(REQUESTS CLOSED) I write fanfiction and draw fan art! Currently into: Red Dead Redemption 2! (18+ only blog, I write and draw rude stuff sometimes, I'm 24) Links below for my AO3 and Kofi https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorkChop https://ko-fi.com/porkchopaothree
I decided to compile a masterpost for all the chapters of ATINK to make it easier to find for those who prefer reading on here instead of AO3. I’ll be updating as I go.
Relationship: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Van der Linde Gang, Canon-Typical Violence, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Character Death, Fix-It, Eventual Romance, Crimes & Criminals, Hunters & Hunting, Spoilers, POV First Person, First Relationship, No TB
Reader has been a lone wolf for a long time, and intends for it to stay that way. However, she soon realises that having a little company and help from others isn’t so bad.
Should I even acknowledge the huge gap at this point? Once again, my apologies. But there’s officially one chapter left after this one. And this one is a long one, one that’s been in the plan for a LONG time. I hope you’ll enjoy it, even if I feel very rusty writing it!
(All chapters tagged as #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)
Roomy interior with comfortable living quarters.
It turned out that had been slightly oversold on the advertisement, but still, it was an upgrade from the tents Arthur and I had spent the better part of our adult lives living in. I had gone to negotiate with Pete - the owner of the boat - on my own (with Arthur keeping watch from a safe distance the entire time).
I'd met him in the saloon, bought him a beer to sweeten him up, and then rode on the wagon to the San Luis River, where the boat was moored at the end of a little jetty East of Lake Don Julio. As soon as I'd set foot aboard the thing, I had a certain feeling inside me. I'd taken one look at the scratched up wooden floors, the ratty little single bed on the far side wall, and the beat up and blackened stove, and I'd felt far happier than I ought to have been. It had potential. It was private, it had a steam engine, it all worked. It could be a nice little portable home for us, and most importantly, it would keep us off land and away from most of civilization.
Pete was a hard man to negotiate with, and it probably didn't help that I was a woman on my own. He'd made it abundantly clear he'd prefer to speak to my husband. Not that I'd given him a reason to believe I even had a husband. But in the end, I managed to knock the price down a little bit, and then even more when I agreed to exchange it in part for our wagon. We wouldn't have been able to bring it along whilst travelling by boat anyway.
In a matter of hours we finally had a warm and somewhat comfortable shelter to call our home.
The boat as a whole was larger than expected, but it was mostly made up of the deck that surrounded the sunken living quarters. There was plenty of open space outside, at the hull surrounding the tiller, and at the bow. The inside was quite small, just enough space to sleep and prepare food, but certainly bigger than a tent. Luckily the boat was substantial enough that the horses could be tethered up at the front while cruising, and we could let them back onto dry land where we moored.
We wasted no time in heading further along the San Luis River, finding a quiet and secluded spot to moor up for the first few nights. Jet and Rayna were somewhat cautious about setting hoof onto the deck of the boat for the first time, but a few apples and words of encouragement helped smooth out the process, and they didn't seem too phased as the boat began to move. It was certainly a relief.
Over the course of a few weeks we began to make the place feel more like a home. We stopped at small settlements along the river and beyond, gathering the materials we needed to patch up the few holes in the roof, and we managed to squeeze in a second bed, pushed up close to the first one to make our own double bed. With some new stuffing to pad out the mattress and a few blankets, the bed was surprisingly comfortable. And we certainly made the most of our newfound privacy as frequently as we could, especially in that first week, simultaneously testing out the stability and buoyancy of the vessel. It all held up well, we were pleased to note.
Arthur seemed to lift quite a bit in the new living arrangements. I knew he felt more at ease when we were closed off from the world, and far from the roads and towns that put his very freedom at risk. And without all that outside pressure, we began to feel sort of… normal.
We would hunt and forage together, make money by selling pelts and the goods we collected along the way. We'd cook and eat our meals together at our cosy little dining table nestled in the corner of the living quarters. I'd occasionally venture to nearby general stores to buy the things we couldn't forage or make for ourselves, and come home to a kiss and a cuddle in our own little world. On some days, I didn't think about Dutch and our old life at all. Of course, I thought about our friends, and I wondered where they all were. Arthur and I discussed writing letters but we knew it would be too soon and we didn't want to risk alerting the authorities to what we were doing, not since we had finally found a little peace. But we talked about them often, re-living the happier times we had shared together.
Before we knew it months had passed, and we had fallen into a comfortable and happy little routine together. It had taken the better part of those months to shrug off the dreadful feeling of impermanence that had always plagued me before. This creeping sense that in a second everything could change and everything could be taken away from me, and that we were simply living on borrowed time. It was a feeling that I don't even think I realised was present until… it wasn't. Like the way you don't really notice feeling fit and healthy until you get sick, and then suddenly it’s so obvious. Yes, the change was like that, but far more pleasant.
We were moored up somewhere on the outskirts of some town. Honestly I didn't much keep track of where we were or where we were heading these days, it didn't really matter as we’d be moving on in about the time it took to familiarise ourselves with the place. I liked this nomadic lifestyle, I suppose it was a bit reminiscent of how Arthur and I had always lived, only this was a lot more comfortable as the roof over our heads could move with us and didn't need to be disassembled and reassembled every time we settled in a new place. And nowadays it didn't feel like we were on the run, like it did when we moved with the gang. Now it felt like we were exploring the country together.
Arthur had woken up early in the morning, kissed me on the forehead and told me he was heading down the river to fish before the sun came up, he said they always bite better then. He told me he left me something on the table, but not to worry about it until I got up later. In my sleepy haze I hummed my acknowledgement and drifted off to sleep again, until the sun came up.
Getting out of bed, I briefly paused at the washstand to bathe before dressing and tidying my hair for the day. I opened up the hatch leading out to the deck and uncovered the porthole windows to let in some light and air, and peered out to where Rayna was grazing on land. I was pleased with how quickly she and Jet had adapted to our new lifestyle.
I brewed myself a cup of coffee, and with that in hand I turned, noticing a sliver of sunlight casting a line across the wall and cascading onto the table. I remembered what Arthur had said that morning. I approached the table, looking for something out of the ordinary but finding nothing but our salt shaker and Arthur’s journal. I frowned in confusion, touching my fingertips to the worn yet supple leather of the cover. He never left without it, it was always safely tucked away in his satchel, ready for him to pull out for a speedy sketch or a note to record a passing thought.
Is this what he left for me?
I noticed something peeking out from underneath the cover; a tiny yellow buttercup. I lifted up the cover to reveal the flower, I picked it up and rolled the stem between my fingers, spinning it and admiring it from all sides. A curious little smile passed across my face, and my brow furrowed in perplexity. Casting my gaze back down, there was a little note tucked into the first page of the journal; a recent addition judging by the crisp edges of the paper, juxtaposed next to the dog eared-ness of the original first page.
~
I know you’ve always been curious about what nonsense I put in here, and this week I filled up the last page. So I figured today I’d let you spend some time with it to alleviate some boredom while I’m out catching us our dinner.
To my love, yours always, until my heart stops.
Arthur (who else would it be?)
~
Without hesitation, after tucking the buttercup behind my ear I excitedly trotted up the steps - coffee in one hand and journal in the other - and climbed out of the hatch into the daylight. I took a seat at the hull, feet dangling down in the cool water below, and began flicking through the book. A little self-absorbed perhaps, but I skim read things until the first diary entry that mentioned me. I had been waiting for a long time to really get a glimpse into his mind, especially from those early days, and now here was my chance.
~
We have another new guest, I say guest because I'm not entirely sure how long she plans on staying.
It don't matter how far we run, the world only feels smaller and smaller, as this guest happens to be a woman I met a long time ago in Blackwater. I'm yet to figure out if she remembers me, though I suspect she doesn't, given the state I saw her in last. She seems just as independent as I remember, though I suppose she's had to be since the night her brother passed. I hope I didn't scare her with the way I barged into camp, effing and blinding like an angry buffoon. Working for Strauss always puts me in a bad mood.
~
I chuckled a little, smiling at the way he was concerned about the impression he made on me that day. It all seemed like so long ago now, that first time I saw him. Though of course, it wasn’t the first time, and I still flushed over the fact that he remembered me and the way that I acted in Blackwater… so drunk. I continued on quickly.
~
Turns out the new girl is quite the hunter. Charles sent us out together today, and I rather enjoyed myself. We talked a lot and she eventually realised we've met before, she recalled the night in Blackwater, all her behaviour, too. Poor thing looked like she wanted the ground to eat her up, she was so embarrassed. But I found myself enjoying her conversation, she seems to have a good head on her shoulders.
…
I don't know what makes me more of a fool; that I plan on going to see Mary after all these years, or the fact I've somehow roped the new girl into coming with me. I suppose it's for the best, if I go alone, I might just fall in head first all over again. The gang needs me focused, not moping around and licking my wounds when I no doubt mess things up again. Especially since I seem to have forgotten how to properly act around a lady. At Sean's party, a few complimentary words was enough to send my face beet red and render me unable to respond, and that weren't even from Mary.
~
It was so strange reading his thoughts about Mary at the time, before he and I became involved. It almost hurt a little bit, strangely. But I felt a sense of satisfaction from the fact that I was mentioned too. Especially since that night I thought my compliments had been amusing to him, it was so pleasing to read things from his perspective, finally seeing how he really felt.
My heart felt like it doubled in size when I noticed the sketch that adorned the mirroring page; it was me, surrounded by daisies, sitting next to little Jack. I remembered making daisy chains with him, that very same night. I imagined Arthur, after getting flustered by my compliments, proceeding to watch me from afar, jotting my likeness down into his journal. It was dizzying really, I felt like a dog with a bone, grinning from ear to ear and blushing the same as I would if I had known that night.
~
What a day I've had. I went to see Mary, though as I'm writing this I very nearly neglected to mention that part. Something odd is happening, I find myself thinking of a certain someone far too fondly to the point it worries me. The more I look at her the more I notice things about the way she looks, far more than I have any right to. Not only that, every time she comes close to me it unsettles me in a way that is not unpleasant, a feeling I have not experienced in a long time. She hugged me, out of gratitude for helping her retrieve her mare, but I swear my body ain't felt the same since, where hers touched mine. Perhaps I should blame the whiskey.
God help me.
~
Wow, I never realised how soon he started to feel differently about me. The whole time that I was kicking myself, feeling embarrassed about how I was acting, hoping he wouldn't notice my little crush on him… he was feeling the same.
~
Micah was barely back ten minutes before slinging his arm around the new girl, not that I expected any less. She seems to be able to handle herself, though, and I suspect she'll be on her way soon enough if she heeds my warning about the Pinkertons. It ain't that I want her to leave, I just wonder if she should be getting involved with a gang like us. Though, the job she pulled at that woman's house made Dutch smile like he did when Charles brought in his first score, so I reckon he's seeing something in her. Maybe she'll stay after all.
~
Micah. It was funny reading his name and being transported back to a time where he was alive and… somewhat tolerated. After all that had transpired, this all felt like a work of fiction. Hard to digest. And to imagine if I had left after Arthur's warning. Where would I be now? Probably still somewhere barely surviving, having never known happiness like the kind Arthur brought me.
~
Despite the fact that we've moved again, I find myself unable to think of much else but that one moment out in Scarlett Meadows. I made a fool of myself. I lost myself in a moment far sweeter than I deserve and I very nearly took advantage of a young girl's kindness. I almost kissed her. I am embarrassed even as I write this and recall it, I can't bring myself to write her name for if someone happens to read this, I wouldn't want her image sullied by my own foolish urges and inability to control myself. For a moment I thought I was justified but the look on her face said otherwise. It's clear to me that I have read the wrong signals and she sees me for what I am.
Old, lonely, clinging to the idea that there is something out there for me more meaningful than the life I currently lead.
~
My heart hurt a little to read those words. Arthur often spoke so unkindly about himself, but to think he didn't feel like he deserved those sweet moments, or a life with meaning. It genuinely hurt me. I felt like I was reading a story that was not mine, and I found myself racing forward to find the beautiful moment where everything changes. Of course, I was not disappointed.
A few pages ahead, my name was written at the top of the page in large letters of swirling script, underlined twice.
~
Where on earth do I start? I have never been more happy and more terrified in my entire life. Well, perhaps when I found out Eliza was pregnant, but this is a different feeling entirely. I was intending to keep my distance after my mishap in Scarlett Meadows, however when I saw Micah sniffing around I couldn't help myself. She had her first kiss stolen by a man I cannot stand, and while for a moment I wrapped myself up in my own anger, I realised I had to come clean. I told her my intention to kiss her and I apologised. I expected nothing from it, perhaps for her to avoid me more than I had been avoiding her. I know that's what would've been fair. Instead what I got was a profession of feelings of her own.
I have no idea what I have done to garner such attention from a woman as lovely as herself. I know that I do not rightly deserve it, but kissing her felt nothing short of incredible. I haven't kissed anyone in so long, I am not sure if I had just forgotten what it felt like, or if kissing her is an experience that's truly unique. All I know is that doing it again is almost all I can think about. I feel myself fast becoming overwhelmed with affection for this lady, so fast it scares me.
~
I lost count of how many times I read this particular entry, hearing the words in Arthur's voice, reverberating through my mind and heart. I also thought back to our first kiss, the way it lit flames beneath my skin and opened a door to somewhere I had never been and never wanted to return from. I brushed my thumb over my lips, feeling the smooth texture of the skin there. My own thumb felt rough compared to Arthur's mouth, so soft and careful he is when he shows me his affection.
~
We're going hunting again. This time Charles is along with us. I am writing this in my tent just a few steps away from hers, and I wonder if she's as restless as I am. There has been talk of nights alone and promises of more than she has already allowed me to indulge in, and I do not understand my luck, still. At times I struggle to contain myself and I act like a man ruled by something other than his brain, I must remind myself that she is purer than perhaps I ever have been. When we kiss, my head goes blank and all I can focus on is how warm she feels, how soft she is. Everything she does endears her to me more.
Whenever we finally get some peace, I hope I can contain myself enough as to not overwhelm her.
~
A low hum escaped me. To contain himself would be a crying shame, I thought.
~
She is so beautiful. I want to tell her but the words would sound wrong coming from my harsh mouth. We spent last night alone together in an empty cabin we found, our journey back to camp interrupted by a loose horseshoe, almost as if fate was smiling down on us. She's asleep as I write this, wearing my shirt, and I can scarcely pull my eyes away long enough to finish each sentence. I cannot write all the things I want to because if I do, I will no doubt feel the need to tear the page out, as I cannot stand to imagine uninvited eyes reading about our night together. It will remain as secret as our relationship, which for now we have decided will stay between the two of us so we can enjoy it in privacy.
I should probably wake her up so that we can make a move, but how can I when she looks like this?
~
There I was on the page again, sleeping peacefully in that old cabin I remembered so well. That night was the first time we touched in ways I had never been touched by another, and never wanted from anyone but him. Just one night among many where I fell deeper and deeper in love with Arthur.
~
I am recuperating. Laid up in bed for the foreseeable future with a bad arm that I’m lucky to still have, I suppose. O’Driscolls got me, after Dutch got the bright idea to go visit him and make peace. Of course it was all a trap, Colm wanted to lure the whole gang into getting arrested and hanged. I suppose that’s why no one came for me, truth be told I don’t know whether to feel saddened or relieved by that. But in the end, I’m alive, and being attended to by the loveliest nurse I could hope for, and I’m not talking about Miss Grimshaw.
I’m not sure I like her going off with Micah though. I ain’t concerned about her conduct, it’s Micah’s I’m worried about. Apparently he propositioned her at the saloon, he always finds some way to be pig. I suppose she’s trying to see the best in him, though I fear that whatever good she’s seeing just don’t exist.
…
We’ve been on the move again, we’re hunkered down in that old house at Shady Belle. Though last night I slept like a baby at the Hotel Grand in Saint Denis. I’ve never felt so at ease in the city before but I guess that’s down to the company I’ve been keeping these days. And I can’t quite pen the words to describe the kind of evening we spent together, I can only say that I’ll remember and treasure it for as long as I live. She gave herself to me in a way I don’t quite deserve, but such is my bad nature I couldn’t help myself but take it. More and more I feel the urge to change everything, make sure I give her what she deserves in this life. I don’t know if it’s possible but I know if she’s by my side I can find a way to do anything, as long as it’s for her.
~
I could have rolled my eyes at how wrong his words about taking something from me could be, when he gave me such an incredible thing. His touch, his love, it filled me to the brim with a joy I’d never experienced before. Despite his belief that he was the benefactor in all of what we did together, I very much grew and gained in my own way, and I treasured those mutual moments of passion. If only he could be as touched by the good I know is in his heart as I was, maybe he would be kinder to himself.
~
Dutch is really starting to lose it. Or I am, I don’t know anymore. He somehow took issue with my going to Saint Denis for the night, and that has stirred an uncomfortable feeling in me, one I must’ve buried. I can’t help but think about when the O’Driscolls had me swinging in a basement and I crawled my way back to camp half dead. He didn’t seem half as worried back then, as compared to now when I go missing for a few hours doing something for myself, and not to benefit him. I guess it’s not a good comparison to draw, my head’s all over the place these days. I never felt like fighting against Dutch before but something about this situation really had me twitching.
…
I don’t see myself as the type to go schmoozing at the mayor's house, all dressed up to the nines. But I guess these days I can’t rule out anything. Seeing Bill Williamson shoe-horned into a suit and looking like his trousers had fallen out with his feet might have made any discomfort I felt worth it.
~
There was a sketch of me on the opposite page, dressed in an evening gown and gazing up at the sky. Fireworks bursting overhead. The note underneath read;
~
She looked like she belonged there, I must admit. She deserves all the finery in the world.
~
A few pages on there was a portrait of me, and I remembered this one. He’d drawn it at Shady Belle, and I had a matching portrait of his in my own sketchbook from the night we drew together as a distraction. My eyes dropped in search of my neck, and my fingertips traced the pencil marks that suggested a bandage, half done, almost as if he’d changed his mind halfway through adding the detail. My hand then moved to my real neck, seeking out the raised skin in a line across my throat. It had scarred, of course, but not nearly as bad as I thought it would.
~
Things need to change. I thought I’d lost her. O’Driscolls came to the camp, they went after Kieran and she saved his life, almost losing her own in the process. If Charles hadn't been there… I don’t even want to think or write about that. Her neck was cut, luckily not deep. She’s sleeping now, though I’m still wide awake, unable to shake that feeling I got when I saw her, bleeding from the neck, frozen in fear like she was. I thought I was looking at her for the last time.
This ain’t her fault, she don’t deserve any of this. She’s losing her innocence day by day and I need to figure out a way to get her out of this situation. I will not be the reason she misses out on living the rest of her life.
We just need money, and then we’ll be able to start all over again, away from all this mess.
~
I swallowed the heaviness in my throat, and continued on. I read about our date at Charles Châtenay’s art exhibition, about the time we bumped into Mary at the hotel, about Hosea’s passing, and I even read about Arthur’s reflections on his time in Guarma. I saw sketches of exotic birds and lizards, and writings that were a jumbled mess of hopefulness and despair.
~
I never thought I’d get out of that place alive…
Thought I’d never see her again, touch her sweet face, hold her warm body. If my life wasn’t over yet it might as well have been…
I would have given anything to know what she was doing back then. I thought maybe she would’ve left, she’d assume I was dead and do the smart thing, and get herself to safety…
~
His writings were a whirlwind of highs and lows. Self loathing and guilt woven into the pages that followed my burns injury, anger when half the gang turned their eyes at me when Micah claimed I was a rat, satisfaction as he later laid fighting for his life, with his own waste seeping into his bloodstream and dirtying his already polluted heart.
I passed hours by reading that journal, drinking in every emotion he felt, every thought he penned, every memory that we’d shared and more that I never knew he’d gone through.
The passages became shorter, more peaceful after we left. Small snippets about the day to day as we attempted to rebuild after everything that had transpired. I had lived the memories but seeing them in his handwriting through his eyes made them new again. It was bittersweet, the whole thing brought back grief but also pride at how far we’d come and that we made it.
It was a strange feeling when the final unread pages dwindled, thinning out as I got closer to the end. My heart gave a squeeze. It was almost disappointing, knowing I’d have nothing more to read, until it hit me that our story was going to continue. It was up to us to fill more pages. Arthur would need a new journal, and I knew what I was going to do as soon as I closed this one. But first, the final page…
~
The timing feels too perfect, that I’d finish this journal now, when everything has totally changed. I can only hope that the next journal won’t have to document so much heartache. A fresh start for us.
I can’t think of a better way to fill this last page. I have been thinking about this for a while now, and I finally made a plan that feels right. I have a question to ask, but I’ve never been that great with words, I guess that’s why I write in this thing. It’s easier for me to speak my mind when it’s ink on a page. Gives me more time to think things through and get it right.
I want her to see just what she means to me, the way she’s consumed me in the best of ways since the start. Maybe if she reads this for herself, she might see it. Maybe she will see why I want the first entry in a new journal to be about us, our future together. With her by my side as my wife.
~
My blood pounded in my ears, rushing like violent waves lapping at the land, my fingertips turned cold as my body was frozen by shock. And so I read the final sentence in the journal - a question.
~
So what do you say, my angel, will you marry an old fool like me?
Porkchop you lovely person you! I've been reading your works since before and I just wanna say you're absolutely awesome and your works are absolutely beautiful. Have a lovely day/night 🫶🏻
What an unexpected surprise! Thank you so much for that day brightener 🥰❤️
this week has been long and hard so i doodled more Rick Ocs that are my favs. These are from @porkchop-ao3 's fics about their oc british Tailor Rick and their version of the hair stylist rick. Most are not safe for work but i love Tailor's whole story and character development that I go back and reread their stuff all the time.
They have an Ice Cream Rick too who is cute but my fav is Tailor's Charlie Foxtrot story arc which included their depiction of one of the seal team ricks which i've just adopted as canon and have drawn before 😳
I decided to compile a masterpost for all the chapters of ATINK to make it easier to find for those who prefer reading on here instead of AO3. I’ll be updating as I go.
Relationship: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Van der Linde Gang, Canon-Typical Violence, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Character Death, Fix-It, Eventual Romance, Crimes & Criminals, Hunters & Hunting, Spoilers, POV First Person, First Relationship, No TB
Reader has been a lone wolf for a long time, and intends for it to stay that way. However, she soon realises that having a little company and help from others isn’t so bad.
Hey guys! I don't think you were expecting regular updates from me, but it's been over a year and I can't quite believe it. A lot has changed (I'm a married woman now!) and this year has gone so fast. But I'm determined to finish this story. So here's a new chapter (a naughty one hehe). I'm thinking there's only one or maybe two chapters to go :) it's all planned out, just gotta write it!
(All chapters tagged as #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)
A number of weeks had passed since everybody went their separate ways. Arthur and I had made it to the remote and desolate wilderness of New Austin. We moved from place to place each day, always out in the middle of nowhere, sleeping with the armadillos and the iguanas, and even on one occasion coming face to face with a panther. That was a moment during which I'd caught myself beginning to miss the days of living in a camp with a dozen other people, always someone on guard to protect from not only human intruders but also those from nature.
Waking up to a panther sniffing at the wagon and making off with a day's worth of freshly hunted goat meat was exactly the push we needed to find a better arrangement for storing our meat overnight. We were lucky, the animal didn't seem all that interested in us, only casting a glance at us when it realised we were watching it, frozen on our bed rolls, Arthur with his gun trained on the thing and ready to shoot. He would've done so if it hadn't immediately ran away, and we realised it was probably a youngster. Had it been an adult, it might have preferred its dinner warm and still with a pulse. Yes, we were very lucky indeed.
Life in the desert certainly wasn't fun. I think I preferred the muggy, soggy swamp, alligators and all. But maybe I was biased, touched with some kind of nostalgia for my childhood, which made those gloomy conditions seem somewhat comforting. Especially in comparison to the sharp and unwelcome atmosphere I tended to get from the desert, sharp in very much a physical sense as well as metaphorical; everything was sharp. From the unrelenting brightness of the sun which assaulted my eyes, to the scratch of the cacti each time I unknowingly brushed up against one or found a stray needle in my bedroll.
But then there was the evenings, when the sun was setting and the temperature dropped, and the sounds of the place came alive. Insects chirping all around from every direction, birds of all sizes and kinds flying overhead, calling out to one another as they prepared to find a spot to roost for the night, and the quiet whistle of the wind whipping through the dry grass and across the arid land. There was something, dare I say, peaceful about it.
There was definitely a love-hate relationship between the desert and I. I hadn't spent much time there at all in my life; I'd visited a few times as a child – my mother had cousins living nearby, though all since long dead – and of course I had been in Blackwater when my brother passed. I never liked it much as a child, and that didn't change much as I aged. But now? The desert became paired with a new association. One of freedom. Of course, I still couldn't say I enjoyed being there, but I enjoyed being away from everything the East had put us through. It felt like a fresh beginning.
So, Arthur and I spent our days in the wilderness, staying mostly out of the way of other people. Most days we didn't see another soul besides the animals, and those certainly felt more abundant than they had anywhere else. However, I figured it felt so just because there were less places for them to hide.
When I did see other people, it was when I headed into Armadillo to visit the store, where I'd buy supplies for us. I didn't speak more than necessary and always kept my head down, I was alone, with Arthur needing to stay out of sight in case someone recognised him. It was the second time I went there that something caught my eye in the store. A little notice pinned to the wall by the door. It read:
FOR SALE. Seaworthy steamboat. Roomy interior with comfortable living quarters. For information ask for Pete at saloon.
It was a simple poster with a hastily yet nicely drawn sketch of a long steamboat with a raised interior section protruding from the deck. I paused on the way out of the store to inspect it, leaning in and narrowing my eyes. A flicker of interest lit up my chest and I considered things for a moment. A boat. A boat with living quarters? How convenient, I thought. Perhaps it was a ridiculous idea, and I was just influenced by my slowly building desire to get away from the desert.
Or perhaps it was genius?
I left the store with my groceries and headed back out of the settlement of Armadillo to meet with Arthur, who was waiting by our wagon. When I arrived I loaded the things I had bought into the back of the wagon, and floated the idea out there.
"How'd you feel about boats?" I asked.
"Boats?" Arthur scoffed. "I think I recall telling you I'd never set foot on one again, after Blackwater, that poker job in Saint Denis, Guarma…" he laughed, snapping me back to reality. Oh yeah… I remembered his words from what seemed a lifetime ago now. Every time I set foot on a boat, at best I get wet and at worst I almost die.
"Oh, right," I nodded, tutting to myself. I climbed up onto the wagon beside Arthur, and noticed he was looking at me, waiting.
"Why?" He eventually asked.
"It don't matter," I told him, chuckling dismissively.
"Must've mattered a minute ago, was the first thing you said to me when you came back," he said. I shrugged my shoulders.
"No, I just saw there's one for sale nearby. Apparently it has living quarters inside, I wondered if it would be good for us but you're right, you were never that lucky when it comes to boats," I explained.
Arthur kept looking at me, his brow furrowed in thought. "How much?"
"It didn't say, but there's a feller named Pete apparently, frequents the saloon."
"Hm," he grunted, before letting it go. Then we headed off, back into the empty wilderness.
–
Just a few long days later, there was an incident. One that shook us up and reminded us of just how many ears the tales of Arthur and Dutch's Boys' crimes had reached.
We had moved further west, towards the little town of Tumbleweed. I remembered the place from my childhood, during the times I had visited family nearby; it had been a lot more substantial back then, bustling with new business and new inhabitants, it seemed it would become quite the hub of the West. But in the subsequent years, the success of Armadillo was becoming increasingly noticeable in the downfall of Tumbleweed. Businesses and people moved out, passers by rarely looked twice, what remained was a small collection of stragglers who refused to stop beating the dead horse it embodied. It was becoming a mere smudge on the map and so we figured Arthur might not be recognised there.
We both desperately needed to bathe and buy a fresh set of clothes, since the harsh days in the desert – and even less access than usual to clean water to wash them – had taken its toll on the small amount of clothes we had. So we stopped by the general store and chose from their small range of clothing and paid their up-marked prices without complaint, and without incident. The saloon seemed like our most promising hope for a place to take a bath, and so we headed there next to enquire.
There was no bath, unfortunately. There was however a gentleman who recognised Arthur, even less fortunately. He was reasonable enough not to shout it on sight and instead waited until we were outside, heading back to the wagon. He followed us, confronted us, and shortly after was laid to rest somewhere North of Gaptooth Ridge.
Arthur had been quiet for hours after that. He'd shot the man point blank in the chest with very little hesitation, but I could see from his tight, grim expression that lingered well into the evening that he was chewing over the guilt. I let him have his time before I mentioned it over the campfire that night.
"You okay?" I asked him, and he merely grunted. "Arthur."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say. You shouldn't have seen that, today."
"I've seen worse," I scoffed.
"But all this talk, all this crap about changing and doing the right thing from here on out. Didn't exactly last long, did it?" He rumbled, his voice almost just a vibration that reached my thudding heart before my ears.
"That's different."
"How?"
"You weren't left with much of a choice."
"You sure?"
I sighed and rolled up onto my knees and shuffled towards him on the bedroll we were sitting side by side on, below the stars. "I'm sure. He'd have gone and told somebody and then the law would know we're out here, and we'd be up shit creek without a paddle faster than you could've pulled your pistol if you'd hesitated for a second longer."
"Or I could've paid him off, threatened him, I don't know," he grumbled, shaking his head. I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him to look at me.
"But why take the risk?" I asked.
"So I wouldn't have to kill another innocent person," he met my eyes and they were pained. I leaned down and kissed his forehead.
"Okay," I accepted, "but he knew who you were, what he was getting himself into when he confronted us alone. It weren't too bright of him. He could've kept his mouth shut and ran to the Sheriff. At least now we know he took it to the grave."
Arthur didn't say anything, he dropped his eyes to my chest and kept them fixed there.
"The other day you were telling me to let go of guilt, to not beat myself up. You should take your own advice sweetheart," I told him, cupping his cheek in my hand and stroking the highest plane of his cheekbone with my thumb. He closed his eyes and softened, his lips parting just slightly.
I pressed my lips to his and he jumped, not expecting it, but he responded quickly. His hands reached for my waist and he turned to me more, facing my body completely. He broke the kiss just for a moment, his breath sucking in quickly and sharply in realisation.
"Let's buy that boat," he whispered.
"Seriously?" I questioned, and he pulled me back to kiss me again, his hands insistently gripping my waist like he wanted something he was too afraid to ask for. I climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips
"Seriously," he affirmed. "Might finally feel like we have a home."
"But you hate boats," I huffed a laugh.
"Not as much as I hate all this looking over our shoulders," he said.
"Right," I breathed, nodding as I kissed his forehead. He tilted his head up and connected our lips again, kissing me for a few short moments before I felt the warm press of his tongue against the seal of my lips. I eased, letting him run the wet tip along the underside of my upper lip so lightly it tickled. Then I heard a needy whine escape him, his hands squeezing hard into my hips urging me to put my full weight onto him, and I felt his desire firm between my legs.
It'd been a while since we made love. Our circumstances had hardly been ideal for it, but I'd noticed in Arthur's demeanour that he had wanted to, in the press of his hips into my backside when we laid side by side in our bedrolls. He'd stay there for a few moments until he got hard, and then he'd roll back. I knew he wouldn't ask me for it out in the open, he wouldn't want to take the risk of anyone seeing. Our tent was buried somewhere in the wagon, an oversight during packing, and frankly we'd been too lazy to dig it out.
I regretted that now, as he kissed me, unashamedly showing me his desire in the rough and hungry way his lips worked against mine, and the tight grip of his hands on the soft flesh of my hips.
Suddenly, with the buildup of my own arousal reaching a precipice, I didn't care who saw.
"Let's do it," I whispered harshly against his lips.
"Wha- here?" He balked, hesitancy in his actions as he readied to peel himself away from me. I ground myself against him to stop him.
"Do you wanna?" I asked.
"If someone sees–"
"No one's gonna see," I giggled, lifting my skirt and shifting it out of the way. I took his hand from my hip and guided it down, slipping it through the layers of fabric until it reached me. His fingers cascaded over the slickness, between the folds, sinking inside. He shuddered out a sigh and nipped at my jaw and my neck.
"I wanna," he breathed, rocking his fingers inside me, closing his eyes as he imagined something else disappearing inside the warmth.
He pushed them deeper, finding my favourite spot with practiced ease, rubbing it until my breath became laboured.
"I missed this feeling," he told me, "you feel like heaven, I imagine."
"You imagine," I repeated, puzzled by his choice of words.
"Well I ain't got much chance of seeing the real thing, so I figure I'm getting my taste of heaven here on earth now," he chuckled, his voice a honey smooth buzz clouded with lust.
I reached between his legs too, unbuttoning his jeans and the lower part of his union suit until his stiff length sprang free, the tip already glistening, having left a wet spot on the new clothes we'd bought just that morning. I took him into my hand, coating my palm with the slick and using it to lubricate my strokes.
Every tense muscle in his body seemed to ease at my touch, his shoulders sagging and his ministrations on me temporarily stuttering. I smirked a little, rocking my hips to bring his attention back. His eyes flashed open, cheeks flushing as his fingers restarted their dance inside me; it was short-lived, however, and he withdrew them. I was feeling deprived for less than a second before I realised they were heading for his mouth. He tasted me.
"I'm gonna need a little more of that," he rumbled, wrapping his arms around me and rocking back, then forth; the momentum rolling him onto his knees and me onto my back.
He flipped my skirt up and buried himself underneath, keeping my body hidden from the world so he was in a little one man tent. I laughed, dropping my head back against the bedroll, jumping and gasping when wet heat engulfed my nether regions. His tongue explored, circling my most sensitive spot before moving down, slipping just inside my entrance. I moaned quietly, my fingers clawing into the fabric of my skirt wishing they could tangle in his hair instead.
I squirmed on the bedroll, tilting my hips and pressing against his mouth, and he encouraged my motions with a moan that vibrated through me. But it wasn't long until the emptiness felt unbearable and the desire to have him inside me was more of a need.
And I told him so. "Arthur, I need it."
He reappeared from underneath my skirt, his lips glistening and hair tousled.
"You need it, huh?" He repeated, his smile growing. He glanced around and pushed my skirt up when he was satisfied the coast was clear.
"I need it," I reiterated with a nod, twitching as I felt his thumbs move to my folds, parting them as he looked down to admire the view. I looked down at his cock, twitching and leaking where it jutted out from his clothes. I imagined how the round head of it would feel pressed up against my entrance, pushing forward until my body yielded, letting him in. An involuntary whine left me.
"Now," I'd never sounded so demanding, and it caught us both by surprise.
"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, sitting back on his heels and picking my hips up, dragging me closer to him down the bedroll until my hips were raised onto his thighs.
My hand wrapped around his length and I helped guide him, rubbing the head of it against me, revelling in the hot firmness. I savoured it as he nudged my opening, and let him press forward slowly so I felt every single inch. We sighed in unison as I took him deep, until our pelvises were flush.
"Lord have mercy," he murmured, his face slack, almost comical. He pulled back slowly, and rocked back in quickly. It sent fireworks into my lower belly, and he repeated that slow-fast motion a number of times, the slow part becoming faster and faster until his rhythm settled into a quick one that wasn't gentle. Gentle wouldn't cut it then for either of us.
I let my knees fall apart and he caught my legs, his palms cupping the crooks of my knees as he bounced me back and forth, his cock drilling in and out of me in a way that was so satisfying, it was like drinking a tall glass of cold water on a hot day. My eyes practically rolled back in their sockets and I moaned his name, my head dropping back on the bedroll.
Arthur's eyes darted from between my legs, to my face, to our surroundings. He was never one to let his guard down completely and I allowed myself to let go and put my trust entirely in him. I didn't think about where we were, our vulnerable position out in the open. I just focused on the pleasure, the slick and rhythmic motion as he entered and re-entered, pressing something deep inside me.
My hands found their way to his knees, and I held onto them for support behind my hips, squeezing my fingertips into his thighs. My touch encouraged him, he fucked harder, and the angle of my body changed. Disoriented for just a moment, my calves ended up on his shoulders, his face peeking out between them as he wrapped his arms around my legs and shifted upwards. His cock was tilted forwards, pressing the most sensitive spot inside me. His arms squeezed my thighs tightly together and it changed the nature of the pleasure, it felt even nicer this way, and I knew he'd undo me quickly.
I wondered how it would feel to have him burst inside me, filling me with what he usually painted my stomach with. I wondered if it would feel good; hot and satisfying, adding to the slick, or if I'd notice at all until he pulled out and allowed it to drip from me. I imagined him failing to stop in time, losing himself in a way that Arthur never does, and chasing his orgasm unthinkingly, spilling into me before even realising what he was doing. The mental image did things to me that surprised me and made me gaze into his face, imagining it over and over, almost willing it to happen. Now I was losing myself.
My orgasm built off of that image and I didn't try to stop it, didn't try to make things last any longer, I let it take over. I felt it, really felt it in an all-consuming way, my heart racing as I climbed to that precipice, and crying out involuntarily as I leapt off of it. My goodness, it felt good.
"I'm coming!" I gasped out, a plea for him to keep going, never stop. Arthur obliged, turning his head and pressing kisses into my inner leg, dancing his lips across my scars as I enjoyed him.
Shortly after my come down, Arthur pulled out, rubbing his cock between my thighs with that unchanging rhythm, and released with a grunt. It was powerful, shooting past my shoulder and partially onto my face, which prompted him to pull back harshly and soil my inner thighs with the rest. I giggled in surprise.
"Shit, I'm sorry Princess," he huffed and puffed, shakily releasing my legs down either side of him and leaning forwards, thumbing away the gift he'd bestowed upon my cheek. I caught his hand, and tongued his fingertip to clean it away. He kissed me roughly, lips pinching mine between them and pulling, sucking until they tingled. It was like he wanted to devour me.
"It's okay," I chuckled when he let me speak.
"That was an accident, I didn't expect it to shoot that far," he apologised.
"Me neither," I smirked, cupping his face in my hands.
"Should'a known, it's been a while," he breathed, leaning back and looking down. He tutted at the state of himself, his trousers stained by what he'd left on my thighs. "Jesus," he said, humour clear in his eyes.
"We need a place where we can do this without ruining our clothes," I noted.
Long time no post, but please know that I HAVE been working on ATINK, if anyone is still interested in that. A new chapter is in the works and I am thisssss 🤏 close to wrapping the whole story up. The horrifying realisation that it's been in the making for like five years. My sincerest apologies 😂
When people comment negatively on my fan fictions, I have to admit, it bothers me way more than it should. When I'm writing a story, when I'm really in the thick of it, it becomes a part of me in a way. I think about it constantly, planning, daydreaming, weaving the plot together, almost like I'm half-way living in that world. I pour a lot of myself and my energy into writing it and it's purely done out of passion. It becomes very personal, so criticism of it, no matter how well meaning it may be, feels very personal. And that's why, if ever I'm reading someone else's story, and I come across a part I don't like, I make sure I go down to the comments and tell the person who wrote it so that they can feel what I feel— oh wait, sorry, no I don't. I keep my mouth shut and move on with my life because I'm not a paying customer and they don't owe me anything, not even the time it takes to read my comment that's only going to make them feel bad.
Anyone else feel this way? I know I should shrug it off and I'm sure people will say "don't share your work if you're not open to criticism" but whatever, it genuinely does really bother me, way more than I'd like.
I was tagged by @wintersongstress and I got a fair few 😂 I'm prettyyyy sure I've rpd online at some point, I have a vague recollection, but I don't remember well enough to confidently circle that one lol. If I've ever rpd with you let me know because for some reason my memory has gone blank 🤦🏼♀️
I'll tag @hoodoo12 @rixxy8173571m3w1p3 if you guys haven't done it already 😊
I decided to compile a masterpost for all the chapters of ATINK to make it easier to find for those who prefer reading on here instead of AO3. I’ll be updating as I go.
Relationship: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Van der Linde Gang, Canon-Typical Violence, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Character Death, Fix-It, Eventual Romance, Crimes & Criminals, Hunters & Hunting, Spoilers, POV First Person, First Relationship, No TB
Reader has been a lone wolf for a long time, and intends for it to stay that way. However, she soon realises that having a little company and help from others isn’t so bad.
Here I come to give you another chapter before disappearing off the face of the earth again!
(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)
We'd been travelling through the night. Neither of us had slept in over twenty-four hours but it didn't matter, we just needed to create distance, and figure out exactly what to do. Our best plan was to head west and hope things had calmed down enough since Blackwater, there was no guarantee of course, but that was better than heading in literally any other direction. We weren't fit to survive out in the freezing cold of the Northern mountains, just the two of us, it was way too risky in the East, what with everything that had happened there, with how many people were after us.
So we kept riding, our horses pulling a wagon which Arthur and I sat atop; it was full of all our things, just like every other time we'd been on the move. Only this time, it was just the two of us. We'd all gone our separate ways, parting with haste below the light of a full moon, saying goodbyes that were far too hasty, though necessary. And most importantly, not forever. That's what we all kept saying, at least. I hoped it would be true.
-
"You ready?" Sadie asked me, approaching with a sorrowful aura that I hadn't seen since I first joined the gang, when she'd been fresh from the hell of what happened to her and her husband out in the snow.
"I guess so. Just waiting for Arthur. What about y'all?" I replied, and followed her gaze to where she cast it towards John and Abigail; who'd packed so little that it fit into saddlebags, just the same as Sadie. They had to pack light, where they were heading.
"Yeah, we're ready," she nodded, then sighed. "It's been real nice knowing you, it's been quite a ride, huh?"
"Yes it has," I chuckled quietly, then stepped closer, into the arms she immediately opened for me. I squeezed her tight, rubbing her back as she patted mine. "We'll write each other, you know what to do."
"Of course," she nodded, pulling back and smiling at me. Her eyes shined.
We'd all discussed a plan to keep in touch. We'd all have mail sent to Strawberry under various alias' and have them forwarded to wherever we found ourselves settling, once the timing was right. None of us knew when the timing would be as such, it could be years. But it'd happen eventually. We'd all been through far too much to part ways and become mere memories in each others' minds.
John and Abigail approached then, with Jack propped on Abigail's hip, his sleeping head resting on her shoulder.
"Arthur's coming," John said, nodding towards the road behind me, and I turned to see him and Jet emerging from the distance, cast in blue light from the moon. I took a shaky breath and quickly turned to John. He hadn't said much when Sadie and I arrived back at the camp and informed everyone of what had happened. He and Lenny hadn't been around when Dutch had died, and he seemed to remain in a state of disbelief from the moment we described the incident.
I still felt incredibly guilty.
"How're you feeling?" I asked them both. Abigail shook her head, as if to say that she didn't know, and I could understand. I was numb besides guilt.
"Lucky to be alive, after everything," John said frankly, exhaling a small, empty laugh.
"And what about what happened… you know–"
"About Dutch?" John cut me off, getting straight to the point. I nodded. "Well, it was gonna happen some way or another. I sort of wish I could've been there to see it, to see how he finally got taken out."
"You ain't mad?"
"Mad?"
"Well I know we ain't all been his biggest fans just lately but, he was still someone important to y'all," I mused, glancing back and forth between Abigail and John.
"He was as good as dead to me already. He would've killed one of us if he had the chance, I'm willing to bet money on that. He went so wrong, got totally twisted, he weren't the man I used to respect no more. I don't know if he ever could'a come back from it neither," John explained, glancing at Jack, "besides, there's far more important folk in my life who didn't leave me to rot in a jail, and people who gotta depend on me now. I couldn't go on like this and still have anything to do with that man. I guess it's… maybe it's better like this."
Abigail nodded in agreement, kissing Jack's forehead.
"I just can't believe after all he did, this is what finally did him in," she scoffed, shaking her head. "A damn horse."
"My only regret is we couldn't take his ass in to claim his bounty," Sadie snorted, trampling through any trace of delicacy in the conversation up until then. My lips parted, unsure of how to respond, and the others also remained silent for a few painful seconds. "Little bit too far?" Sadie questioned.
John allowed himself to laugh and shook his head. "Maybe a little further than I'd dare take it, but I can't hold it against you," he admitted, patting her shoulder.
Arthur arrived then, swinging his leg over to dismount and heading immediately our way. He glanced between the four of us, assessing the mood, and it was Abigail who spoke first.
"How're you doin' Arthur?"
"Well I'm about as alright as the rest of you I'm guessing, this ain't exactly how I expected things to go today when I rode out to them oil fields," he said distractedly, hands going to his hips. "I uh… I buried him. Took him out to the Cumberland Forest, figured it was a quiet enough spot, didn't wanna hang around for too long."
"You did a good thing Arthur, burying him after what happened," I told him, and when he met my eyes he seemed to not believe me.
"I wouldn't say it was a good thing, I just dug a whole in the ground and put him in it, I didn't say no words or prayers for him. What I did was the bare minimum. Anyway, we're ready?" He said, rolling straight into the next topic, not hovering around Dutch any longer. I swallowed down the nauseous feeling it gave me and nodded.
"We're ready."
"You folks are leaving?" A new voice spoke, and we turned to see Lenny approaching, Miss Grimshaw by his side.
"I guess so," John nodded.
"Mr. Morgan, I tried to stop her from going to those oil fields but she wouldn't hear sense–" Susan began but Arthur just shook his head, lifting his hand dismissively.
"It don't matter now," he said.
"I can't believe he's really gone," she said, shaking her head, her eyes full of pain. I understood that Susan had maintained a somewhat positive relationship with Dutch up until the end, only really seeing him for who he was in the clarity after Micah's demise. No matter how angry she was with him though, it was clear she would mourn for him. And perhaps even Arthur would; all those years of loyalty, they wouldn't exist free of emotion even after all that had happened.
Nobody said anything in response to Susan's statement, there were just a few shared glances and a long stretch of silence.
"Lenny, you got everything you need?" Arthur finally asked.
"I think so, all that's left is to shake all of y'all's hands," he said.
"You ain't going anywhere with just a handshake, kid," Arthur responded, and waved him in for a hug, patting him firmly on the back as he chuckled. "You take care of yourself, stay out of trouble. Make something of yourself, I know you will," he added.
"I'll do my best," Lenny chuckled. "I've had enough trouble to last me a hundred lifetimes."
They parted and Lenny proceeded to hug the rest of the group, giving John, Abigail and Jack one big collective hug before moving onto the others, and finally myself.
"Don't be a stranger, keep in touch," I told him. "I wanna hear all about Washington."
"I gotta get there first," he chuckled, and despite his obvious skepticism over the path he'd decided to take, there was a vibrancy in his eyes that assured me that he would be alright. He was a smart kid, with what he was willing to put in I was confident he would find a way to land on his feet.
"Safe travels, Lenny," I told him as we broke apart from our embrace.
"And to you."
"I don't wanna see no more about you in the papers Mr. Morgan, alright?" Miss Grimshaw barged forward, wagging a finger before pressing forward into Arthur's chest and open arms.
"I'll do my best," he promised.
"Yes you will, this is over now, 'cause I said so," she said, then turned to me for a hug.
"And you look after him, you hear?" She told me, and I laughed.
"I thought he was supposed to look after me," I teased.
"We both know what these men are like," she muttered playfully, then said her goodbyes to the others. Arthur sidled up to me, his fingers hooking subtly with mine where our arms dangled abreast, just our pinkies entwined.
Saying our final goodbyes, I hugged Abigail, kissing Jack's temple before I pulled away, and finally John. I felt my emotions rise dangerously close to the surface, and I knew I would cry if I gave even a little bit of slack to the rope I was keeping them tightly bound by. I took a deep, slow breath as John and I parted ways.
"It's been real nice knowing you," he said, in that hoarse voice of his that still managed softness in times like these. I scoffed out a laugh that loosened my control enough to fill my eyes with tears, though they didn't quite spill.
"What happened to keeping in touch, John?" I balked, noticing that I wasn't the only one taken aback by his comment. He grimaced and laughed, shaking his head.
"That ain't what I meant, shit, 'course we will. It's just a, uh, an expression," he back-pedalled, knocking a knuckle beneath my chin. "Been nice living alongside you, then. That better?"
"I suppose," I smirked.
Then there was a pause. We all looked amongst each other, lips arched into sad smiles, until we couldn't delay any longer. Things were too dangerous, we had no idea who could be coming for us, if anybody. At this point, our bodies were tired and we couldn't afford to fight anymore. We had to move on.
And so we did. And that was that.
-
I sighed as I went in circles reliving those moments in my mind, adjusting my position on the wagon seat by rolling onto my other hip. My backside was completely numb and probably bruised at this point from the bumpy road and the unforgiving wood. My new position put me close to Arthur, and he looked at me, gathering both reins into one hand and then the other, stretching out each of his sore palms.
"Want me to take over?" I asked. He must've been in control for the past couple of hours and it was probably my turn again by then.
"No princess, I'm okay. Besides, it gives me something to focus on," he said.
I planted my hand on his knee, rubbing it softly in circles.
"You ain't said much for a while," I noted.
"Neither have you," he retorted, though it wasn't with any sort of abrasiveness, there was a vague impression of a smile rising the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah you're right."
"I guess I'm just exhausted. I'm sure we'll talk about what happened eventually, and I ain't exactly avoiding it. I just…" he paused to sigh, "I ain't got the energy."
"That's okay," I told him, squeezing his knee once.
"We'll be able to stop soon I reckon. We're past Strawberry, headed towards the Great Plains. It's a little closer to Blackwater than I'd like but I fancy getting too close to Tall Trees even less. Some nasty folk been hanging 'round there lately I heard. I'd rather take my chances with lawmen than the Skinner Brothers."
"Yeah we should stop," I agreed, suddenly feeling the fatigue hit me once the idea of stopping to rest was planted in my mind.
We rode for another hour or so, and it must've been something like two or three in the morning when we finally stopped. We picked a remote location on the plains, by some trees, simply for a focal point so we didn't feel so exposed. There was no chance of us building a proper camp with a tent, so we just rolled out our bedrolls side by side and made a small fire to bring us some comfort as we ate canned peas to fill our bellies.
Once again, there were few words shared between us. We were both so bone-weary that neither of us even attempted conversation. Small talk felt pointless and anything else was far too heavy for either of us to bear the weight of just then. Instead, we finished our peas and laid down under the stars, pistols under our pillows. Arthur curled his body around mine from behind, settling me close to his chest in a protective embrace that made falling asleep that much easier. Though, my body didn't have it in it to put up much of a fight against the rest it so desperately needed.
-
We slept well into the afternoon and wasted no time in getting moving again once we rose and realised the time. We stopped by Manzanita Post, where we stocked up on some food a little more substantial than peas and had ourselves a proper meal with bread and meat kindly shared with us by an elderly hunter. The man could barely walk with a left foot almost entirely consumed by a wolf back in '78 – he'd told us the story twice in the time it took us to eat, bless his soul – but he could still hunt. Full and feeling much brighter than we had in days, we set off again.
Moving through the Great Plains, the air felt dryer here and it was a noticeable change after so long in the soupy climate of the Bayou. Though with the sun beating down on us, dampening our clothing with sweat and reddening Arthur's skin despite his hat providing a little shade, I suggested we stop for a while to cool off. Arthur agreed, and we took a rest beside the rapid, choppy waters of the Lower Montana River.
As we sat by the water's edge, enjoying a breeze and some shade from the trees, I realised that the events that had occurred in the oil fields felt just far enough away that discussing it felt doable. I brought it up, unable to hold my tongue as the questions chewed my mind to mush.
"Can I ask something?" I began, prompting Arthur to look at me from his seat beside me on the soft ground, moist from the splashing of the river, "about what happened at the oil fields."
"Go ahead," he nodded, not at all seeming surprised by my curiosity.
"Do you believe that Dutch would've left us be, had things gone differently?"
"Well, for a moment I did. I thought I could talk at least enough sense into him to achieve a ceasefire," he started, speaking through a deep exhale, "maybe I did. Maybe he would've kept his word."
He went quiet for a while, pondering his answer. Just when I thought he was done speaking, he continued.
"But he left me for dead. I saw what he did, and I ain't so dumb as to not realise he would've been glad someone else off'ed me."
"But if you think he wanted you dead, why would you go in there alone, without Charles or nobody?"
"I didn't think he'd have the guts to try and kill me on his own, I figured I'd be safe enough and I didn't want anyone else there making him feel cornered. But I know Dutch, he can't function without a gang behind him," he answered, and I shifted my gaze to Rayna who a little ways up the river from up, drinking and enjoying the shade; and I pictured Dutch's lifeless, bloodied face again. "He'll build up his numbers soon enough, and when he does–"
He faltered, seeming to remember something.
"If he was alive," he said, his voice strange. So that was the something he remembered… "He probably would've come for me when he could have his circus do his dirty work."
The silence that followed stretched on long enough that I thought the conversation was over, once again. But Arthur looked at me again, and took a breath.
"So no, to answer your question I suppose deep down I don't believe he would've left us be. But I was raised by him. I guess that makes me just as yellow bellied as him, and I couldn't kill him either. Not unless I was protecting you," he gestured to me with an open palm, "and thankfully he never had the chance to put me in that position."
"You ain't yellow bellied," I assured him, "far from it. Ain't many people who could come out the other end of what you've been through with any semblance of sanity. And a yellow bellied man would have shot him in the back without thinking twice. You gave him a chance to do the right thing, at least."
Arthur took a breath and rose to his feet, taking a few steps forward and crouching by the river. He cupped his hands in the stream, and splashed his face with the cool water. When he was done, he addressed me from over his shoulder, some tension leaving his stance.
"Thank you, sweetheart, you've always had a way of making me feel less of a monster. I ain't sure it's true, but I appreciate you for it," he said.
"You're far from a monster, Arthur."
He inhaled audibly and raised a shoulder almost in dismissal, but he clearly didn't want to argue or press the topic further. I got up as well and closed the gap between us, crouching down beside him. I ran my fingers through the damp strands of hair on his forehead. When I met his eyes again, he was looking at my lips; and I took that as my cue to lean in and kiss him once, simply and sweetly.
"I'm sorry for how things ended. I could tell myself it weren't my fault and that it was just an accident 'till I'm blue in the face, but the truth is; my actions caused it," I said, looking him in the eye. I didn't allow myself to shy away from him.
"You could also spend your life blaming yourself. But you never meant for him to die. I know that, you know that, everyone who was there knows it too. I don't feel like I need to say this, but I know you need to hear it," he said, then took my hand and squeezed it, "you're forgiven."
His words surprised me, those last ones in particular. I knew Arthur didn't blame me but I wanted to own up to what I had done; I wasn't seeking absolution. I didn't even realise for myself what I needed, but he had given it to me. Forgiveness.
He kept hold of my hand and rose up, pulling me up with him. He then held both of my hands in his, looking down at them.
"And I hope you'll forgive yourself. Because we all lose ourselves sometimes. Something happens and we're hurt, we let our feelings rule us, things get out of hand. That's what happened yesterday, and you weren't the only one there, I didn't stop you because I was hurt too," Arthur continued, and I simply listened to his wisdom, soaking it in, always eager to hear when he spoke at length; he was a smart man and nobody gave him enough credit for that. "What's done is done, ain't no amount of guilt is gonna bring him back, just like it ain't gonna stop me from ever living most of my life following him around and doing all manner of unspeakable things. So we just gotta do our best from here on out, okay?"
"Okay," I nodded.
"We've got a chance, now. It won't be easy, there's plenty of folk still out for my neck and I can't make that disappear, and I'm sorry for that, princess, truly I am," he finally met my eyes then, his looking like shimmering pools, brimming with remorse. "For now all I can give you is my loyalty, and all we've got is each other. So if you're willing to accept me the way I am, after all I've done, you ain't got no excuse for beating yourself up."
I nodded slowly, considering the logic behind his words that was inescapable. I didn't want a free pass for what I had done, and he hadn't given me that. But what he had given me, was enough reason for me to swallow down my pity and accept it for what it was; Dutch was dead and I'd played a hand in that, intentionally or not. Nothing would change it. Forgiveness for myself perhaps would come later, for now, acceptance would have to suffice.
"Thank you," I told him, feeling some of the weight and tension bleed away from my shoulders.
"Thank you," he shook his head, "you've done far more for me than I could ever do for you if I spent the rest of my life trying."
"All I did was love you," I told him, shaking my head.
"You say that like it's a small thing," he chuckled, tracing a line with his thumb from my cheek to my temple. He kissed me again, his other hand moving to the small of my back and pressing my body to his. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and leaned into him, working my lips with his softly and sensually. A dizzying flow of warmth cascaded over me like the rapids over the rocks, and I fed a soft hum of pleasure between his lips.
I could've kissed that man forever. But I had to settle until the moment he shifted his footing and lost it on the soft bank, his legs skidding down from under him towards the water. We broke apart suddenly, and there was a strange moment of conflicting forces as Arthur's arms pushed me back towards the bank to save me from going with him, but my own arms reached out in a vain attempt at stopping him. We both ended up in the water with a heavy splash that frightened the birds from the trees.
The water was thankfully not as deep as it seemed and we ended up laying on the river bed, me on top of him, up to our chests and soaked through as the water broke around us, rushing past as if we weren't there at all. An unstoppable force of nature.
After a moment, when the shock of the cold subsided, we laughed. Like we hadn't in what felt like a lifetime, we laughed until our bellies ached and our legs were too weak to lift us back up. And we felt free.
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