given the current climate this pride especially i feel i must mention that i love my trans friends, i stand with trans people in the fight against transphobic legislation and those who would enforce it, and this blog is not a good place for you to be if you do not vibe with that
Know that I'm currently writing chapter 40 for Set in Sand through tears lmao. It's not because it's a particularly sad chapter but I'm getting closer to the end and UGH :'D
Honestly anytime I see a picture of Flaco I think of you 🥺💕
You're like One of the very few people who ever wrote abt him and my fav blog so.. HOW COULD I NOT
Oh hell yeah!!! I wanna be the Flacoperson in everyone's lives honestly lmao and thank you so much🥺 When I started this I never thought I'd become anyone's favorite blog😭
While visiting your friend, you accidentally manage to go back in time and find yourself stranded on a mountain with a group of outlaws. As you make your name known in the history books for your friend to find you, you try to navigate through the sudden change in your life, all the new dangers and your blooming feelings for a certain outlaw.
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Word count: 5.7k
Tags: spoilers for rdr2, graphic depiction of violence, fem!reader, modern!reader, low honor Arthur to high honor, slow burn, time travel, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, angst, sexual harassment, smoking, drinking, period-typical sexism, canon-typical violence, Arthur has no TB
“So, how long ‘till you’re going to take me with you, huh?”, Sadie barks, but her voice lacks the venom to make you flinch. Instead, you raise a brow and throw her a confused look.
“What do you mean?”, you ask and lean against one of the pillars, making sure that you’re touching one of the rare clean spots. You don’t really feel like scrubbing grime out of your clothes today.
It’s bad enough already that your shoes and the hem of your long skirt keep dragging through the mud around Shady Belle. And despite the stifling heat, you’re forced to wear boots otherwise all the dirt would get scooped right up. Your feet are swimming in sweat and the skin around your ankles and lower leg is scraped raw.
“What I mean?”, she drawls and shoots you a baffled look as if you just asked her the answer to 1 + 1. “You’re goin’ out robbin’ and shootin’ all the time.”
“I don’t shoot anyone.”
“But rob!”
“I don’t rob anyone either. Is this about the mayor’s party the other day? If you wanted to go this bad, we could have switched you know.”, you point out and her shoulders slump down in frustration like you’re simply not getting it.
It hasn’t been too long since the party. Only a couple of days, yet the memories are so freshly burned into your brain that it feels like yesterday. All you see when you close your eyes is Arthur’s face only inches away from yours and the pleading look in his eyes when he demanded an explanation afterwards.
You can’t blame him for his bewilderment. It must seem like you’re skipping over a rope the way you drift into his orbit and shortly after whizz out of it as he’s going to poison you. In all honesty, your behavior confuses even you. Every cell in your body is screaming to take the leap and let yourself fall into his embrace, but your head is holding you back.
It displays caution, knowing that whatever might bloom from this silly little attraction isn’t meant to last. Whether it’s his fear of commitment that ruined all his past relationships or the fact that you don’t even belong in this time and place, doesn’t matter. Arthur and you are a taboo. A line that should never be crossed.
“It ain’t about the party. I’m afraid that I don’t belong in polite society anymore.”, Sadie remarks and shifts her attention back to the repeater in her hands. You get the sneaking suspicion that it’s her attempt at avoiding your gaze.
“Listen.”, you start and cross both arms in front of your chest. “Next time I’m out for a job, I’ll take you with me. Or tell Dutch that he should send you instead. I think we all know that you’re better at certain things than me anyways.”
“Like robbin’ and shootin’?”, she asks with a half smirk curling at her lips and your own cheeks twitch at the sight as well.
“Like robbing and shooting.”, you repeat.
In all honesty, you’d be relieved to stay back for some of these adventures. You’re beginning to fear that Dutch is growing more comfortable with sending you out on these things and you don’t want to find yourself in another position where your hand is forced to take a life. Again. Whether it’s in self-defense or not, it’s a haunting experience.
Most of your nights are plagued by nightmares of that dreadful night when Arthur was too injured to stand on his own two feet and you didn’t have anyone to rely on but yourself. Sometimes you can’t seem to escape the memories that dig their claws into your mind and force you to watch the replay over and over.
It always leaves your hands shaking too much to even hold a cup. In these moments you’re tempted to seek out Arthur and perhaps talk about it, but Arthur Morgan doesn’t talk. He’s a typical victim of the toxic masculinity in this era. A man is supposed to bottle it all up and bury it far, far away.
Sometimes when you catch him staring at you from across camp, you get the strong sense as if he wants to talk though. As if he wants to let someone in on his secrets, fears and memories. You’re not sure whether you’d be able to stomach his stories, but you’d definitely try. For him. After all, you’ve already killed for him. Twice!
“And next time Dutch wants me at a fancy party or anything like that, we can switch.”, you comment, earning a huffed out laugh.
“Over my dead body. I ain’t minglin’ with no fine folks.”, she retorts with a firm shake of her head.
“Well, I don’t want it either and you said you want to go out.”
“Not like that.”
“Sadie.”, you whine and drop your arms down to your sides. “It was awful!”
“Exactly! Then you understand why I won’t go.” She makes a wide gesture with her hand. “Besides, can you imagine me at a party like that?”
Tilting your head, you think about it. Granted, she’d look dazzling with some nice clothes and all that. Specifically with a tuxedo. Some slicked back hair too. Hm…perhaps you’re falling for the wrong outlaw.
“You’d look great.”, you tell her and she snorts.
“Sure.”
Suddenly a broad silhouette enters your line of sight and you bite down harshly on the inside of your cheek. Arthur nods towards the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than on Sadie.
“My ladies.”, she murmurs and you give him a curt nod as a greeting.
A big part of you is curious as to why he constantly says ‘my lady’ or ‘my ladies’ in this case. It isn’t anything typical for this era and you haven’t heard anyone else greet the women here this way. It’s possible that it’s just one of the Arthur-exclusive quirks. Not trusting your voice around him, you remain silent and hope that Sadie is going to be so kind to carry the conversation in your stead.
“Hey, when are you guys gonna let me come robbin’ with you?”, she asks, immediately getting to the point.
That’s one of the reasons you like talking to her. She doesn’t mince her words and whatever she says, you can rely on the fact that it’s her truth. During moments when you want to stay delusional, though, you tend to seek out Mary-Beth. Not that she’s delusional. Not at all. It’s just mainly that you like dreaming every now and then and she’s perfect to dream with.
Arthur raises both eyebrows in wonder and opens his mouth to respond. He doesn’t get to, with Dutch appearing seemingly out of nowhere and tapping the outlaw on his back, beckoning him inside. When they vanish behind the large door, you hear their muffled conversation, but can’t make out any words.
Sadie’s face drops instantly in disappointment and she snarls something under her breath, too quiet for you to understand, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that she’s most likely cursing. You stare longingly at the closed door and try to understand why your throat closed up so suddenly at Arthur’s brief appearance.
Words are dancing on the tip of your tongue. You desperately want to share them with her, listen to her take on this entire mess. Aside from that short conversation with Abigail back at Clemens Point, you haven’t really let anyone into the chaos that are your feelings. But you’re quite certain that the other women know.
Mary-Beth has been trying to rope you into a certain type of conversation lately, leaving you with the faint suspicion that she’s attempting to squeeze information out of you. One would have to be a fool to not notice the tension. Parting your lips to finally voice what’s been on your mind this entire time, a shriek cuts you off.
It slashes through the comfortable silence of a lazy day like a blade and your entire body goes rigid. Not recognizing who it is that’s screaming bloody murder, you jump off the porch and frantically look around. Sadie is right next to you. You don’t find the source of the gut-wrenching scream, but your eyes instead lock on something else.
It’s a lone rider trotting towards the house on top of a horse. Squinting your eyes against the midday sun in an attempt to make out any details, your breath gets caught in your throat. Quickly you notice the lack of a head on top of that neck and it doesn’t take long to figure out where it went. The man is holding it with both hands.
The face is contorted into a gruesome grimace, giving it the appearance as if the person is screaming in silence. Then when you recognize the lines and features, your heart immediately drops. A wave of nausea rolls over you as you gape at Kieran and his empty eye sockets stare back. But before you can properly process the situation, several explosions ring in your ears.
It takes half an eternity until you’re ripped out of your trance and it only happens because a bullet lands on the ground right in front of you. Instinctively you throw yourself behind one of the walls of burlap sacks that are positioned at the entrance. Thank God those Lemoyne Raiders are under the delusion that the civil war is still going on.
Fishing your Cattleman out of its holster, you clutch it with both hands. They’re trembling with both shock and fear. Shouts and shots are coming from everywhere and you’re getting the strong sense that you’re completely alone and surrounded until Charles appears right by your side. His eyebrows are drawn together in concentration and you’d do about anything to have some of it for yourself.
“What’s going on?”, you ask in a shrill voice. It breaks at the end of your sentence and you swallow a lump in your throat.
“O’Driscolls.”, he hisses and he might as well have told you that the grim reaper came.
The prospect of possibly facing Colm again is enough to paralyze you entirely. Pressing yourself against the wall of bags, you force your racing heart to calm down. Your breath leaves your mouth in fast successions and it’s quickly becoming dizzying. With your stomach turned upside down and your eyes refusing to focus, you feel like you’re about to pass out.
Then someone suddenly calls out your name. Colm? Oh, he’s here to drag you back into that basement, isn’t he? The smell of mold and rotten wood penetrates your nose, overpowering your sense and you shut your eyes. Another call. It pierces through the chaos surrounding you and you crack one eye open, scared to be met with a weasel face.
Over at the porch, you spot Arthur. He’s leaning out from behind one of the pillars and his gaze is locked tight on you. You realize that he’s been the one yelling your name and you’re transported back into the here and now. Having left that dreadful cellar, you recognize your surroundings again and cradle your revolver to your chest.
The cool metal grounds you and with a finger, you trace along the engravings.
“Arthur!”, you yell back and he waves, beckoning you to move towards him.
You don’t know where the strength in your legs is coming from. From one second to the next, you’re up on your feet and sprinting. Though the porch is only a few feet away, it feels like you’re running several miles as bullets whizz past your limbs and head. Arthur leaves his cover, reaching out and you mimic the gesture.
Your fingers intertwine into a tight grip. He has you and you have him.
“Are you hurt?”, he asks, raising his voice over all the noise.
“No, I’m fine. I think.”, you gasp. “You?”
“I’m good. Get inside. Quick.”, he barks.
He’s completely right. You definitely should move behind the safety of the four walls, yet your muscles are rooted in place. Knowing that it’s the O’Driscolls ambushing you in broad daylight, you dislike the idea of letting him out of your sight.
“Did you not hear me?”, he snaps.
His attention is on the men pushing their way in from the front. The way he has his head twisted to the side exposes his neck and you watch his pulse point beating rapidly. Something about witnessing him all serious and focused distracts you from the very obvious danger of the moment. No doubt there’s adrenaline pumping through those veins of his and dear God, you shouldn’t think this way.
Not now out of all times!
“Can’t leave you out here.”, you argue and finally, he looks at you. His gaze is devastating as it snaps in place with yours.
“I’ll be fine!”, he shouts and you bury your fingers deeper into his hand.
“What if you won’t?”
For the longest time, you just stare at each other. With how closely your chest is pressed against his, you seem to feel his heartbeat drumming against your own ribcage. It falls into sync with yours. The brief moment of strange intimacy is interrupted by Dutch, who is ordering for everyone to fall back.
The sparks are gone and you’re back in reality. Jerking back to life, you dart through the front door with Arthur, Charles and John and watch the three men push a closet in front of the door to block it.
“There’s more coming from the back!”, Javier shouts and you drop down to your knees when a window right behind you shatters.
Hundreds of small shards fly into the air. Some of them tear right through your blouse and you hiss when you feel them cutting into your skin. Hoping that it’s nothing too deep, you crawl into cover. Some of the gang members are cowering behind walls and underneath tables, clasping both arms over their heads as protection.
The rest is positioned by the windows and firing back at every opening. You feel ridiculous with your own gun lying idle and useless in your hands. Gripping it tight, you swallow your rising panic and move to one of the back windows. Bill, Javier and Lenny are holding the line there and you take a spot further away from them.
Peeking through the broken glass, you spot a flash of yellow barreling towards the boat house.
“Sadie!”, you scream from the top of your lungs, but to no avail. Of course, she doesn’t hear you.
Cursing under your breath, you weigh your options. The smarter thing would be to ask one of the more capable people for help, but you dislike the idea of sending anyone into this hell. The less smart thing would be to go by yourself. It’s absolutely idiotic. Only a moron would even think about considering it.
Taking in a deep breath to gather both oxygen and courage, you stand up. You run as fast as your wobbly legs allow you to, holding the gun outstretched and shooting for the sake of shooting. You’re not exactly aiming at anyone or anything in particular. All you mean to achieve is to keep the O’Driscolls from firing at you.
Are you screaming? You don’t know. But your mouth is hanging open and greedily gasping for air. You follow Sadie into this hell and round the boat house. She’s roaring and besides the blood in the air, you can taste her rage as well. Copper fills your senses and clouds your mind, but you’re focused enough to not get lost in it. Thanks to the adrenaline and the naked fear for your friend.
When you round the house, you’re met with a carnage. Sadie is brawling singlehandedly with three grown men and with just a knife as well. You can’t help but stare in awe at her sheer strength and determination, although cruel and brutal. By the time you notice the fourth man, it’s already too late.
He rips the ground from underneath your feet and you land clumsily in the mud. The falls knocks everything out of your lungs and you writhe in the filth for a few seconds, blinded by the force that hit your spine only moments ago. The man is over you in a heartbeat and you’re briefly distracted by the gleam of his knife.
It reflects the sun straight into your eyes and you move your head in an attempt to see better. Bucking your hips, you try to shove him off somehow, but he has you pinned down with his weight. He’s a massive man. You won’t stand a chance. For a split second, you consider simply giving up and letting him stab you.
But your muscles have developed a mind of their own. You don’t recognize the woman who scoops up a heap of mud and smacks it right into his eyes, nor do you recognize her when she props herself up on her elbows and rams the barrel of her gun into his throat, shooting. Yet it is you throughout it all. The man snaps back as if pulled by an invisible force and blood splatters through the air.
Quickly you jump back up and take aim. The metal quivers in your clammy palms and you watch in horror as his blood seeps into the moist soil. He gurgles, clamping both hands over his throat and you marvel at the fact that he’s somehow still clinging onto life. His eyes find yours, pleading and desperate as if silently begging you for help.
Abandoning the weapon in your hands, you drop down onto your knees besides the dying man and apply pressure to the wound. Blood gushes out through the gaps between both of your fingers, warm and slick. Even when his body goes slack and all light flees from his eyes, you remain frozen in this position, a statue carved into this moment for the rest of time.
“What the hell?”, someone next to you barks and you whirl around.
Remembering the Cattleman, you grab it, surprised that it isn’t slipping through your bloody palm and you point it at the source of the voice. Arthur stands before you, both hands raised in surrender and a wave of nausea rolls over your entire body for almost putting a bullet into his chest.
“Are you all right?”, he asks and you nod, only to quickly shake your head.
“I’m not!”, you snap and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fuck!”
“There’s more on the boats.”, Sadie snarls and you look at her.
Hatred is gleaming in her darkened eyes. Drenched from head to toe in blood, she resembles a Fury. Following her gaze, you could have cried out in frustration. More O’Driscolls are pouring in, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. It reminds you of some of the video games you used to play, where the enemies spanned out of thin air, wave after wave.
Every cell in your body is demanding for you to head back into the house and lay down. Jesus, all you want to do is hide underneath a blanket and sleep forever. Exhaustion is nestled into the very marrow of your bones and you grip your gun to tight that your knuckles are protruding. Sadie is already on the move and you wonder where she’s getting all this energy from and whether she’d be so generous as to lend some of it to you.
“Wait just a second!”, Arthur calls out, but his words fall on deaf ears. “Shit.”
“We have to go with her.”, you say, earning a look of disbelief.
“No, you’ll go back to the others.”
“And leave the two of you to fight out here alone?”, you argue and point at the man you shot and then tried to save. “I think I can handle myself just fine.”
Before he could say anything else, you’re falling into another sprint, surprised at your leg muscles and that they’re still willing to cooperate. After the battle with the O’Driscoll and killing him, you expected them to fold like a pair of lawn chairs. Shaking off the shudder rolling down your spine from the memory of almost getting stabbed and blowing out his windpipe, you press on.
Leaping behind one of the thick trees, you press your back against it and ignore the rough bark scratching up your skin. Hopefully your blouse isn’t tearing up from it. Arthur has been close on your heels the entire time and seeks cover only two feet away from you. Sadie is further up ahead, firing one bullet after another like a human gatling gun.
You don’t want to pull the trigger. Even after raising your body-count up to a three. It’s simply impossible to take a life will full purpose and determination. Those murders had been accidents. As much as ramming a blade into a person’s neck counts as an accident. But the shotgun and the incident earlier were completely out of your control. Or so you’d like to think.
When a bullet buries itself into the trunk you’re cowering behind, you let out a terrified yelp. Now more than ever do you miss the boredom of your old life. How come you didn’t travel back to maybe 2016? Or 2006? Why did you have to end up in the states in 1899 of all places and times? It’s bordering a fucking miracle that you haven’t caught tuberculosis or a bullet by now.
Peeking from behind the tree, you search for Sadie who is still firing away without a break. The shooting only stops when she has to reload her gun. Then from the corner of your eyes, you catch subtle movement. A man is sneaking up to her or you assume so at least, judging by his hunched over form.
Something gleams in his hand, but you can’t make out what exactly it is from this distance. Glancing to your right, you see that Arthur hasn’t noticed the guy yet. Neither has Sadie and you’re not sure whether either of them is going to hear your warning. Bracing yourself for the recoil, you aim and recall Arthur’s lesson.
Forcing out all the air in your lungs, you pull the trigger. An ear piercing peng cuts through the air like the crack of a whip. The force of the shot left your arm trembling and you watch with wide eyes as the O’Driscoll collapses on the spot. Somehow you didn’t believe you actually hit your mark.
As realization of your actions sets in, your knees begin to buckle. The knowledge of having taken a life purposefully crashes into your like a mighty wave. Clasping your free hand over your mouth to stifle the cry that’s tearing from your throat, you tell yourself that it was necessary. That you only did it to save your friend.
An eye for an eye. A life for a life.
It takes a while for you to notice that the gunfire has stopped and that the O’Driscolls are fleeing towards the tree line. As you slump against the tree, you only hear Sadie’s roar of frustration while she chases after them and rapidly shoots. It sounds like she doesn’t want this battle to end at all. You, on the other hand, are more than relieved to be finally out of this.
An arm steadies your form and the revolver is being gently pried out of your iron grip. Only now do you feel the cramp in your fingers from clutching it so tightly.
“Hey, look at me.”, Arthur murmurs and you reluctantly meet his gaze.
You don’t trust your voice enough to speak. Who would have thought that coming face to face with the O’Driscolls again would put you under so much strain? The outlaw’s eyes trail up and down your body, searching for any indicators that you might have gotten injured.
“You should sit down ‘n rest for a minute.”, he says and you manage to remove your hand from your mouth. You swallow.
“We gotta clean this mess up.”
“You don’t.”, he softly argues. “Let the others handle it.”
“Miss Grimshaw needs me.”
“I’ll deal with her.”
“No.”, you forcefully protest and take in a deep breath to steel your nerves. “Arthur, I can handle this. I’ve been riding with you guys for months now. I have to get used to this stuff at some point.”
Something in his face darkens at your words, but you can’t explain what could have possibly triggered this reaction. Were you not right? Should you not be able to get rid of some corpses (some of them your own) if you wanted to continue riding with these people? You killed a few men by now. Your hands are already stained.
“Fine.”, he relents, but you can tell that he’s unhappy with it.
There’s another reason why you want to help clean up the place, but you don’t want to tell him that. Or anyone for that matter. You want to get a good look at every single body to make sure one of them is Colm. You want to see that bastard dead with your own two eyes. Pushing yourself off the trunk, you snatch your revolver out of Arthur’s hand and slide it back into its holster.
Wiping the blood, sweat and filth off your palms, you march over to one of the corpses and stare down at it. When you see that it’s not Colm, you swiftly move on to the other.
---
As it turned out at the end, none of the bodies were Colm O’Driscoll. Just a bunch of fools who believed it right to die in his stead.
“Does that fucker never do his own work or what?”, you had cursed after the fifteenth corpse or so.
“He rarely does.”, Dutch had replied behind you, startling you to your core. “Usually sends out these poor bastards to do his dirty work.”
“Then he’s either lazy or a coward.” Something tells you it’s a mix of both.
Dutch had laughed at your comment, but you couldn’t join the fun. You didn’t even know what exactly had been so hilarious about your words.
“You got that right, Miss.”
Now you’re just moping around the boat house, unable to explain why it drew you to this place when it’s harboring so many unpleasant memories. At least the shame of Arthur’s rejection is being overshadowed by the dead man. Hoo- fucking -ray.
Suddenly the sound of creaking floorboards rips you out of your thoughts and you stiffen. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize the rhythm of the steps or maybe you’ve been spending too much time with the man. It’s no surprise when Arthur rounds the corner and enters your line of sight. Slowly he takes off his hat.
“There you are.”, he mutters and you briefly allow yourself a glimpse at him.
He hasn’t bothered changing his clothes since the ambush. Strange, considering how you hopped into a fresh pair almost immediately just to get rid of the stench and feeling of dried blood. Then again, he’s more used to it. A big part of you is relieved to see that you haven’t grown numb to the violence. Yet.
“Here I am.”, you answer in a low voice and gaze out at the river.
Goddamn those alligators. They could have snatched up those O’Driscolls before they could get here. Rip them straight out of their pathetic, little rowing boats. Awkward silence drags along after your curt exchange of words. Why must it always be so difficult to speak to him?
“Do you want anything from me?”, you ask and flinch at the harshness of your own tone.
You shouldn’t be lashing out at him, yet you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to mind though or at least is doing one hell of a job at hiding it. It seems like he’s willing to soak your wrath up completely.
“Just came to check up on you.”, he answers and simply stands there rather haplessly.
“Well, you’ve seen me now.” When he doesn’t say anything or even move, you lean your forehead against the railing. “Jesus, Arthur.”
“I’m not good at this.”, he admits and you straighten your back.
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Then cut me some slack, goddammit.”, he barks and you laugh.
It tears out of your like a high-pressure hose, ringing through the night. Someone further away might mistake it for the cackle of a coyote. You don’t know why his retort amuses you so, but after only a couple of seconds of this, your body is aching all over. Your stomach is hurting from the strain and your cheeks begin to cramp.
When you meet Arthur’s gaze again, he looks genuinely concerned.
“I’m so sorry.”, you manage to push out through all the snickering. “I don’t know why I’m laughing! I guess- I guess it’s hilarious huh?”
“What is?”
You make a swinging gesture that leads to your arms opening up wide. “All of this! One day I was still home. I was home and now I’m here! I’m killing people. Oh, Arthur.”
Your voice breaks when you say his name and in two long strides, he’s by your side. Leaving his hat on a nearby table, he wraps both arms around your body and you melt against his chest.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”, he coos, so unlike how he normally talks to you.
Usually, it’s all rough and gruff with a sprinkle of aggravation. It’s impossible to tell when he changed, but he did. You don’t even remember the last genuine fight the two of you had.
“It’s not!”, you protest. “I killed a man. Several men.”
One of his hands is on the midpoint of your back, strictly avoiding wandering even an inch lower and crossing that invisible line. The other one is higher up, buried in your neck. His heat seeps into your skin and you welcome it, completely forgetting that you’re supposed to keep your distance to this man.
“I ain’t gonna lie to you know.”, he quietly says. The severity of his voice goes straight into your soul. “It won’t get any better than this. Than now. You’ll have to kill again unless…”
For some reason, the words get choked up in his throat. It’s the strangest noise to hear from someone like him. You didn’t even know that Arthur Morgan could get all choked up.
“Unless what?”, you press and ignore the dread swelling in your voice.
“Unless you leave.”
His words echo inside your head, bouncing off the walls of your skull. It stings to hear him say it, even though it is all you’ve been trying to do since you fell from the sky and onto that mountain. Though who knows if you really fell from the heavens. You could have also simply materialized in the snow, but now is not the time to argue what exactly happened when your memory of that day is still a blur.
Slowly you break out of his embrace and snake your two arms around your own body. Arthur mercifully remains silent. Just a few weeks prior, you would have taken great offense to the suggestion. You’d have believed that it’s his attempt at finally getting rid of you, but his voice is too sincere and his eyes too earnest.
“It’s not as easy as you think.”, you murmur with a hoarse voice.
Although you desperately want to go back home, to leave as he put it, you can’t help but grow a tad defensive. A pang cuts through your chest to know that he wants you to go. Even if his intentions are pure.
“If it’s the money, I can spare some. We got plenty from the bank and once we’re done in Saint Denis, I’ll have more to spare again. So, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”, he rushes to explain and you shake your head. How are you supposed to explain it to him?
My good sir, unless you have a time traveling device in that satchel of yours, I’m not going anywhere.
“It’s not the money.”, you sigh and run a hand over your face. “It won’t make any sense to you, but I literally can’t go anywhere without Francis.”
“What?”
“I don’t expect you to understand or even believe me, but trust me when I say that he’s important. I absolutely have to find him otherwise I’m stuck here.”
You make a wide gesture with both arms to signal what exactly you mean with ‘here’. In his eyes, it must look like you’re talking about Shady Belle or perhaps the gang in general. He has no idea that you mean the 1890s.
“All right.”, he mumbles and thoughtfully runs his fingers along his chin. “I checked the post office when we went to Saint Denis the other day ‘n didn’t get anything from him. I could write another letter tonight ‘n we could send it out tomorrow.”
Hearing that he’s so adamant to help without understanding what’s going on at all makes your heart flutter. Who would have thought that Arthur Morgan out of all people would be the one to support your plans? You’d have laughed at the mere thought just a few weeks ago.
“Thank you. It really means a lot to me.”, you tell him and the corners of your mouth curl up.
“Don’t mention it.”
When he returns your small smile, it feels like something sharp is piercing your chest. You should be overjoyed! So, why aren’t you? Why is your heart lying heavy behind your ribs like a rock? Quickly you shake those feelings off, marking them as nothing more than the fact that you’ve grown too close to the people here.
“Oh, and another thing before you go.”, you call out after he picks up his hat and goes to march off. Somehow you had hoped that he’d stay a bit longer out here with you.
“Yes?”, he asks and glances over his shoulder at you.
When his gaze snaps in place with yours, your knees almost buckle.
“I’d like it if this could stay between just the two of us for now.”
“Nobody else knows?” Do you detect a sliver of hope in his voice?
“No.”
“Of course. I won’t talk.”, he reassures you in a firm tone and a wave of faith washes over you.
i was cleaning up my laptop before i get rid of it and found one very random flaco image just sitting in a folder, it was quite ominous and of course made me think of you lmao
I'm so sorry that it took so long to answer! I've had some busy last few days
I find it so funny that you just had one picture of him and even better that you thought of me lmao
I WAS GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET THE ENTIRE TIME I THINK IT MIGHT BE MY CURRENT FAVORITE CHAPTER OF SET IN SAND
I'm so happy to hear that!!! Especially given that it was one of my favorite chapters to write and now I'm even more excited to show you guys all the other ones I wrote <3
I hope you will agree when I say that it only gets better from this point on lmao
It's amazing to see someone so committed to finishing a fanfic of this length these days, and it honestly warms my heart. I'm glad I found your blog, and very grateful for your hard work. Keep it up, hat!💕
Omg thank you so much! I'm so happy thar you found my blog too and I definitely wouldn't have been able to finish any of my longfics if it wasn't for all the support and kind words from you all <3
