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she/ her | fanfic author | in luv w rdr | nineteen 🐴☀️

[honeyhanlon024]

“Perhaps I may yet die with my boots on.”

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ obsessed with anything RDR. nineteen. i luv writing and reading.

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[honeyhanlon024]

how am i supposed to find time to write when i became employed 🫩🫩🫩

[zordanna]

he would do anything for money. We know that.

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖CHAPTER EIGHT

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

you heard them before you seen them — the crunches of boots on dirt, two low hushed voices cutting through the dark. arthur's grumbling voice that carried through camp, john's nervous laughter. they had slipped off earlier, and you'd pretended not to notice. not like you were their keeper; just doing chores and washing laundry felt a whole lot duller than getting into trouble with arthur morgan. worry had a bad habit of curling into your ribs when he vanished.

you always remind yourself that you were members of a gang — wanted, hunted, and liable to vanish for good any minute. could anyone blame you for worrying time to time? you found it peculiar how folks here hardly blinked when someone was gone: laughing, drinking, reading by the firelight like death isn't sitting right on their doorstep. maybe in time you'll learn that kind of calm. maybe.

lantern light spills across camp as they stumble out of the treeline.

john's clutching his ribs, smears of blood on his face. arthur looks worse — a split lip, jaw bruising, dried blood on his nose, knuckles torn raw. his hats in his fist, shirt half-untucked, and there's the faintest hitch in his gait. he straightens up when he sees you, eyes softening. guess your intuition hadn't betrayed you yet.

"christ," you breathe, unable to feign casualty as you put away your journal. "what happened?"

arthur raises a hand like that'll settle it. "ain't nothin' worth fussin' over."

john snorts, clapping a hand on his back matter of factly. "you call that nothin'? you damn near took on the whole saloon!"

arthur's glare melted the smile right off of john's face. for a moment. you opened your mouth to speak but that familiar gritty voice came again.

"didn't see you complainin' when i pulled that bastard off of you." arthur grumbled, shaking his head. "saved your hide."

john opens his mouth to argue but finds it wiser to stop when you're stepping closer.

you cut in, "sit. both of you."

arthur blinks like you spoke in tongues. "ain't necessary."

you fold your arms, voice just a bit softer than you intended. "arthur."

something in your tone makes him sigh and obey, which renders john too curious for his own good. the six foot something man who just tussled with a multitude of contenders, was listening to the little lady that was a petty thief up until a month or two ago. john follows, mostly because he isn't about to be seen standing after arthur morgan sat when told.

the two of them eased down onto the log. arthur mutters something about "bossy women." john smiles lopsided, despite the split in his lip.

"alright," you say, crouching in front of them, an eyebrow cocked. "start talkin'. what happened?"

arthur glances at john. he clears his throat. "some loudmouth at the saloon started jawin' at him. calling him a list a' things." his eyes narrow. "y'know john."

john rolls his eyes and huffs. "i was handlin' it."

"you were 'bout two seconds from gettin' laid out." arthur shoots back, shaking his head.

the cold night breeze ruffles arthur's beaten jacket, wafting the smell of whiskey and tobacco to you. the hair framing your face moves too. you take a couple steps back to the wagon stocked with basics and provisions, grabbing two rags. the boys watch you in quiet anticipation. the water in the wash bin soaks the white rags grey, splashing around your newly-gentle hands. they weren't used to being used to care for somebody else.

you can't help but smile at arthur's sentence, bewilderment across your face. the rag you toss to john lands in his lap. with a hand on your hip, "and you thought takin' on the whole saloon would make things better?"

arthur scratches the back of his neck. "didn't figure on the feller havin' friends."

john holds his rag to his split lip. you sigh, crouching down and leaning in closer to arthur. "course not."

his eyes flicker to the rag in your hand as you reach for his face, warily. "you fixin' to smack me with that?"

smiling and biting back a laugh, "only if you move."

despite the cut in his lip, he smirks. you forget the butterflies in your belly as you gently dab the cut along his eyebrow. there's an epiphany that you never get to touch arthur like this. you're not sure anyone does. his breath catches once, barely audible, when you brush the developing bruise along the edge of his jaw. you don't meet his gaze, the heat in his eyes feels like it'll burn right through you.

john kicks a boot out, careless and oblivious as a newborn colt. "shoulda seen it though," he says, voice full of boyish pride. "arthur damn near knocked the teeth out of the big one! i reckon he'd have finished the job, if the barkeep hadn't grabbed the shotgun."

arthur groans. "you ain't helpin', kid."

you press the cloth a little harder, just enough to make him hiss. "good." you mutter, shrugging half heartedly. "maybe next time you'll think before almost getting yourself killed."

he chuckles, low and rough. there's a mischievous glint in his eye. "ain't in my nature."

when you pull back to rinse the rag, you catch him watching you — slow, steady, warm. your pulse jumps and you resume tending to the dirty cloth with urgency.

john stands, stretching like an old dog. "i'm gonna hit the hay. all that fighting got me worn out. night, you two."

arthur huffs, all sarcasm and rasp. "oh yeah, lots a' fighting."

"night, john." you say softly, pressing the rag against arthur's split lip to stop the fresh blood. "hopefully you can sleep after all that hard work."

the raven-haired boy waves you off, rolling his eyes as he strides to his tent. the goofy smile plastered on his face is contagious, even for arthur, who hasn't taken his eyes off of you yet. you can feel yourself shrinking under his stare.

it's even worse now that he's smiling up at you with his big blue eyes. pulling the rag off his face and turning to the wash-bin, you smile warmly.

"y'know," he spoke up, his gaze burning holes through your back. "you oughta see the other boys."

"you do know you're a wanted man, right?" you say, no real anger in your tone, just thinly lined worry. "law could've came looking."

he shrugs, wincing ever so slightly when he does. "he's just a kid... ain't learned when to shut up yet." pausing, he adds. "somebody's gotta look out for him."

the cloth hovers near his cheek, your head tilts. "you ever get tired of lookin' after everybody?"

arthur huffs a soft laugh. "maybe, but i reckon i'd feel worse if i didn't."

you don't say anything for a long while. the fire sputters, horses shift, and there's crickets in the distance. you just finish cleaning him up, gentle this time, rag tracing the edge of his jawline like it's something delicate. part of you wonders if you're being so easy on him just to bask in the softness of the moment before it's gone. when you're done, he tilts his head towards you, that small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"you're gettin' real good at this." he murmurs, watching you as you take the blood soaked rag back to the water.

"maybe i oughta get used to patchin' you up." you wring the rag out slow, smile tugging at your lips. you feel his eyes like a touch along your spine. "seems a habit."

he chuckles. "ain't too sure that's a good thing."

"no," you say, meeting his eyes. "but i don't mind."

something flickers in his face. something open, unguarded and gone before you can blink. nerves told you that you had said something too open. too honest. a couple heart beats patter in your chest. he stands, slow and stiff, still looking at you like you're something worth staring at.

"you oughta get some rest, sweetheart." he smiles down at you.

heat hits your cheeks like a slap. your heartbeat jumps high and wild. he looks like he's lapping every second of it up.

"don't call me that." you whisper and god help you, it's soft.

"can't help it," he smirks, bruised and raspy. "seems to fit."

you stand too quick, stumbling half a step away from him. "goodnight, arthur."

he tips his hat, the gentleman in him refusing to die, "goodnight."

you watch him walk off, slow steps like he was stiff from the fight. the lantern light flickers across him as he disappears into the dark, catching on the curve of his hat brim, the bruises blooming along his jaw, the broad line of his back. a man made of violence and tenderness, grit and mercy. it made you feel special to see that softness in his eyes.

and something in you pulls tight.

not fear, not worry, though that sits in your chest too, familiar as breath. something warmer. sharper. a spark catching dry brush.

you can feel it rising, sudden and startling; it was like someone had reached inside you and flipped a switch you didn't know was there. your chest feels tight, not hurting, just full, like someones stuffed something warm and dangerous under your ribs without asking for permission.

you've been drawn to him. admiration, gratitude, something light and manageable. this? this isn't manageable. it sits low in your belly, hot and trembling and too real. it crawls right up your throat like something waiting to escape. the night air feels thin, like you can't take it deep enough.

it feels like realizing a door has been open this whole time and now you've stepped through without meaning to.

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖CHAPTER SEVEN

𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

the days passing did nothing to help your new mare, except for somehow aiding her journey to becoming more insufferable. she was barely even green broke — john had a couple of different bite marks from trying to help you tame her; arthur had a grand time seeing that. he laughed even harder when you tried to help john and almost got bit yourself. it seemed like arthur was working with the horse rather than you.

pale light filtered through the trees, illuminating her grey and white coat. you rolled your eyes when she snorted as you passed. the only thing she seemed to tolerate were the other horses, and her firm spot by the abundance of hay. you finally managed to hop onto her bareback — only to end up face first into the dirt — but it wasn't like she was ready to listen anyway.

"barn sour brat." you huffed quietly when she ducked away from you, to be near her food and companions.

"you best get her under control before she tries to kill someone for feedin' her." arthur chuckled out, watching anyone who approached the mean horse with a twinkle of glee.

halting, you glared at him and back to the mare. "how 'bout you try?" you asked.

"didn't say i wanted to be the one gettin' killed." he laughed, hands tightening on the front of his belt.

you gave one last glare to the big stubborn mare, turning on your heel and back into camp. arthur's eyebrow ticked up in amusement. "i think that's enough of tryin' for today."

he stepped in stride alongside you, rough hands still firm on the leather holding up his chaps. the small smile he adorned was contagious, regardless of how irritated you were with the failed expectations of your new ride. there was a comforting silence for a beat.

you took the spare second to steal a sideways glance at the scars lining his arms.  his skin pridefully shown off a life in the sun, it was littered with plenty of sun marks. a bit of dust clung to the hair that framed his veiny and stocky forearms. your gaze trailed down to his hands... palms rough and calloused from years of labor.

john called out your name from across camp; you blinked away your stare. you looked up at arthur's face, just to find that he beat you to it. something just short of mystery was flickering in his hardened irises. then, a soft warmth sprinkled across your cheeks.

how long was he watching you staring? you prayed that, for your sake, it wasn't long. quickening your pace, you smiled softly as you approached john.

"still can't get 'er under control, huh?" he asked, frowning ever so slightly — in remembrance, he glanced down at the bruised teeth mark on his arm. it made you instinctively look down at the almost healed graze from that bank job.

"hardly." you shot a glare at arthur, who was rubbing his neck behind you.

"dutch wanted us to head into town, says there was some supplies needin' picked up. coffee, cartridges, and whatever else him and grimshaw scribbled down." he smirked when arthur sighed. how often  could the two of them step on each others boots? "do you mind if i tag along?"

arthur's jaw ticked. "dutch said you're coming, didn't he?"

john only grinned wider, his lanky arm outstretching to pat arthur on his back. "just makin' sure you ain't leaving without me." he pulled back his hand when arthur shot him a glare. john shot you a wink. "besides, can't have you all cooped up with morgan here. you'll die of boredom."

you laughed, shaking your head. "i think i'll manage."

the three of you headed to your horses, and even though you were silently shaking in your boots, you forced the saddle pad up on top of your angsty mare. you shook your head when arthur asked if you were scared, stealing some of that confidence dripping off john. the mare took a deep breath when you put the bit in her mouth, giving you a look that wasn't exactly sane.

a smart person would've waited until she was more tame to ride her. you knew what happened the last time you tried. you looked over at arthur, his gaze was firm on you. letting out a breath, you stopped gnawing on your lip when you caught yourself. the air was eerily calm. you grabbed the reins and clenched them around the saddle horn, praying to any god that would listen. the horse began hopping as soon as you hoisted yourself up into the saddle with one quick swing.

"woah!" you yelled out, yanking on the reins as she instantly began bucking like a rodeo bronco. there was a scrape when your hat flew into the dirt.

"hold on! do NOT let go!" arthur shouted, eyes wide as he watched you hold onto the mare as she imitated a furious bull.

there was no other choice but holding on, unless you fancied fracturing a bone or two. she yanked you around in all different directions. the leather underneath you creaked and strained as you danced around atop of her back. arthur and john watched in half-amusement half-panic, unable to do anything on the ground but scurry a couple steps back when her kicking legs got too close. your knuckles turned white from the grip on your saddle horn and reins, teeth gritted together in quiet panic.

"shit!" arthur grumbled as he fumbled for the lasso off of his saddle, climbing up the small fence by the horses. he yelled your name, "duck!"

you tried your best, doing somewhat of a hover over the mares neck, trying to avoid the saddle horn going through your belly. the mare huffed in anger, resisting with all her might as you felt arthur's rope cast around her neck. the two of you were yanked towards the fence in one swoop. arthur's groaned through gritted teeth. you finally opened your eyes again, instantly finding him. he hopped to the ground. the muscles in his arms bulged as he tugged on the rope with all his might. the heels of his boots were firm on the ground, but he was slowly being dragged closer to the clearing where you and the mare were wrestling.

"john, you ass!" arthur shouted, taking a second to glare at john, who was standing there dumb struck.

john's eyes widened, scurrying over to the rope and helping arthur pull the best he could. "damnit!"

"easy, girl! don't kill me!" you yelled, trying to pat her neck as reassuringly as possible while actively trying to avoid death. she slowed her movements, maybe realizing she was cornered by a trio of haphazard cowboys.

the huffing and puffing didn't stop, but her movements clearly slowed. your chest rose and fell, breathing finally feeling easy once again. the trees and dirt were no longer a mess of browns and greens; things finally fell back into focus again as the adrenaline wore off. you looked over at arthur who was a sweating and panting mess. you imagined you looked similar, hair askew from losing your hat, mouth parted, eyes big.

john patted the dirt off his jeans after he stepped back, eyeing the two of you. arthur cautiously took a couple steps forward, hushing the horse and patting her neck with an outstretched arm (mostly to keep her out of biting range).

"you can't go bucking her off like that. hear me?" he scolded quietly, as to not spook her anymore than she already was. his blue eyes met yours. "you...okay?"

nodding, you swallowed. "just great." you laughed quietly, fading adrenaline making your head spin. "i'm just glad i didn't end up on the floor and horseless."

"maybe being horseless wouldn't be so bad in your case." he snorted, glaring at the creature that caused your stress. those blue eyes found you again. "you sure you're gonna be good to ride her into town?"

"mhm. reckon the worst part is through." you insisted, breathing heavily.

you had spoke too soon. the whole ride you were fighting with your horse to make her move for you, and a couple times you almost got the point of your boot bitten off. you made some sort of noise of irritation as you pulled the reins, the mare beneath you starting up another of her tantrums at the click of a hoof. the small town finally came into view, and you were grinning for the first time this ride.

"thank god." you muttered, basking in the sight of the town. "freedom at last."

arthur barked out a laugh, looking back at you. "you could've rode with me." he shook his head.

"and miss the chance to get trampled? no way." you shot back, waving him off with a teasing hand. he rolled his eyes, but you saw the faintest twitch of a smile.

john slowed his horse besides yours, looking at you with the same admiration and excitement that he usually did. "hell, you handle that mare better than most men could. damn near impressed, darlin'."

arthur's jaw ticked enough to notice. you opened your mouth to respond but shut it as you squinted to look into the town. from down the street came the sound of boots pounding dirt and someone shouting, "stop that damn fool!"

a figure barreled out from between two wagons, running directly into the path of you, arthur, and john. there was a blur of red hair and ill fitting clothes. the boy's eyes were wide but a big ole grin was plastered on his face like this was his usual weekday activities. his lanky legs carried him as fast forward as they could. he couldn't of been older than john; perhaps he was a bit younger, sixteen? seventeen? two deputies trailed behind him, shouting and panting all the while. the scrappy little outlaw was putting the local lawmen to shame.

he saw the three of you on horseback and grinned like he had just found salvation.

"oi! you lot look friendly enough— mind if i borrow your company?" the boy with the irish accent shouted to arthur and john, saluting them as he vaulted up onto your horse before you could move a muscle.

the strange boy clung to the cantle, sitting right behind you. as if he had it done it a million times before, he kicked the mare, "ride sweetheart!"

"you idiot!" you yelled furiously, the mare underneath you could barely handle one rider, let alone two!

your mare lurched forward, spooked by all the noise and the new rider on her back. you barely got a proper grip onto the reins before arthur shouted, "goddamnit— hold on!"

you managed to toss your head back to look at john and arthur, thankful they were kicking their horses into action. the two lawmen stopped, one throwing his hat on the ground in defeat. tense as a whip, you looked forward and braced yourself. you maneuvered through the outskirts of the farming town. a man screamed and ducked as you barely snipped the side of his barn, narrowly missing him and his dog too. you were too busy trying to keep the mare steady to question the man laughing wildly behind you.

you were smiling for some reason— all thought had left your mind, a pulsing knot of nerves and adrenaline in your saddle now. the trees around you melted into just green and yellow blobs. the wind was crisp as it blew you and your mares hair. maybe it was adrenaline, but the part of you currently capable of thinking thought this experience was exhilarating.

when you got to a nearby field, the red head leaned forward, "excuse my bad manners, miss!" he was fully reaching around you now and he took the move to yank on the reins.

you nearly flew forward when he forced your mare to a stop. your chest heaved, and you drowned out the approaching hooves behind you. the horse underneath you stepped in place, ready to go, and for once she actually seemed content. you, on the other hand, didn't know how to feel. your head whipped around when you heard a yelp and felt the absence of your second rider.

"you got a death wish, boy?" arthur growled, yanking the lanky teen off the back of your horse. he shook him and all the boys bravado was drained from his face. "if she had gotten hurt, you wouldn't be going home tonight, got it?"

he nodded hard, swallowing and attempting to clamber back under arthur's grip. flinching, he yelled back, "aye, i got it! will never happen again!"

john winced, dismounting. in between catching his breaths, he looked over at you to gauge your reaction. the expression he had was dumbfounded when he seen you looking almost... awestruck? happy?

you shook your head, almost like you were trying to shake off the pink tint that clung to your cheeks. something low coiled in your stomach — the sight of arthur, actively defending you, stirred up something inside you. he looked so dangerous. without taking your eyes off the scene, you hopped off your horse and threw the reins to john. your brain was scolding you for not focusing on the boy who nearly got the both of you killed. you internally cursed yourself for finding something attractive about a crazed man willing to assault a stranger for you.

"arthur, it just ain't worth it." you started, unsure of how to coax arthur out of pummeling the man in his grasp. you were mad too, just now you were wrestling with something bubbling inside you rather than the stranger.

he barely moved, looking down at the boy with nothing less than fury. the lanky irish boy was practically shaking in his boots, looking over at you and nodding. his adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, "listen to your lady friend here! i ain't mean no harm there, mister! none!"

you finally got a good look at the boy arthur took captive. he had to of been three or so years younger than you, even though his tall figure betrayed his youthful face. he was all wiry limbs, wild red hair, and a grin that could talk its way out of a hanging. his accent was thick enough to trip over, and his clothes looked like they had been borrowed from three different men and a scarecrow. arthur must've felt your stare (or less likely, felt bad) because he finally let him go with a shove, turning away as he clambered up.

"you ought to get hung for that stunt." arthur muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand across his face as he stalked over to you and away from his near victim.

after a beat, sean's grin returned, brushing dirt off his worn jeans. "ah, don't be sore, big man! you handled it just fine. bit o' excitement ain't hurt nobody!"

the jangle of arthur's spurs ceased as he stopped next to you, crossing his arms, nose scrunched in irritation. "you call getting somebody almost killed excitement? you're a damn fool."

you found it wise not to mention the fact that arthur had most likely killed tens, if not hundreds, more than this guy had (if the redhead had ever killed at all). guess this was different.

he tilted his head toward you. "well, she didn't seem to mind too much. smilin' the whole time, weren't ya, love?"

you choked back a laugh, mostly because arthur's eyes had already cut to you. "love? you're kiddin' me." you replied, rolling your eyes. "i was more surprised than anything."

"surprised, aye, but impressed too, i'd wager!" the irishman winked, his cocky grin still plastered on his face.

john was watching from behind, reins in hand, expression caught halfway between amusement and curiosity. you stole a glance at arthur, who looked like he was ready to burst a blood vessel. the grass around the four of you danced in the breeze. a bird cawed somewhere in the distance.

john spoke up, "you might wanna watch your mouth. arthur here don't take too kindly to strangers flirtin' on his rides."

"i ain't flirtin'," mock offense dripping off every word, "just makin' conversation!"

"then keep it short." arthur straightened up, tone as flat as a gun barrel.

john couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "you two get along great."

arthur shot him a look. "don't start, marston."

"just sayin', maybe she could use bein' around a man that knows how to have a bit of fun. this one heres liable to scowl a hole through his hat." john smirked, thumb gestured to arthur.

"you boys done measuring egos yet?" you shifted your weight, arms crossed over your chest.

"ain't got an ego problem." arthur grumbled, grabbing his pack of cigarettes. the match hissed against his boot before he brought it to his lips.

the irishman's grin grew wider. "aye, just a jealousy problem, then?"

you bit back a laugh as arthur's glare killed his smile. "who're you, anyway?" you asked.

"names sean macguire," he said proudly, like it meant something. "just joined up with a crew around here. figured i'd make something of myself, you know, honest work and all that."

arthur huffed, taking a long drag. "don't look like the honest type."

sean smiled again. "that's cause i ain't, big man."

arthur took another hit and passed his cigarette to you without a word. he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "you best start walkin', kid. the law'll circle back soon enough."

sean blinked, tilting his head like a confused hound. "walkin'? after saving your lovely friend's life an' all? thought maybe i'd earned a ride."

you raised a brow, a bit of amusement flashing across your face as you exhaled the smoke. handing the cigarette back to arthur, you glanced at the stand off. you felt bad for the kid, considering he just got the talking to of a lifetime, but you were freshly a member of the gang too. not like you called any of the shots around here. not like you quite cared if he left either. you just met and he already almost got you killed, after all. john stalked around you and arthur to watch the situation too, the two horses in tow.

"you didn't save nothin'." arthur's voice came low, dangerous. "you're lucky the lady's still watchin'."

the air went still. a shiver ran down your spine. you and john knew his threat wasn't empty. sean seemed to have an idea of that too, if the way his eyes widened told anything.

john cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension after arthur's temper slipped through. "he's got spirit," he gestured to sean with half a smirk, "i'll give him that."

"aye, spirit!" sean perked back up. "and i can shoot straight, talk fast, and drink anyone under the table. what more could you want in a travel companion?"

arthur's scowl deepened as he huffed, gaze never leaving sean's figure. "someone quiet."

you tried to hide your laugh behind your hand, sean caught it instantly, grinning like he'd won something — like you weren't laughing at arthur's comment. "see? she likes me. you lot could use another gun, couldn't ya?"

"we're full." arthur snapped.

sean placed a hand over his heart, mock wounded, "full? come now, big man, look at me— barely take up any room!"

john laughed out right. "hell, arthur, he's got a point and, dutch does like people who stir things up."

arthur glared at him, "you offerin' to share a horse with him?"

"nope," john said easily, "but i'd sure enjoy watchin' you try."

sean stood next to you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. you wondered what life choices you made to end up here. arthur's glare burned holes through him. he dropped his arm instantly.

"tell you what! i'll tag along for a day. if you still hate me by sundown, i'll walk myself to mexico." sean offered, grinning big. you hated to admit it but his convincing was halfway working on you too.

arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "you're already ridin' my nerves, kid."

sean walked over to your horse, a certain pep in his step that made you tilt your head. he over-dramatically outstretched his hand to help you up onto your horse, "then it's settled!"

you met arthur's eyes, fighting a smile. "seems like he decided for you."

arthur huffed and stalked to his horse. he muttered something low and unprintable but then added, "fine, but he keeps talkin' and i feed him to the wolves."

"aye, i've been called worse company." sean smiled, ignoring how you dodged his helpful hand up onto the horse. the smallest of smiles twitched on arthur's lips. "so where're we headed?"

"camp." you replied before arthur or john could, wrestling a bit with the reins as sean hopped up behind you.

sean's grin grew. "perfect."

you took a detour into town to retrieve the items you were sent for, leaving sean on the outskirts of town to watch the horses — his wanted face was much too easy to pick apart in a crowd. arthur opted to threaten him some more, making sure he knew what would happen if he took off with the horses. to you, it was obvious that the promise of a camp and company was enough to make sean want to stay. part of you wondered if he lied about riding with a gang around here. if so, why was he all alone on the streets?

the answer wasn't too hard to come up with. probably the same reason you, arthur, and john didn't have any real family either. yet, sean seemed to be better off mentally than the three of you. maybe he hadn't crossed a point of no return yet; there's a line between petty crime and downright murder. if you squinted, you could see part of yourself in him, a part of you that was younger and more carefree. maybe you saw the part of you that was lost a couple months ago; when you began having a moral dilemma on whether killing certain folk is necessary.

like you had grown to realize, life just kept moving, whether you let it or not. arthur was leaning against the door for you, so you forced your boots forward. john followed in behind you, giving a goofy wave to the clerk. arthur gathered the list of supplies grimshaw had sent for. you three had almost forgot the whole purpose of your journey. it was overtaken by that loudmouth evading jail.

by the time the four of you rode into camp, the sun was bleeding orange through the trees. sean had yapped the whole way — wild tales about a "job gone slightly sideways," a "misunderstanding with the law," and some heroic tale involving a missing wagon full of whiskey. john had egged him on, and you had laughed more than once despite yourself. arthur hadn't cracked a smile.

as the horses slowed near the fire, arthur dismounted and jerked his thumb towards sean. "he followed us."

sean grinned, beaming when being so much as discussed. "volunteered, more like."

dutch looked up from his cigar, curiosity and caution dancing in his eyes. his presence was still something you hadn't gotten used to. sean seemed to shrink under his gaze too. "that right? what's your name, son?"

"sean macguire, sir. irish by birth, outlaw by choice." sean puffed up his chest with pride, outstretching his hand to shake dutch's.

arthur crossed his arms as dutch accepted his hand shake. "he's trouble."

"most of us are," dutch said, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. he let his hand drop. "let's see if he can make himself useful before we throw him out."

sean beamed like he had just been crowned king. "aye, i knew you were a man of reason!"

arthur exhaled hard, clearly defeated. "reason my ass."

john clapped arthur on the shoulder, smiling big. he teased, "face it, morgan. you found yourself a new friend."

arthur muttered, "christ," but rubbing his face didn't erase his small smile. he went to unsaddle the hitched horses.

you naturally trailed after arthur, unsaddling your mares in comfortable silence. you tossed the newly-sweaty saddle over your shoulder and nuzzled the saddle pad under your arm. as you walked, your gaze flickered to across camp where sean was basking in dutch's approval, hosea curiously watched sean, all the while john grinned big. you couldn't help, even through all this free entertainment, watch arthur trying not to scowl at all of it.

somehow, you knew tonight wasn't going to be uneventful.

campfire smoke curled lazily into the dusk, thick with the scent of whiskey and venison. someone had decided (probably uncle) that sean macguire's grand entrance warranted a celebration; a celebration that included alcohol, of course. dutch didn't need much convincing. the bottles came out and so did the laughter.

you sat cross-legged by the fire, warmth blooming by your skin as the night air turned cool. sean was in the middle of retelling his afternoon, each of his words more exaggerated than the last.

"—an then, the laws right behind me, guns drawn, ready to shoot me in the arse!" he gestured wildly, nearly sloshing his drink all over hosea. "so what do i do? i leap onto this lady's horse—"

"my horse." you interrupt dryly, raising your cup.

he flashed you that same grin. "aye, yours! fastest horse i ever had the pleasure of nearly dyin' on!"

the group broke out into laughter. uncle wheezed into his cup, pearson slapped his knee, and even dutch let out a hearty chuckle as he leaned back, cigar in hand. "that's the kind of bold spirit we need around here," dutch drawled, eyes glinting. "a man who doesn't shy away from danger!"

arthur, from where he sat outside the main circle, muttered under his breath, "or from stupidity."

you caught it. so did john, who snorted into his drink. "lighten up, arthur. boys got guts."

you opted out of mentioning the fact john was hardly older than our new member and had been calling him boy.

arthur gave him a side eye, his jaw tightening. "yeah, well," his lip twitched. "guts don't keep you alive."

sean just smiled wider, completely unbothered. "ah, but they make life worth livin', don't they?" he raised his cup to arthur in mock salute. "to livin', old man."

arthur's stare could've cut stone, but dutch's laugh smoothed it over. "that's enough jawin' for now. sean, welcome to the family." dutch lifted his whiskey and everyone followed.

"to sean!" they all boomed, echoing through the tent walls and wagons of camp.

you took a sip — maybe two or three — and the night melted soft around the edges. getting drunk seemed to be one of the main way outlaws passed time and you couldn't blame them, it worked; especially to smooth out the day's guilt and worries. laughter tangled with the crackling of the fire. hosea was telling dutch some quiet joke. john was leaned against his elbows, half drunk and smiling at nothing. uncle was already passing out sitting up.

sean and pearson were arguing about who could out drink who when you caught arthur's eyes through the haze of smoke and lantern glow. he wasn't laughing nor frowning, just watching. steady and unreadable. he always seemed to quietly observe, mentally jotting down each and everything he could. an array of gears and cogs turned in his head as he stared; you wished to know what was going on in his mind.

you stood, catching yourself as your stride wobbled, brushing the dirt from your pants. you made your way toward him. "you always mope like this or is it just cause a new recruit showed up?"

he couldn't hide the small smile that appeared when you came closer. scooting over to make you room on the log, "ain't brooding. just thinkin'."

you sat down, looking over at him. you raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. "about?"

"how that idiots still breathin' after what he pulled." he grumbled, looking at his hands like a scolded child; the kind of expression he had worn since you convinced him not to beat sean to a pulp.

you smirked, settling on the log beside him. "you mean you didn't like the part where he called you 'old man'?"

arthur gave a quiet huff of air that almost sounded like a laugh. "boys got no sense of self-preservation."

"and yet... here we are, drinking to his health." you joked, nudging him with your shoulder. the whiskey numbed the receptors that would usually pop with static when you touched.

he took a long sip of whiskey, eyes on the flames. "guess dutch always got room for one more fool."

you smiled big, raising a faux curious eyebrow. "you included?"

that earned you a look — sharp, amused. "you callin' me a fool now?"

you shrugged, smirking up a storm. "if the hat fits." you teased softly, gesturing to his hat.

"i ain't no fool, woman." he replied back, smiling and shaking his head.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the fire popped, the camp murmured, and a faint wind ran through the trees. you could smell the hint of gun oil and tobacco on him. in the firelight, you seen him clearly. he was so close. the stubble lined his jaw perfectly, a couple of moles and freckles cast across his skin too. the gold reflection of fire bounced around in his eyes. when you two were alone, he almost had a youthful glimmer to his features — if you looked for it. not like he was old... just unfortunately hardened by his life.

"you did good today," he said finally, surprising you. "keepin' that horse under you. most would've lost their head."

"thanks." after forcing down another swig, you laughed lightly. for some reason, you felt like prying. "you mean like you did when you nearly strangled sean?"

he side-eyed you. "yeah, well, i don't like seein' you get hurt."

the words came out low, gruff, and unguarded. something about the way he said it sent warmth crawling up your neck. you looked away, feigning interest in the fire. "that so?"

"don't make me say it twice." he murmured, taking another drink of his whiskey.

your pulse thrummed in your ears — not from the whiskey this time. after a couple heartbeats, you muttered, "you know, you're not half as scary as you pretend to be."

arthur's smile quirked into something in-between a smile and a confession. "good. then maybe you'll listen when i say sean is trouble."

you met his eyes, a teasing glint in yours. half drunk half stupid, you said, "you sure that's all this is about? or are you jealous?"

his laugh was low, incredulous, genuine. "you're drunk."

"maybe," you said, leaning in just slightly, "but maybe i ain't wrong."

he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with that ghost of a smile that never quite made it all the way to his mouth. "get some sleep, before you start talkin' even bolder."

you grinned. "that a challenge?"

"nah," he said, voice dipping lower. "a warning."

and though the laughter and the chatter continued on behind you, it all felt like background noise; the noise faded into the glow of the fire, the slow tension between you and the man sitting dangerously close to you taking precedence over anything else.

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖CHAPTER SIX

𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

your head throbbed just about as much as your arm did, even days later. the bright and early sun taunted you, dancing in your face until you gave up squinting. rubbing your eyes, you forced yourself up and lazily stepped out of the tent. the noise of bare feet made against the mud followed you all the way to the water bin. morning dew clung to the frills on the bottom of your night gown — leaving the white now brown and wet.

you were beyond grateful for miss grimshaw getting you some clothes together. she was rough on the outside, sure — but maybe she had a soft spot for you. could have something to do with the fact you were the only other lady in camp. maybe the only other woman on earth unwise enough to live with a bunch of wanted men. the cold water, collected in the barrel as a makeshift wash-bin, sent relief through you, chasing the sleep off your skin. you relished in it, rinsing off the tiredness and lapping the relief through your cupped hands.

stretching, you sucked in a deep breath, heading back towards your tent. as you peeled the tent flaps fabric above your head, you paused. it felt like.. someone was watching you. slowly, you turned on your heel. it wasn't unlike arthur to lurk in the shadows. you visibly relaxed when you met his gaze; he straightened from where he was working gun oil into his revolver. setting down his things on a crate, he blinked. your lips twitched upwards. before you knew it, he had clambered over to you with the jangle of spurs and heavy steps.

he cleared his throat, eyes flicking down at your attire before he could stop them. "what're you doin' up so early?"

you crossed your arms. the breeze of the wind shook the thin material and you suddenly felt a bit exposed. "not sure. couldn't fall back asleep."

"how's your arm?" arthur queried, already leaning forward to get a closer look at it. "feel any better?"

you smiled softly, nodding. his gentle hands abandoned the bandage when he seen your scabby wound. "it ain't too bad. nothin' i can't handle."

there was a pregnant pause. he rocked on his heels, jaw working like he was chewing up his words. you couldn't infer what he was thinking, and you couldn't begin to try since his blue eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat. your eyebrow ticked up in curiosity.

"reckon it's time you had a horse of your own." he grumbled, matter-of-fact, like it was a demand rather than an invitation. he met your eyes expectantly.

you blinked. "a horse?"

arthur smirks. "yeah, bit hard to be a part of the gang on foot. ya think?" he nods towards the valley yonder. "saw some wild ones out by the ridge yesterday. figured i'd take you to go get a look."

you blinked again. gears worked in your head, and you were deemed shell shocked for a moment. a beat passed and you nodded, smiling sheepishly. you missed your old horse, not like he was worth much besides the couple of dollars you paid for him, but he meant something to you. so while you did plan on getting another horse, eventually, you couldn't deny that it helped to have a cowboy offering to wrangle and break your pick.

"yeah, okay." you reply, nodding again. "i'd like that."

he clears his throat, looking down at your attire with a smirk. "not sayin' i mind it, but for your sake, you might want to change."

you flush, waving off his half compliment disguised as casualty. "nope, was plannin' on wearing this." you roll your eyes and the growing smile on your face betrays you.

that earned you a soft laugh. you ducked into your tent, and he's grateful you can't see him shamelessly watch your retreating figure. he rubs his neck, forcefully averting his eyes from your backside and opting to lean against a post and wipe down his revolver. when you come out, he huffs a 'finally' and you start on your way to the hitching posts at the edge of camp. something ate at you, pleasantly flipping in your stomach and making you question why his half hearted comments always elicited a reaction from you.

he was an outlaw — cruel, murdering, thieving, and downright mean. didn't mean his compliments didn't have an affect on you. you couldn't tell whether he was messing with you or not; maybe he relished in making people nervous, one way or another. maybe he just was picking on you. part of you didn't want to believe either of these options were viable. he sure had a way of making orders sound like kindness.

you pushed it down, taking his calloused hand and letting him hoist you up onto the horse. the warmth lingered for a beat too long. he broke the silence, "you ever broke in a horse?"

you snorted, "tried to, maybe." boadicea started trotting along the trail.  "most horses i ever got were cheap and stubborn as a mule, so i reckon you could say i did most o' the work breaking them in... what about you?"

he hummed in thought, idly stroking boadicea's mane. his one handed grip on the rein tightened. "a good bit.."

an eyebrow ticked up in amused curiosity. "really?"

"yeah," he rubs his stubble, "can get a lot of money for horses. 'specially when you ain't gotta pay a dime for 'em."

you laughed. "reckon you're right. never thought the risk was all that worth the reward. always thought i'd get thrown right off."

"reckon you'll see today." he side ways glanced at you to see your reaction, a big smug grin on his face.

you blinked. "you want me to try and get on one of them?" you ask in exasperation.

his smile grew and he chuckled somewhere deep in his chest. the sound reverberated through the woods and morning birds chirped in delight. you had to admit you relished in the sound too. what a rarity to hear a man that battles with the gripes of the law daily, genuinely laughing. if you told yourself — a year ago,  that today you would be riding a horse and laughing with one of the most wanted outlaws, you would've had an aneurysm. you gripped the edge of the saddle, it didn't ease the nerves that bubbled up in your belly.

"reckon it'll be an entertaining way to spend my day." he replied, grin big.

you opened your mouth to speak and he quietly shushed you. he gestured to the clearing up ahead, where a couple of wild horses grazed peacefully in the valley. their manes danced with the grass in the wind, tails flicking at the bugs. when boadicea came to a stop, he quietly hopped off of her, grabbing your waist and lifting you down before you could blink. a hand rested lightly at the dip of your back as he guided you to get a closer look.

"we gotta be real quiet. got it?" he whispered low and you definitely didn't get it.

it was impossible to think.

the warmth of his hands burned something unknown on your skin, sending sparks all over and a blush to your face. his voice was low and rough in your ear. you gulped. a horse in the clearing afar raised its head and peered at your direction, bowing to eat the foliage below once again. you followed suite in returning to what you were doing before you let your mind get the better of you.

you nodded, quietly clearing your throat. "yeah, got it." glancing at him sideways, you added, "what next?"

as if on cue, the warmth was gone and he lazily tossed boadicea's reins on part of a tree — she was a real good horse, never wandering far. he grabbed the lasso off the saddle, hand on the small of your back as he led you towards the horses, coming to a quiet halt when you were nearing them. the grass paused its waving in the wind, watching the two of you in anticipation.

quiet as a field mouse, "i'm assumin' you don't know how to use this." he continued with a hint of a smirk before even letting you finish. "i got it. which one you want?"

the sun continued its relentless dancing against your face, eyes wide when he gestured to the horses across the valley. he watched your gaze lock on a dapple grey mare in the distance. you answered after a hum of thought, "i like her."

he nodded, hand abandoning the dip in your back. you watched, awestruck, as he stalked forward with a hunters grace — the rope firm in one of his hands. the horses looked at him and instinctively began huffing, taking a couple steps back and staring straight into his soul. his stride didn't so much as budge when the hundreds of pounds of muscle in front of him began threatening him.

in the blink of an eye, his lasso was up above his head and snapped around the neck of your pick of the bunch. her herd abandoned their spots at her side, neighing apologies and angry snorts as they kicked up the terrain. the mare's beautiful grey coat shined in the sun, but you couldn't tear your eyes off of arthur's figure. he held fast, yanking back on the rope as the two did their dangerous dance of stubbornness. boots dug into the dirt.

he was admirable at the very least, and his voice came out in that rare gentle tone you weren't used to, still full of grit, as he hushed the horse, "shhh, you're alright, girl."

this went on for minutes. you nearly passed out from holding your breath every time you thought arthur would've gotten pulled into the dirt. right when you were ready for him to wave a little white flag, unbelievably, the horse began quieting down and giving up on her futile attempts of escape. like a true predator, he stalked forward, shushing all the while and calming the beast. when she let him touch her coat, you were floored.

he peered at you for a moment, not wanting to take his eyes off the freshly tamed horse for too long. a small smile appeared on his face when he noticed your wide eyes and parted mouth. you quickly blinked off the evident awe in your expression, and hesitantly stepped forward when he glanced at you again.

"she.. ain't gonna bite me, right?" you whispered, flinching when she huffed. he laughed.

"nah, not unless you let her. wouldn't go sittin' on her now 'less you're lookin' to end up in the dirt." he assured you, one hand lax on the rope around her neck.

he watched with a big grin as you slowly stepped forward, your big eyes never going far from the creature.  the blue of his irises swirled with something sweet as they lingered on your approaching figure. when you got as far away as you could be while still being able to touch her, you gathered up your courage. you couldn't let yourself look like a fool in front of a man who just wrestled with a wild animal on your behalf. a breath you didn't even know you were holding exhaled when your hand safely met the hair on her neck. the mares skin was hot, trembling, alive beneath your palm. the world was just breath and heartbeat for a pause.

"good girl," he whispered — low, rough and tender — and it went straight through you.

"wasn't that bad, was it?" he asked.

you smiled faintly, hoping the heat you felt rise to your face wasn't too obvious on the surface. you traced the mares mane idly. "no.. not bad at all."

the horse made a noise of approval under your gentle touch, her intelligent eyes making you out the same way you were to her. you looked up to find him watching you too — that quiet pride in his eyes. the two of you stared for a moment, the comfortable silence filled only with the breathing of the mare and distant caws of birds. the valley continued on living around you, yet it felt like things had stopped and you were encapsulated in this moment.

the wind carried a breeze that smelt of tall grass and something you couldn't quite name, but you wished you could bottle it and keep it with you for a while. you looked at the finally calm horse and back at him, a certain softness in your voice.

"thank you, arthur."

he tipped his hat, voice quiet, "ain't nothin'."

[rosesvineyard]

brotherly betrayals require a good old brotherly goodbye

[honeyhanlon024]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ welcome to my master list !!

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

—⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight

___ ★₊˚﹟🪐 '

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ CHAPTER FIVE

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

dutch is a man with a cigar and a dream.

"that bank, our dear here and arthur scouted, is calling us." dutch drawls, praising you without missing a beat. smoke flows out his mouth like a sermon. you smiled faintly and arthur shifted his weight nearby. "we must be smart. patient. impatience gets folks killed."

john leaned in, low enough just for you to hear. "he says everything gets folks killed." his grin was smug and boyish, as he dodged the glare arthur was sending his way.

you stifled a laugh, shaking your head and you brush the dust off of your old jeans. john was a sharp contrast to the quiet silhouette of arthur — looming across the clearing, blue eyes locked on you. the smile dropped from your face the moment you met his gaze. his blue eyes cut deep, a silent disapproval and command in them. his eyes flick to dutch and back to you.

you looked away as you scuffed up the dirt underneath you, quietly messing up the earth beneath you. dutch's words fell on deaf ears. your mind would always creep back to the all too familiar guilt, leaving that taste in your mouth you knew too well. blood choking someone's throat, gunpowder stinging your nose, screams that never left you alone — you couldn't shake the thoughts when you were left to your own devices for too long. you blinked fast when dutch strode toward the hitching post, preparing his horse. the world didn't stop for grief or guilt. it kept moving, with or without you.

there was always something lingering, and you felt like if you thought about it for long it would swallow you whole.

arthur's boots crunched as he halted next to you. he cleared his throat, voice rough. "hey, don't go playin' hero this time. stay close. don't get yourself killed."

caught off guard, you swallow and say, "right." a beat passed and it made your eyebrows furrow. "wasn't nothin' about being a hero, though. couldn't of let you die, could i?"

"no, guess not." he breathed out, hands in his pockets. he met your gaze, eyes flickering with something serious. "just don't be a fool. be careful."

the ride into town set your nerves on edge. sitting behind arthur, you could feel the tension radiating off him. he worked his jaw like he was chewing back words. it didn't ease your mind at all. john rode eager, itching to use the pistol in his holster. the youthful gleam in his eye was quite the opposite of hosea's look; his eyes were sharp with the wisdom dutch refused to heed.

the little bank looked smaller now then it did back when you cased it. then it was wood polish and tidy writing, safe in its stillness. now it was more like a storm waiting to break. the wind was brisk and carried the dust from under boadicea's hooves.

dutch rode ahead, his voice booming with promise all morning. "this is the beginning, gentlemen." he glanced back at you with a smile. "lady. the tide is turning in our favor."

hosea only raised a brow, lips pressed thin. your stomach clenched and you tightened your grip on your holster. inside, the air was thick. the tick of the clock was way too loud. dutch smiled that preacher's smile, eyes crinkling above his face covering. he declared:

"good mornin' folks. let's keep this simple."

the guns came out and his promise of simplicity went out the window.

you, arthur and hosea all had your guns trained on the guards. the cloth covering your face hid the split in your lip from your teeth worrying it. adrenaline hummed through you, forcing your hand to be steady. the gun was fixed in your grip, swinging to the civilians inside when they moved.

"keep them put!" dutch shouted at you when you focused on the civilians, and you nodded.

you swallowed, heart hammering in your ears. "you heard him. stay where you are." your voice shook, but your thumb that grazed the hammer was serious enough.

the people screamed. your eyes locked on a mother holding onto her young son, his lip wobbled as his wet eyes darted to the exit. a pit knotted in your stomach. the moment they moved an inch you shot a bullet through the wall, narrowly missing any patrons of the bank. the mom screamed. the boy cried out.

you cleared your throat, "i said don't move."

dutch watched you, his small smile of approval hidden by his bandana. arthur did too, only his eyes burned with something unrecognizable. something close to pride but shadowed with worry.

the bank keeper fumbled, face pale and hands raised. "i swear! i don't got no keys!" he shouted, shaking his head vigorously. "please, mister."

arthur's patience snapped — the longer this went on, the closer your group was to jail. he shoved dutch aside and grabbed the man by his collar. the snap of his nose echoed through the big room, arthur's fist pummeling into the man's face. the blood splatter painted him and arthur's knuckles.

low and mean, he threatened, "don't you lie to us." he inched closer, clenching his fist. "we know you got the key. give it."

you tried to keep your eyes on the hostages. you couldn't help glancing at arthur — ruthless and unflinching. it worried you about as much as it thrilled you.

then fire tore through your arm.

you stumbled, clutching the sleeve of your blouse now soaked red. a bullet must've grazed you. you looked up, but rather than lawmen, it was men that looked just like the ones you were with. gang members clad in bandanas like the ones you adorned. theirs were green like the weeds that choked the porch.

cursing, you scrambled to the ground. bullets whizzed through the building. clutching your bleeding arm tighter, you bit your lip to steady it. it was just a graze. no tears. not here. you stiffened up, taking a deep and shaken breath.

"goddamnit!" arthur's yell rattled through the bank as he spun, revolver splitting the air and hitting a man outside square in the chest. glass shattered, splinters flew, and bullets boomed through the bank.

"just a graze." you forced out, hand still firm over your blood stained shirt. "i'm fine."

"the hell you are." he spoke, his voice sharp. he was  already at your side, one hand shoving you lower to the floor. his revolver barked steady rounds. precision not lost in the fight. "don't you move. y'hear me?"

dutch's voice carried over the gunfire, "hold them off! we get this safe or this was all for nothing!"

"safe be damned!" arthur snapped, voice cracking like a whip. his arm came around you, pushing you down as you tried to aim your revolver towards the men outside. through gritted teeth, "stay put! goddamn o'driscolls."

the rival gang poured in through the door way, guns barking; it became hard to breath as the room filled with smoke. lawmen joined the fray outside, so many shouts it became impossible to understand them. bullets whizzed around as the five of you somehow managed to duck behind cover and stay alive. arthur stood, putting bullets into each of their chests mercilessly.

your pulse thundered as the bank begun to seem surrounded by lawmen and who you now knew as the o'driscolls. you heard of their gang a couple of times, you were now made aware of their clear hatred for the van der linde boys. hosea fired with grim precision, backing dutch's madness with reluctant steadiness.

you shuffled up against the wall, out of view from the window. arthur shouted in frustration as another o'driscoll came in and met their grizzly end to a bullet. as arthur grabbed your good arm to yank you to the back exit, you spoke, "you don't have to—"

"you've done enough." he cut you off harshly, pulling you towards the exit. you stumbled along with him, forcing your boots to keep up. "i ain't buryin' anyone over dutch's dreams today."

for a moment, it felt like there was no gang, no freed hostages, no o'driscolls. the world shrank to the weight of arthur's grip on your good arm — his words that sounded like fear dressed up as anger.

the five of you bustled out of the exit, barreling through the alley and shooting rounds behind you to keep the o'driscolls at bay. thankfully, the o'driscolls kept the law distracted. you ran fast, hand on your hat to keep it from flying off of your head. arthur cursed under the chaos, taking a sideways glance to you.

your legs felt like they could give in underneath you when you made it to the horses, arthur hoisting you over boadicea with ease. the motion tore at your arm and you gritted your teeth. he hopped up into the saddle and instantly spurred the horse into a run.

"did you get the money?" you yelled out over the hammering of hooves and hearts, gaze fixated on dutch.

"did i get the money?" he asked, smile big as he pulled his bandana down. he pulled out a wad of cash and john whistled low. "course i did. had to make it worth our troubles."

arthur shook his head, grumbling curses under his breath. your legs clamped down on the horses sides as everyone slowed down, the gunshots and screams far behind you now. the five of you trotted back to your camp like a makeshift battalion. camp was quiet when you stumbled back in, smoke still clinging to your clothes. susan grimshaw stomped forward, hands on her hips.

"come here, girl." she said, catching your good arm and helping you down. her sharp eyes cut to the blood on your sleeve and back at the others. "gladder than hell none of them got hurt. so much for being men."

dutch only chuckled, holding the cash high and waving it. "a fine haul, miss grimshaw. a turning of the tide."

susan's glare could've peeled paint. "tides turnin' to foolishness." she led you towards a stool, already barking orders for rags and water.

arthur hovered nearby, silent and jaw tight. you winced as grimshaw pulled you into a tent, arm constricted against the material of your shirt. the warmth from the wound spread all the way up to your collar bone. she got you changed into a different shirt after she tended to the injury, grumbling complaints the whole time.

when susan finally freed you from the shackles of her care, you plopped down onto a crate by the fire. sighing, you ran a hand down your face. there was an absence of people at the fire, and you wondered if the others were off celebrating the win. you heard footsteps and your head spun, a soft smile creeping on your face when you met the man's eyes.

arthur crouched low next to you, calloused fingers ghosting near your sleeve. "let me see it."

"ain't bad." you said quickly, though your hand shook as you pulled the cloth and bandage back.

arthur's eyes hardened. "don't lie to me." his voice softened, just barely. "if he had a bit of better aim, well..."

before you could answer, dutch's voice rang from across camp, carrying in glee and bottles of whiskey. loud and triumphant, he said, "see? we are on the right paths, my friends! the world will soon be ours!"

arthur didn't look away from you, blue eyes fierce. he snorted dryly, "world ain't worth nothin' if you ain't alive to see it."

the campfire crackled long after the sun sank, dutch's voice carrying loud over the dark. he was still preaching, waving that wad of money around like it was proof of some scripture. they sung old cowboy tunes, drunken and celebratory. john laughed at every line, hosea smiled and puffed his pipe, uncle celebrated as if he was involved, pearson worked away on preparing food, and susan muttered sharp comments under her breath but smiled nonetheless.

you stayed at the edge of the firelight, arm bandaged tight with miss grimshaw's precision. the throbbing had dulled, but every movement reminded you of the bullet that could've made it. you were made painfully aware of how close to death you were by arthur's comment earlier. it ruffled you, no matter how much you wish it hadn't. part of you understood now: maybe this was the weight of being an outlaw. just baggage that came with the job.

your abandoned whiskey sat in your hands, nearly full. you watched with a smile as john told a story passionately. arthur lurked back in the shadows, cleaning his guns and sharpening his knife. dutch's voice rose to another fevered pitch and arthur got up. his heavy boots crunched through camp, his shadow from the fire light dancing as he approached you.

"you plan on sittin' there lookin' pitiful all night?" he asked, the smallest of smirks on his lips.

"hello to you too, arthur." you joked, rolling your eyes. the small smile grew.

he looked at your whiskey with an eyebrow raised, "you gonna drink that?" his gaze flickered to your wound, lips tugging into a half smirk. "it'll make ya feel better. doctors orders."

"since when are you a doctor?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

"since you went and got yourself shot like a damn fool." he crouched down to your level on the crate, no longer towering over you. inching closer, "best drink it before i pour it straight on that wound just to hear you holler."

you smiled, knowing he was all bark and no bite... sometimes. you took a swig nonetheless, flinching when he pulled up the sleeve on your free arm and fiddled with the knot in susan's bandage. "hey— she already—"

"yeah, well, susan ain't got my bedside manner." he shot you a look, dry as dust. "lucky you."

the cloth finally came loose, and it stung when the night air hit the raw graze. you hissed, jaw clenched, and you sent him a glare as if he was the one who did it. he clicked his tongue, avoiding touching it like it was the plague. his movements were intentional — gentle, light. one hand gripped your arm softly, and the other managed to put the rag on the top of his half-drank whiskey bottle, flipping it to submerge the cloth.

"figures. thought you were a tough outlaw. can face down lawmen and o'driscolls, but a little scratch's got you squirming." his voice was low, dripping with sarcasm as he teased.

"it ain't little." you murmured, gripping your knee to steady yourself.

he gently wiped the wound off, yet it still stung enough to make your eyes water. you were missing miss grimshaw's, easier to handle, cleaning done with warm water. you sucked in a sharp breath, glaring at him with your wet eyes.

"easy, girl." he whispered lowly, as if you were some horse he was trying to rein in. his smirk was big. "want me to kiss it better?"

a heat rose all the way up from your stomach to your face and if he was trying to get you to stop glaring, it did the trick. your glare was fixed anywhere but his smug face. he chuckled when you swatted his shoulder with your good arm.

"knock it off." you murmured, hardly able to focus on the stinging sensation.

he wrapped up your arm with the new bandage, tying it off into a knot. he pulled your shirt sleeve back over the fresh bandage with a hum of approval. when he was done, he stood and his expression shifted into something quieter... more careful.

"there," he cleared his throat, "good as new. just... try not to go catchin' more bullets, alright? ain't got the patience to patch you up again."

you arched a brow, smiling warmly. "patience, huh? seemed like you were enjoying yourself."

he huffed, closing off his whiskey bottle and putting it back into his pocket. somewhere closer to the edge of camp, dutch boomed old tales of life. feigning wisdom far beyond any of your minds.

"don't flatter yourself. only reason i care is 'cause dutch'd blame me if you kicked the bucket." he tried but his gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, and the crooked smile he tried to hide betrayed him.

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ CHAPTER FOUR

𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

the two of you rode hard. you tried your best to ignore the gunfire that whizzed by you, taunting you mercilessly as you barely clung to the saddle; each jolt rattled through your ribs. the wind blew your hair wildly, the buttons on your blouse barely holding together the fabric that filled with air. the mare didn't stop running until the town was long gone.

after a grueling ride, arthur slowed her down with a huff from the rider and his horse. he idly reached forward and stroked her neck, everyone breathing heavily. you and arthur heaved as if you ran every mile yourselves. he trotted up to an old cabin with a lawn overgrown to your mid calf — some of it was flat and short, only saved from overgrowth by being covered by scrap wood and old objects.

his boots hit the ground, gaze shifting to the beat down cabin and back to you, hand outstretched to you like it always was. "better than sleeping outside or bringing the law back to camp."

you nodded, allowing him to help you down. he struggled to find a spot sturdy enough to hitch his horse, he ended up settling for a trust worthy enough tree. his gaze was locked on you, searching your silent face. his lips tightened as he held the door open for you.

half the places boards were warped and groaned in the wind, but it was shelter enough. cobwebs danced in the breeze of each corner. you followed him in, arms tightened around yourself. it smelt like rot and wet wood, but it was safe. arthur tucked the bag of supplies from the shop safely in some corner as you snooped around. the days blood still clung to your skin no matter how much distance you put between yourself and that town. you were grateful that this time the dull ache in your belly was easier to shove down and ignore. easy to chalk up what you did to necessity.

arthur watched you. his lips pursed into a thin line and his mind worked. it wasn't hard to guess what was on your mind. things clattered in his satchel as he dug through it suddenly, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and setting it onto the dusty and chipped table. "ain't much." he muttered, shrugging. "but it'll help the night along."

your brows rose. he was almost being... considerate. "what a gentleman. bringin' a lady out to a fine cabin and offerin' her rotgut." you teased, smile big.

he smirked, pleased with himself as he handed it over. "you'll live."

the first swallow scorched a path from your throat all the way down to your belly; it burned so bad you coughed and your eyes watered. arthur's chuckle rumbled low, shoulders shaking.

"easy, there. s'posed to be drinkin' it, not drownin' in it."

"could've warned me." you rasped, handing the bottle back to him as you rubbed your lips.

"and ruin the fun?" he asked, an amused eyebrow cocked. he tipped it back, downing a swig as if it was water, and handed it back with a smug little grin.

you shot him a glare but your mouth betrayed you — melting into a smile. "show off."

"that's what you get for not bein' able to handle liquor." he drawled, nose held up high like an arrogant prat.

"i can drink just fine." you replied, taking an intentionally large swig just to prove your point. you fought it when it tried to come back up, doing your best to hold a straight face. it was easier this time and the warmth just made your face flush. "see?"

arthur smirked. "mm. look at you. real tough outlaw now."

the sarcasm made you giggle. soon enough, the two of you were half way through the bottle of whiskey. at some point, the two of you plopped down on the floor, facing each other. you traded jabs until the tension in your shoulders eased, all of the days stresses fading away. the cabin walls were old and broken, but the warmth coming from the two of you was enough to warm the place more than a furnace ever could.

arthur shook his head, laughing a real and genuine laugh. he looked at you with raised eyebrows. "—a chicken? christ almighty, woman. didn't take you for the wimpy type."

"it was a little shit! sometimes they peck hard." you try to stifle a laugh, smiling tight. "what, you never been scared of nothing?"

he thought for a long moment, and the silence had you on the edge of your non existent seat. you leaned in an inch closer, an eyebrow raised. he shrugged, shaking his head.

"nope, never." the smirk on his face was big, eyes glimmering with something rare. "guess i ain't cut for the scaredy cat life."

you huffed, looking at him with something that resembled a glare. "better than bein' a grumpy old man."

"old?" his eyes widened in mock offense. "now that's just cruel."

"you said it, not me." you giggled, leaning back on your hands. you swayed as you moved, the whiskey running hot through your veins. "bet you was born frownin'."

he tipped his head back, chuckling. his smile was raw and genuine and it made your stomach flip more than the whiskey ever could. "you're drunk."

the bottle was all gone when you tried to stand, humming an old tune. the thought of being an embarrassment to your sober self was pushed to the back of your mind, all drunken courage and determination now. you leaned against the wall as you stood, nails clawing into the old wood to keep yourself sturdy.

"i think the room is spinnin'." a couple tipsy giggles came out as you leaned against the wall, starting up a stir of hiccups.

arthur, sitting besides you with his long legs stretched out, smirked. "think that's just you, sweetheart."

you raised an eyebrow, half-daring half-drunken stupidity, "you callin' me crooked?"

his smirk was big. he repeated your phrase from earlier. "you said it, not me." after a pause he added, "what i'm sayin' is, you can't handle your liquor worth a damn."

your gasp was over dramatic, and when you nudged his shoulder it was weaker than you had planned. the two of you shared more laughs than you did whiskey, something sweeter in the air rather than the usual thick tension. for a long time — it was just that, laughter and playful banter.

you gathered yourself as you attempted to stand, all wobbles like a freshly born colt. arthur's laughter filled the cabin. how fast he leaned forward to steady you was criminal, reflexes as fast as ever. he stood up, towering over you as he steadied you with his hands firmly on your shoulders.

"lord above," he drawled, shaking his head in faux disappointment. "you're drunker than a skunk 'n the summer."

you weakly swatted at his chest, grinning despite the sarcastic irritation in your eyes. "you're not much better."

he looked down at you flatly, lips curling upwards. "i can walk." he steered you towards the old rickety cot, halfway dragging you there. "ain't lettin' you sleep on the floor. my luck you'll drool or puke on my boots."

you snorted, shaking your head. "ain't a drooler or puker. that i know of."

"there, safe and sound." he threw the old blanket over you, it landed on your face and you yanked it down with a chuckle. he hid his face with the brim of his hat. "you owe me."

"owe you?" you asked in shock, overdramatic as ever. "owe you what?"

"new bottle of whiskey." he grumbled, turning on his heel to go sit against the wall. he slid down it with a thud, pulling his hat over his eyes. "considerin' you drank damn near the whole bottle."

you muttered back an inaudible reply. after a comfortable pause of silence, something different flicked across his features. he pulled up his hat, analyzing your figure. his smile betrayed his attempts at being tough as nails. he watched you, your face already was peaceful and snuggled under the old blanket. he shook his head, grumbling something about women and pulling his hat back down.

when you woke up, you had to squint and blink away the confusion. you peeled a hair off your face, shuffling up out of the old bed that made you itchy. you looked around, eyebrows furrowed. they relaxed, mouth opening in an 'oh.' as you realized why you were waking up in a cabin that was eerily similar to something you would see in a nightmare.

arthur was propped up against the wall, black hat protecting him from the suns cruel rays. his leather chaps glistened in the light that snuck in through holes of the wooden walls, the summer breeze carrying the noises of morning birds. you were frozen in place as if you had seen an all white deer; one wrong move and you'd spook it and it'd be gone forever.

eventually you cleared your throat, and muttered out his name hesitantly. it was a bit humorous how fast he snatched the hat off his head, exhaling when he realized it was just you. you raised your hands, smiling, "easy there, cowboy. didn't mean to scare you."

he tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes, groaning quietly as he shoved himself off the hard floor. the floorboards creaked as they barely supported his weight. "yeah, yeah. i'm up." he grumbled, voice rough like gravel. "let's get goin'. don't want dutch sending out a search party."

the smell of campfire and morning coffee drew you in closer to camp, the sounds of bickering and laughter carried through the morning breeze. his horse trotted along, long tail bobbing with each step. the sunlight through the trees shone on her reddish brown coat, the shadows of trees and leaves playing a pretty movie on the three of your figures.

you smiled, voice slicing through the ambience of the woods surrounding camp. "pretty horse you got. she got a name?"

he snorted, shaking his head. "course she got a name." his rough palm patted the side of her neck endearingly. "boadicea. she's a real good horse."

you leaned sideways to get a glimpse of the camp up ahead, eyes lingering on his kind but firm hand. nodding, "seems like it. you buy her?"

a pause. he shook his head, chuckling. "nah. stole her from a feller who didn't have nothin' under his hat but hair. he ain't know how to take care of her, anyway."

boadicea naturally slowed down when approaching camp, anticipating being left alone for a while. he shimmied out of the saddle without knocking you off, leading her to the hitching post and securing her. it became a routine for him to help you down and up even if you didn't need it. you tried to ignore his hand lingering for just a second too long.

"shit." he muttered, hands now tight on the belt of his chaps. you followed his eyes, dutch approaching, steaming out the ears. "let me do the talkin'."

"how thoughtful." you teased dryly, suddenly finding the treeline very interesting.

"where in the hell have you fools been?" dutch asked, not wanting or giving the chance for an answer. he looked at you two like a disappointed father. "what in gods name were you thinkin'? both of you, shootin' up the damn street like you want a noose around all our necks? we need smart. we need quiet. instead, i got you two, draggin' the law back."

arthur was stiffened up like a soldier caught slouching. his jaw flexed, and though his voice came out steady, there was something pleading buried deep in it. "weren't like that. feller had a gun on me—" his gaze flicked to you, softer, and then back to dutch. "she stepped in. shot him. you can't fault her for that."

dutch's gaze snapped to you, sharp as broken glass. he studied you for a long time and you felt the urge to squirm under the weight of his stare. then, slow as molasses, the anger drained from his face — shifting to something more curious. something unbeknownst to the two of you.

"saved arthur's life." he repeated, slow and deliberate. "that's loyalty. that's family. shows me you're willin' to stand up when it counts."

you were caught off guard. you blink. "just did what i had to... didn't think much on it."

dutch chuckled low and shook his head, as if he was amused by your humbleness. "no — you did. you acted. that's what keeps this family alive. conviction."

arthur tensed, his voice was even but a noise of unease broke through. "don't mean she oughta be throwin' herself into killin', dutch. she—" he hesitated, searching for the right words. "she don't need to carry that sort of weight."

dutch's smile widened, and he clapped a heavy hand onto arthur's shoulder. his expression cut sharper now. "arthur, arthur... always trying to shield the world. you'd rather she let you die? hm?"

he had a knack for saying just exactly the right things. it didn't take a genius to see how he had arthur wrapped around his finger. each time arthur would pull back, it was like dutch's words would reign him back in. dutch was a.. good man. he saved you. he saved everyone. you just didn't know how to explain the gut feeling you had.

arthur's lips pressed thin, gears turning in his head. he was pressed somewhere between silence and defiance. he swallowed, eyes flicking to you — soft, conflicted — and back to dutch. "no. course not. just..." his voice dropped lower. "don't sit right with me. her havin' to do that."

dutch's gaze was glued on arthur. "she proved herself today. maybe even stronger than you thought, huh?" he looked back to you, smile softening. "you'll do fine in this family. better than fine."

arthur shifted as dutch walked away. he looked down at his boots, jaw working. the approval in dutch's voice should've been a victory, but it just hollowed you two out.

you stood there, caught between the echo of dutch's boots and the weight of arthur's silence. a prickle crept up your spine. you just didn't know where exactly to pin dutch in the scale of things. you killed someone to save arthur — the way dutch spun it made it seem like a vow, a vow to him alone.

before you found a way to settle the knot in your stomach, john strolled up, arms folded and a lazy grin on his face. "don't let dutch get under your skin," he drawled, tipping his head toward where dutch was in the middle of one of his rants to hosea, "mans all bark. half the time. he's right 'bout the fact you did good back there."

you blinked. "good? i don't know about that. i just.." you thought, rubbing the back of your neck. you shrug. "just didn't want arthur to get killed, is all."

johns grin softened. he almost looked kind, eyes sparkling with youth. "that's all? hell, that's everything. lots of folks would've froze up. you didn't. took guts." his gaze lingered for a beat too long. "braver than some men i know."

you laughed nervously, heat crawling up the back of your neck. "don't go makin' it sound like more than it was."

arthur's voice cut in, sharp as his knife. "alright, that's enough." he shifted his weight, edging closer until you felt the warmth of him at your side. his tall frame blocked john's lazy lean against the post.

john only smirked, unbothered. "just sayin' the truth." he tipped his hat to you, grin still firm in its place, sauntering off to camp.

arthur watched him go, muttering under his breath, "idiot." his fists unclenched only when john disappeared from his sights.

you glanced up at him, lips twitching upwards despite the weight in your chest. "you really don't like him, do you?"

he tugged at the brim of his hat, mouth flattening into something like a scowl. "ain't about likin'," he scoffed, "he just... don't know when to shut up."

you subconsciously tilted your head, studying him. "sounds like he was tryin' to be nice, to me."

arthur's pursed his lips, a flicker of something sharp in his eyes. "nice, huh?" he echoed, his voice low. he looked away, boot kicking a rock. "don't matter what it sounded like."

he walked off. the words hung between you, heavy and unfinished, leaving you with more questions than answers.

[glorious-spoon]

anyway the thing about fanfic is that it's not essentially bad or good; it's essentially amateur. some people are absolutely out there writing award-worthy prose (some fic writers ARE award-winning writers IRL!), but that's not the point. the point is that we're all telling campfire stories. it's a community, and it's a way to spend some more time in the worlds and stories that we love.

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟𓆝𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ CHAPTER THREE

𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟𓆝𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

a couple nights came and went. you didn't do much of sleeping no more, but the last couple nights it proved itself to be less of a chore than usual. it seemed like an invisible weight had been taken off your shoulders, something softer bubbling inside your chest. the night was spent, and now the morning light shone through the flaps of your tent; the sun beams danced around as the wind blew the fabric.

you weren't exactly used to having so many people around, especially mostly men. there was susan grimshaw but she preferred to stay to herself and her chores, for the most part. it wasn't all bad, part of you may have even been warming up to the company. arthur, in particular, had piqued your interest. he was all grit and gravel, but part of you was curious as to if that's all he was. you wanted to see what made him tick — how he really was under all the gruff.

pearson's stew pot was bubbling again and the smell of coffee carried through camp. uncle was already bitching about his chores, you heard john bickering with arthur over something or the other, and dutch paced through camp like a man on a mission. you were falling into the routine of camp, another cog in the machine that made their little haphazard group function.

you stepped out of the tent, yawning and rubbing your eyes. grabbing a cup of coffee, you plopped onto a crate, tired gaze fixed on the tree-line. dutch happened to pace to a clearing a couple feet away from you, gathering the attention of arthur.

"arthur, my boy," dutch called, cigar already smoldering between his fingers. "i need eyes in town — nothing grand, just grab some supplies and have a look at the post office. me and hosea will be discussing what we should do about that bank tomorrow. take her with you."

arthur shot him a look — half question, half protest — but dutch's smile smoothed over any of his arguments. dutch's eyes flicked to you as you approached. "best way to learn is doing. nothing like fresh air to sharpen a young mind."

you nodded courtly, a small smile on your face. "you got it."

the ride into town was quiet — the kind of quiet that hung heavy, only lessened by the jangle of tack and the thump of hooves. arthur's mare cut a steady pace, and you tried not to fidget behind him. your hands betrayed you, curling behind his saddle and tapping the rim. you wondered if you were more like a burden for him, always tagging along. it seemed as though he was used to it, albeit a bit begrudgingly. he didn't speak until rooftops came in the distance.

"keep your head down," he muttered, eyebrows furrowed as the sun beat down his face. "folk talk. don't give them a reason to."

you almost answered — almost — but the words were lost the moment your boots hit the dry ground, dust adding to the already dirt stained leather.

the town bustled around you: shopkeepers tidying up their items, women sweeping the porches, kids played in the alleys, and rickety wagons clamored past. the usual bustle of mornings in town. arthur tied his horse's reins with practiced ease and gestured for you to follow.

"general store first. after we can check the post." he said flatly, voice thick with rasp from the morning.

"you're the boss." you teased with a smile, not saying much but it was enough to help ease the quiet tension between the two of you.

you trailed behind him, pretending not to notice the way heads turned as you two passed. inside, the store smelt of leather and grain. arthur walked to the front desk, inquiring to the shopkeeper about some items dutch wanted him to grab. you listened as he busied himself ordering tobacco, flour, cartridges, whiskey, and other items the camp deemed essential. you wandered around the store, trying not to look out of place.

a raspy voice snagged you. "well, i'll be damned. thought i recognized that face."

you spun on your heels, meeting the owner of the voice. an older, stockier man with a couple scars crossing his face. his smile was thin and cruel, and he spoke again, "ain't you the little thief who tried emptying my pockets a couple months back?"

heat rose in your chest like wildfire. you feigned ignorance, shaking your head. "you got the wrong person, mister."

his eyes narrowed, he searched your face. almost as if he was racking his mind for details of the lady who had failed to pickpocket him all those months ago, debating on whether or not to believe you. you hoped, for his sake, he chose to leave it. arthur didn't seem exactly like the type to let things go. much to your dismay, he shook his head.

"nah, i remember you, alright. hard not to. a little thing like you." his words were filthy, and his smile was almost worse. the smell of cheap alcohol oozed from his pores, it made your eyes water.

"you know her?" arthur asked suddenly, eyes narrowed as he stepped beside you. he looked at the man with great thought, a suspicious glint in his eyes.

the man's laugh was ugly. it echoed against the aged store walls. "know her? she nearly got herself killed stealin' from me. guess the whores found herself a big protector."

the word cracked against your ears like a gunshot.

arthur didn't move fast, he didn't need to. one heavy step forward was all it took to make the man's smile falter. you never heard him sound so threatening. "you best take that back."

the man gained his composure, sneering as he puffed up. "or what? you gonna gut me here in the store? go on then. law ain't far from here."

the room felt like it shrunk, the walls closing in. the smell of leather and grain became entirely too nauseating and suffocating. you felt your pulse hammering, fear and anger tangled tight. the shopkeeper stood frozen behind the counter, eyes darting between the two men. you tried to swallow down the lump in your throat but it refused to budge. arthur's eyes flickered to yours for a second, and something in the blue changed. he faced the man again, and the tension was so thick it almost made you choke.

arthur leaned closer, voice dropping to that dangerously low rasp you had learned to know. "you so much as look at her again, i'll carve that scar deeper'n you can imagine."

the strange man's bravado drained, leaving behind the shell of who he was behind his facade. anyone with a half of a brain could tell arthur was as serious as a man could be, and the threat held weight to it. the stranger blanched, muttering a curse and shoving past the both of you. he slammed the doors as he left, storming out into the street.

silence lingered behind him, thick as smoke. arthur turned finally, stepping back up to the counter as if nothing had happened. "add coffee," he muttered to the shopkeeper, who was scrambling to write that down on the ledger.

the air was suddenly too bright, too sharp as you followed him outside. your pride burned but so did something else deep inside your abdomen. "you didn't have to—"

"yeah, i did." he cut you off, he rubbed his stubble lined jaw. "men like him don't stop till you make em'."

he loaded the last sack with ease, he handed it up to you and you caught it, the burlap rough on your hands. you hummed in thought, face still red with anger. "well that's fine then. i don't mind makin' fools like that stop." your let those words come out brash, but inside your gut hummed with a familiar wire of nerves.

arthur tipped his hat down, scanning the street with his usual wary patience. "keep a hand on your piece." he grumbled. "town ain't friendly this morning."

a voice cut across the bustle.

"well, hell." came that familiar rasp. "told you she was a thief. looks like she found herself a daddy to keep her pockets full."

you froze in place, hand hovering over the saddle strap. the scarred man from the shop came into your sight, this time with four men in tow that looked like a bad omen. you glanced at arthur but his eyes were set forward, hat tipped low, jaw tight. the tension hummed off him like a live wire. something you couldn't quite contain bubbled deep in your belly, hands now clenched so tightly at your sides your knuckles turned white.

"i told you not to come back." arthur stated flatly, teeth gritting.

the scarred man grinned, ugly and wide. "don't know what you see in a little thing like her. bet she ain't worth the trouble." he looked you up and down, deliberate and vile, and it twisted the knot in your stomach. "but hell, i wouldn't mind finding out."

your hand went to the revolver at your hip before you could stop it. "say that again." you spat, eyebrows furrowed deep.

the man blinked an extra second, then laughed and nudged his buddy besides him. "hear that, boys? got a bite. looks like she wants to play."

arthur shifted a step in front of you instinctively, knuckles white from his grip on his gun belt. his eyes flickered around, searching for any lawman around before he drew. he was too slow for someone as irritated as you were, and you stepped forward, head held high despite the hammering in your chest.

"you keep talkin' like that." your words shook as they came but they were serious enough. "you'll regret it."

one of the men, a lanky feller with big yellow teeth, hooted. "feisty. i like em' feisty. wonder if she's as quick with her mouth other ways."

heat surged to your head — not shame, but something more guttural. fury. you unsheathed your revolver, shaky hands aiming it directly at the man in front of you. you grit your teeth. "try me." your thumb brushed the hammer. "see if you're faster than me."

arthur let out a low whistle, his hand lifted slightly in attempts to anchor you. "easy," he muttered, voice low. "let's not make a mess unless they insist."

"oh, they've insisted. plenty." your narrowed eyes never left their figures, face as red as a beet.

the scarred one spit into the dirt, it landing somewhere near the two of you. his lips curled. "cute. real cute. maybe you got grit, little girl, but you're just hidin' behind him. without him, you're just another mouth beggin' for scraps."

that was when the big one took his turn, stepping forward with a piece of metal that gleamed in the sun light. a shot gun pointed directly at arthur, and you felt the world freeze to the smell of dust and the dryness in your mouth.

"arthur!" you moved before you had time to think, gun already fixed on the big feller.

the crack of the revolver split the air, and the man made a couple of bone chilling noises before he hit the ground with a thud. his throat gurgled, blood pooling and mixing with the dirt. for one suspended second, you couldn't pry your eyes from him. it hung in the air, what you did. the realization of what you had done, again, pressed sharp into your stomach. then the world began spinning again.

arthur was faster than a rattler, gun out and hammer cocked all in a second. his trained hand pulled the trigger with ease, barely even twitching as he shot the other two before they could reciprocate what you did. you fired again, you didn't know who, you just seen them aiming at arthur again — and that dust kicked up when they slammed backwards.

the scarred one screamed something you didn't pay attention to, shooting wildly. a bullet narrowly missed your ear, passing you with a whistle. arthur's return shot silenced him fast, leaving nothing but the ringing of your ears and the near constant thump of your heart. there was shouts of townsfolk and small splatters of blood across your and arthur's clothes and faces.

your revolver suddenly felt like a boulder in your hands and the smell of powder and blood made you nauseous. you stared at the men sprawled out on the ground with wide eyes, your chest beamed red, and you swallowed hard. your guilt rose with your chest, but just as fast as it fell when you breathed out, something steady and fierce tried taking its place. you did it to protect arthur.

"christ," he breathed and it wasn't the slightest bit of mockery. his eyes were on the fallen men, then your hands. "you okay?" he asked, voice small in a way it never was.

your fingers trembled on the revolver but you nodded. you swallowed, licking your lips. anything to get rid of the dryness of your mouth. the guilt was muted now — replaced by the certainty, if you hadn't done that, he would've been hit. you tried not to think about it for too long.

"i'm okay." you lied through your teeth, voice way too soft and quiet. your heart hammered so loud you wondered if he could hear it too. "i— i couldn't let him shoot you."

arthur's gaze held yours then, his blue eyes bigger, not colder. he sighed, biting his lip. he didn't shift away, didn't leave. instead there was a shadow of something like gratitude. "i know. you did what you had to do."

you wanted to tell him you knew the difference now: that the first time you killed a person it torn you into a million different pieces but now, it left you with a pit in your stomach. it became... tolerable. it wouldn't break you. you wanted him to know you would do it again, if you had to. the words stuck in your throat.

behind you, chaos was unraveling in the streets of town. terrified mothers gathering their children, men getting their guns, and people shouting for the law. arthur spat a curse and shook his head.

"we got to go." arthur stated flatly.

he reached up and grabbed your revolver for you, shoving it back into the confines of your holster. he took your hand, not rough, not gentle, just the grip of a man who knew exactly how you felt. just he had been feeling it since he was far younger than you are now. he hoisted you up onto the horse with ease, following suit and pulling himself into the saddle. spurs instantly kicking the horse into a sprint out of town.

the deep red mare snorted, already jittery. you clung to the saddle, legs tight around her back to keep yourself from falling. you both rode, dust clawing at your eyes and a dull ache pinging in your chest.

as the town faded into nothingness, blood and smoke and the bitter taste of survival clung to your mouth. the guilt sat with you — less painful than before. it was like a bruise you could tend to. something you could live with.

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ CHAPTER TWO

𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝𓆟

arthur held the door for you, and your boots creaked on the old planks. he spoke, his voice low enough just for you. "remember what dutch said, keep him busy."

"good morning, sir." you beamed, smile growing as you approached the desk. you had a certain pep in your step as you walked, and his eyes lingered for a beat too long. you leaned on the counter with what you hoped was charm, journal protected under your arm."i need help with something. see, my father, he wants me to keep track of our accounts. truth be told, i can't make sense of these numbers to save my life."

the man's smile grew, clearly pleased by the attention from a young lady. "of course, miss. that's why i'm here." he adjusts his hat, looking up at you. "what exactly were you needing help with?"

"everything, really." you mirrored his expression, softly clearing your throat. you leaned forward, opening your journal as if you needed this information to be well documented. "could you tell me how you keep everything so... organized? it seems so complicated."

behind you, arthur moved with practiced care. walking around as if he was just waiting on you. he examined the bars on the windows, the guards outback — all the little bits of information that dutch wanted him to bring back. he was slow, as to not alert anyone of what you two were really there for. the worker was all too happy to oblige, he wasn't making any attempts to hide his clear satisfaction with who was asking him questions.

the bank clerk leaned in too. the smallest act where if you blinked, you would miss it. he spoke almost conspiratorially. "well, see, we got a system. it's real easy once you get the hang of it."

the clerk continued, the sparkle in his eyes showing he was a man who enjoyed being listened to. "each account has a ledger and those are kept in the strongbox at the end of the day. the vault, of course, is secured every evening and only the manager and i have the keys to it."

your pencil etched in practically illegible lines on the page unbeknownst to him, he really believed you when you pretended to drink up each word. you tilted your head, feigning sympathy and teetering on the line of flattery. "must be awful to be the one who has to keep all that straight."

the floor boards creaked under arthur's weight as he shifts, a near silent reminder of his presence. you didn't have to turn to see his hint of disapproval — you could feel it hanging in the room.

"not that important, miss." the clerk relished in the attention, shrugging as if he was no big deal. "just doing my part."

"she's got what she needs." arthur's voice cut through the warmth of the room, the aura changing at the beat of a heart. shivers ran down your spine as you turned to face him. "we best be on our way."

"oh, of course." the bank keeper cleared his throat, suddenly made aware of your company. "do come again."

arthur grunted out a 'mhm,' guiding you to the door. his voice was calm but there always was an edge to the drawl. you suddenly felt as if all eyes were on you. he had a certain presence to him, one that demanded attention. one that secured respect.

the fresh air encompassed you, the slight breeze blowing your hair out of your face. it felt like sweet relief. the small smile that crept up on your face wasn't intentional, but the way you looked anywhere but at him was. the shops around were busy, people shuffling through their day to day life with ease. unaware they were walking amongst some of the most sinful of individuals. it felt nice, to be shifting back into a world of rules after everything that has changed in the past couple of days.

it's his turn to ask questions now. "awfully friendly, huh?" he queries, his voice low and almost amused.

you raise an eyebrow. stifling a laugh, you clear your throat. "not like i liked the feller. just doing what dutch asked." you rocked on your heels. "why?"

his mouth pursed into a line; his eyes were sharp under the brim of his hat, they held something unreadable and were full of old things. "be careful who you smile at. some folk talk more'n notes from it."

he started for the hitching post where his beautiful mare waited, probably huffing at each passerby she didn't approve of. you watched as a man cleared the walkway for him without thinking, and you briskly walked to meet his stride. you smiled awkwardly.

you walked down the dirt road, shops on either side of you. the silence consumed you whole, and you became painfully aware of how hard it was to make conversations with arthur. your eyes were flicking around, leeching onto each and every man in sight. you were hungry for distance. you did so as to not be noticed. hopefully. being a newly found killer like you were, now walking amongst some of the most experienced of the sort, the paranoia made sense. guess the creeping fear of being caught probably came with the job.

the smallest of amused smiles tugs at his lips. almost like he likes watching you squirm. "what you looking for?"

you snap out of your trance. you wave him off, blurting out: "what? nothing. i ain't looking for nothin'." shaking your head, you pretend not to notice how he slowed his pace so you could keep up.

you tried your best at casual, feeling a bit small under his side ways glance. it was hard to not feel inferior in their little world of crime, considering you were more of a paranoid petty thief rather than a six foot something trained outlaw. a low amused sound falls from his lips, it was his turn to shake his head. the only difference was the smirk that was shadowed by his hat.

"if you say so." maybe his idea of a joke, cruel and teasing. you were just grateful it wasn't silence.

he left it at that, as if he hadn't just rattled your bones. his horse let out a neigh, actually showing signs of emotion when arthur approached. he dug through his satchel, finding a carrot. he fed it to her with a pleased expression, his free hand finding her mane with a light, practiced touch.

"you keep snacks in there for people too or just for the horse?" you tease, letting out a small amused laugh. your hand is fixed on your hip, an eyebrow quirked.

arthur didn't meet your eyes, just smirked faintly as his mare's ears pinned back in pleasure. "don't reckon folks deserve treats like she does," he muttered, voice almost lost under the sound of wheels turning and shuffle of hooves passing.

you rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you: twitching upwards. "suppose that's fair. i'd take a carrot too, if you're ever feeling generous."

finally, his eyes cut to yours under the brim of his black leather hat. they're sharp as daggers, unwavering and pinning you in place. "better be careful what you ask for, miss. some things come with strings attached."

the words hung heavier than they should have, the rest of the conversation long gone, but that sentence clung somewhere deep in your soul. you swallowed, nodding. thoughts raked your mind, you couldn't seem to ever quite pin down what he was getting at. he reminded you of a chameleon — constantly shifting and changing. it was hard not to end up with a freight train running through the middle of your skull. with him around, you found yourself getting lost.

he hopped into his saddle, begrudgingly outstretching a dirt stained hand to help you follow suit. you took it, savoring the brief warmth, you climbed up behind him. your fingers hesitantly curled around the edge of the leather, holding on as his horse began her steady gait.

you hadn't a clue how you would survive the new chapter of your life you had started. the most bewildering of all — you weren't so concerned with the risks you had taken when you took up the full-fledged death sentence of joining the dangerous crew. instead, your brain scavenged for scraps. you were thinking of ways you could pry any sort of information from the outlaw's rough grip. what secrets hung loose in his grip.

the ride back proved long, the sound of cicadas buzzing keeping you down on earth. you kept your grip on the saddle light, not wanting to be the victim of embarrassing yourself if you were holding on for dear life. the land rolled out before you in endless shades of green and yellow, and each step of the horses hooves brought you closer to camp.

arthur didn't say much. he never did. every now and then, his head would tilt and his trained gaze would scan the tree line. the ride was silent, saved for the occasional quiet hum deep from his chest. you couldn't exactly tell if it was a tune or just the noise of a man deep in his thoughts. either way, it was oddly comforting.

by the time the smell of campfire threaded through the air, your fingernails were worrying a seam on your blouse. arthur slowed his horse, letting her go on her own pace down the remaining steps of the trail. as you got closer, voices grew: laughter echoing through old wagons and tents, the clink of bottles, nearby birds cawing. yet, it didn't ease your nerves. it felt odd to be coming back from your first outing, arriving to a place not yet familiar enough to be home.

arthur swung down with the ease of habit, hitching his horses reins. he offered his hand to you again. dirt-stained, steady. you took it without thought, politely smiling as your legs buzzed from the ride.

dutch's eyes lingered on your form as you stepped towards the fire, arthur not far behind you. he looked as if he could see every secret sprawled in your journal. he had a small smile on his lips, it was pleasant, but it stretched a touch too wide.

"well?" dutch's voice rolled smooth as bourbon, low and coaxing. "what did our fine friends say down at the bank?"

you held the journal tighter, it's leather edges biting into your arm. "the clerk told me how the ledgers are handled. at the end of every day, they're locked in the strongbox. the vault is locked nightly, too. only the manager and the clerk got the keys."

dutch's eyes lit up like you told him the directions to a recipe he already knew. "see, arthur?" ash from his cigar hit the dirt, gesturing it towards you. "sharp this one. sweet face, quick wit, and a knack for asking the right questions. a rare combination, hm?"

arthur grunted something similar to an agreement, though it was more sound than word. his gaze was unwavering on dutch.

you shifted under the heaviness of their attention. "i don't know how helpful the information is—"

dutch cut you off with a low laugh, shaking his head. "nonsense, my dear. everything is important. knowledge is power and today you have granted us just that, don't you doubt the value of that."

he took a step forward, inching closer. the glow of the fire illuminated his dark eyes, always looming with something unknown. his hand landed lightly on your shoulder, warm and heavy enough just to know it was there. you couldn't exactly decipher if it was comforting or something else. "you've done good, real good. i want you to remember that. you've got a place here, so long as you keep proving your worth."

there was no mistaking the edge to his tone — a silent warning etched into the compliment.

arthur shifted again, his jaw tight. dutch's smile softened into something almost fatherly. "go on and get yourselves some supper. pearson's been hollering all evening, and it won't do you no good to keep your strengths up on nerves alone. tomorrows another day and i don't have a doubt in my mind that you will do well."

with that, he let you go. you were hyper aware of how cold your shoulder felt with the absence of his hand. his attention turned, like it always did, to the next person: the next plan.

the smell of pearson's stew waved through the summer breeze, all warm and home like. beans and salted pork bubbled in the pot as he meticulously huddled over it. you eased yourself down onto a nearby crate, sketching doodles in your journal to aid your brain in working out the day. arthur lingered in the back ground, drifting towards a wall of a wagon to lean against as sharpened his knife. his shadow stretched long in the firelight, quiet as always.

john was already there at the fire — too lanky for his years, all elbows and sharp shoulders. even though there was only a year and some month difference between the two of you, he didn't seem quite as mature. maybe there was an unspoken difference between 18 and 20. a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "ain't every day dutch brags about somebody new. you must've done something real clever in town."

your eyebrow quirks up in amusement, smile growing. "just asked some questions, is all." you said, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. "the clerk was happy enough to answer."

john leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "bet he was." his eyes faltered, flicking down, quick but not subtle. then they were back up with a boys bravado. "if you ever need help in town again, i could go with you. folks talk different to me than they do arthur."

arthur snorted without taking the effort to look up. "that's cause they don't take you serious, boy."

john furrowed his eyebrows, he bristled. "i can handle myself."

"mm." arthur replied, his voice was surprisingly warm when he spoke to john, even though the words weren't.

before john could fire back, and by the looks of it he was getting ready to, hosea settled onto a log across from you. his smile thoughtful. "don't let these two rattle you," his voice was as warm as an old quilt, "arthur's too cautious by half and john's still tryin' to grow into his boots." his eyes, sharp from years of experience, lingered on your journal. "dutch wasn't wrong. information can be worth more than gold. you did well."

you felt a heat rise to your face, cheeks flushing the slightest bit. you're grateful it's nearly dark out and only the hum of the orange flames is there to illuminate you. "i just didn't want to mess things up."

hosea chuckled softly. "you didn't. and nerves? they'll keep you alive much longer than pride ever will."

dutch's voice picked up as he came into sight, stepping out from behind his tent. all of his usual flare there, a thick cigar propped into his hand. "that's right, hosea! pride gets a person killed but nerves — nerves will sharpen somebody."

he emerged from the shadows, smile as easy as ever. he clapped a hand onto arthur's back with something in his eyes that was almost paternal. "we have a clever one on our hands, arthur. maybe clever enough to keep you honest."

arthur, per usual, said nothing. he settled for tipping his head towards the fire but you could feel the heaviness of his glance, even when it wasn't directed to you.

john shifted closer, lowering his voice so the rest of the members wouldn't hear. "don't mind arthur. he don't got much to say. me? i got plenty to say." he grinned, boyish and eager. "figure i oughta show you around sometime. proper-like. can't have you thinkin' we're all brooding old men."

arthur's head tilted just enough to catch the exchange. his eyes, half-shadowed underneath the leather brim, found john and then rested on you. his jaw ticked. he didn't say a word but you felt unease, like there was a warning in the weight of his silence.

the fire popped, sparks lifting into the crisp night air.

that's when uncle stumbled into the clearing, a half empty bottle of whiskey already in his grasp. his face was already red as a beet, and the way he slurred made it evident the whiskey wasn't just spilt somewhere. "lord above, john," he rasped, "you layin' it on thick. kids tryin' to court before he can even shave proper."

john scowled. "shut it, uncle."

pearson bellowed out a laugh, shaking his head as he stirred the ladle in the bubbling pot. "he ain't wrong though. best you eat something, get a little meat on your bones before you go chasin' girls around."

the whole group chuckled, and you felt guilty for the way your small grin grew into one of amusement. dutch lifted his cigar, lazily gesturing towards john's direction. "don't you mind them, son. every man is entitled to a bit of ambition, ain't that right?"

john grinned again, beaming under dutch's praise. his chin lifted stubbornly. "that's right."

arthur muttered something under his breath, a sound halfway between a curse and a laugh. you found yourself in the middle of it, trying to fight the urge to join them in laughing. for the first time in a while, it felt like you had people that were worth it; a family — a crooked, uneasy one, but a family all the same.

[honeyhanlon024]

「 ✦ ENIGMA ✦ 」 ARTHUR MORGAN X READER

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ the year is 1890 and you find yourself as the newest member of the ever growing van der linde gang.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ CHAPTER ONE

𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

Arthur Morgan was a puzzle that everyone in the county failed to put together. He was cold, calculating, and ruthless. All the bounty hunters within a hundred-mile radius were searching for him, for that big winning prize on his head. The posters that were plastered on the doors of every saloon read in big black ink: DO NOT APPROACH. Desperation made fools brave; the most needy of individuals tried but desperation didn't keep them alive. Arthur had a way of teaching lessons that no wanted poster ever could. He knew he was intimidating. He basked in it.

Yet here he sat in camp, huddled against an old wagon, knife relentless against the piece of scrap wood he had been working on all day. His face, for once, was almost peaceful. His rough hands that had burned down towns were steady now. Calloused fingers making art out of bark. You could feel his eyes repeatedly burning holes into your figure, blue and calculating. It was evident that so much thought was behind them, thousands of gears twisting and turning, yet it was impossible to infer what exactly was happening inside his head.

You had been offered a spot in the Van Der Linde gang all but a couple of days ago, and ever since then his eyes followed your every move. Even while you were bowed over your journal, sketching the crooked silhouettes of camp, you would peek up from the pages only to meet his unfaltering gaze. Never had you ever seen someone so shamelessly stare like he did. No one else had made you feel so exposed.

Everyone else was nice.. enough. Tolerable at the very least. It was odd, getting a glimpse into the life of what you knew as some of the most dangerous people in the area. Seeing them for yourself made it hard to buy the townsfolk's stories: bounties and wanted posters told one tale but the people before you said something entirely different.

When the sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, and the sun tipped down to the edge of the land, they would join each other for dinner at the fire like some sort of makeshift family. They ate stew and laughed. The glow from the flames illuminated all of Arthur's scars on his exposed forearms, skin ridged and littered with old stories. How curious that the same hands that smashed faces could cradle a coffee cup with such care and brush a mare's mane with tenderness. How could violence and gentleness live in the same skin?

Dutch Van Der Linde, the leader of the gang. Now he was a stranger of a different sort. He walked through the camp carrying an unspoken weight on his shoulders. His laugh came clipped and far too precise, his eyes drifted past you as if caught on some distant shape. The rasp of his voice was laced with intelligence. Most times, he was generous and polished, a peculiar retelling of Robin Hood, soft words wrapping up dangerous plans. When he found you trembling in the aftermath of the night that caused you to wind up here, he didn't holler for the sheriff; he saw what you were. What you could become.

You were twenty and had learned to look older. Scrappy you were, and it wasn't hard to tell why. Being left for dead at 14, especially as a young girl, had lasting effects. Your family was not the sort that kept — nor had they wanted to. Not like you needed them, you managed just fine on your own. You learned fast to take what you needed.

All good things must come to an end. That habit had a price. Pickpocketing the wrong man led to something bad in more ways than one. He had demanded repayment, and you refused. The confrontation was quick and ugly. You didn't mean to kill him but the gun was out and fear was a faster hand than reason. The recoil of the revolver, the ring in your ears, the sweat beading down your face — some things cut deeper than any blade could. You remember his face when he fell. The way your knees buckled under your weight.

Your boots might as well have been nailed into the dirt, legs stiff and refusing to move. The world around you faded, turning into a blurred mess. The shuffle of steps and jangling of spurs were lost on your ears, which were overtaken by a piercing ring. Your worn revolver felt unbearably heavy in your grip, as if it were trying to get away from you. Like it knew what you had done. With fingers that betrayed you, you cracked open the cylinder and let the spent casing tumble free, the metal hitting the floor with a faint clink. Your hands shook something fierce, but somehow the gun was fixed in between them.

Thankfully it was just Dutch who had stumbled upon the scene, not a lawman. His presence in that moment was the tilt in your luck. Things could've been a lot different if it were the sheriff and not a wanted criminal. From the fear in your eyes to the shakiness of your breath, he knew what had transpired wasn't commonplace for you. he could've let you get caught by somebody else, or turn you in to the men in badges for some quick cash, but he didn't. Instead, he offered you a choice to join him.

Arthur's rescue had been a decade older, similar in its mercy and its calculations. At twenty-seven he had learned hard lessons and held them like tools. he seemed bound to both dutiful labor and a distant acceptance of the weight the Dutch had placed on him. Being the errand boy for one of the smartest criminals in the wild west must've been hard and it was clear Dutch had been busy. You watched how even a calculating leader like Dutch leaned on Arthur. The dynamic was complex but begrudgingly respectful.

One morning, while the sun was a new coin burning the horizon, you asked a question that had made itself a home in your mind.

"What's his problem?" you inquired, eyebrows furrowing as your gaze fixated on Arthur's figure across camp. The morning sun made his skin glow. He slammed his axe down into the log, sending splinters and kindling flying.

John Marston, cigarette between his two fingers, raised a curious eyebrow. "Who, Arthur?" he let out a low amused sound, shaking his head. "Reckon we'll be here all day if I try to explain what the hell he has goin' on."

You can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips, mirroring John's amusement. A bit of curiosity danced in your eyes. Gaze flickering to his hand offering a drag off his cigarette. You take it with more eagerness than shame. The smoke tasted like safety for a second.

"he can't be that bad," you reply, trying for casual. The ash from the cigarette hits the dirt.

John follows your gaze on Arthur, his eyes narrowing. He laughs loudly, even drawing Arthur's attention. It was soft but edged with something that warned you. he lowers his voice, audible enough just for you. "Yeah, right." he shakes his head, stomping his cigarette out. "I've known that man for years and I still ain't got him figured out."

Arthur turned to face the two of you conversing. He meets your eyes, his own shadowed underneath the brim of his hat. Time halts, the two of you watching.. almost like a curious little game, waiting for something unbeknownst to the two of you. When he returns to the firewood, your expression mirrors John's one of thought and processing.

Dutch's searching voice cuts through the camp with ease. He calls, and you are at his side almost as if you're led by strings. The three of you orphans are there, a bit shameful how fast you come to his beck and call. He grins when he notices you and John, his voice booming in a way that not only commands attention but a kind of obedience.

"I see you two have met. Good." his eyes flicked to behind the two of you, at Arthur's approaching figure. The atmosphere shifted, almost as heavy as the heel of a boot. "Arthur, my boy, how would you feel about riding into town? There's a place that needs a look."

You peer up at him for just a moment, finding anywhere else to look when blue eyes meet yours. Arthur nods stiffly, shrugging. His answer is as spare as his movements. "ain't got much better to do." he rubs his jaw. "Where at?"

You caught the rise and fall of the conversation, but not a single word clung to you. Tagging along behind Dutch and Arthur, you quickened your stride to match his pace. Following Dutch's directions. You smile nervously, clasping your hands together at your hips. The urge to converse fights its way up, getting caught in your throat. The desire to speak goes unquenched, you have no idea what to say. It seems he doesn't either, that or he has no interest in talking.

The two of you approach his horse, a beautiful mare with a well-kept mane. Her hair is long and pampered and she side-eyes you with displeasure. Even his horse makes you feel inferior. She bows her head to continue ripping grass out of the ground near her hitching post, paying no mind to either of you. Arthur reaches up to pat her neck.

"Reckon you lost your own whenever Dutch found a reason to pick you up," he says, voice low and rough, his southern drawl keeping each syllable in place. Calloused hands reach to help you get seated behind his saddle. "We can double up 'till you get one."

You smile, genuine this time. He searches your face. "You're right. Didn't exactly get the chance to take all my things with me." he helped as if it was a chore and a kindness both. You practically didn't have to move a muscle as he hoisted you up onto the horse's backside. His horse huffs, craning her neck back down to return to her feast.

His nod is short-lived, barely there, as he throws himself up into the saddle with ease. A hand reaches up to idly pet the side of his mare's neck, the other tightly gripped on the reins. A shiver runs down your spine as he lowly praises her, and you resist the urge to think on it too long. Gently nudging her into a walk, he pauses.

"Reckon you ain't want to talk about what happened," he speaks up, a bit of curiosity in his tone. You shift against the horse, gripping the edge of the saddle as she walks; you wish you could see his expression.

You hum in thought, shaking your head. "Don't mind talkin'." voice soft, as if you're worried to scare him away. You clear your throat. "I got sticky fingers. Habit of thievin'. Stole from the wrong man and he wasn't exactly happy about it... things didn't turn out."

He reads between the lines, nodding in understanding. There's a pregnant pause and you begin to wonder if he's this quiet with everyone. "I've killed folk for less," he states flatly. No sermon, definitely no pity. It sounded like comfort, in the strangest way imaginable.

"I've done a lot of bad things..." you admit quietly, looking towards the golden sun-lined prairie as if it could answer. "Never killed someone until then."

He tips his hat and lets his words spill, "I'm willin' to bet that ain't gon' be the last time you got to kill someone." You look at the back of his jacket and then back at the field, listening to every word like your life depends on it. "Lots of people in this world."

What a way to look at murder. The talk of killing like it's some rite of passage. He was casual, almost instructional. It made something in you recoil. He speaks about getting rid of people like shooting a gun or learning to ride a horse. Your lip stung where your teeth had worried it, and you question what occurred in his younger years that could've made him put such little value on human life.

The clatter of the horses' hooves is all that can be heard when the two of you aren't sharing your voices, mixing with the rhythmic squeak of the worn saddle yielding under Arthur's big frame. Dust kicks under his mare's feet, visible mainly due to the almost fully risen sun.

You hum in thought. "Maybe you're right. Don't figure it's worth thinkin' about now." You shuffle forward, getting a better view of the approaching town. Your voice is gentle in his ear. "Why do you think Dutch wanted me to come with, anyway? Bet you could do something like case a place all on your own."

He shifts a little, perhaps thinking. "Guess he wants you to ask them a couple of questions. I'm here to make sure things don't go south." his small smirk isn't visible to you, his voice is all rasp now. "Pretty little thing like you, don't doubt they'll tell you anything you ask."