towards his friends—lots of “I love you, man” and slinging his arms around their shoulders

Dances super awkwardly on the outskirts of the dance floor but he’s having a great time and it shows

Chats with some ladies, and has a few dances but he doesn’t take anyone home—not the kind for one night stands after Eliza

Gets his ✨choice✨ ass slapped at least ten times by random people—he blushes furiously each time it happens

John:

Honestly he’s happy he got to come out tonight, he wanted to chill with the boys

Abigail didn’t have an issue with letting him go...so long as he wear a cock cage (we stan Abigail as a dom)

She’s not afraid of him cheating, she just wants to make sure any women grinding on him on the dance floor knows he’s taken in a humiliating way

Don’t worry it’s all consensual

Goes ham whenever an emo banger starts playing

Definitely requests Welcome to the Black Parade

Very sweaty

Gets drunk super fast because he’s a light weight, Arthur has to carry him to the car...and he definitely feels the cage John has on (through his pants of course) and he’s 100% uncomfortable. Thankfully John won’t remember this the next morning

Charles:

Sticks around Arthur and Javier

He doesn’t drink enough to get super wasted, just has a few and offers to drive the fellers home

Dances a lot

Buys people he’s attracted to drinks from across the bar

Hella phone numbers and people grinding up on that b o d y

Doesn’t do hookups too often because it’s not as fulfilling as a sexual encounter with someone he cares about, but he does ask a pretty girl on a lunch date on Sunday afternoon

Javier:

RESPECT THE DRIP

He looks incredible as per usual

He even accessorized for this y’all

Tears it up on the dance floor

Legit getting so much attention and he’s living for it

Goes hard to despacito even though he claims to hate that song

Takes home a guy and a girl ayyyy

Bill:

Is confused as to why men keep coming up to him and asking if he’s a “bear” what does that mean

Instantly regrets it when he asks Sean what it means

Orders Miller Lite even though he’s out on the town

A bit awkward at first, but he loosens up

Don’t even talk to him when the cha cha slide comes on because he’s ‘bout to risk it all on the dance floor

Sean:

Requests Cotton Eyed Joe and goes HARD to that shit

Definitely took some mdma, he’s having a fantastic time thank u very much

He and Lenny fuck it up on the dance floor to the point where people gather around them to watch

Starts a bar fight when he gets overly fucked up, gets kicked out

Micah:

Vodka shots every five minutes

Takes people’s leftover drinks because hey it’s a free drink (clearly has no regard for his own safety—the gang keeps tabs on him)

Tries too hard to chat up the ladies but manages to charm one woman enough to dance with her and take her home later

Super sexual dancing—if it weren’t for the clothes, it would look like he’s all up in them guts on the dance floor

Lenny:

When I say boy’s got moves I mean boy’s got moves

He also went ham to Cotton Eyed Joe

Took shots with Arthur so he’s super fucked up

Is embarrassed when people hit on him because he’s a sweet cinnamon roll who doesn’t know how to romance

Still manages to get a phone number or two as well as a few dances

Throws up in the Uber back home

Kieran:

Sweet, shy, anxious angel boy didn’t want to go out so he’s home in his softest pjs watching tv with Mary-Beth

[sentanixiv]

Tomorrow’s Problem

Something sweet to offset the feels that I attacked y’all with yesterday. John Marston suffering through the poor life choice of drinking more whiskey than his liver and body can tolerate.

-

Birds chirping have no right to sound the way they do this morning, piercing calls penetrating the deep fog of sleep and waking not only John, but also the heavy, aching pain of having indulged too much in liquor and too little in sleep after celebrating the success of their take late into the night. He groans, a sound which in itself is too loud, and drags the thin pillow of the hotel room bed over his face like it’ll smother noise. Or maybe him, because each second spent being dragged into the state of waking has him feeling nothing but regret.

Think you oughta slow up there, Marston. Keep at it and you ain’t gonna be fit for living come morning.

Even the recollection of Arthur teasing him about the pace with which he kept downing shot after shot sounds too loud and he buries his face in the mattress as though peace and quiet’ll be found somewhere between the feathers and springs that separate him from the bedframe and the floor beneath it.

That’s something for tomorrow John to deal with.

The cocky remark’d sounded witty, damn near hilarious when he snapped it out and tossed back the next shot in a line of too many that blurred the hours together, made hazy the hands of poker he’d played, then inspired his running into the alley, leaning a hand on the wall as he emptied his stomach of too much whiskey and too little food out onto the muddy ground. Vaguely, he remembers Arthur coming out to find him, holding back his hair and offering a rare find: Cloth-wrapped ice, a premium in these parts, that he was able to rest on the back of his neck, then against his forehead as the drinks wound down and his stomach knotted up, bringing with it a misery that’s three times worse this morning.

Let’s get you back to the room, Marston. You ain’t in any shape to stick ‘round here.

That explains how he got back here, their small safe haven of a hotel room in a town looking out for two degenerates that robbed a payroll stage late yesterday morning. Hazy memories fling themselves out of the dark void that follows the actions in the alley, then of John stumbling under Arthur’s guided patience up each stair and down the hall, of fumbling off the layers down to his union suit and then getting the brilliant idea of stripping Arthur down to have some fun, of being told to hold off for some time he ain’t drunk, so’s there’s no regrets about it, and then it fogs up into the murky sleep that he’s slowly pulling free of. John knows that any regret he feels would not have been from getting rowdy; every ounce of it relates to the sheer amount of alcohol he packed into his gut before his body stirred a riot against it. Still, he figures Arthur had it right, because he ain’t sure he’d’ve remembered the fun of it with the way he feels right now, ready to roll over and play dead if that’d make the hangover stop.

Only, he can’t. They need to ride out, connect with Dutch and the others a couple towns south, and that means John has to roll off the mattress and piece himself together no matter that he feels worse than shit dragged twice through the pigsty. He is ready to try sitting up when the creaking hinges of the door split open his head anew and he curls up into a ball in the middle of the bed, palms pressing against his temples to force his skull back together and a whimper slipping from him.

Gentler the door is when it closes, but the screech is the same to his sensitive hearing; the low rumble of a chuckle, however, is the first sound since waking that doesn’t make him want to wither and die under the cotton-and-nails chaos inside his head. John moves the heel of one hand to his forehead, pressing against the ache there, and the other peels back the pillow until he catches the blurry sight of Arthur walking soft and quiet across the room, setting a plate of something on the bedside and then nudging a cool tin hug moist with the condensation of cold water against the hand that’s holding back the poor barricade the pillow provides against the world.

“You’s gonna be fine, John,” Arthur tells him, voice pitched low and quiet where it doesn’t drive deeper the spikes of the hangover in his head.

John groans at the sentiment regardless, turning his face back into the mattress. “Don’t feel fine,” he whines, knowing it sure is a whine by the pathetic lilt of it. “Shootin’ me’d be doing me a kindness right now.”

The cold touch of the mug lifts as Arthur sits down on the bed next to him, a sigh let out to vent whatever chiding frustration he wants to bring up about warning him off drinking that much. “C’mon,” is what he says instead and he’s carefully brushing John’s hair back from his face, carding his fingers through it and coaxing him to turn his head towards him. “Got you some water, need you to drink it.”

Broken bones or gunshot wounds and John’d resist the treatment, but he’s feeling miserable and lets Arthur slowly get him up, braces an elbow under himself to hold himself there, half lying down, as Arthur puts the mug to his lips and lets him sip at it slowly. Cool water floods his mouth, dives deep into him and it’s the second soothing thing he’s felt this morning. The first is Arthur being here at all, being gentle over abrasive, and he figures it’s because ain’t no one else around to call him out for being soft on John. They’ve been riding a string of paired off jobs, the two of them, and some of Arthur’s harsh edges start wearing down the longer and further they are from the gang, from the expectations of it, from the work he seems to think falls squarely on his shoulders to bear, the rules he figures his to enforce. Some days it makes John think about not going back, letting Arthur be himself more than this rough jackass he’s been sculpted into, but the thoughts always fade too fast. It’s family, the gang, found and kept; it ain’t something Arthur can leave and even John ain’t fond of the idea to separate from it when he knows the hell that’s life in this country.

“Got you some eggs and beans, bit of bread.” Arthur unknowingly breaks that line of thought before it draws him in with the temptation it, pulling the cup away to set it down.

The smell of food, and the idea of beans after the night he’s had, leaves John wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Ain’t hungry,” he says and it’s true, but the look he gets? The borderline aggravation muscled quick under the hold of patience? Tells him he’ll be trying to eat and hunger ain’t got a thing to do with it. There’ve been times when that look ends up with Arthur forcing food into him with a spoon and his fingers prying his mouth open, but that ain’t been a thing since his early teens, back when John knew nothing about trusting anyone but himself. “Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll try, just… gimme a few minutes here. Then I’ll eat’n we can ride out.”

The thought of riding with the way his stomach churns ain’t a fond one, but Hosea taught him oft enough that you dig the grave, you gotta fill it; sometimes, that means your pride’s what gets buried and sometimes it’s a body, but something needs to go there and he figures his pride will be the victim today. Reluctantly, John goes to push himself to a full sitting position, but Arthur puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back down to the mattress. Bewildered, he blinks and looks at him blankly.

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere yet,” Arthur says, wiping the moisture of the mug off his hand against the thin blanket of the bed, looking away at the windows that stand vigil over the main street.

Suspicion flares up and John frowns, almost makes the mistake of shaking his head and just barely holds off jarring his hungover brain by it. “We ain’t sticking idle because I drank too much,” he manages, though he’s not yet trying to push the hand away and right himself with any real effort. He’s tired and the water felt good, good enough that he’s starting to think that eating’s got potential too.

“We ain’t,” Arthur tells him flatly, leaving off the gentle press of his hand, a half-hearted pin he’d let keep him there, to stand up. “Heard a couple fellas last night talkin’ about the bank bringing in more money in a couple days, how they’s looking to pull law and security out of town to guard the stage when it comes in.”

Here he’s been thinking his drinking was stupid enough to land him in this state, now Arthur’s talking foolish plans about hitting the stage again? “No way we could pull off the same job twice,” John tells him, feeling odd being the one to point this out. All that added security means bodies and risks that they don’t have the manpower for.

Arthur grins and it ain’t bitter, it ain’t grim; it’s to the challenge, the idea of it being fun to him and that’s rarer the older they both get. “Ain’t never said we’d hit the stage again,” he says, hooking his thumb under his gunbelt. His eyes are bright, something that John ain’t seen since before Mary ended things and tore out what little heart Arthur had left. “All them folk pulled away to protect the stagecoach? Seems to me like we got a good chance of clearing out the bank while they’s all looking the other way.”

Two of them taking on a bank? The idea sits beyond the scope John can currently manage, his head threatening to split anew when he tries to sort the details, and he drops it down back onto the pillow with a grumbled, confused muttering. “How’s that supposed to go?”

There’s a shrug, a pat on his shoulder before Arthur starts towards the door. “I ain’t sure yet. You rest up, John. I’ll case the bank, see if we don’t got an opportunity too damn good to pass up.”

[redemptionbaby]

Make It Up| Arthur/Reader

Summary: Part 2 of A Favor

Pairing: Arthur/Reader

Wordcount: 1216

“She’ll be back soon, son, she’ll be back.”

“How’d ya mess up this time, lover boy? Maybe she needs a real man to treat ‘er right!”

“She’s probably fine, Arthur. Maybe she just needs some time alone?”

“What’re you worried about? She does this sorta thing all the time. Like you got any room to talk!”

‘All the time’.

All the time?

All the time!?

… Had he really paid so little attention? Was he so wrapped up in everyone else’s affairs and desires that he hadn’t noticed how often you were gone?

“She likes to go on these little sojourns from time to time. Truth be told, if she didn’t have you to come home to, I worry sometimes that she wouldn’t come back. But I have a feeling there’s trouble in paradise, isn’t there?”

Ouch, Hosea. Fucking ouch. As if Arthur didn’t feel bad enough about being such a shitty boyfriend. 

“Well, knowing her, you’ll only find her when she wants to be found. Awful squirrely, that one. Give her some time.”

Waiting was a lot worse than spending every waking hour looking. Arthur felt like an impotent fool, waiting, but he’d already exhausted himself beyond the threshold of being at all productive. Dutch even ordered him to take some time to himself, time to calm down. Dutch didn’t usually have to make orders like that, especially not with Arthur, and he didn’t like to either. 

It was only when Arthur was trying to empty his mind, deep in the Heartlands, that he saw you again. Camp set up at the edge of a forest a stone’s throw from a sizable stream. It had been nearly a week since that night in Saint Denis. The night where he messed up. You were in your underclothes, sat at the banks and shaded by trees, feet in the water while you fiddled in a journal. Your little cylinder of wax crayons lay in the sandy soil beside you. 

The outlaw watched you for a few moments, transfixed. Arthur really only knew how to draw from life, as he saw it, but you were different. He had always admired your ability to seemingly draw images from only your imagination, to alter reality as you saw it and run it through your own personal filter to make it uniquely yours. It was something you did with everything, really. Nothing he ever saw you do was wholly familiar. It was part of what drew him to you in the first place. He felt you had a sense of spontaneity and identity that he didn’t, and it fascinated him to no end. From the way you folded and packed your clothes to what you kept in your satchel bag, from how you did your hair to how you fought, it was all marvelous to him. 

You once told him, rather somberly, that the very strangeness he admired in you was one that had kept the attentions of men, and most everyone else, from you for most of your life. He had never really understood that, or why you had told him, not until very recently. 

You had been trying, in your own way, to tell him that you had been alone for a very long time. That you saw yourself as unwanted. Really, you were telling him to be careful with you. That you were inexperienced and afraid, and without confidence in this realm, the same realm where his reputation preceded him. 

In your own way, you had begged him to be gentle with you. And instead he felt as if he treated you as carelessly as a rag doll. 

You looked up from your ministrations, right at him. He could almost feel his horse try to rear at the intensity of your gaze. He looked at you, hoping to see the ire that he deserved, but he could not find any. Your eyes were hollow. Like two predators at a clearing, you both stared, waiting for a move to be made. Arthur moved first, dismounting. 

And you just returned to what you were doing. Not quite ignoring him, though it did sting just as bad, you just figured if he had something to say he’d say it with or without your visual attention. And for as much as Arthur thought about finding you, he hadn’t really thought about what he’d say once he did find you. Another slick fuckin’ move from the world’s best boyfriend. 

“Hey…”

“Hey.”

“I been lookin’ for ya. Ever since that night.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m sorry ‘bout what I said t’you.”

“Ok.”

Jesus Christ you were not gonna make this easy for him, were you? Not that he deserved it. No, he deserved to be worked like a racehorse. He cursed under his breath at his lack of speaking skills. Here, right before him, was probably the most important thing in his goddamn life. The person he damn well loved. Not often had Arthur actually wished to be a better spoken man, he’d seemed to do just fine without all them flowery words to help him get by, but that was back when all he ever thought he’d be doing was killing and robbing with the occasional lustful liaison in between. Right now, he’d trade just about all his skill with a revolver just for you to understand how he felt and how sorry he really was. 

“I’m sorry about more than that, though. And you deserve better’n the words I’m goin’ to give you.”

He could hear the scrape of wax against the paper slow dramatically. He had captured your attention. Hopefully that had been the hard part. He took a deep breath. 

“I ain’t been good to you. I sincerely regret that. I’ve been so wrapped up in other people’s problems that I wasn’t paying any attention t’you, and on top of that I got suckered into helping someone I know don’t really give a damn about me— not like you do.” He sighed. He felt stupid, undeserving, and inarticulate. But whether or not he deserved to be forgiven, you deserved to know that none of it was your fault. “Wouldn’t blame ya if you never wanted to see my face again. I did somethin’ awful. But if you’ll still have me, I’m willin’ t’do whatever it takes to make you look at me like you used to.”

The last part spilled out of his mouth in a way he was not expecting. 

Arthur Morgan was a sight, that much was for sure. Hair mussed, shirt wrinkled and dusty, bags beneath his eyes, his facial hair unkempt. One of the buttons on his shirt was even in the wrong hole. 

You figured he had suffered enough. 

You leaned into him in a way that made him flinch. The cowboy had fully expected some choice expletives from you, and to have to leave empty handed and broken hearted. You huffed a sigh. Arthur didn’t smell fresh, this occurred to the both of you at once as your cheek met his shoulder, but it wasn’t so bad. At least he smelled like him, which you liked. 

“Stay here for a few days.” 

“With you?” 

“With me.”

“And what’ll we be doin’, sweetheart?”

“You’ll be making it up to me.”

He could hardly wait. 

[redeadepression]

Never Be | John Marston Fic | Arthur’s POV

~~

I’ve decided to make this a small series. John’s inner monologue of all his failures (set in my Modern AU) and interactions with his friends and family/their reactions to his situation. This one is different because it’s written from Arthur’s POV! Let me know if you want to hear John’s!

Jumbled timeline because I write what I feel like lately. This is the earliest story in the series so far.

~~

Characters: Arthur Morgan, John Marston. Hosea Matthews, Dutch Van der Linde Setting: My Modern AU  Words: 2849 Tags: Angst, Family, Adoption, Modern AU, Teen John No Trigger warnings Summery: Arthur returns home to visit his parents and receives some disturbing news.

~~

The scratching sound of Arthur’s hand-brake was always a concern to him. But even at the age of twenty-eight he was still struggling to have enough money to take the concern too seriously.

Instead, he ignored it as he always did. Making sure to let it click at least three times and silently praying that his car would not roll back down the drive once he left it.

He sat back in his chair for a moment. Letting his head fall back against the rest and sighing deeply as he prepared himself for the next few hours.

He loved his parents deeply. He would be forever grateful for the way they took him in. Not just as a Foster family but for adopting him officially as well.

But hell, they were exhausting sometimes. Dutch more so than Hosea. Always wanting to talk shop and try and convince Arthur to go another way in life. Stop trying to get his art out there and take on a trade instead.

Hosea was more supportive of his life choices. But the way he fussed over Arthur’s eating and the way he lived was its own form of exhausting. Always having to assure the older man that his apartment was clean and he had eaten three meals in a day.

Instant ramen was a meal. He didn’t care how hard others argued against that.

He missed being a carefree teen like John was at the moment. Not having to worry about mundane things like bills and whether or not his car would break down on the way to work for the third time in a week.

Steeling himself against the wave of questions as to why it had been so long since he visited, he pushed open his door and exited the vehicle.

Locking his car and checking to make sure his wallet was in his back pocket. He turned, jogging up the front steps and knocking on the screen door. It rattled under his knuckles, wobbling in its frame. Arthur had always mused just how easy it would be to push it off it’s hinges and walk inside. He was always on their asses to lock the wooden door as well but they refused. The screen let in the cool breeze and stopped them from having to pay for air conditioning.

Not that the cool breeze ever did anything to alleviate how sweltering their house was in summer.

Air conditioning was something Arthur had looked forward to the most when he left home. Turning it on and letting it run 24/7.

Until he’d gotten his first power bill.

“$600 a year is a bit steep for power isn’t it?” He’d asked Hosea bitterly.

Hosea had laughed heartily at his son’s naivety.

“Electric bills are not yearly son.” He’d corrected. “Every three months.”

“Every three months?” Arthur had asked incredulously, the other man smiling to himself knowingly.

“Not so fun being an adult now is it?” He’d chuckled simply.

Arthur still bristled at the memory. They could have warned him.

Although he knew deep down there was no way he would have listened anyway.

Arthur drummed his fingers absently against his thigh as he waited to be let inside. Frowning when no one came to the door and flicking through his keys to look for his old one.

He let himself inside, closing and relocking the door behind him as he yelled out that he had entered.

He checked the time on his watch as he walked down the hallway and turned into the living room. They did say lunch was at 2pm. He was only fifteen minutes early.

No one was in the kitchen.

Placing his hands on his hips, he looked around the room, clicking his tongue as he decided they must still be on their way home.

“Alright.” He whispered under his breath, leaving the living room and continuing on down the hallway towards his old room. He had wanted to grab some of his book he’d left here years before anyway.

As he sidled down the hallway he stopped in his tracks, movement catching his eye as he backtracked a few steps and peered into John’s bedroom through the open door.

“Hey?” He asked in surprise, realising the teen was home.

John startled at Arthur’s voice. Turning to stare at the older man, equally surprised from his place atop his bed.

“Hey.” He said back croakily, arms crossed across his chest moving to rest by his side as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

He had been staring despondently at the ceiling. Arthur wondered if he hadn’t heard him or if he was ignoring him purposefully.

“I called out.” Arthur stated simply, shrugging as he moved into the room without invitation and slumped himself down into John’s desk chair.

“Thought you were Dutch.” John said wearily, head hanging low as he sat on the edge of his bed and refused to make eye contact with the older man.

Arthur frowned, something about the teen seeming off. He was never the most enthusiastic teenager but he usually made a little more of an effort to engage with Arthur than he was at the moment. Despite his emo phase ending a few years earlier he seemed withdrawn and sullen.

Arthur took in the younger’s pale appearance. Dark circles underlining his youthful eyes and discolouration mottling his cheeks and brow.

He seemed ill or at the very least, extremely tired.

Arthur knew he had been working hard at his trade lately. He’d earned himself an apprenticeship in some form of construction work. Hosea had been fuzzy on the details. Even hazier on whether or not John actually enjoyed or wanted the job.

Deep down Arthur felt perhaps John had just bowed to the pressure of setting himself up in life that his parents had always instilled on them. He had to choose something to get them off his back.

He felt bad for the kid. He didn’t really have any ambitions. None that he ever liked to talk about anyway.

“You alright?” Arthur asked earnestly, leaning down to try and catch John’s eye as the other nodded softly.

“Yeah.” He lied, unable to truly force the deceit.

Arthur heard the statement for what it was, pursing his lips as he rested his forearms on his knees and leaned closer to the younger man.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, already knowing what the answer would be as John shook his head.

Arthur inhaled deeply, sitting back in his chair and wincing as he leaned forwards again to pull his wallet from his back pocket. Placing that and his keys on the desk next to him before pausing and returning for his wallet. Slipping a 20 out of it and placing it between a stack of books.

He was broke as shit but he always had money for little John. The boy never asked anyone for a Goddamn cent and Arthur knew firsthand how cruel teenage life could be growing up with no cash. Although his parents had been generous with him, they were still less than wealthy compared to a lot of other kids in Arthur’s class.

Arthur turned back to John, clasping his hands together in between his knees and thinking on something to say to try and get the kid to talk to him. He had been feeling bad for not visiting as often lately. He wondered subconsciously if John was annoyed about that. Feeling neglected.

He had been meaning to drop by. Especially as John closed in on his eighteenth birthday. Only a week away now. Arthur had wanted to have a quick chat with him about drinking responsibly.

Although he knew of course the kid would never listen to him as he had not listened in the past. He wanted him to know he could always call if he needed him. That Arthur would be his designated driver no questions asked if he needed it.

Hosea had offered that to him just shy of his own eighteenth birthday. That and adoption papers. Arthur had never been so happy in his life.

“Your birthday’s coming up.” Arthur said after another moment of silence. “Eighteen, that’s exciting.” He baited, waiting for the other to perk up at the mention. What kind of teen wasn’t excited about hitting adulthood and all the disappointing realities that came along with it?

John’s hands tightened against his mattress, frown deepening at the mention of his birthday as Arthur watched on in confusion.

“Uh…” Arthur began, unsure what exactly had upset the kid. “Not excited then?” He asked, regretting his choice of words as he caught sight of John’s eyes watering. The younger’s hand shot to his face, wiping at the wetness before it could fall. Turning his face away from Arthur and trying his hardest to hide his tears and compose himself. “John?” Arthur said softly, feeling guilt well in his chest for causing such a strong reaction in the teen. It had been a long time since he’d seen him cry.

“Don’t.” John choked, shaking his head as he silently begged the older man to leave it alone. “Just, don’t.” He repeated, voice thick with emotion as Arthur watched on sadly.

“Arthur!” Hosea called suddenly, excited voice echoing down the hall as they both heard the old screen door rattle. Arthur turned away from John, looking out the doorway as the scrape of boots on the front mat and footsteps on the floorboards could be heard. The clunking steps drawing closer as the older couple returned home. “You’re early!” Dutch chided as the footsteps took a turn and Arthur knew without having to look that they had walked through the living room and into the kitchen.

“Fifteen minutes!” He shouted back. “Ya’ll haven’t even started cooking yet.” He complained half-heartedly before turning back to John and frowning once more. The younger was wiping at his face frantically, looking panicked as he tried to usher Arthur from the room.

The older man nodded, grabbing for his wallet and keys before leaving John’s room and closing the door behind him. He stood in the hallway for a minute, reflecting on the strangeness of John’s behaviour before heading back towards the living room.

He supposed he would not have wanted them to see him crying at that age either. He still had trouble crying in front of his romantic partner, let alone his parents. He would feel like a right fool if they caught him in that state.

Arthur’s parents looked up to greet him as he entered the living room, walking through and towards the kitchen bench as they both fluffed around putting groceries away.

“And here’s one we prepared earlier.” Hosea joked as he lifted a large bag of KFC into view and dumped it onto the bench in front of Arthur. The younger man laughed. He hadn’t been sure what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t take away food. Not that he was complaining. But he sure did miss a home cooked meal.

He didn’t let the irony fly over his head at that fact. He had complained many times as a teen that he wanted fast food instead of the roast that had been prepared. Now he would kill for a juicy roast instead of the same greasy burger over and over again.

Arthur watched as the older couple shuffled around the small kitchen, gathering the plates and utensils they would need to eat.

He took the plates as they were handed to him, moving the short walk to the dining room table and placing them down in their respective places.

He moved back towards the bench and took handful of cutlery from Hosea.

“Hey?” Arthur asked softly, grabbing the older man’s attention as he leant against the counter and chewed over his words. “Everything alright with John?” He asked after a moment, keeping his voice low as he was aware the kid could enter the room any minute.

“Is he here?” Hosea asked in surprise, making Arthur frown.

“Yeah.” Arthur replied simply. Taking a moment to let Hosea speak again before adding. “In his room.”

“Oh.” Hosea said softly, un-bagging the food and passing the items to Dutch to place onto plates. Arthur waited for one of them to speak again. Feeling impatient as they continued to ready lunch rather than answering his question.

“Is he alright?” Arthur asked again, a little firmer as Dutch finally turned his attention to the younger and Hosea ignored him, walking past with platefuls of food.

“He’ll be fine.” Dutch assured, picking up his own plates and walking towards the table as Arthur followed suspiciously.

Hosea placed his food down in the middle of the table. Turning to face Dutch with his arms across his chest and a sour face.

“Go on.” He snapped as Dutch approached. “Tell him.”

Arthur looked between them with furrowed brows as Dutch let out a long sigh. He had rarely seen them fight in his time with them and if they did it was usually Dutch that held a grudge.

Arthur felt something unsettling turn his stomach as he watched Dutch place his own plates down on the table.

He turned to Arthur, shrugging.

“We’ve decided not to adopt John.” He explained, shaking his head if he was talking about keeping a puppy or a kitten and not a human child.

Arthur felt his mouth open in shock as he looked between the two of them in disbelief.

“What?” He asked softly, eyes lingering on Hosea as he waited for the other man to argue.

“Dutch feels…” Hosea began, stopping himself quickly and correcting his words. “We feel…” He began again. “That it’s not in our best interest to take on another child permanently.” He explained eloquently as Arthur scoffed at the excuse.

He had always assumed that John would be adopted just as he had. As soon as the agency had confirmed that they had no plans to send him elsewhere, he had become a permanent fixture in their lives. Or Arthur’s life at least. He had let himself actually get to know the kid.

He loved him like a real brother. He had always thought that one day they would really be brothers, tied together by their parents.

“What about John’s best interest?” He asked flatly. Shock stopping him from expressing himself properly as he waited for a better answer than ‘it’s not in our best interests’.

That was a load of bullshit. There was something else going on and it made Arthur feel uneasy.

“We don’t have time to get into it now Arthur.” Dutch said gently, holding a hand out in front of him to signal that Arthur needed to drop the subject. The younger man glared at him, jaw clenched as he held back a rebuttal.

His parents were good people and he trusted them to make good decision for himself and the other children.

Well, John.

John had not been the last child they’d taken in. He was just the only one that didn’t have parents to go back to.

He was alone in this world, just like Arthur. John didn’t have any family and the family he did have before they passed had left him with nothing. Which is why Arthur had always assumed Dutch and Hosea would take him in too.

Give the poor kid the family he so desperately craved.

He knew deep down that they must have a good reason for what they were doing to John. But in that moment, he was blinded by a simmering rage as he remembered the boy’s tears earlier and how hard that kid had fought his whole life to feel accepted by anyone, especially their family.

Arthur turned his attention to Hosea once more, their eyes locking as Arthur registered a deep sadness in the older man. Stood a few steps behind Dutch, the older man shook his head slowly, telling Arthur to let it go before this situation turned ugly.

Arthur swallowed audibly, licking at his lips and turning to look at the dining room table full of food.

He felt sick to his stomach. His appetite gone.

“Have you told him?” He asked after a long moment, sucking on his teeth as he waited for an answer. The silence in the room deafening as the seconds ticked on without a reply.

“Not yet.” Dutch answered eventually. The scrape of a chair breaking the tension in the air as the older man pulled it out from under the table and slumped down into it.

Hosea followed suit, gesturing for Arthur to do the same.

He did as instructed, walking around the table and pulling out the chair from his favourite spot. Slinking down into it and looking to his right at the empty place he had set for John.

He supposed that they were all aware the kid would not be joining them.

“Well, he knows.” Arthur replied, venom in his tone as he snatched at the bucket of chicken in front of him and pulled it closer.

End.

~~~~~

Poor John. :(  If you’ve read my other works you guys can probably see where this is heading. 

I got my electric bill today.. Also had KFC for dinner because I couldn’t stop thinking about chicken after writing this. 

Please let me know if you read this and liked it! I love hearing from my awesome readers! Let me know if you want more backstory and what you’re hoping to see in future stories! ❤

[spooky-luvur]

Hi! So i was the anon who requested the Dutch with a male s/o who had a abusive family. Can you do a part 2 with the reader just having PTSD and cuddle/fluff shit ensues

Hi!

I told myself I would start working on this right when I got it, like I did with the first part, but I got distracted replaying Oblivion all day, so I felt bad and put this together after that

Forgive me if I get something wrong. I personally don’t have PTSD, but my sister does, so I hope I have enough to go off of

-

(Warnings: ptsd, mentions of abuse, language)

(Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes)

-

At first, everyone was skeptical. But after seeing how you flinched at nearly every sudden move and have to constantly be by Dutch or else you start panicking, they decided to lay off.

Dutch had taken you in, brought you to his camp, introduced you to his family, and told you no one would ever touch a damn hair on your head again or he would bring them hellfire.

He’d saved you from a fate worse than death. You owe him everything. (suppose we can guess what choice (m/n) makes at the end of chapter 6)

Everything was fine, but...there were a few members you were more wary of than others.

Micah Bell and Molly O’Shea.

You and Dutch hadn’t...done anything...to make it seem like you were together. But the way he’d talk to you...look at you...it made those two stare. For different reasons.

The ladies of the camp had told you before you got here, Molly and Dutch were together. But just the day before, that ended, for reasons unknown to the camp. Now, the woman would give you odd stares from across camp. It made you tense, but Dutch would lay a hand on your shoulder and steer you away.

Now, Micah, was a different story.

Sometimes he would follow you around camp, just to see you duck and hurry away. It would make him laugh to see you scared.

He was like pa.

Today, Dutch and Hosea, another kind soul, had gone into town to attempt to rob some other poor fool. It was the first day without Dutch, and so at first, you only stayed in the tent. Until there was a voice from outside.

“Mr. (M/n)?”

You perk up. It was the young boy, Jack.

You see he’s holding something colorful in his hands once you exit the tent.

“Hi, Jack.”

“Hiya (M/n). I was gonna make necklaces. Do you wanna help me? You looked sad. Is it because Uncle Dutch isn’t here?”

“I’ll be okay, Jack. Don’t worry,” you give the boy a smile. “Now how about those necklaces?”

“You gotta twist the stems like this, see?”

“Got it.”

You and Jack sit by the fire in peace for a few more minutes, twisting and twirling the flowers around each other before there’s a loud scoff. Both of you look up, but you immediately duck your head back down.

Micah narrows his eyes, looking between you and the boy. His lips curl intro a mean grin.

“Careful Jacky boy, I wouldn’t spend too much time with ol’ (M/n) here. Wouldn’t want him to *rub off* on you the wrong way.”

Jack looks uncomfortable, and so you glance up and do something you know you’ll regret,

“Leave him alone, Micah.”

He laughs, loudly, attracting the attention of nearby gang members.

“Finally grew some balls, did ya??”

Jack stands, you following a moment later. The boy glances at you before running to get John.

“Didn’t think you’d have it in you to do much of anything, ‘specially since Daddy Dutch isn’t here to baby you.”

He steps closer, nearly making you fall back into the fire.

His hand suddenly snaps up as if he’s about to hit you, and this time, you do fall back. But strong arms catch you before you get burned, pulling you away.

You don’t feel it. You can’t hear the yelling around you. Your ears are ringing, everything’s muffled like a shot just went off right by your head. Your arms are wrapped tightly around your head, blocking off anything and everything.

When Micah raised his hand, you saw your Pa. In that split second, you saw all the times when he would do the exact same. Heard all the yelling, all the cursing. Felt all the beatings. Felt all the blood. The bruises. The cuts, the scars.

For several moments, you thought you were back there. Back at that horrible place, surrounded by those horrible people. Someone yells your name. A hand grips your arm, and you let out a terrified shriek, curling up tighter, away from the touch.

A choked sob leaves your lips as your arms are pried away and warm hands grip the sides of your face.

All the fear melts away once your eyes meet Dutch’s. He’s talking, his lips are moving, but you don’t hear it. All you can focus on are his wide, brown eyes.

“...kay, son, you’re okay.”

You blink, eyes overflowing with tears. It takes you several moments to regain yourself. It also takes you several moments to realize you’re no longer in camp, but further away, surrounded by trees.

“(M/n)? (M/n),” you’re lightly shaken.

Eyes still wide and brimming with tears of fear, you finally face Dutch, his name leaving your mouth, sounding like a kicked puppy.

He only looks at you with a tight face, but before he can say anything else, you slump against him, sobs racking your body. He sits back against a tree, pulling you between his open legs. He lets you bury your wet face into his chest, one hand stroking your back and the other buried in your hair.

You stay like that for several minutes, no words being exchanged.

After a long while, you stop crying. Your breath is still ragged, and you feel weak and tired, but you have enough strength to lift your head.

“I’m so sorry, Dutch, I-“

“No, son, don’t you be sorry,” he lets your head, being uncharacteristically gentle and kind. “Your reaction, with what you went through, was natural. I...apologize for Mr. Bell. I will speak to him.”

You sniff, pushing your face into the mans neck. He smelled of whiskey and cigars.

Dutch sighs. “I promise you, from now on, you’ll have a good life. Not always an easy one, but a better one.”

“Thank you, Dutch.”

“Of course, son.”

————

posted 7-1-20

————

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

Unpleasant Van Der Linde Gang Headcanons

Deep down, Abigail resents John for getting her pregnant. She loves Jack more than anything in this world, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t often daydream about where she would be if She never met John. These thoughts are always accompanied by a feeling of guilt. She’s ashamed of her inner thoughts, and tries not to dwell on them long.

Dutch cries himself to sleep most nights, even years after Arthur’s death. His biggest regret was ever doubting his real family. It’s the same routine every night- he stares into his lonesome campfire and drinks himself into a sobbing mess. He has a copy of the same group picture Pearson has hanging in his shop. He keeps it in his pocket and looks at it often. He often thinks about what Hosea would think of him now. Hosea’s familiar disapproving scowl would take the forefront of Dutch’s mind and no matter how much he drank he couldn’t escape the crushing feeling of failure. His dreams are always haunted by those he has hurt; some nights it’s Susan, others it’s Eagle Flies, sometimes it’s the strangers who’s names he’s long forgotten. Most nights, it’s Arthur- Arthur wheezing and begging, staring up at him with those big sad eyes. The eyes of a son betrayed by his father. He wakes up with dried tears on his cheeks.

Tilly still wakes up in the night screaming. Her husband is a soft spoken, patient man who tries to help anyway he can, which is usually just wrapping his arms around her shoulder and reassuring her that she’s okay. Tilly is thankful for him, but even his tender words can’t take away the memories that flood her dreams- flashes of being held captive by the Foreman boys, Micah’s grimy hands touching her in secluded corners of camp, the countless bodies she had seen on her journey- his big arms couldn’t push away the terror that gripped her ever so tightly.

Pearson’s alcoholism never got any better- if anything it got worse after he took over the general store in Rhodes. From the time he was a young lad he had only been taught one way to deal with emotions- hard liquor. He passes only a few years after taking over shop due to liver failure.

Since Molly disappeared so suddenly with Dutch, her family never knew what became of her. She was never given a proper burial and was quickly forgotten by the rest of the world.

Mary-Beth still thinks of Arthur often. Her biggest regret was never telling him how she felt, that the night he danced with her her heart felt light as a feather. Her husband reminds her a lot of him- he’s not nearly as rugged and she’s fairly certain he’s never held a gun in his life. She visits his grave often to read him her stories, he always encouraged her writing and told her if she ever had a book published he would draw the cover art for it. When she released her first book, she lent Arthur’s journal from John and used one of Arthur’s old sketches.

Sadie never settles down or even courts after Jake. When asked by John or Abigail she’ll blow it off as “ain’t found a man who can handle me yet” or “I’m too busy to settle down.” When I’m relaity, she’s scared. The loss of Jake shook her to the core and she wasn’t sure if she could handle losing anyone else. Sadie outlives John, Abigail, and Charles and it weighs heavily on her heart. With all her loved ones gone, her life feels dreadfully empty and alone.

Karen doesn’t live long after leaving the gang. With no where to go and not a cent to her name she mostly sat outside saloons and begged strangers for not money, but drinks. She passes on a cold winter night, freezing and hungry. Another member of the gang forgotten completely by history and swept under the rug.

Javier blames himself when Dutch disbands the rest of the gang. Was he not loyal enough? Did he not try hard enough to keep everyone together? He watched Arthur deteriorate, turned his back on John and his family, for what? He thought he was making the right choice and it left him alone and half mad.

In his last moments, Arthur felt regret. He tried to push away his human sense of selfishness in his last days but as the life escaped his body he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He wished he would’ve paid closer attention to Dutch’s mental well-being. He wished he would’ve ran off with Mary when he had the chance. More than anything, he wished he could’ve had a family and children. As he laid on that mountain, cold and alone all he could think about was how different his life could’ve been. His heart was shattered as he watched Dutch turn his back on him. Not only because he was losing his father, but because he traded a normal life with a family for a hard life on the run for a man who left him to die. In his last moments, Arthur Morgan hated himself for the decisions that led him down the path he chose.

Jack doesn’t really remember his Uncle Arthur but doesn’t want to admit it to his parents. They both revere him so much Jack feels like they would dislike him if he admitted to it. Sometimes he stares at the framed picture of Arthur while John and Abigail aren’t around, trying desperately to resurface a long lost memory. He loves reading Arthur’s journal though. The eloquent way Arthur wrote mixed with the gorgeous pictures that were drawn inspired Jack to write his first book- Red Dead Redemption: the Story of the Infamous Van Der Linde Gang.

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 7 (1/3)

OMG!! 100 posts and 21 people already with me! Lots of Love to every single one of you! I am so happy every time you like and reblog one of my things! <3

BTW I restarted the game, for the 5th time maybe. It’s been months since I played and I missed them too much!

Previously on TWoT: Emily is getting accustomed in living with the VdL gang and she’s learning day by day how to “earn her keep” (how Dutch would say). After her first robbery with Javier, now it’s time for another “first” in her life, only this time it isn’t something good. 

Chapter 7 (1/3) - Return

Words: 2,7k

It was time to go back. Almost two weeks had passed and he was missing them. Arthur was like this: he needed some time on his own, but then, he always came back to his family. And he was also sure they were in desperate need for someone who actually worked in that camp. 

The first he thought about was John. Strange choice, among all the people in camp, to think about the one who had hurt him the most in the past. But John was his friend, his brother, and Arthur couldn’t help but worry about him and wonder if he was recovering from that encounter with the wolves. 

“Hi, you must be John, Abigail’s husband” said Emily approaching the man seated on the rock and looking at the landscape.

“And you are the crazy lady, the one who comes from the future” he replied turning round.

“Yes, that’s me” she laughed.

Emily fixed her eyes on the two big cuts he had on his face which still hadn’t completely healed.

“That must be painful” she said pointing at her own face to make him understand.

“Not so much anymore. I’ve got worse.”

“You know it will leave quite a big scar, don’t you?”

“I’ve never been a beauty.”

Emily giggled.

“Well, if you want I can make you an oil to make it heal faster. We use them a lot in the future, to make scars fade out more easily.”

John glared at her with a wary expression that Emily couldn’t make out. Was it for the future thing or for the oil?

“An oil?”

“Yes, just like a cream, you put it on the scars and they… heal better.”

“I don’t need no cream, nor oil. I’m a man.”

“What should that mean?”

Emily frowned at him when he looked at her again, making it clear that he had to be very careful about what he was about to say.

“I don’t need these things to heal. I’ll do it myself.”

Emily crossed her arms on her chest and shook her head.

“Now I understand what Abigail was talking about.”

It was John’s time to frown.

“And what should that mean?” he asked with his angry scratchy voice.

“Never mind” she sighed. “Listen, I have a lot of spare time and nothing better to do, and it will help your scar after the cuts will close completely. Will you let me help you?”

John took a deep breath and looked away before he murmured “as you wish”.

Emily smiled with satisfaction and turned around to walk away.

“But I can’t promise I will use that thing” he yelled at her back.

“Oh yes you will” she replied.

...

But if there was someone Arthur really missed, that was Hosea. Hosea with his elders wisdom, his permanent worried expression, his way of talking, able to convince you that the earth was flat. He was a father, a mentor, a good man. Who knows where they would be if it wasn’t for him.

It was an old recipe Emily’s grandmother had taught to her mother, and her mother had passed it to her, and she had used it after the injury making the scar almost disappear. She knew it was a good remedy. Now she just had to find all the ingredients and she was sure Hosea could help her.

“Morning Hosea” she said approaching the man still studying the big map with the animals. 

“Morning, dear” he replied raising his head.

“I have a question for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Where can I find lavender?”

Hosea frowned, caught off guard by her question. 

“Lavender? Why you need lavender?”

“It’s for a recipe. Lavender flowers and sunflower oil. It makes scars heal faster.”

“Didn’t know you had scars.”

“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for John.”

“John? Why, now he cares about how he looks?” he laughed.

“Not really, but it’s a good diversion for me and it will help him. So, this lavender?”

“Lavender grows on rocks. If I were you I’d look near Valentine, there’s a fairly rocky ground under a headland called Citadel Rock.”

“You really know what you’re talking about” said Emily surprised by his knowledge about plants. 

“I know my fair share. What else you need?”

“Sunflower oil. I think I can ask Pearson for that. Thank you, Hosea.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As Emily expected, Mr. Pearson had a little tin can with still some oil in it and she asked him to put it aside for her. Now, she needed to go pick up that lavender, but she surely couldn’t go alone, she needed some company, someone who knew the country, and she new exactly who to bring with her. 

...

Arthur wondered if Dutch had finally convinced that O’Driscoll to talk or if that poor bastard was still tied to that tree. How long could a man live without eating or drinking? He reckoned they would have soon found out.

Emily found her on the back of the kitchen talking with nonetheless than the tied man. She thought she hated him, so why was she talking with him? A change of heart? But walking closer she understood their conversation was nothing pleasant. She was insulting him and in the end, before she stormed out, Sadie spat on the ground at his feet.

Emily felt sorry for that man, but in spite of it she thought to walk past him to reach Sadie and ask her if she wanted to go with her to take the lavender. Only when she heard the man crying she stopped and turned around to look at him, her stomach clutched by an invisible hand. 

“Hey” she murmured and took a step towards him.

The man raised his head and looked at her in something like fear mixed with hope.

“Hi, I’m Emily.”

The man sniffled but said nothing as he kept looking at her.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t come earlier, but I had no idea of who you were and I was scared you might be someone dangerous.”

The man laughed among the tears.

“Dangerous” he whispered and lowered his head again. 

“W-what’s your name?” asked Emily taking another step forward.

“K-Kieran.” “They told me you are an… O’Driscoll?”

“I ain’t no O’Driscoll” he moaned jerking his head up and for a moment Emily could tell he was angry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. You… why are you bended like that?” she asked noticing the man wasn’t standing properly on his legs.

“I’ve been tied night and day, I can’t sit. You think I’m comfortable?” he whined.

“I’m sorry, I-I…” 

Emily felt a great pity for him and she also felt a little ashamed of herself for not caring about that man. But it wasn’t her fault. Everybody there didn’t care about him and the idea that he wasn’t someone worth caring about had seeded in her mind in spite of herself.

“Here, wait” she whispered and walked about the tree he was against.

“W-what are you doing?” he asked.

“I’ll loosen the ropes a little, so you can sit.”

“Aren’t you afraid they will find it out?”

Emily thought a little about it. Was she ready to hear Miss Grimshaw yell at her face because she had helped the prisoner? Yes, and no. She didn’t know, but she was too sorry not to help Kieran now.

“Here, now you can sit, right?”

The man’s legs gave in and he hit the ground with all his weight. Emily moved to the front again and kneeled by his side.

“Thank you.” “I’m so sorry I didn’t come before.”

“Why would you? I’m your enemy.”

Emily frowned.

“My enemy? You’ve done nothing to me.”

“But you are part of this gang. I was part of the one they hate.”

“I’m not part of this gang. They found me. I come from…”

Emily fixed her eyes in his and took a moment before she said: “I come from the future.”

...

Arthur brought a hand to his forehead and scratched his head under the hat. He thought that he’d better taken a bath before he showed up in camp or Miss Grimshaw would have drowned him into a barrel full of water while she complained about all the kind of parasites she knew. The idea made him chuckle.

Emily told Kieran all her story, since the beginning, since that train she had taken two weeks ago to go to work until that morning, and she found out that Kieran was a great conversational partner. He knew how to listen, what questions ask and when ask them, and he didn’t complain about her silver tongue. Moreover, Kieran didn’t question anything she was saying, not even once he said something like “I don’t believe you”, and this intrigued Emily. 

“Can I ask you something?” she asked in the end.

“Sure.” “Do you believe me?”

Kiran shrugged.

“Why shouldn’t I? Are you lying to me?”

“No, I’m not, but… when I say I come from the future no-one believes me. Not immediately at least.”

He gave her a small smile and nodded a couple of times. “Everything I say, always, is a lie according to Dutch or Arthur or everybody else here, even if I’m not actually lying. I know what it means when people don’t believe you.”

Emily smiled to him and regretted not coming to speak with him earlier. He was kind and not at all how she had imagined him to be.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Emily jumped at Miss Grimshaw’s shrieking and she just had the time to look at her when she ran closer to her and grabber her arm to make her stand.

“What have you done?! You weren’t supposed to free him!”

“I didn’t free him!” answered Emily as Miss Grimshaw lifted her from the ground without breaking a sweat. She was rather very strong or Emily very light.

“I-I just loosened the ropes a little.”

Miss Grimshaw grasped her shoulders hard and Emily felt her nails inside her flesh.

“You must not stay here! You must not speak with him! And you must not loosen the ropes!” she growled looking at Emily right in the eye with a furious glare.

“He was suffering, I…”

Emily couldn’t complete her sentence, she couldn’t tell her she didn’t think he was so dangerous after all, that Miss Grimshaw slapped her right on her face. Emily let out a yelp and almost immediately her eyes filled with tears, not much for the pain, but for the anger she was feeling. 

“You’ll never do that again. Am I clear? Or next time you’ll go directly to Dutch. This is not how we do things here, Miss.”

Then, she walked away, leaving Emily there with her tears and poor Kieran, who in the meantime had stood up again, feeling extremely guilty. 

...

In the end, Arthur’s mind went to the new girl. That wasn’t the first time he had thought about her. In those days her face had appeared many times in the back of his mind and every time he had pushed it away more firmly that the previous. How was she doing? Had she finally accustomed to that way of living, to the people at camp, to that time? 

Emily felt the rage pouring fourth from her heart in a way she had never experienced before. That woman had no right to hit her, it was uncalled for, it was barbaric. 

Keeping a hand on her cheek to hide the rush and her head low to hide the tears, she ran to the other side of camp, to the tent with the three girls under it. Mary-Beth was laying down and reading the book Emily had given her, Tilly and Karen were seated on the boxes and the three of them raised their heads to look at her as she reached them. 

“She hit me! Miss Grimshaw hit me!” she cried with her high pitched voice, the voice she had when she was upset.

“Nothing new” murmured Karen.

“Why?” asked Mary-Beth who seemed to be the only one truly concerned.

“B-because I-I… I loosened Kieran’s ropes to make him sit.”

“You did what?” exclaimed Tilly.

“Girl, you’re lucky Miss Grimshaw didn’t kill you” said Karen.

“Why have you done it?” asked Mary-Beth standing up.

“I wanted to help him.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“B-but you always give him water.”

“Water is one thing, loosen the ropes is different.” Emily couldn’t understand why that was such a big problem, she had just let him sit, she hadn’t cut him free.

“But, why hit me?”

“Trust me, the alternative is worse” said Karen.

“What do you mean?” asked Emily, and a little anxiety rose inside her. If a slap was the lesser evil, what was the worst that could have happened.

“If Dutch finds out he could take your act as a betrayal” whispered Mary-Beth.

“A… betrayal?”

“If he thinks you wanted to help the O’Driscoll to run he’ll consider that treason.”

“But I told you I didn’t want to make him run!”

Emily sighed in frustration as the three girls kept looking at her.

“You shouldn’t have done it, Emily” said Tilly in the end.

She shook her head, incapable to understand them. She had done nothing wrong, that man was completely harmless, just like Mary-Beth had told her. There was nothing wrong in making him a little more comfortable.

Without a word more she went away. There was only one person with whom she could have had a serious conversation about the matter and that person was Hosea. But when she reached the table where he was seated until some time before, he wasn’t there anymore. She didn’t have to go far to find him, he was in Dutch’s tent and Emily’s knees trembled when she saw them talking. Were they talking about her and what she had done? She was curious but at the same time too scared to walk inside and find out. So, she turned around and walked away as fast as possible.

She hadn’t forgot about what she had to do, she hadn’t forgot about the lavender and she decided that it would be better for her if she went for a little walk putting some space between her and those people. She walked around for a bit until she found Sadie. She reached her and touched her shoulder to make her turn around.

“Hi, Sadie. Don’t mind the tears and the red cheek, please. I wanted to ask you if you’d like to come with me for a little walk. I need some lavender and to stay away from …”

“No need to waste any more breath, I’m not going anywhere with you” she replied with despise.

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t want to have anything to do with a friend of the O’Driscolls.”

How did she know? Emily asked herself, but she hadn’t noticed that while she was chatting with Kieran, Sadie had spotted them and she hadn’t liked what she had seen.

“What? Sadie he’s not…” “Oh, you defend him now? You must be great friends. Let me give you an advise: next time just cut the ropes and make him run instead of making a tea party first.” As Sadie said this, she just walked away giving her a look of fire and Emily’s eyes, just like an automatic response, started to get wet again. 

She had no idea where Citadel Rock was and she had no idea of how she would have found the road back to camp, but she wanted to go away from there, away from those crazy people, and their rudeness, and their obsession with the O’Driscolls, for a little time at least. Without thinking too much about reasons and consequences, she stepped inside the wood and left camp, for the first time on her own. 

Those people were so strange, they had such mean reactions to everything she did or said, and then there were all those stupid rules and hierarchy that she had to follow, it made no sense. And, which was the punishment for breaking the rules? For her “betrayal”? Apart from be treated like shit from Sadie and Miss Grimshaw, of course. From Mary-Beth’s tone Emily had understood it wasn’t anything good and she started to fantasize about beheading, hanging, or burning alive, just like witches in the medieval ages. From them she couldn’t expect anything less.

[tahitianmangoes]

omg i just fkin realised something

((disclaimer - im not excusing any behaviour for anyone in the game at any point in the game before anyone starts getting upset here, this is purely something i’ve realised about why i sympathise with dutch and if you don’t, that’s fine but i have little interest in arguments or dIsCoUrSe))

the reason i can’t be anything other than frustrated with dutch when he starts to lose it is... well because i’ve had a nervous breakdown before and a couple of mental breaks before that. i know how awful it is to doubt and be paranoid and afraid and to have those you love the most turn their backs on you when you need them (and not to realise that your actions are pushing them away sometimes). i know how it is to make wrong decisions, really wrong decisions and have to live with the awful, sometimes life changing consequences of those choices. all you can do is look back in hindsight and with regret...

ofc the concussion thing isn’t canon but no one can deny that he was having a mental health crisis (which ofc at that time would have not been seen that way, he’d simply be described as being “gone” as he was in the later chapters of the game) and i get that for some people he is the main antagonist... but i hope it informs those who have been fortunate enough to not experience a mental health crisis to help those who are if you can bc people who experience these issues aren’t inherently bad people...as arthur and hosea said, he wasn’t always like that... 

[cowboahhoe]

The Viper - Arthur Morgan x Reader

A quick imagine, could do more parts if you want?

Warnings: mention of abuse

Summary: upon fleeing an abusive relationship, the reader finds themselves being chased by lawmen, bounty hunters and a few members of the Van Der Linde Gang after a night in Valentine.

(gif credits to whoever owns it)

———————————————————

The last few months had been far less than ideal for you. You were on the run from the law, just you and your horse Nellie. You hadn't ever foreseen your life going this way - you had always been for all intents and purposes a good girl. That was until you had met your first husband, Blake. Your birth father had decided that money meant a lot more to him than his only daughters life, so he had sold you to the highest bidder which seemed like an outdated and abusive practice; even in 1899. Blake had money in oil, and used you as arm candy but had no real love or respect for you. You were nothing more than a maid, house wife, punching bag and toy for his sexual pleasures for far too long. One fateful night your fuse had been lit, and you fought back. A shroud of red flooded your body as you pointed his own pistol between his eyes - finally feeling power against the vile man who had held you captive for a year, and you felt no remorse in applying pressure to the trigger.

The next few moments went by in a blur, you had packed a bag with all the money yourself and Blake had around - alongside necessities such as food, and weapons. After packing your loyal horse, you had faded into the night. Leaving Saint Denis, heading west. You knew there would be repercussions for your actions but there was no way to tell just how intense the manhunt would be for you, nor how large the price on your head would be for one small murder. $500 for your return to Saint Denis alive meant that you'd come across your fair share of bounty hunters in your time living off the land; you quickly realised you could only trust yourself, and your horse. This brings us to your lonely (but free) present day.

You sit in the saloon in Valentine nursing a whisky, your third of the evening. You'd been in an around the Valentine area for a few days and knew it was only a matter of time before you had to move along and set up somewhere else. Perhaps Rhodes? Although you quickly shake the thought from your mind - that may just be too close to the scene of the crime. Just as you suckle the final dregs from your glass, you spot a curious group of men walking into the saloon. You daren't take your eyes off of them, memorising every feature behind every person in the group, you want to be able to recall their identities should you need to 'silence' them. One man wore a black hat, black hair slicked with pomade and nearly down to his shoulders. He wore a black coat, and a black vest with a red breast pocket. This man seemed to have an unmatched charisma; this much you could tell simply from the way he stood. This wasn't an innocent man. Then again, who is? Next to him, a slightly smaller, scrawnier gent. With grey hair, and wearing a blue vest this man seemed to have kinder eyes, which may just be part of his play. Finally, a rugged man wearing a black hat, detailed with brown rope - you noted the bullet hole in the rim of the hat. He wore a tattered, dirty blue working shirt, and wore worn black trousers with cotton suspenders tying it all together. Although, with this man you struggle to focus so much on the clothes that cover his broad frame and pay particular attention to his features. Sandy brown hair, a messy - somewhat scratchy looking beard. The beard had a few holes in, which seemed to be due to the placement of some scars; the most prominent of which was on his chin. Then there came those eyes. Even from across the saloon you could tell they were bright blue with a twinge of green. The handsome man simply dipped on his beard whilst the other two men spoke quietly to the group, he didn't seem like the leader of the trio by any means, but it didn't seem that was important.

Just then, blue eyes looks at you and makes eye contact while taking another swig from his beer. For a moment, you're worried he may have recognised you but that fear quickly diminishes when he simply nods his head your way and turns his attention back to his friends. With new found courage, you move toward the bar. Intent on ordering a new beverage when you hear the black haired man pull something from his satchel, and start speaking to the man with grey hair in a hushed tone.

"Hosea, I told you. She's the viper, the one they want in Saint Denis... our boy John was right. We hand her in, it's a good honest days work" the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, as you realise your time in Valentine is over - that and you need to play the next few minutes very wisely.

"I don't know Dutch, doesn't it seem unfair we're using a woman's bounty to help us flee our own misfortunes with the law?" Scrawny replies, suddenly he has become your favourite of the bunch. Blue eyes doesn't chime in at all, but you can feel his eyes on you as you stand at the bar, awaiting a cue to either whip out your pistol or flee the scene.

Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you decide the best solution is to try and slip away whilst the group argue about your fate. You know that they're outlaws, and if there are three outlaws coming after you... then you probably don't stand much of a chance. You make a beeline for the entrance, and whistle for your horse as soon as you reach the open air feeling the eyes of Dutch, Hosea and blue eyes on you as you make your exit. The unmistakable shuffle of boots accompany your exit, and you know that the men are right on your tail - the discussion of your fate seemed to be silence by your exit and only one objective remained. Get her.

You hop on the back of your horse, Nellie. She's an Arabian White and so you prayed that whatever horses this band of thieves had were slower than your girl. In seconds, you were off. You had made a instant decision to head in the direction of Emerald Ranch, hoping to lose them on the way then loop back round and head west toward Strawberry - although admittedly tactic wasn't at the forefront of your mind. Fight or flight had well and truly kicked in and you knew you needed to get away, far away. The thunderous chorus of hooves colliding with the hard ground rung through the night as the three horses chased your dear girl a cross the plains of the heartlands. Admittedly, you should have gone up through Cumberland forest as there was more cover to hide and slip away undetected. Though you had come across bounty hunters, and lawmen you had never come across a group of outlaws intent on handing you in and so the city girl who lived within you shook in her boots, and used instinct and not her brain when plotting which escape route to take.

"We just wanna talk miss" Dutch called in the dark.

"Like fuck you do Mister, I heard y'all talking about taking ma bounty" you curse back; relying a lot on your horses innate sense of direction to guide you through the hills and trying to guide her to help you both disappear. One of the men take a shot at the floor near your horse, probably trying to spook her but being that your horse is tough as nails she barely bats an eyelid.

"C'mon miss we really don't wanna hurt ya" an unfamiliar voice shouts. You realise this must be the man with blue eyes, his rough voice matches his rugged appearance well - although you don't have much time to think about the dreamy mans voice as you hear the whirl of a lasso from behind you.

You duck, and make unpredictable movements on Nellie in order to avoid the grip of the rope around your body. You feel silent panicked tears roll down your cheeks as you realise your luck had run out; not knowing your fate with these three outlaws. Just then, the rope whips itself around you and you're pulled from your seat and thrown against the floor. Your head collided with a rock, making you see stars as your horse comes to a stop and stands beside you as if waiting for you to get back up. She doesn't realise this is likely your final ride. The three men come to a stop, and blue eyes hog ties you with the lasso before turning you onto your back.

All three men stood over you, as you shook and tears leaked from your eyes.

"take me then, I don't regret what I did to him. He deserved it more than anyone I have ever known" I spit with venom.

"My dear, did the countless bounty hunters, lawmen and innocent folk who got in your way deserve the same end?" Dutch replies. Bending his knees to move closer to your face so he is crouched over you as you lay on the dirt staring up at the night sky.

"If someone tried to have you swing for self defence and would you roll over and let them take you? Or would you fight?" You respond. Looking the man right in the eyes. Giving him the coldest look you can muster up while your cheeks are stained with tears. Dutch chuckles, looking up at Hosea and Blue eyes with a jovial expression.

"Darlin' im gonna give you a choice. You can go to Saint Denis and swing, or... you can come join us. We're a group of misfits and outcasts and we're always in need of more guns. You'd have to earn your keep, of course but from what I've heard you've had no issue wrangling an income for yourself."

"Dutch is that really wise? We have plenty of people to feed we could just let the poor lady go?" Blue eyes replies to Dutch. Causing him to whip his head up.

"Enough, Arthur! She can help in ways most of those women back at camp won't, besides - If she outstays her welcome we could always take her on a trip to Saint Denis." He smiles down at you while making his threat.

"I'll go with you." You reply begrudgingly. Whenever you can make it happen, you'll escape their camp. But for now this beats swinging.

"Well then, Arthur would you be so kind as to place this fine lady on the back of your horse?" Dutch says, walking over to his own beautiful steed.

"I have a horse of my own I can ride!" You shout back to him as Arthur removes me from the floor and places you face down on his horse.

"I know, but I don't want to risk you cutting off before meeting everyone and seeing how we do things. I happen to think you'll like it once you're not all tied up" he laughs. Arthur makes sure you're well seated before getting on his horse and coaxing it into moving to follow Dutch and Hosea. You whistle for your own horse who follows behind, with all your belongings.

"I'm sorry about this miss, uh, miss..." Arthur begins. Making it clear he knows you as only your pseudonym of 'the viper'.

"Y/N, just call me Y/N Viper" you respond, already out of breath from the movement of the horse pressing up against your chest and stomach. Compressing you're ability to breathe.

"well miss Viper, we have quite a ride ahead" Arthur replies, you huff in response and Arthur chuckles. Kicking the horse into moving a bit faster so as to catch up with Dutch and Hosea. You glance back at your beautiful horse and watch as loyally follows behind you.

Rolling your eyes, you exhale again.

This is going to be a long night.

________________________

Needless to say I hope you liked this? Can do additional parts if you want, or I mean if you have any ideas please feel free to let me know. I'm not sure how tumblr works so idk comment or message any ideas or recommendations or anything if you feel like it.

ALSO do let me know if you think this is trash because I’d rather know I just was having a touch of fun writing a little bit this evening. I’m also pregnant and my brain is completely useless so I really appreciate feedback 💖

Thanks so much 💖

[reddeadreference]

Polite Society, Valentine Style

In search of new leads for the gang, Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth convince Arthur and Uncle to ride out to Valentine with them.

-Click here to return to the index for Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook-

(Arthur’s Journal Entry for this mission is at the bottom of the post)

Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen arrive in Valentine with Arthur and Uncle

The three girls enter the Saloon and Karen and Mary-Beth each pick a wall while Tilly presumably goes upstairs (When I went to check Karen and Mary-Beth were where they are in the photo below but Tilly was missing.

After Mary-Beth comes to tell Uncle and Arthur about the train, they see Tilly and one of the Foremen brothers and Arthur saves her.

After we rescue Karen (No photos of that yet sorry), a man - Jimmy Brooks - recognizes us and Arthur gives chase (the journal entry reflects the choice to not kill Jimmy.)

Journal Entries

Headed into Valentine with uncle and the girls. Girls went scouting out work while Uncle and I had a few drinks and he explained more of his theories on existence and bare faced lies about his past.

Things took a strange turn - some fella seemed to recognize me, or us from Blackwater.

Guess we had been holed up there too long while Hosea and I scouted the job that never was. I chased the bastard

and he nearly fell off a cliff - I spared him and he gave me an ink pen.

I hope I won't regret my leniency, but I reckon he got the scare of his life. Jimmy Brooks was his name.

[emily-strange]

Growing Pains...

Wow, so I feel like I’ve been working on this forever! Thank you to everyone who’s still interested in this fic :) I hope this chapter doesn’t disappoint!

So here we go! 😁 @strwxberrymilk you asked to be tagged so 😘

Summary: Emmy has been with the gang since she was a little girl. Her mother moved on, leaving her to be raised by Dutch, Hosea and Susan. Arthur and John are her brothers (argue and she will fight you). Becoming a woman is hard when everyone still sees you as a child. Since the Blackwater mess she’s trying to find her feet while dealing with her new feelings for the gangs resident douchebag.

Pairing: Slow burn Micah x female OC.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of blood, mention of past abuse.

Chapter 10

I wake up and John’s already gone. Probably on guard duty. I lie for a minute just staring up at the ceiling of the tent, damp with condensation. It’s muggy today and I already feel clammy and gross. What a wonderful day this will be.

I sit up and notice that the flaps of the tent have been closed and I hear hushed voices on the other side. Obviously, Sean. He isn’t subtle.

I slowly get up, not wanting to make a noise and stand next to the flaps. I’m struggling to hear anything so edge closer….and closer…..when all of a sudden the canvas is pulled back and I’m face to face with said Irishman.

“Fookin’ hell!!” Sean shouts as I scream and jump back, clutching my chest. Sean falls to the floor laughing in a very dramatic fashion, “You tryin’ ta kill me woman?!”.

“Me!? You’re the one lurking outside my tent!” I laugh while finding my footing, “Oh get up you idiot.”

I pull Sean up and he throws his arm around me as I survey the camp. It’s very light on the ground and I feel like that’s because of me.

“So, how’ya feelin’? Stupid question?” Sean asks.

I sigh and lean against his shoulder, “Yeah, stupid question….where is everyone?”

Sean leads me to the camp table and gently pushes me to sit down. He disappears for a moment and returns with some coffee before sitting next to me.

“By everyone I guess ya mean Dutch, Arthur and lovely Hosea?” he asks and I nod, “Well, I think they’re down by the water with John. He came out very…..very…..early this mornin’ and demanded to know, and I quote, ‘what the absolute fook’ is goin’ on.”

I only have energy to nod and take a gulp of lukewarm coffee. I rub my eyes and instantly regret it, they’re so sore.

“Emmeline” I hear and see Susan coming towards me from the beach area.

“Aaand I guess Grimshaw was also there” Sean adds quickly.

Susan approaches and sits elegantly down next to me. She’s calm but I can sense her fury.

“Emmeline my darling, how are you feeling?” she demands and even though her words are nice, she’s always struggled with tone. If I hadn’t known her most of my life, I’d be terrified! But I know she means well.

“Not. Great.” I say quietly and she scoffs.

“Of course not. Awful business, just awful. Believe me I’ve given Dutch an earful. Unacceptable. Knowing that pig’s still out there getting his muddy trotters all over the country. Disgusting…..” Susan trails off and I can just see something in her eyes. Something she isn’t saying.

“Susan. What is it?” I say through gritted teeth. She sighs and her voice softens as she takes my hand.

“I will fight to the death for you my girl. The death. And I am, truly, disgusted. But…”

“But!?” I interrupt.

“But. If this gang is going to survive….we need to stand united. I know you girl better than I know anyone and I can see it in your eyes. You want to run. But I won’t allow it.”

I take a breath and really look at her. I’ve never seen Susan cry. Not even when Bessie died. But now her eyes are glassy and she repeats firmly “I. Won’t. Allow. It.”

Susan squeezes my hand and continues. Quieter but just as strongly, “Focus on those who haven’t wronged you. Me, the girls, John….”

“Me!” Sean chimes in happily, making me laugh. Susan rolls her eyes, “Yes, yes, you Mr MacGuire! Believe me, no one can forget you!”

Sean winks at her and she gives him a small smile before hardening up once again.

“They’re by the water. Do you need me to come with you?” she asks.

“No. I’ll be okay. I have Hosea I suppose….” I start saying and jump when John appears behind me.

“And me. I’ve come ta get ya.”  he says while holding out his hand.

Susan squeezes my hand again and leaves the table. I can already hear her shouting at Tilly.

I take John’s hand and stand up, straightening myself out.

“If you need me lady, you know where I’ll be” Sean says.

“Yeah, asleep by the fire” John laughs while he pulls me away towards the beachy part of the campsite.

“Don’t leave me John, okay?” I find myself needing to say to him and he lets go of my hand to put his arm around my shoulders. “Never again Em. Never again.” He whispers.

As we approach the beach, I can see Hosea stood with Dutch and Arthur. Arthur. I feel my heart break a little bit more.

“Emmy. John” Hosea greets and I find myself shrinking into John despite my desperate attempt to appear stronger than I feel, “Should we go sit down?”

“I’m fine standing Hosea” I say crossing my arms. I feel like I need to separate myself from everyone but John. I know if pushed, Hosea will always be with Dutch. Well, what’s best for the gang, I guess. And Arthur. Well, Arthur made his choice a long time ago it seems. Speaking of Arthur, he’s stood with his hands on his hips looking at the ground. His hat shielding his eyes.

“Of course” Hosea smiles sweetly at me, “Now, for this….meeting….to work, everyone needs to say their piece but also, listen. Agreed?”

Everyone nods and Arthur chances a glance at me. I can see the pain he’s feeling. Arthur always held everything in his eyes. He looks exhausted.

“I think Dutch should go first” John chimes in and gets a furious glare from said man.

“Don’t look at him like that” I snap, “Speak.”

I see Dutch take a deep breath, steadying himself. I’ve never spoken to Dutch with such disrespect before and I can tell he hates it. He clears his throat and begins, daring to look me in the eye. He’s unbelievable.

“Emmy” he begins and I can’t help but scoff at him using my nickname. John squeezes my shoulder as a warning. I know he’s on my side but he also wants me to learn the truth, so I need to bite my tongue.

“Emmy” Dutch starts again, “When you came to us….I didn’t….we, didn’t know what kind of a man your pa was. And your mama. We didn’t know.”

“But then you learnt” I interrupt and he nods. Hosea pries my arm from my own hold and takes my hand in his and nods for Dutch to continue.

“Yes. We learnt. We learnt.” He sighs, “That day when we went out with Wayne. We intended to kill him. We had the gun at his head.”

“I had the gun at his head” Arthur croaks and I honestly can’t help the bitter laugh that leaves my mouth.

“He speaks. Hallelujah.” I bite. And Arthur looks like he wants to fall to his knees. I hate myself for wanting to comfort him.

“Yes. Arthur had a gun to his head. And I asked Wayne if he had any words we could give to his daughter…..” and again, I can’t hold myself back.

“The daughter he beat. And abused. The daughter he broke. Over and over again. That daughter?” I ask.

Hosea squeezes my hand and edges closer, sighing my name. “No Hosea, I want us all to be on the same page here. I want us to acknowledge, for once, out loud, what he did.” Tears begin to fall from my eyes but I refuse to recognise them. My body may be weeping but I will not indulge it.

I think I see tears in Dutch’s eyes as he continues, “Yes. Emmy. That daughter….” He nods, “I asked him for any last words and he offered me a lead instead. About a big job. One that would set us up for months. One that would help us take care of you….if we let him live.”

I let go of Hosea’s hand and push myself away from John, rubbing at my eyes.

“I can’t believe this is happening” I mutter and stop to look out at the water as Dutch goes on.

“Arthur wanted to shoot him but, I overruled him. After we let Wayne go, with threat of death if he was ever seen again, I promised Arthur that after the job was done he could track him down if he so chose to.”

I turn back just as Arthur begins to speak. He clears his throat and looks at me. His eyes are so red.

“And I did Emmy. I….I tried. I looked for months but came up short.” Arthur sniffs and looks back at the ground, “I’m sorry. I’m. I failed you twice. I’m sorry”.

“Damn Arthur” John sighs while shaking his head.

I know how under Dutch’s thumb Arthur is, we all do. But, I can’t focus on Arthur right now. One liar at a time.

“So, why didn’t anyone put a bullet in his head in Valentine. Tell me that” I ask, getting us back on track. Once I have everything, then I can start to make sense of it all.

“I was about to. I was. Had my gun in hand…..but…..Emmy we’re in a tight spot….” Dutch starts and I scream, “BECAUSE OF ANOTHER TIP. FROM HIM”.

“Yes. Yes I know. But we need money Emmy. Real money. And, well, Wayne asked to meet us one last time. He said he had a genuine lead he was gonna share with another gang as a peace offering but that he’d give it ta us.” And as he speaks, Dutch gets almost….excited?

“Hosea, what the hell?!” John shouts and Hosea reaches out to grip his shoulder, “Now son, you need to hear Dutch out. You all do. For better or worse we’re in this mess now. We need to get out of it. I am not happy about this. I….frankly I hate myself for it. But we have a responsibility to the rest of the camp. Now, this lead seems legit. I checked it over myself in that cabin.”

And there it is. My dear Hosea. What is it about Dutch that makes all the men ignore their better instincts? Now can I run Susan?

Dutch now addresses a horrified John and an equally horrified Arthur while sparing me the odd glance, “Now, he’s holding the last piece of the puzzle close to his chest until the day of. He wants to know we won’t off him…..” he turns to me “he knows he’s on borrowed time. But when we get that information…” Dutch continues but is cut off when Micah appears on the beach.

He walks towards us from camp, not really looking anyone in the eye. He’s absolutely caked in blood. His moustache is almost entirely red and his clothes (minus his hat which isn’t anywhere to be seen) are stained with bits of….something…..stuck to them.

“Sorry boss” he starts, “but that info won’t be coming anytime soon”.

When Micah reaches us, he doesn’t stop and heads straight for the water. He crouches down and begins to slosh water onto himself.

“Son?” Dutch enquires quietly but he doesn’t answer. He continues to wash his face until I step into the water.

“Micah” I say softly. I know we’ve fallen out but if he’s hurt, I want to know. At the sound of my voice, Micah stops scrubbing and takes a moment before standing to face me. He can obviously see the concern on my face because he gives me a very slight, reassuring smile.

“I’m alright sweetheart” he says very quietly.

“Micah” Dutch tries, this time a lot firmer, “What in God’s name did you do!?”

Everyone’s so quiet.

“Micah” I whisper, drawing his attention back.

“If I’d known….I’d of done it sooner” he says to me. Just to me. It’s like I’m the only one standing here and it’s…..I don’t know what it is. But it isn’t bad.

I can hear Dutch rearing up to shout or complain or whatever Dutch does when someone shits on his cereal and for the first time I couldn’t care less. When I speak, it quietens again.

“Did you make it hurt?” I ask, looking him right in the eye. I’ll know if he’s lying.

Micah smirks and approaches me slowly until we’re face to face.

“Oh, I made it hurt” he says softly to me. And as sick as it may be, I feel giddy. Kind of, excited.

I throw my arms around Micah’s neck and hold on for dear life. I whisper my thank you to him as he pats my back gently, obviously a bit uncomfortable with my form of appreciation. We can work on that.

As I pull back, I can hear everyone behind me start to argue and I just don’t want to be here anymore. I can hear Dutch try to explain his grand plan to John and Arthur who are going between arguing with him and each other. Hosea is trying to calm everyone down but it’s a losing game and if I’m not mistaken, I believe Susan, Uncle and maybe Sadie having appeared to ask what’s happening and why Micah and I are covered in blood.

Screw this.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” I smile, taking Micah’s hand. He nods but loses his smirk before the rest of the group can see. Not that their paying any attention to us now. Too busy shouting.

Micah lets me lead him down the beach in the direction of his little, private campsite.

I can still hear everyone fighting but the sound of my own voice is drowning it out.

And my own voice is telling me, thank God for Micah Bell.

[whirlybirbs]

r u joking me uh MISS TURNER cleaning up a BEAT UP ARTHUR’S WOUNDS i LOVE MY SOFT BOY

a/n: this is ridiculously soft. arthur has feelings, everyone notices, save for you. while you’re lost in thought, arthur’s in a mood. who knew a few well-aimed punches on arthur’s behalf were enough to knock you loose from your funk. 

here’s some miss turner + arthur being lovesick and stupid pining idiots. again, from my simpler said aloud series!

You haven’t been the same since your sister Jenny left.

Dutch had sent her on her way with parting words and threats veiled within hugs as they posed as cousins departing in the Rhodes railway station.

Best not tell anyone where we’re at, Miss. 

She will, of course, but it’s one less mouth to feed and one less conflict dividing the camp. 

After Jenny’s less than kind words, the Van der Linde’s gang had been more than careful with you -- and it was driving you up the wall. You weren’t some wallflower to be marveled at.

You’re angry -- and, not wanting to inflict that upon others, you pull away.

You don’t eat with the girls at dinner, instead holing yourself up with your book and doing your chores around camp in silence. You keep your head down, even going so far as to walk past Arthur when he rides back from hunting with Charles without a word. 

Typically, he’d at least get a hello.

Your mood is making Arthur Morgan just as bitter.

Everyone notices it. At first, it was thought that maybe, just maybe, Arthur had gotten himself into a bad mood with the climbing heat -- he’d has always had a short temper in the summer months -- but, it’s not until Mary-Beth and Tilly overheard Miss Grimshaw griping about ‘how Arthur hasn’t had it this bad since that wretched little wench, Mary Linton’ to Hosea one morning that they piece together what’s going on.

And, if anyone can read the outlaw, it’s Miss Grimshaw. She has, after all, known Arthur nearly as long as Hosea and Dutch.

Mary-Beth and Tilly, for all the romance-novel-reading they do, can’t believe that hadn’t noticed it sooner. 

Arthur Morgan is sweet on Miss Turner.

And, so began to the week of hell in Camp Van der Linde. 

Arthur’s mood is a wretched thing -- he can barely sit still with you like this and he hates himself for it. I mean, you’re clearly upset and no amount of him tryin’ his best to cheer you up seems to help (though, really, he limits himself only to small talk and bringing you coffee; the need for distance is driving his heart apart). You just... pass him by with a sad look on your face. 

Even Sugarcube, for all her trying, isn’t able to get you to perk up a smidgen. No matter how many nuzzles and whinnies she gives.

Given all that, Arthur is like a hurricane, tearing through camp. 

After five days of this nonsense, everyone in camp has had it. 

Karen has started a tally of how many long-drawn sighs Arthur tosses in your wake. She’s up to six.

That’s when Dutch and Hosea decide some fresh-air might help.

So, they go out fishing. 

(In reality, they get up to more than just fishing -- they run into Rhodes’ sheriff and deputy and a sad lookin’ Trelawney being carted in the back of a jail cart. Arthur is dispatched to help catch the Anderson Boys and, after one fist fight, one knife fight, and nearly falling off a moving train three times, he ends up being recruited as a damn deputy.)

When they come back, rowing in just before sunset, Arthur’s got a nasty set of bruises up the side of his face and a bag of fish in his hand. Hosea and Dutch and him are laughing, booming, happy sounds that catch the camp’s ears -- Pearson is first to help them pull the boat in.

You spy the trio making their way to the fire. You lean back, swiping at your forehead and leaving your washing for a moment.

Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen watch as your jaw drops.

“Christ, Arthur --”

The outlaw perks up, sheepishly so, at the sound of your voice saying his name. In the orange light of the sunset, you can see the angry purple and black bruises along his cheekbone and eye. His nose is busted along the bridge, lip split. He is, really, in rough shape -- but he’s peachy-keen when your hands surge up to touch his jaw. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the evident hammering of his heart at the gentle touch. You turn his head, shock slapped on your face.

“S’ nothin’, Miss Turner,” he rumbles, “Really.”

“Did a fish do that?”

“Mm,” Arthur chirps, “Sure, big ol’ sturgeon, it had a mean left hook.”

Pearson leans around you, snagging the bag of bass from the outlaw’s hands. You blink at Dutch and Hosea behind him, sending them off with raised hands as they try to skirt your worry -- the camp seems to hang on the interaction, eyes lingering on you and the lead enforcer as you drag him towards his cot and force him to sit. 

Susan Grimshaw hums. Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen can hardly look away. Forget those silly romance books, this is the real thing. 

Away from the mid-evening bustle, Arthur can finally get a good look at you; you’re digging through a box Hosea had set aside on Arthur’s desk, pulling out rubbing alcohol and a pad of gauze. You are, really, a sight for sore eyes. The summer sun has you looking like something out of a dream -- glowing. Your hair, swept up and away, frames your face with fly-away’s. 

“I swear,” you mutter, “One of these days --”

“I’ll be alrigh’, Miss Turner,” he says slowly, watching as she pulls at the gauze, dunking the alcohol on it, “Nothin’ a lil’ sleep won’t fix.”

“Good thing you were already mean-lookin’,” you chirp the bold lie, moving to stand close and tilt his jaw up, “These bruises sure ain’t gonna make you any prettier.”

Arthur laughs at that, eyes screwing shut. You grin. 

Quickly, you dab the open cuts along his cheek and nose. He doesn’t even flinch -- not a bit -- so you make sure to clean them nice and good. He tries to memorize the feeling of your hands along his face. When you turn, Arthur’s eyes are back on you. 

Across camp, Mary-Beth shoulders Karen. “Look at him look at her --”

“He’s got it bad.”

Arthur clears his throat when you swipe at his cheek again.

“Are... Are you alrigh’, Miss Turner? You been awfully quiet this week an’ --”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. You note the way he seems to pull away, pull a pout and a dejected look. Quickly, guilt floods you. Arthur doesn’t deserve the treatment. You begin again, fiddling with the gauze, “Just... embarrassed.”

Arthur shifts on his cot. “... Embarrassed?”

“ -- The whole fight, y’know, with Jenny.”

“If I may say,” Arthur hums, “She deserved it, mouthin’ off like tha’.”

“Well,” you sigh, “It’s mostly what she mouthed out about that’s got me upset.”

Arthur pulls a face. “The bit about you and Waylon?”

“I passed up a life some of you would kill for -- a life some of you have killed for. All because... All because I wanted to be in love and happy and... It’s stupid. It’s all so stupid.”

You chuck the gauze in the bin, dropping your hands to the edge as you sigh. The sunset has painted the camp all kinds of shades of citrine; it’s calm, with a nice breeze cutting through. By the fire, dinner is being cooked up. The flaps of tents flutter in the wind. 

A moment passes, and Arthur speaks again. This time, it’s a bit gentler.

“I don’ think it’s stupid, Miss Turner.”

That catches you off guard.

“... You don’t?”

“No,” he laughs, a bit sheepish, “No -- I mean... Before... When I was younger, I was real sweet on this girl -- she, uh, she didn’t share the same ideals as you. Family before everything else, y’know? And, uh, marrying for love... It just didn’t happen. She was sad, after that.”

“... Didn’t work out?”

“He died,” Arthur says, “And she regretted it. Tried to come back to me.”

You blink. A brief flare of jealousy strikes you in the chest. You’re not sure how it had been stoked, but it’s alive and burning. You turn and eye Arthur carefully. Blue eyes are stuck on you. Like honey.

“I... I could never,” you muster, “Waylon... he was seventy years old, Arthur --”

“Christ.”

“Old as dirt.”

“... I’d say you dodged a bullet,” Arthur says then, standing and moving to touch your arm, “Don’t beat yourself up too much -- sometimes, families aren’t do or die. I’d know.”

“Yea...?”

“My pa,” Arthur drawls as he closes the box of medical supplies and moves to shuffle it under his cot, “was a no good bastard. Left me with nothin’ but his hat an’ memories.”

“An’ your ma?”

“Don’t remember her much,” Arthur says, eyes falling on the framed portrait by his bedside, “...Dutch an’ Hosea have been the only real family I’ve had. An’ John, if you count ‘im. Slippery bastard.”

You laugh, fiddling with your hands as Arthur steps outside his tent. His hand falls along your back, leading you gently -- he is every bit a gentleman when he wants to be. It never ceases to amaze you. 

“So, what I’m sayin’ is... Let us be yer family. We’ll keep y’ safe. Sure won’t try an’ marry y’ off any time soon, that is.”

“I think, Mr. Morgan,” you say slowly, eyes glued to his smile as he approaches dinner. Everyone seems to perk up at the appearance of you both -- Karen and Mary-Beth and Tilly are grinning like silly. You smile fondly their way, “I don’t have much choice.”

“‘Course y’do,” he smirks, “Y’ jus’ like us too much.”

“Right, well, with you gettin’ beat on by fish --”

“Like I said, mean left hook.”

You laugh so brightly, Arthur’s whole world stops. The Van der Linde gang watches on, enraptured at the prospect of their lead enforcer being locked in the gooey tempo of love-sickness. Hosea and Dutch share knowing looks. It is rare, this moment of happiness and peace that washed over Arthur’s face. He isn’t bitter. Isn’t old. He’s boyish and young and stupid for being in love.

You sit shoulder to shoulder with the blonde outlaw that night, deciding that, well, he’s right.

Family doesn’t need to be blood; this is right enough.