#john LOST arthur to dutch in a way and yet he always blamed micah and never dutch and the one second that dutch did something

[storytellering]

Oh Lord, have mercy on this sinner's soul.

[author-morgan]

Deliverance † Arthur Morgan

Five: Domino Chapter Summary:  Things are quiet, even with Sean and Micah back in camp, and there's nothing like a game of dominoes on an easy Sunday morning. Masterlist

WHILE TILLY WASHES clothes, Mary-Beth's lost in another story, and Karen keeps watch on guard duty, Lilian takes a needle and spool of thread from the sewing crate. Embroidery and the likes were never things she particularly enjoyed while growing up and in finishing school, but it's something she's good at, especially considering her clothes were always made and mended by a seamstress. For now, it's the best she can do to keep her hands busy and keep sane given the unforeseen events that'd led her here. "That's" —Susan Grimshaw glances over Lily's shoulder, awed by the needlework in comparison to the camp's norm— "that must be the finest stitching I've seen since Bessie passed." The compliment paints Lily's round cheeks a soft pink. "Heaven knows we've plenty of mending to do with these fellers," she laughs, carrying on about her daily routine.

It's a grey flannel shirt with streaks of blue and red left to dry for days on a makeshift clothesline between the posts holding up the canvas covering over Arthur's wagon with a tear beneath the arm and a few missing buttons. Arthur hangs up his gun belt, eyeing the letter on his night table before he notices the fabric laid across Lilian's lap and her brows furrowed in concentration. It's an odd sight, seeing a rich girl like Lilian Cornwall mending clothes. "That my shirt?" He asks, sitting on the opposite end of his cot.

She nods, picking up the last of the spare buttons, and begins stitching it in place. "Almost done," Lilian tells him, making a loop with the thread to tie off the needle. Pulling the thread taut, she cuts through the cotton with her teeth. "There" — Lily holds up the shirt, buttons replaced, and tears mended —a new shirt if not for slight fraying around the collar and how thin the flannel felt. Arthur runs a finger over the neat line of stitches only visible from the inside of the shirt. "Never would be able to tell," she smiles. Arthur says his thanks, then goes to help Pearson deal with the last buck he brought in for supper.

LILIAN'S BACK STIFFENS when a hand grips onto her shoulder —it's not the kind touch of Hosea asking if she's all right or the gentle nudge from Arthur offering her a morning cup of coffee. She lowers the needle and thread from where she started patching one of Sean's shirts —he asked sweetly enough, and she hadn't been able to tell him no. The man leering down at her has stringy blond hair, a thick horseshoe mustache, and a crooked smile that makes Lily's skin crawl, just as it had the first time she laid eyes on him.

Micah Bell had been the one to pull her —kicking and screaming— from her father's train. She blames him just as much as Dutch Van der Linde for her current predicament. He sees the burning hatred in her eyes when she looks up at him, lips pressed into a tight line. "Still got some that fight in you?" Micah asks, sitting on a crate next to the campfire. Even wearing Arthur's heavy duster coat, Lilian feels exposed under his leering gaze. "I like my women with a bit of fire in 'em," he muses, licking his cracked lips and laying his dirty hand on her knee, daring to press his fingertips into her thigh, "keeps things excitin'."

"Leave me alone, sir," Lily says, her voice level and firm, shifting so his hand falls from her knee and turning her attention back to the tear in the shirt laid across her lap. She hopes it's enough for Micah Bell to take the hint, but he seems incapable of understanding the subtlety.

He leans toward her, looking up from under the brim of his white hat, enjoying the way it makes her skin crawl. Yet at the same time, there's bitter jealousy stirring in his gut —not understanding why Lilian Cornwall was so quick to take to Arthur Morgan and John Marston over him. His lips curl. "No need for formalities. We can be on a first-name basis" —Miach's lips form a disparaging smile, a glint of something knavish flashing in his eyes— "can't we, Lily?"

Taking her chances, Lilian rises, holding tightly to the shirt and threaded needles. She won't suffer his impudence. "That's Miss Cornwall to you," she bites, turning to continue her stitching elsewhere.

A heavy hand curls around her forearm and yanks her back with a harsh tug. "Now that's not very nice–" Micah starts, his whiskey-tinged breath hot on her neck. She pulls her arm free, feels her fingers curl into a fist at her side —almost ready to swing when Sean pipes up. "Oi," he says, leaving the tree he'd been leaned against, whittling at a twig and stepping between Lily and Micah before either of them can act, "leave her 'lone."

Micah glares at the Irish bastard, half-wishing they would've left him to the Pinkertons, and steps around Sean and leans closer, his lips and mustache twitching with disdain. "Won't always have someone around to fight your battles," he sneers —a threat, "Miss Cornwall." There's a moment of silence, the tension thickening the air. Lily stands next to Sean, not backing down. Defeated for the time being, Micah Bell sulks off to lick his wounds.

Sean takes the spot where Micah had been, and Lily sits back on the log, her dark eyes flitting to the edge of camp. "He gives me the creeps," she mutters, pulling the thread taut before stating another stitch. Most of the misfits who call the Van der Linde Gang are decent enough —if not a little brash and uncouth— but between Micah Bell and Dutch himself, they're enough to set her skin itching. She doesn't like how either of them looks at her.

"Got that in common," Sean agrees, taking a long drag of whiskey from the bottle. He observes Lilian for a long moment and almost laughs —Leviticus Cornwall's daughter mending his shirt, and if it weren't for his own eyes, even he wouldn't believe it. Even stranger still to think how she and Arthur been getting on, an unlikely pair, but given the poor choices in company, Sean supposes he'd take to Arthur like a pig to slop too. "Missin' the big man?" He pokes. Arthur's been gone for three days now, off to make a dime as a bounty hunter for Sheriff Malloy and make amends for the ruckus he and Lenny caused a few nights back. Lily cuts her eyes at Sean. "Jus' askin," he snickers.

Sean MacGuire's good company, and since his return to the gang, he's taken a keen liking to Lilian Cornwall and enjoys pestering her —like the brother she never had. Lily shakes her head, hiding a smile as she continues her needlework. "Swig o'whiskey?" He offers up the bottle, and without a drop of hesitation, she takes a large quaff, wincing as it burns her throat then settles in her belly with a fuzzy warmth.

"DOMINOES ANYONE?" HOSEA calls out on a slow Sunday morning. Most of the gang are lounged around the camp, sharing stories and drinking the last dregs of Pearson's coffee. Lilian Cornwall finishes her cup and drops it in the washbasin 'fore joining Hosea, seeing no one else seemed eager to join him for a game with Arthur still out roving around. Lily slides onto the stool across from Hosea. "I'm a bit rusty," she confesses. It's been years since she played dominoes, must've been while she was in finishing school.

"I'll go easy on you," Hosea teases, looking in the direction of the felled tree and entrance of the camp where a lone rider approaches. "You want in on this, Arthur?" He calls, waving Arthur over as he hitches his dark bay Andalusian from a quick run to Valentine. Almost every time he pulls out the tin and wooden racks, Hosea remembers Bessie —the hours they spent playing and when she taught a young Arthur, John never did want to stay still long enough to learn.

Arthur takes a stool at the head of the small table, unstoppering his waterskin to take a drink. "Think I'll jus' watch," he replies, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his tan-leather jacket.

"Suit yourself," Hosea replies, flipping over one of the tiles at the same time as Lily to see who gets the first move —Lily does, with a double six. Several rounds pass in a comfortable quiet until Hosea clears his throat —wanting to pick a little at Lilian Cornwall's history and learn more about the woman who'd be with them for the near future. "Your poor mother," he notes, shaking his head as he lays a matching six tile down, "must be worried to death." Arthur huffs, rolling his eyes as he takes to sharpening his knife, knowing what it is Hosea is up to.

"Never knew my mother," Lilian says with a sad, ephemeral smile as to say such is life. Ada Cornwall had been the daughter of a well-off banker from the northern states and married more out of duty to her family than love —at least that's the story Leviticus always tells. No matter how the tale starts, the ending is always the same. Several years of marriage resulted in miscarriages and a set of twin boys born too small who hadn't lived past the first few weeks of life. Then Leviticus and Ada welcomed a healthy daughter —and in the hours after, he was left a widower and the girl motherless. All the money in the world couldn't have saved Ada Cornwall.

People who'd known her father longer than she says Ada's death turned him bitter, but Lily only ever knew him as the man willing to do anything to see his daughter a good and comfortable life. "She died bringing me into this world," Lily explains.

Hosea nods. It's a plight too many have known. He plays another tile. "And your father? Mr. Cornwall?" He queries, curious to learn more about the man they crossed by robbing that godforsaken train.

"Well" —Lily can't help but smile— "I couldn't ask for a better father." She knows her father's reputation, knows what this band of outlaws think of him too. Everyone, even her, has their opinions regarding Leviticus Cornwall. "He made sure I always had the best and never wanted for anything," Lilian admits, sliding her tile across the table to link up with the last she played, "save spending a little more time together when I was little." Her childhood coincided with the most growth of the Cornwall industries, and it often meant being left to nannies and tutors while he was traveling for business.

But with age, that all changed. Lilian Cornwall was the sole heiress to her father's fortune and industries. It's not lost on her either that she will be one of the first women to front such a large ensemble of businesses —if she lives long enough to see her inheritance. "We've been working closely together these past years. I'm to take his position," she says, unsure if it's a wise thing to tell just anyone, but Lily's gut tells her she can trust Hosea and Arthur. "He's planning to step down soon."

Leviticus claims business never sleeps, and one must always be ready to chase opportunities, but the long years have taken their toll, and even giants must retire. "It's why I was on that train back east," she explains, playing another tile, putting her ahead of Hosea's score. "Had left California after speaking with some investors about the potential for oil and gold in Alaska." The rumors of both resources had caught Leviticus's eye, but before the profits could swell for anyone, rail needed laying down.

"Didn't think businessmen took kindly to women in their affairs," Arthur notes, looking up from sharpening his hunting knife. Hosea gives him a harsh look, and it almost makes Lily laugh to see Arthur's cheek start to burn. "No offense," he quickly adds, tipping down the brim of his hat.

She smiles as though to say none taken and places another domino tile down on the table. "Most don't" —her attention flits to Arthur and lingers for a long moment— "but a name helps," she tells him. His lips quirk upward. And that pretty face, Arthur thinks. Hosea tallies up his score, taking another face-down tile to add to his rack. Lily lays her final tile down, knowing this round is hers to claim. He starts turning the tiles over to shuffle again, and this time Arthur pulls one of the spare racks to him. "What is it you boys are chasing?" She finally asks, knowing the Van der Linde Gang must be after something to risk everything.

Hosea leans back in the chair and looks at Arthur as he draws in a long breath, shaking his head. "Truth be told, I don't know anymore, Lily," he admits, the failure in his tired voice evident. The Van der Linde Gang won't what it used to be, and Hosea knows they've all fallen far from grace, especially after the mess in Blackwater. It should've been the end of the gang, but somehow, they pulled through, even if they lost some trekking over the mountains. Arthur wears the same despondent expression. Like they both know where this path leads but are unable to do anything about it. "Used to be we helped people, but now—" Hosea coughs into his arm. "Now old Dutch, well" —his smile is sad and kind and apologetic as he looks across the table at Lilian Cornwall, who he's certain will be their undoing— "the Dutch I used to know wouldn't've kept you from gettin' back on that train."

[marybethsjournal]

Always

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

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

Word Count: 1903

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Molly was taken aback by Sadie’s proposal. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then WHY were you looking at me earlier?”

“I wasn’t.” Molly responded curtly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure I follow.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, Karen. Thanks, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.” Sadie smiled at her.

“That would be nice.”

[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.

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [6] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Head injury, drinking. NOTE: I feel like this is shorter than usual? Though, maybe not. I was expecting it to be, but here’s the next part of this! Thank you all for keeping up with this so far.  TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid@ireallyhonestlydontcare​ @elanisha @darlingsdevil@cirillamylove@bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones

He really had missed the little loud-mouthed bastard.

It wasn’t something he really wanted to admit, as Sean likely wouldn’t let him live it down. Though, he was a little more observant than he wanted to give him credit for, so Sean may have picked up on that already. However, Arthur had put up that sarcastic, prickly front, once they had managed to rescue him from the bounty hunters. Considering the chaos it brought, it wasn’t as much of a front as it usually was. Getting that close to Blackwater, seeing the Pinkerton patrol strolling along the cliff edge near the river separating his past, his longing to head out west, and the present where they were all stuck out east. It put him on edge, along with trying to plan how they were going to get Sean back.

There was no way they were going to be able to get back into Blackwater to get the money that had been left behind, it was a realization that sat in the back of his mind. Dutch seemed to avoid all talk about it, assured him that they would get back out west. Back where they would be free. Yet, things seemed rather focused on what they were currently doing out east. Maybe he would have to get used to that.

He was forcing himself to get used to a lot of things.

Charles, Javier, and Sean had separated after they had pulled off their rescue, Arthur riding back in toward camp at a quick but somewhat relaxed pace. He was away from the border out to New Austin, away from Blackwater, and away from the commotion they had caused in the bounty hunter camp. He allowed himself to relax a bit, knowing once he got back to camp, there would be something going on.

When wasn’t there?

He didn’t fully dread going back to camp, no, but there was a bit of a tension there. Arthur had no idea what they were doing, what was coming next, but getting Sean back was at least a step in the right direction. Davey and Jenny hadn’t made it, Sean had been up in the air, now there was just Mac but...well, it was hard to tell what happened to him. Wherever he was, he just hoped he was alive. Still, most of the focus lately was on how they were going to cope with where they found themselves currently.

It was a new land, something was always happening. You had certainly found something.

Honestly, Arthur had to admit that he found it hard to believe the damn chances of just...running into your family out east. You rarely talked about your family, where you came from. ‘Out west,’ you had often said.

Out west and not worth remembering.

How ironic that was, now.

Still, much as he struggled with disbelief about your uncle living just outside Valentine, there was a touch of hope about what you had talked about with it as well. Admittedly, when you had asked to talk to him in private a night or so ago, he had started to guard himself. That the whole thing was done, that you wanted to drop what you had with him. It hadn’t been as crushing as it had been with Mary, but...well, maybe it wasn’t right to compare, considering how young his relationship was with you before all of this. Yet, he felt something, and the idea that you were going to leave him because...

Well, he couldn’t blame you for doing so because you couldn’t remember him. There was still some frustration swirling in his gut over that situation. Not toward you, you had no control over what happened on that mountain, but there was a fair amount of it toward himself and Micah. He still had yet to really know how Micah felt about his involvement in the whole thing, but it wasn’t hard to guess where he stood about it. Yet, he couldn’t exactly ask, seeing as Micah and Lenny had left to scout ahead and hadn’t returned yet. Still, Arthur...well, he had felt some sort of way when Dutch had told you, John, Micah and himself to head out into the storm to see if there was anything to be found.

A part of him had wanted to protest at having you go with Micah, but at the time...well, they needed all they could get. You had just shook your head but agreed to what Dutch had told you to do.

Now, he wished you hadn’t.

He let out a slow exhale, bringing himself back to the moment as he trotted along on his horse, bringing himself back to the moment. Arthur knew he would have to return to camp, to see about Sean, but that didn’t have to be at the very moment.

Strauss was back with his debt collecting, and Arthur was usually the one sent to collect. He had given him a list, a couple names. Lily was up in Emerald Ranch, near camp.

He could collect her debt and be back before the day was out.

                                                         ***

Camp seemed to come alive with activity, much to your confusion.

There had been a couple shouts and cheers, someone named Sean had returned. You knew the gang had lost a couple people while they were heading up into the mountain, but you hadn’t been keeping track on just who those people were. So, you had lingered back from the commotion, noticing Charles and Javier returning looking a little less thrilled, pulling some light amusement into your expression. Considering the way Sean’s voice carried as you would pass him in camp, you could start to understand why.

Sean was energetic in the face of escaping death, apparently, which made you wish you had the same outlook a couple days back when you had survived your own.

Then again, you hadn’t exactly returned the surprise and relief to be seeing these people again as they did you, and it didn’t seem like anybody was celebrating the situation they were in. Horseshoe Overlook wasn’t an abandoned, frozen, town left in the snow for time and nature to take it back again. It had certainly felt like it was being reclaimed, you didn’t miss the frigid air that leaked in from the holes in the walls and floors. Really, it made you enjoy the feeling of the sun at Horseshoe, much as the air did have a bit of a bite to it some days.

“Miss?”

The sound of a voice pulled you out of your head, making you jump slightly from where you had been lingering near a wagon, lost in thought. You hadn’t noticed someone approaching, Dutch’s voice recognized after a moment as you turned to look toward him. He stood a couple steps off from you, meeting your gaze with his eyebrows raised slightly--questioning.

“I’m sorry, Dutch,” you replied after a moment, shaking your head slightly, “I didn’t hear you approach.”

“I’d say,” he returned around a short huff, “I was hopin’ we could talk, you and I. About your situation.”

“There’s...not much to say,” you returned carefully, “I still don’t fully remember a lot, just some familiarity at certain things.”

“No reason to be wanderin’ off on your own, then?”

The question was pointed, making your eyebrows furrow slightly. Dutch met your gaze with a somewhat unreadable expression, hands on his hips as you picked up on the suspicion in his tone. A frown touched your face, a part of you wondering who had told him that you had rode out on your own--Abigail didn’t seem like she would have, but...well, the camp had guards, a number of people who could have seen you outside of her.

“I...found some family,” you replied, letting out a small sigh through your nose, “In Valentine. I had a hard time sitting around at camp knowing that, and knowing that I could run out of chances to really see if they were who I thought they were. I...I didn’t believe that was a bad thing?”

“It’s hard to say, considerin’ you know where we are but with you not rememberin’ us…”

You could pick up at what he was hinting at, your expression tightening slightly.

“I’m not leaving.” At the moment. “I used the story you told us to use when we first got here.”

“I understand…” he started, shifting in his stance somewhat, more open but there was still something there that put you a little on edge. “This is a hard situation for you, and runnin’ into familiar faces outside of us...I understand it can be complicated. You’d always told me that you had no family, or anybody to be worried ‘bout. We’ve been takin’ care of you, all of us, even before all this. We’re a family here, too. Hope you will remember that.”

There was a tension that flooded into you at his words--did he trust you? It seemed he was willing to give you some room, but...well, his words suggested that it wasn’t complete trust. Perhaps...well, perhaps you could understand a little bit. You had wondered yourself where that odd sense of loyalty came from when it came to the idea of leaving the gang behind, considering you felt you should have been regarding them as strangers. You had to wonder, too, if they would have cut you out if you hadn’t been connected with them as much as you apparently were. The question sat on the edge of your tongue, waiting to be let out, yet you managed to hold it back.

“I understand, Dutch.”

“This ain’t a lecture,” he stated, placing a hand on your shoulder, “We’re in a situation here, and it has a lot of opportunity, but I need you to understand that.”

“I understand, I do. I haven’t given any of you away.”

He gave you a small pat before releasing his hold with a nod, leaving the conversation at that before returning to the fanfare about their returned member. You let out a slow exhale, pressing a hand against your forehead somewhat, careful not to press too heavily, much as the wound was almost healed. Dutch seemed like he tried to understand you, something you...admittedly weren’t sure on if it was just charm or actual understanding, but it made it sound like there would be issues aside from hurt feelings if you decided to leave.

Still, he hadn’t forbade you from leaving, but he made it clear that there was an expectation on which side he wanted you on.

                                                             ***

Evening rolled in as Sean got settled, the start of a party happening around camp as you had slipped off toward the back of a wagon with a rag and one of the tonics the doctor had given you. You had removed the bandage from around your head, the fabric at least not bloody anymore as you had noticed the gash healing up. Still, you soaked a bit of the rag in the tonic, placing it against the wound with a small inhale through your nose. The headaches were stepping off a bit, much as sunlight made your head throb from time to time still, but the wound itself was still a little painful to the touch.

The whole thing was supposed to help, but you had to wonder sometimes.

Though, the sound of approaching footfalls made you lift your gaze from your boots toward where the figure of someone rounded the side of the wagon you were behind. You had seen her around, and had noted her to be one of the people the gang had picked up in the mountains, though it looked like she had been put in some clean clothes. She still looked rough, you saw her around camp but you didn’t feel like she was looking for conversation. Though, the mild surprise upon seeing you had you returning the look.

“I didn’t know anybody was back here,” she commented, causing you to lower the rag a moment with a shrug.

“I wasn’t staying long, just didn’t want an audience to treating this thing…” you returned. Though, the woman, despite her words, did not really leave after that as she shifted to sit herself down on a rock across from you. Even in the gathering darkness of the evening, you could tell she looked exhausted. “You’re the woman they picked up in the mountains.”

“So are you,” she returned, her tone a little tight but you saw her focus to your forehead for a moment, “That’s a hell of a bruise.”

“Still?” you asked around a soft chuckle, “Looks worse than it feels sometimes, then.”

“I...overheard ‘round camp that you’re sufferin’ from memory problems,” she commented, making your expression drop slightly as you pressed your lips together. It wasn’t great that that was the topic of conversation when it came to you, but it wasn’t like it was a false assumption.

“...Yes. It’s been a process.”

“Might not be as much of a curse as you make it sound…” she replied, dropping her head slightly, “Would give anythin’ to forget some things.”

“I...I’m sorry,” you offered up, watching as she raised her head in a half-hearted dismissal before you started to secure the bandage back on your head. If it was still that bad, maybe you should keep it on for the time being. Though, you paused as you stood to your feet, looking her over a moment before you held your hand out with an introduction, the blonde woman glancing up toward you before she shook your hand lightly.

“Sadie Adler,” she introduced in return, letting go of your hand. You were tempted for a moment to ask if she wanted to go back out toward the main part of camp, but it didn’t seem like she was up for whatever was waiting. 

Really, you weren’t too sure how to feel about a celebration yourself with everything that was happening. However, with you noticing Abigail approaching the two of you, you found yourself just giving a nod and leaving it at that as you picked up the medicine and placed it back down near your bedroll.

The camp really was alive with this little party for Sean’s return, people talking around a fire, some singing at a table near Pearson’s wagon, and there was some cheerful tune from Dutch’s gramophone in his tent. You could see the man himself swaying to the tune with a red-haired woman in his arms--Molly, if you remembered correctly. There was also a familiar figure and shirt just across from where they were dancing, Arthur and Mary-Beth swaying along to the music as well, though a little more stiffly than Dutch and Molly beside them. The sight pulled a small huff out of your nose, an amused grin touching your features before you continued on your way toward your bedroll.

You would need to figure out where you were going to plant yourself for the night, if you weren’t just going to curl up for the night. Which sounded...fun. Though, your mind seemed to linger on the image of Arthur dancing in the back of your mind, your mind recalling the movements and even that shirt as you got the image in your mind of your hands on his shoulders. You could remember the way the touch of alcohol had made your movements a little less controlled as they usually were, no music in your ears but you could recall how the air that clung to your skin was much hotter and dry than what was at Horseshoe.

There had been some conversation, though you couldn’t recall exactly what had been said, feeling yourself laughing lightly at something that had been said. You had reached a bold hand up, cupping the side of his face in your palm, recalling the feeling of his stubble against your skin there before you had leaned up toward his face--

“There she is!”

The call pulled you out of the thought--memory?--almost as instantly as the feeling of an arm getting wrapped heavily around your shoulders did, the smell of whiskey hanging heavy against the red-haired Irishman who had settled himself against your side for a moment. Between the startle and the feeling that had hit you from the memory, you couldn’t help the small gasp as your heart hammered away in your chest, heat rushing lightly to your face.

“Avoidin’ me all day, I’m thinkin’ you didn’t miss me much,” Sean continued, releasing his hold as he moved back somewhat, stumbling enough to push aside the thought that he was saying so while sober.

“I…”

“Oh, c’mon, what’s the long faces ‘round here for, huh?” he asked, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder, “But, don’t worry. With me back in your lives, I’ll surely be able t’ bring back some joy into it.”

“It certainly looks like you’ve found plenty of that joy tonight…” you commented, deciding to play along. With how he was acting, you could suspect he may not remember it come morning.

“I am!” he exclaimed rather proudly, “You should, too! What happened? I leave for some time and you’ve forgotten how t’ have fun?”

“I haven’t,” you said around a somewhat awkward chuckle, “Don’t worry about me, just go enjoy your party.”

“I just missed you, is all,” he stated, sounding a touch sentimental, “So, go have some fun, or I might have t’ force ya.”

“Sure…” you returned, watching as he turned to return back into camp, heavy with drink. You let out a quick breath, shutting your eyes for a moment.

“Christ’s sake…” you muttered--just one thing after another today.

[crimsonredemption]

It’s over, isn’t it?

follow-up Oneshot to never enough 

Javier x GN!Reader  /  platonic Arthur x GN!Reader   //     Angst      //          ca 2800 words  //  a huge thank you to @cupofcowboys for beta-reading!

TW: Death, Chapter 6 spoilers

Only four days had passed since you left Javier’s tent, but you couldn’t get yourself to leave camp completely - not yet. You hated Beavers Hollow, hated how tense everyone was, hated the way Dutch seemed to care less and less about those he swore to protect and love, hated to see Arthur getting sicker by the day. But worst of all was seeing Javier drift into an abyss of anger and bitterness, blind loyalty guiding his way. The two of you avoided each other, not having shared a single word. But sometimes you could swear you feel his gaze linger on you, just for a moment but when you turn, he’s gone. He was there in flesh and blood, and yet, you felt haunted by him as though he were a ghost. 

You weren’t the only one who noticed the ongoing decay of your big family; some people had already left camp in the dead of night, slipping out while they still could. You couldn’t blame them. Leaving was what you wanted to do as well, but with every day that passed you felt the life you had hoped for, the life you had wished for, slipping through your fingers like fine sand, and there was nothing you could do about it. Something always held you back from leaving, one day it was the bad weather - the next day Arthur needed your help, it was never a good time. 

Your mind wandered back to Javier, eyes scanning camp for him almost automatically. He sat next to Micah, a sight all too common in the past few weeks. Just thinking about the way Micah slithered his way into Javier`s trust made the hair your neck stand up, it was almost ironic. Javier never had any respect for Micah, never once shared more than two friendly words with him and yet here they were - close and tight. 

The weight of a hand on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts. Raising your chin, you saw Arthur looking down at you, the usual half-smile on his lips. Looking at him, your eyebrows furrowed visibly, his condition worse since the last time you saw him.

“Look at this mess we made Y/N,” he said in a voice low and breathy, always on the edge of coughing and you found yourself anticipating it, but it didn’t come. 

“It’s a mess alright,” you whisper.

“I always thought...you know, the two of you would make it outta here. I hoped to see you and Javier leave and live, you know...a happy life.” Arthur adds, his eyes searching for something in the distance.

Your hands were kneading a piece of cloth while you fought the urge to cry, to just let out all your frustration and anger at the world. But while your emotions weighed on you like a mountain, only a single tear found its way along your cheek, only to land on your hand that was laying in your lap. You didn’t dare answer him, you just couldn’t. But seeing the way your shoulders tensed up and how tightly your hands were clenched, Arthur laid an arm around your shoulder - offering you all the comfort he could provide for the moment. 

You were both content in your embrace until Arthur straightened his back, signaling that he was about to get up from the log you were sitting on. You expected him to get up and leave, but to your surprise he squatted down in front of you, cupping your hands with his. 

“Things are about to get messy here Y/N, I’d rather you’re not here to see it. If you don’t know where to go, search for Charles. He’s with the people in the reservation.” he explained in a hushed voice as if he was afraid someone could hear. Only now you saw that he had one of your bags around his shoulder. You were at a loss for words, opening and closing your mouth to answer him time and again, but no words left your lips. Your eyes left Arthur’s face and searched for Javier, who only a few minutes ago had been sitting not too far from you, but now he was gone. Your heart ached for him, to see his face one last time before you left the hell that was Beaver Hollow. But what exactly did you hope to see? Eyes that once held so much love and care for you, now carrying no more than resentment? No. It was better he wasn’t here to see you leave camp for good, it would make things easier for you. 

Once you had your belongings and weapons on your horse, you were ready to go. It was awfully quiet at camp. After taking in a deep breath you turned to face Arthur. “Thank you, Arthur, for everything you’ve done for me, for all of us. These fools don’t know half of it.” you murmured while leaning in to hug the bigger man.

“Don’t mention it.” was all he said, he was a man of few words after all. 

After saying your goodbye to Arthur, you led your horse down the trail that leads away from camp. Sunlight was shimmering through the treetops as you walked on, and lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice when you passed Javier, who was standing a little offside the road, hidden between the green of the bushes. He stepped out of the shadows trailing you for a bit, but somehow his presence eluded you. 

“It’s over, isn’t it?” 

Hearing his voice made you stop in your tracks, your horse following your example after the grip of your hand on the reins hardened. It wasn’t much of a question, but more of a statement, an unshakable truth. For a moment you considered ignoring him and to just keep walking. You pondered on what to answer when a noise in front of you demanded your attention. A look over your shoulder confirmed your suspicion - Javier had a finger in front of his mouth, signaling you to keep quiet. Your eyes followed the movements of his hands and with one swift motion, he took out his knife and threw it in the direction the noise originated from. A muffled moan reached your ears and in a heartbeat, you had closed the distance between you and the man who had been hiding behind the thicket. 

“A Pinkerton?” you gasped your own knife now at the man’s throat. He struggled visibly before you, Javier's knife hit his shoulder and he was bleeding heavily. 

“Are there more of you?” Javier asked, expecting him to explain himself and their plan. Instead of giving an answer, the man spat at Javier. “This time your lot won’t have time to run...we made-” but before he could finish his sentence, Javier slit his throat. “That was all I needed to hear, Bastardo.” 

“We have to warn them, Javier, they will over-run them if we don’t.” 

“I know, you go. I’ll hold them off.” he says but you weren’t having it.

 “Javier, you only have one revolver. I have all my weapons here, I can buy you some time!” 

“But Y/N...” there was an honest concern in his eyes, and you fought off the urge to run to him. 

“No buts! Hurry now, I got this. He was only a scout, but soon the place will be buzzing with this scum!” You prayed that your nerves wouldn’t get the better of you and show how afraid you were. You didn’t know how many exactly there were, but there was no other way. His eyes were still locked with yours when he took the first few steps back in the direction of camp but soon he started running, leaving you behind for good. When he was out of sight you turned to face the other side of the road. Whatever it was coming for them, you would make sure to stand in their way.

Or so you thought.

You had been searching the area for what seemed like an eternity; realistically it was about 10 minutes since Javier left, but every minute felt stretched out indefinitely. Soon the sun would set, making it almost impossible to find people in the dark of the forest, so your best shot would be to return to the gang and help them pack up as quickly as they could. You mounted your horse and made your way back when you heard a gunshot. A sense of foreboding overcame you and you fastened your speed, making your horse give their all to you. 

When you arrived at camp you rode past the other horses, well into the camp and what you saw was far from what you had imagined the scene to look like. Instead of packing, the gang members were standing in two separate groups, one group only consisting of Arthur and John, whereas the other was made up of the rest of the gang, everybody pointing their guns at the other group. A scream escaped your mouth when you saw the body of Miss Grimshaw lying in the mud. You hurried to her side in hope to find any sign of life, but it was too late. Tears streamed down your face while you were holding her lifeless body close to you. You had always loved her like a mother, and even though she had been harsh on all of you, you knew that deep down she cared deeply for every one of the gang. 

“What happened here?” You closed the lids of her eyes before getting up, slowly and shivering with rage. “And what’s with all this bull shit here, pack your damn guns away! There are Pinkertons coming right now!!” 

Micah was the first to open his mouth. “This doesn’t concern you, pick a side or get lost!” he snarled, but you weren’t paying attention to him. Your eyes were on Javier, who had his gun out but didn’t point it at Arthur or John, unlike the others. A thousand thoughts running through your mind as you started walking towards him. Javier lowered his gun slowly, a look of bewilderment mixed with joy on his face. The thought of you returning to camp in this situation and picking Arthur’s side...he could never point a gun at you, not for everything in the world. 

“Mi Amor,” he started while reaching out for you and he wanted to say something else, but you threw yourself at him, wrapping your hands around his torso, and started weeping. There was no holding back anymore - all the bottled up emotions, fears and crushed dreams fought their way up to the surface and you could barely hold yourself up straight. An uncontrollable stream of tears wet Javier’s blue Jacket, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be held by him, to be comforted by the man you loved so much while the world you knew seemingly crumbled to pieces around you. You had almost forgotten how good his arms felt around you, how much you loved feeling his skin on yours. The world around you seemed to fade away, though you could hear the other man arguing with each other. Javier’s hands were stroking your back when you opened your eyes, only to see a handful of Pinkerton Agents emerging from the woods, pointing their guns at your family. Everyone else was too busy with themselves, not noticing the danger coming for them. 

Before you could open your mouth to warn them the agents opened fire, aiming for the outlaws closest to them. Javier was still holding you tightly when the first shot was fired and without so much of a second thought you turned with him, so it would be you facing the agents with your back. It was intuition that led you to do it, and not a second too late. The sound of the shot still ringing in your ear, you felt a stinging pain in your back that made you cling to Javier for a moment before your legs gave into your weight, Javier going down to the ground with you. He was still holding you, a look of complete horror on his face. You saw his mouth moving as if he was saying something, his body moving in frantic waves. You were too focused on the pain to make out what it was what he was saying though. It was different than anything you had ever felt before. You knew you were in pain, but at the same time, you felt as if your body was numb to the feeling, as if your brain couldn’t catch up to it. Slowly you started hearing the tumult around you again, screams and the sound of the fighting reaching your ears again. 

You felt your body being lifted from the ground and found yourself in Javier's arms once again, as he was carrying you away from the fight into the woods, taking the risk of stumbling onto other Agents that might still be out there. Breathing was getting harder and harder, the urge to cough omnipresent. You wanted to talk to him, but barely a noise left your mouth. As the seconds and minutes passed on, you watched Javier’s face, a variety of emotions visible on it. 

“Y/N! Please...stay with me, okay? You’re gonna-” he said while placing you on the ground before adding, “You’re not going to leave me, alright? Stay strong, mi amor.” 

A weak “yeah” left your mouth when you felt Javier’s hands on your side, trying to get to the wound to see if there was a way, any way, he could save you. His jaw clenched when he saw that the back of your blouse was completely red, soaked in your blood, and the familiar smell of it just now hit his nose. Javier inhaled sharply, his mind frantically searching for a solution, but he feared that there was nothing he could do anymore. They were way too deep into the forest to reach a doctor in time and he couldn’t go back to camp, either. 

As you watched him through half-closed lids, you slowly but surely became aware of your situation. You weren’t going to make it out of it, not this time. But strangely you weren’t sad or angry at the fact that you were dying. A weird sense of self-awareness came over you. 

“Javier?” you managed to call out to him, which made him crawl closer to you instantly, taking your hand into his and bringing his face closer to yours. 

“Yes, Y/N, I’m here. I won’t leave you.” he answered, patiently stroking your face with his thumb. 

“I think I’m dying Javier and I want you,” you coughed heavily before continuing “I need you to know that I love you. More than anything else.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper by now, the rattle in your throat making it hard for you you to talk. 

“I...I...Mi amor, I’m so sorry for everything. I can’t let you go without letting you know that I was the biggest fool alive. I..”

You cupped his face with your hand and he understood your silent plead - he closed the distance between the two of you, slowly placing his lips on yours. He was incredibly gentle and loving, and you felt your heart swell with love for him once again. Javier whispered a quiet “I love you” against your lips, smiling. But his eyes betrayed him, tears swelling in the corners of his when he saw that your eyes were closed. Your body grew limp in his arms as he tried to sit you up against him; if you had to go, he wanted to hold you in his arms while it happened. 

He didn’t know, of course, that you could still hear him. You heard when he surrendered to his emotions, loudly crying and sobbing and calling out your name. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but after a while, he gathered himself and started to hum a melody. 

You listened to his quiet singing, surrounding you like it was all that was left on this earth, which in a way it was for you. He had never sounded more beautiful than he did now, and as much as you wished to listen to him forever, it started to slowly fade away and finally eluding you completely until there was nothing more. The last thing you saw was Javier’s face, the last thing to touch you were his lips, and the last thing you heard was his voice, singing you the softest words. You were happy in the end, and when you finally took your last breath, all was well. 

[hoeseamatthews]

Can i request a story where the reader's stallion die and she's very sad about it because she raised that horse and she cared for him a whole lot. Like how would the gang react and what would they do?? It's my first time asking something,if you want to do it i would be really happy but if you don't like it it's okay,don't worry!! Sorry for troubling you 🤗

I’ll chuck the rest of this under a read more because it’s quite a lengthy one. I’ve laid this out as a mini paragraph per gang member kind of post rather than a full fledged fic, and I wasn’t entirely sure who to include, so I’ve just done the ‘main’ gang members.

If I’ve missed anyone’s faves and you’d like for me to add them in, please, just let me know!

The day your stallion galloped over the rainbow bridge, it broke you. You can’t help but blame yourself, either, which cuts your heart in two and rips it in three. If you hadn’t decided to take on that one job in particular, he’d never have been shot at. Those bullets would never have hit him the way they did, and he’d still be here.

You have to live with that. These things just happen, you had no control over it. It was the law who inadvertently shot him in an effort to get you instead. Those bastards. You know you can’t change what happened, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less with each passing day. Of course, your pain is apparent to those you face every day in camp, and…

Arthur understands where you’re coming from, for the most part. He may not have raised his Boadicea like you did with your stallion, but he knows first hand how it feels to lose a horse. From memory, Arthur sketches your horse for you. You’re oblivious to him doing this, too, and he’ll always keep his journal hugged close to his chest whenever you’re around to ensure you don’t get a sneak peek. When he gifts you the sketch, you cry. Happy tears, of course,and you throw yourself at him to wrap him in a hug, thanking him profusely.

Bill, Lenny, and Sean invite you to participate in a few rounds of Five Finger Fillet with them as a way of taking your mind off of things. They’d rather not talk about what’s happened, not if it risks upsetting you. You’re hesitant at first, wondering if it’s a bright idea in terms of how you’re currently feeling, but they each talk you into it. Lenny plays it safe during his turns, while Bill tries to go the fastest, raging each time he slices his finger with the knife, leaving Sean in a fit of hysterics. The laughter is infectious, and overall, it’s proven to be a great distraction.

Charles is very quick to comfort you, but not just through listening to you and offering his condolences. He doesn’t really say much besides that on the matter, anyway. With your explicit permission, he holds you through your tears, especially on the nights where you can’t fight them back any longer. He doesn’t let you go until you want him to, especially not in your time of need.

Dutch takes you away from the bustle of the camp one evening, noticing that you aren’t up for mingling that night. You’ve tried your best to hold it together, to put on a brave front, but you’re not in the mood. When you’re alone, Dutch asks you how you’re holding up after all that’s happened, and you cry. You hate that you do, but you cry, and you simply can’t stop. At this, Dutch holds you close to him before he leads you to a nearby rock to sit you down. If he’d had a blanket, he’d wrap it around you, so instead, his arms will have to suffice. He holds you, encouraging the tears, quite literally becoming your shoulder to cry on.

Hosea is one of, if not the most sympathetic out of all the gang when you lose your horse. He offers you a shoulder to cry on, which you gladly accept. He encourages you to unload your pain and sorrow rather than bottling it all up, and for the next few months, he pulls you aside almost on a daily basis to speak to you, often over a game of dominoes, just to check in and see how you’re doing on that day.

Javier takes it upon himself to cheer you up with an original song. He calls you over to sit beside the campfire with him one evening, and he notices that you’re looking worn down, telling you he has something for you. You’re bemused, but you roll with it, quirking a brow when he holds his guitar at the ready. Plucking at the strings, he begins to sing directly at you with personalised lyrics, and while he isn’t entirely sure if the song will be a hit with you or not at first, he knows it most definitely is when you gradually break out into a smile over it.

John, admittedly, isn’t the best with expressing his feelings, but he does make an effort with you, and you appreciate that. He sidles up to you one morning, noticing you’re looking tearful, and he places a somewhat awkward, yet comforting hand on your back, telling you, “I ain’t always the best with saying the right thing, but…if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for ya.”

Kieran feels for you. He really does, and while he’s skeptical about even suggesting it at first, thinking it’ll be too raw since you just lost your own horse, he enlists your help with caring for the rest of the gang’s horses. He hopes it’ll take your mind off of things, keep you from shutting yourself away while you keep both your hands and your mind occupied with grooming the horses and feeding them, and he doesn’t stop checking in on you all the while. He checks in too much, if anything, but you can’t fault him for it. To your surprise, giving him a hand with the other horses helps you out more than you’d expected it to.

Mary-Beth, Karen, and Tilly each fawn over you in their own ways. Karen is in favour of riding into the nearest town, hitting the saloon, and getting a drink, but you shoot that idea down. You don’t think it’s the best idea, especially not now. The other two girls console you, and eventually, Karen joins in, attempting to cheer you up before they encourage you to think about all the good times you had with your horse, which leads to you essentially telling them his life story. They don’t mind, though. Not one bit.

Micah, initially, is the least sympathetic. By far. He merely tells you “You’ll find another horse. That’s the way things go, sweetheart. Get used to it.” at first, but upon reflection, he places himself in your boots. It hits him that if he lost Baylock, he’d most likely feel equally as terrible as you do right now. That horse is his boy. Much to your surprise, he finds you, and he promptly apologises, giving you his word that he won’t speak of the matter so callously again.

Pearson, without fail, always makes sure to set a bowl of stew aside for you when it’s ready, and he’ll even enlist your help with preparing the stew. He uses this time to check in on you, asking if you’ve been eating properly, how you’ve been feeling, and so on. Don’t go telling anybody else, but he sneakily gives you that little bit extra to eat, just so he knows you’re well fed.

Sadie is no a stranger to loss. Your loss doesn’t quite compare to her experience of it, but nonetheless, she can still sympathise. Perhaps it’s partly her not liking seeing you look so glum, but she noticeably softens up around you, becoming protective of you, even offering to personally track down the bastards responsible. You reject this, of course. It won’t bring your horse back, but you know that she means well.

Susan makes sure you’ve washed and that you’re taking care of yourself in general. You half expect her to give you tough love, to tell you to “Quit mopin’ around and do your chores!”, but she doesn’t. Not in that manner, at least. She does, however, encourage you to help around camp, insisting that you’ll feel better if you help around camp, and she isn’t wrong.

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 29)

A Family, Weakened

It’s time for some sad, guys. We all know what happens right after Arthur gets well enough to carry on working, right? So, this chapter contains character death, kidnapping, a lot of angst and suffering... Enjoy!

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

-

There was an odd transition when Arthur was fully healed. It took him a few weeks to get back up and about, and things were relatively uneventful around camp until that point; I spent most days doing chores with the rest of the women. But as soon as Arthur was ready to go back to working for the gang, a lot of things seemed to happen all at once. All on the same day. It was an awful lot to take in, but I found myself in a camp with a drastically different mood. Things changed, and it started with a job the Grays had told Bill about. He was heading into Rhodes with Micah, Sean and Arthur to meet them at the Parlour House. 

It seemed normal enough to me, I was used to Arthur going off with various members of the gang to do various illegal things, and I hadn't thought twice about it when I waved Arthur off to go and meet them. I'd sneaked him a kiss by the horses and told him I was glad that he was finally well enough to be back in his routine. 

Then, Bill returned, looking solemn, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful, and he'd told us that Sean had been shot and he wouldn't be coming home. Getting much detail out of him had been difficult, but Hosea managed to learn that he'd buried him somewhere quiet, and that it'd been quick. He hadn't suffered. The girls were quiet, none of them entirely sure what to say and although she put on a brave face, I could tell that Karen had been particularly shaken by the news. She'd sat way out on the edge of camp by the water and hadn't said anything to anyone. I couldn't bring myself to speak to her, as she exuded the aura of someone who wanted to be left alone.

Arthur had not yet returned and my chest ached as I was faced with the reality of his lifestyle. Though I felt terrible for it, I could barely think of Sean while Arthur was absent; of course, I didn't know Sean all that well. Arthur, though, meant more to me than I had ever imagined someone could.

It was naive of me to think that we'd hit rock bottom, that the worst had come and the gang could only grow from it, shaped by the loss and carrying on in the memory of a fallen comrade; eager to seek a better life so that his was not in vain. But the horrors did not stop there. Abigail had been marching around camp almost frantically, a frown wearing creases between her brows. When I approached to ask what was wrong I was initially prepared for the same response everyone else had given that day; I'm fine, I just can't stop thinking about Sean… perhaps a few stories about others the gang had lost before I'd joined and the general unrest brought on by a changing world that didn't have room for our kind. 

Instead; "have you seen Jack? I'm sure he's around somewhere, the boy is always wandering off, playing where he shouldn't be," her words were nervous, faux cheeriness failing to hide it. 

"No, I'm afraid I haven't. Have you checked down by the water?" I asked, a frown appearing on my face. 

"Why would you say that?" Her eyes widened just a little and her words came out harsh and scared. 

"No reason other than I know he likes throwing pebbles in the lake, don't worry, Abigail. I'll go and look," I gave a brief touch to her elbow, "have you checked all the tents?"

"Yes, but I'll look again. He's probably messing with me, hiding, or something," she shook her head and huffed out a breath before heading towards John's tent. 

I made my way down towards the lake, scanning the area, calling out Jack's name. A brisk walk up and down the edge of the water along the length of the camp and a bit beyond revealed no signs of the boy. I headed back into camp, stopping by Karen. 

"Hey, Karen–"

"If you're about to ask me how I'm doing, I'm fine! Sick of people thinking I'm some fragile, broken-hearted widow or somethin'," she spat at me, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, hands balled into fists. She was tense all over. 

"I know you're fine, Karen, you're a strong woman and I can see you're just looking for peace. I don't mean to bother you," I assured her, choosing to tell her what she wanted to hear instead of pushing her by begging to differ. 

She acknowledged my words with a grunt. 

"I was wondering if you'd seen Jack?" 

She finally looked up at me at that, her expression softening. "Jack? I haven't, actually, not for a while come to think of it," she told me and I gnawed on my bottom lip. 

"Abigail can't seem to find him."

"Have you checked the lake?" She asked with a morbid expression and I nodded. It brought her some relief, I could tell. 

"I'll help," she said, getting up to look for the boy. 

Checking in with a few other gang members had me getting worried, nobody seemed to remember the last time they saw him; unsurprising considering all thoughts had been with Sean since we heard the news. Abigail returned to me, I could see she was getting more and more concerned as time went on and I couldn't blame her one bit. I was beginning to fear the worst myself. 

"Anything?" She asked me. 

"I haven't seen him, I asked around and they don't remember the last time they saw him. Abigail–"

"What's this I hear about you asking where Jack is?" John appeared beside me, face hardened and his voice harsh. 

"Have you had him this whole goddamn time?" Abigail was quick to admonish him, jumping to conclusions and stepping into his space.

"What? No! I haven't seen him. Are you telling me you've lost our son?" John hissed back. 

"He's our son now? I can't be standing next to him at all hours of the day as well as doing things to contribute to the camp and not have Grimshaw badgering on at me. It'd be nice if you actually thought to acknowledge you have a son before he wanders off on his own somewhere and scares us all to death!"

"Please, this ain't no time for arguing. This ain't nobody's fault," I stepped halfway in between them, glancing back and forth at each angry face. 

"What's going on over here?" Hosea cut in, concern etched into his face as deep as his worry lines. He looked particularly tired lately, between Arthur's injuries and Sean's death, the stress seemed to be getting to him. 

"We don't know where Jack is, Hosea. He– he's gone. My son is gone," Abigail was beginning to border on hysterical and I reached for her, putting an arm gingerly around her shoulder in a bid to provide some kind of comfort. 

"Calm down, Miss Roberts, where did you last see him?" Hosea asked in a level voice. 

"I think I saw him by the horses last, but that was hours ago. This morning!"

"Alright. Try to keep calm, has anyone spoken to Kieran?" He began, and when nobody said they had he went to find him. "He's always by the horses, perhaps he can help."

"Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening. If anything happens to him!" Abigail lamented, it sounded as though she was trying not to cry. 

"Abigail, just take a breath, alright? There's no sense in working yourself up, thinking the worst. We'll find him," I did my best to console her, rubbing the spot between her shoulder blades. John had gone uncharacteristically quiet, watching Abigail with a soft curve to his brows. 

Hosea passed by quickly, Kieran close behind him. They headed towards Dutch's tent and the look on their faces made my stomach churn. I saw them speaking, couldn't hear much but I heard the word Braithwaite come up, and Abigail heard it too. She brushed passed me, out from under my arm and briskly headed towards them. I turned in time to see Arthur returning, Dutch immediately asking if he'd seen anything of Jack. He hadn't. 

I hung back as Abigail demanded to know where Jack was, to hear whatever Hosea had been in the midst of telling Dutch. I made my way over to Arthur, and we shared a worried look as Dutch implored Abigail to relax, promising that they'd find him. 

"Kieran saw a couple of fellers sniffing around, we think they were Braithwaite boys. I can only guess it's them that took him," Hosea filled everyone in. 

"They took him? They took my boy?" Abigail was no calmer despite Dutch's reassurance and my heart shattered for her.

My arm instinctively made its way around Arthur as everything hit me at once. First Sean, now Jack? I looked up at him, it being at the forefront of my mind that to Arthur these people were real family. He must've been feeling a million times worse than I was. 

"Are you alright?" I asked him quietly, and he peeled his eyes away from Dutch to look at me. He looked distant, a little dazed, like things weren't quite sinking in. At my words he came back, his eyes focusing a little more. 

"Oh, yeah," he mumbled monotonously. 

"Arthur, I'm s–" 

"Don't," he shook his head, a pained look in his eye. 

I closed my mouth and nodded. 

"I'll talk to you later," he told me, looking me right in the eyes. I stroked his back until Dutch turned to him. 

"Arthur, come on. We're going to get that boy back," he said, and I let my arm drop as Arthur moved to follow him obediently. "Micah, Kieran, you two keep guard. Shoot anyone who ain't welcome here." 

"Just heard about Jack. You need extra guns, Dutch?" Bill called out, approaching flanked by a number of other men from the gang.

"The more the merrier. And you," he turned to me, making my heart stop momentarily, "you and the rest of the girls, you keep Abigail company. Make sure she stays calm."

I nodded, watching as everyone mounted up, realising it was just about all of the men going to get Jack. The sight of it warmed my heart despite the harsh circumstances, it served as a reminder that these people were all out to look after one another. They were family, through and through. 

Once they'd disappeared into the treeline, I turned to Abigail who had her arms wrapped around herself, trembling, eyes glued to the ground. I closed the gap between us and put my arm around her shoulders, guiding her over to the campfire where the rest of the girls stood watching, all looking equally saddened. 

"You see that, Abigail? All of them fellers are going out after him, Jack is going to be alright," I said to her, sitting her down by the fire. 

"She's right. Nobody'll be able to hurt him with the whole Van Der Linde gang around to protect him," Mary-Beth agreed, kneeling on the ground by her feet. Karen, Tilly, Sadie and Susan all took a seat nearby too. 

"Keep your chin up, darlin'. That boy can't have gone far. The Braithwaites might be stupid but they ain't evil, I'll bet they have no intention of harming him," Susan said, reaching over to pat her knee. 

"Uhh, Mi- Miss Abigail? I'm… I'm sorry. I told Dutch about them boys hanging around, I never thought that this…" Kieran was on his way to stand guard but paused to offer a few tentative yet apologetic words. Abigail shook her head bitterly and he quickly scampered off, guilt oozing from every pore. 

Most people looked as if they didn't know what to say. Karen and Sadie just watched with an expression somewhere between dread and sympathy. Tilly was sat with her head buried in her hands. Molly stood the furthest away, looking concerned while not daring to come over and say anything. I was struggling too, I'd tried my best at comforting Abigail but I knew there was very little I could say to a mother who was missing her child. The best we could all do was stay with her and provide our support. Even Pearson, one of the few men who hadn't joined the others, came over to offer a few kind words and ask if Abigail wanted anything to eat or drink.

The hours the men were gone were torture, so cripplingly nerve-wracking and long-winded. I felt sick the entire time, so I couldn't bare to think how Abigail might be feeling. Jack was such a kind, quiet, sweet boy. I was sure no harm would come to him in the end, it would take a special kind of evil that I didn't believe the Braithwaites were capable of to harm an innocent child, but I still couldn't shift my anxiety over the situation. 

By the time they finally arrived back, it was late. Molly had gone to bed, Tilly and Karen were trying their damnedest to stay awake, Mary-Beth had failed and had fallen asleep curled up against the side of Abigail's chair. She was clutching a daisy chain in her hand, I remembered it from the night Jack and I had made it together; it was a little browned and shrivelled now, but I found it sweet that she'd kept it. Abigail herself, of course, was wide awake, and Sadie and I were too. I was tired but I was restless where I sat under the cover of the shelter by the fire, I'd taken to drawing to try and distract myself and pass the time. I drew Jack, or at least tried to without a reference, but I'd scribbled out the last two attempts so it wasn't going well. 

I discarded my sketchbook when the men arrived, though, immediately jumping up to my feet with the rest of the people by the fire. Mary-Beth sat up with a start, murmuring something incoherent before she woke properly too, and joined us all where we started crowding around the hitching posts. 

"Where is he? Where's Jack?" Abigail called out, eyes desperately trying to search for signs of him on someone's horse. 

"We think we know where he is, but it'll require a trip to Saint Denis," Dutch explained, sliding off his horse. "Don't you worry, Abigail, we'll get him back."

"So you keep sayin', but you're still standing there!" She cried, a weak sob following her words. 

"We've no reason to believe he's in immediate danger. Right now we need a moment to get our heads straight. None of us have slept, going all the way over to Saint Denis in the middle of the night, all guns blazing, is not going to achieve anything," Hosea tried to reason with her. "And you need sleep too, my dear, you'll run yourself ragged, staying up and worrying."

"You expect me to sleep, the way I'm feeling?"

"I expect you to try. Abigail, he is safe. We will get him back, safe, as soon as we figure out how to go about it."

"He's right, Abigail, you need rest," I tried, reaching for her. She shook my hand from her arm and stormed off with a loud sigh. I let her go, staring sadly after her.

"What happened with those awful Braithwaites?" Mary-Beth questioned. 

"We delivered what was coming to 'em," Hosea told us. 

"Burnt down their whole goddamn mansion, killed most of 'em," John elaborated bluntly, strutting past everyone towards his tent.

"Ain't a lick more than they deserve, the sick scum," Karen hissed, spitting onto the ground in distaste before walking away. The crowd gradually dispersed as Dutch and Hosea encouraged everyone to go to sleep, and I searched for Arthur. He was by his horse, giving him an affectionate rub on the neck. 

I gingerly made my way over to him, trying to make my footsteps audible so I wouldn't startle him. He glanced over his shoulder at me, stared for a moment, then without bothering to check if anyone was watching, he took my hand and led me over to his tent. He'd opted to keep the extra canvas up since his recovery, growing used to the privacy it provided. Letting it close behind us, he didn't bother lighting a lamp or anything, he just sat down on his bed and pulled me down to lay with him. It was a tight squeeze for sure, his bed being big enough to realistically fit one person, but we managed if we wrapped our arms around each other and pressed in tight.

We fidgeted a lot to get comfortable, and I must've asked about five times if I was hurting his shoulder, but he insisted he was fine. I didn't know whether to speak, I hadn't completely worked out what sort of mood he was in. I just held him, let him hold me, enjoyed the chance to be so close to him and surrounded in his warmth and safety. I figured I would say one thing, and let him make his mind up about where he wanted to take it. 

"I'm here for you," I whispered, "it's been a difficult time lately."

The camp was quiet, I couldn't hear a peep out of anyone for the longest time, it was so uncharacteristic. Usually there was something going on, Javier with his guitar, Uncle singing a song I didn't recognise, Pearson telling a story about his time in the Navy, Sean loudly laughing about something or another… My heart gave a sickly squeeze and I pressed my face into Arthur's shoulder, breathing in the smell of smoke and sweat that was much stronger than usual but brought me comfort. I thought he might've fallen asleep, but at my movement, he spoke. 

"Feels like it's getting harder and harder to just exist, people like us," he said very quietly. "Though I guess it's no one's fault but our own, we've been poking the bear an awful lot lately."

"Things are changing fast," I mused.

"Both of 'em knew we was playing them. The Grays luring us into that shootout, the Braithwaites taking Jack away. That poor kid, he ain't asked for any of this."

"You'll get him back."

"I know. But even so, he's just coming back into a life where we're constantly running. People around him dying, the only family he knows. That's no childhood."

I agreed with him, but I wasn't going to say it and sink his mood any more. 

"Sometimes I think about–" he stopped midway through his sentence, silencing himself abruptly. I waited for a moment, but it didn't seem like he was going to carry on. 

"About what?" I prompted, smoothing my hand over his back. He remained quiet for a few moments more and when he finally spoke again, it was in an almost inaudible whisper.

"About just getting out of here," he admitted, shocking me into more silence. "I couldn't… these folk mean too much to me but sometimes, I can't help thinkin' that all this is doomed, and we should all just quit while we're ahead."

"I can't pretend I don't see your point," I responded, blinking into the darkness against his plaid shirt. "Things feel so different since I first joined you folk."

"Jus' think; John and Abigail could raise Jack proper, make a life for themselves. Charles, he's a good man, he could do good things with his life. Maybe start a family of his own. The girls, they could have lives much safer than this one, have proper homes. I don't know about the rest of 'em, lot'a these folk would probably keep on living on the wrong side of the law, but for some…" he sighed sadly, squeezing me tighter and turning his head to press his lips against the side of my head.

"You think about this often?"

"Not till recently."

"And what would you do?" I asked, and he took a long while to respond. 

"Me? I'd… I don't know. This is all I've ever known. I'd probably try and live somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere far out from these more civilised lands where no one'd come looking. Though, I spent so long moving around so much, I don't know if I'd be able to keep still."

"Now that's a feeling I can relate to."

"So… maybe I'd go travelling, making money however I could as I went. Honestly, I mean. I'd just live on the move, never staying too long. Never letting civilisation catch up to me. Price on my head is way too high to ever be forgotten about, I don't think I'd be able to live a peaceful life in one place."

"It's that bad?" I murmured. I knew Arthur was wanted, I knew he had bounties, but I did not know to what extent.

"Yes. Real bad," he sighed, "but it's all well-earned, I assure you."

"So if you got out, you'd just have to live on the run anyway?"

"Probably. But maybe… if I travelled far enough, I might just be able to convince myself I was merely a wanderer," he gave a quiet chuckle, and we remained silent for some time. 

I spoke after a while, the question gnawing at my mind. "Would you spend the rest of your wandering days alone?"

"Well, that depends on what sort'a life you'd wanna carve out for yourself," he told me softly, bringing a hand to the back of my head and stroking through my locks.

"I wouldn't wanna do anything that meant never seeing you again," I replied. 

"So I guess… would you wanna join me? If you could stand spending the rest of your life running for my sake."

"Well, I've spent a long time moving around. I get restless being in one spot, running wouldn't be an issue for me, if you'd have me," I shifted, pulling back so our faces were close, even though I could barely see him. 

"I'd always have you, princess," he whispered. 

I pushed forwards to kiss him, adjusting as necessary when my lips met his chin in the pitch black of the tent. He kissed me back with a hot intensity that somehow remained tender, fingers tightening in my hair enough to tilt my head and make me melt into him, completely losing myself in the kiss. 

He broke the kiss when we were breathless, and my heart was pounding.

"Arthur I think– no, there ain’t no think about it, I know. I'm falling in love with you. Real hard," I whispered breathily, my fingers tightening in his shirt, my body pressing into his. In response to my words, Arthur made a soft humming sound, tilting his head under my chin and pressing his lips there. He kissed me a few times where he knew I wasn't ticklish before murmuring against my skin. 

"Don't matter what's happening, what's going through my head, the moment I kiss you everything goes away and all I feel is like I'm the luckiest man alive. I don't ever want to lose that. I'm falling for you as well, so fast I can barely keep up with it," he told me, his voice vibrating against my neck. 

My eyes closed and I let out a breath, my body humming away with a unique pleasure I'd never felt. 

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever known," he added, and I made a light, involuntary sound.

Arthur's hand wandered down my side, resting on my hip and squeezing there. I subconsciously lifted my leg and hooked it over his, bringing us closer still. I was struck with the urge to make love to him stronger than I'd ever felt before, intensifying at his pleased, hushed moan.

"I wish we were someplace else, I jus' want you so bad," I breathed. 

"Don't tell me that, I will ride us out somewhere private right now just so we could–"

"Sleep, you need sleep," I blurted out, "God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You ain't saying anything I ain't already thinking," he chuckled half-heartedly. I kissed him once more, something much tamer.

"Should I go?"

"No, stay here. Unless you couldn't sleep like this?" 

"I'm sure I could," I giggled. His arms tightened. 

"Then settle in, sweetheart. Sleep tight," he whispered. I dipped my head under his chin and snuggled down for the night. 

"Goodnight, Arthur."

[ohorthur]

Exit Pursued by a Grieving Widow

Platonic Charles x fem!Reader, mention of Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Warning: spoilers/mention of death

Summary: Charles helps the reader settle into The Mysterious Hill Home so she can start her new life close to the grave of her beloved.

(In this story, Arthur gave his journal to Charles for safekeeping rather than keeping it in his satchel to give to John along with his other possessions.)

Word Count: ~1.8k

~~~

“Ughh…” a grunt left you as you tried to catch your breath. “Thank you, Charles. I appreciate it. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” the burly man casually responded, hands on his hips as he observed your combined handiwork. You were in awe of how he managed to not break a sweat as he helped you settle into your new home on such an inconveniently sweltering day.

The structure itself wasn’t new. In fact, it had long since been boarded up and abandoned which was what warranted this arduous cleanup process in the first place; the rotting furniture, moth-eaten bedspreads and upholstery, and overgrowth of greenery all had to be taken care of before you could make yourself comfortable in the peculiar house.

The novelty of it all really boiled down to the lifestyle that staying here entailed. You’d be stationary and entirely self-sufficient for the first time in God knows how long. But you were certain that this house was where you belonged. “The Mysterious Hill Home” was how Arthur had referred to it in that journal of his...

Before you could get too lost in thought, you wiped away the layer of sweat that had accumulated on your brow and turned to Charles. “All the same, you should still stay for dinner. It’s the least I can do. I can’t promise much in terms of the seating arrangement considering we had to scrap almost everything that was in there, but I’m confident the food will be better than anything poor Pearson had to scrape up for us these past few months.”

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckled out playfully. “I’ll take my chances, though.” With an exaggerated glare, you headed over to your horse to see what you could whip up with whatever provisions you had in your saddlebags.

~~~

Evening brought with it some respite from the high temperatures you’d suffered in throughout the day. Crickets stirred, providing their soothing song to accompany your improvised dinner for two on the front steps of the hill house.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” you poked at your sad, dry cut of venison and roasted corn with a slight grimace. “My selection was limited and I may have overestimated my culinary skills.”

“I’ve never been a picky eater so you’ll hear no complaints from me,” he reassured you, trying to balance his food on his lap.

“I’ll get something to help it go down easier,” you muttered - more to yourself than to him - as you began to rise to get some whiskey. Before you could set your plate aside, Charles was already pushing it back firmly into your grasp.

“Sit and rest. I’ll get it,” he calmly commanded. He returned with an unopened bottle of fine brandy from his own belongings and handed it to you. “Here, you can do the honors. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’d hardly call house cleaning a lot,” you sighed, nodding a thank you but avoiding eye contact. After opening the bottle you took a quick swig. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was giving you the “that’s not what I meant” look, but from his relaxed posture you could tell it was one he cast on you out of concern rather than annoyance. Once he finally turned back to his plate, dinner continued in a more or less comfortable silence. He didn’t push you to talk and you didn’t want to disturb the peace, at least not before a few more substantial swigs of brandy.

“So where are you off to next?” you finally questioned, knowing he didn't want to settle down quite just yet. He paused for a moment, mulling over his options.

“Honestly, I’m not entirely certain,” he intoned and reached for the brandy, helping himself to a healthy sip. “All I know is that I’ve had enough of heat and humidity for a good long while,” he continued, hastily running a finger up the side of the bottle to catch a runaway drop.

“In that case maybe north?” you suggested.

"And end up back in Colter again? Not too thrilled by the sound of that."

"Maybe even farther north. Canada perhaps. After everything that's happened - the gang, Micah, Dutch, and…" your voice died out. The final name was caught in your throat with no chance of escape, held prisoner in a vice grip. "...and all that unpleasantness - it might do you good to get away from everything. This land is too bloodstained and scarred."

"You might be right," he decided. Faint scrapes of his fork against the tin plate reached your ears as he aimlessly pushed around what few crumbs of his meal remained. "You know… maybe it would be good for you to put this whole mess behind you as well. You can come with me."

A wave of regret washed over him as you form shrunk into itself, as if it was deflating. "It's just a suggestion, I'm not saying - "

"It's okay, Charles. I understand what you mean," you interrupted quietly. "But it wasn't all a mess. Not for me at least. It must seem silly, but I can't just leave him here, alone and forgotten."

"It' doesn't."

"We never married. We never even discussed it. But foolish as it is, I can't help feeling like a widow. And that comes with it's own obligations. He deserves to have someone watch over him"

"In every sense but in name, you are. Arthur cared for you, Y/N. You were the most important thing in his life. His own words were that he'd have asked you to marry him if he'd been a better man," he soothed. "When he told me there was no coming back for him, he was terrified. Not for himself but for you. He felt that he had it coming for what he'd done, but he hoped to make his end count by getting everyone out. Especially you. I told him it was a blessing of sorts that he knew what was coming. I guess we all know it'll come eventually but the certainty of it all instilled a sense of urgency in him to come to terms with his actions and make a final effort to set things right - even after he was gone. He asked me to look after his girl, make sure she's safe, make sure she's happy."

You rested your cheek on his sturdy shoulder and closed your eyes. "I'm glad we had you, Charles."

"You still do, Y/N," his deep, smooth timbre warmed you along with the arm he now draped around you. "I made a promise and I intend to keep it. Wherever the road takes me, I'll always come back to check on you. Both of you."

~~~

The first rays of dawn and the scent of freshly brewed coffee were a surprising awakening. You had no recollection of when you fell asleep, nor of how you ended up on a bedroll for that matter. Once you propped yourself up on your elbows, the slight ache that shot through your head made you reckon that the alcohol was to blame. Footsteps rustled behind you, approaching closer until Charles came into sight.

“Morning,” he smirked knowingly. You squinted up at him for a few seconds before registering that he was extending a cup of coffee to you.

“Thanks,” you rasped and eagerly accepted the bitter drink. You intended to laze around and take your sweet time nursing the beverage until you noticed that Charles was already packing up his things. You scrambled up in alarm, rushing to dig through your belongings. “Wait! You’re leaving already? Have you eaten anything yet? Do you have enough food for the road?” you rambled.

“Y/N.”

“You know what, just take everything I have. You’ll need it more than I do.”

“Y/N.”

“I was planning on going hunting today anyways, so it’s really not a prob- ”

Charles’s sudden grasp on your shoulders shook you out of your frantic babbling. “Y/N, trust me. I’ll be okay.”

“Please? Just take something. It doesn’t feel right sending you off like this, especially after you’ve been so helpful,” you begged with the most pleading look you could muster.

“Alright, fine,” he surrendered and you rushed to help him transfer your food and supplies into his saddlebags.

“Before I go, I have something for you as well,” he pulled out a familiar leatherbound book from his satchel. “Arthur asked me to hold on to it the last time we spoke in case he couldn’t give it to you himself. Here, take it. It’s already yours, but consider it a parting gift.”

Your hands gravitated to the journal without you even realizing it. It brought you comfort to run your fingers over the worn brown leather you knew so well. Whether the warmth of the book came from Charles’s hands or the pure heart and spirit it held within its pages you couldn’t say. But you did know that it would provide you more peace than the warmth of any new hearth and home ever would.

No words could possibly relay your gratitude. All you could do was throw your arms around Charles as tears threatened to trickle down your cheeks. If he hadn’t been built like stone you might have strangled him. Time ticked on and eventually you parted so Charles could finally make his way back to the ever-patient Taima.

“My offer still stands. You can join me whenever you feel in need of a change,” he reminded you as he mounted. You took a deep breath and smoothed out Taima’s mane.

“Goodbye, Charles,” you hummed through a teary-eyed smile.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Morgan,” he hummed back with an understanding nod to you and a final glance at the hillside behind your new home.

Your smile grew at being addressed with that name. The trot of hooves grew fainter and fainter as you turned back to take a seat on your front steps. Holding the journal tightly to your chest, you felt an unusual bump between the pages that you must have been too shocked to take note of earlier. After unwinding the cover’s strap, the book fell open to reveal Arthur’s final sketch.

You were faced with your own tired eyes and your own sad smile, both expressing a sort of subtle affection. It wasn’t an unflattering rendition of your features and it wasn’t idyllic. It was simply honest, a testament to the trying times the two of you had held each other through and the love that would always persist through them. To the left of the page, near the binding, lay a ring adorned with a small but elegant stone.

“Mrs. Morgan…” you absentmindedly mused to yourself. The ring caught the light of the steadily rising sun as it peeked over the mountains from the east, illuminating the hills and trees before you. You slipped it onto your left ring finger and took in the view as you finished your now cold coffee. “Ain’t that somethin’.”