Campfire Songs

rory, 25 rdr sideblog. they/them. requests open. mostly a place to dump my obsession and fanfic lol

[tiredcowpoke]

                                   MOBILE MASTERLIST 

      - BLOG FAQ 

Masterlist Update: Sep 3rd, 2022.

Note: Reader-inserts with the title “reader” are gender neutral.

ONESHOTS 

Plagued - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “You and Arthur recall a hunting trip during your first night at Clemens Point.”

Holding Up - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “You had pitched the idea to go hunting—alone. Bringing back some of the bigger game up near Roanoke Ridge meant it would be a little more than a day trip, but selling pelts and bringing back food to the camp may have been worth it. Nature always put your mind at rest, anyway. However, as the days continued to pass, the concerns about your whereabouts turned out to be the thing that probably saved your life.”

Price of Travel - Arthur Morgan/OC [Fem!Reader] - discontinued multi-part - ““Finding Francis Sinclair was supposed to be simple. She just had to gather what he had found and return back to the correct time, but Francis was suddenly a baby and his notes were about as understandable as child’s drawings. She wouldn’t have even found that out if it hadn’t been for a somewhat familiar looking cowboy.”

Chased - Arthur Morgan/Charlotte Balfour - “On my third playthrough of RDR2 I had a scenario where law was chasing Arthur but I lost them heading toward Charlotte’s final mission. I had thought of Arthur ending up using Willard’s Rest as a hideout without telling Charlotte, even though he’s glad for her company.”

Thaw - John Marston/Reader - Request for “How long have you been standing there?”

Broken Glass - John Marston & Arthur Morgan - Request: Can you do “Lucky shot” from your prompt list with John Marston?

An Early Morning - NSFT - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “A week of tension and self-esteem issues finally comes to a head one early morning for you and Arthur.”

Night Watch - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “Well if you want to maybe a little something with „I can‘t sleep.“/„Can i stay with you?“ and “You’re basically a marshmallow. Perfect for cuddling.” with arthur? :3″

Couldn’t Leave Well Enough Alone - Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader - Anonymous requested for a female reader getting jumped outside of camp by some O’Driscolls followed by an intervention by Arthur.

Should Have Seen It From the Start - Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader - Anon requested an Arthur/fem!Reader where he tries to set her up with a “good man” in town and things don’t go as expected.

Some Dime Novel Fate - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “Your writing is really good! If you can, once you’re feeling alright, could you write an arthur x reader where the reader comes back from a job badly injured and Arthur flips while Grimshaw takes care of her/them? ♥️”

From That Night - Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader - “could i request the reader finding out she’s pregnant and trying to tell arthur x also i’ve binge read all your fics here and on AO3!! i love them all so much you’re such an amazing writer xx”

Nearly Gone - Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader - “Hi! Can you please make an arthur/reader where the reader gets taken by the nite folk? She’s nearly dead when he finds her and he’s just v worried? Previously established relationship if you can“

If We’re Dying - Hosea Matthews/Reader - platonic - “After many years, a familiar face appears in a crowd.”

Always Fleeting - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “Wow I’ve read all your stuff on ao3 so first of all thank you for sharing the talent and cowboy thirst! I’m a sucker for anything with the enemies to lovers trope. I’m thinking of the reader being Brontes right hand but meeting Arthur under different circumstances so that when the rivalry is revealed it adds more tension. I’ve tried writing some shitty drabbles on this but I’m actually terrible at writing lol”

Something Small - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “Arthur has a surprise for the reader, as much as they may not know why.”

The Ease of a Storm - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “A thunderstorm rolls in while you and Arthur are in the wilderness.”

Sober Thoughts - Arthur Morgan/Reader - “Anon sent: Hey dear! If nothing similar has ever been requested, I would like to propose to you a reader who has not made any friends or real connections ever since joining the gang - after having their family disown them - making them rather cautious around people. One night being drunk they confess their feelings to Arthur, having rambled about their fear of being lonely. I had a heating discussion about something similar and would love to see someone’s take on that. Have a great day and thanks for listening.”

SERIES

Value of Mercy - Discontinued - “Louise Winters had been picked up by the Van der Linde Gang at a fairly young age, forging trust and relationships with them until a botched job puts her out on her own with a good handful of money. After realizing that she was on her own and the law lingering ever so closer as the weeks bled into months, she started to realize that nobody was coming back for her. So, money in hand and a growing rage, she set out east. However, as the months passed into years, she wakes one day to find herself face to face with a past she had thought been laid to rest.” - [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Paths - Discontinued - interconnected one-shots of a growing relationship between Charlotte and Arthur. - [1] [2] [3]

Rise and Falls - Discontinued - “Ida O’Donnell, no more than a petty thief, realizes that her life really comes in a series of firsts, and some unfortunate seconds and thirds.” - [1] [2] [3] [4]

Wedded Woes - Complete - Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader - “Trelawny talked up a big game at a scenic boarding house and, playing some newly weds, you and Arthur are paying the price for it.” - chapter masterlist

Blank Spots - Current Project - Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader - “After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you.” - [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] (18+ chapter) [26] [27] [28]

Modern/Professors AU - Hiatus - Arthur Morgan/Reader - You used to be a former student of Arthur’s back when he was just starting out as a fine arts professor, who ended up being your most hated professor. However, a couple years later, you end up being taken on in a seasonal position at your old university as a history professor, sharing an office with that very same Dr. Morgan. - Of Lines  - Of Waters - Of Milestones [1] - ???

Regarding the Sinclairs - Current Project - You had always assumed the stories of time travel in your family were just that. Stories. At worst, maybe an inside joke. However, your world starts to shift when your grandfather leaves his home to you in his will. The old Sinclair house, one that has been passed down for generations. Taking up the task of moving into and upgrading the home, a man dressed like he just stepped out of a western arrives, unconscious, on your porch with a letter in his hand. - [1] [2] [3] [4]

[tiredcowpoke]

Looking to possibly come around to write again on here soon and thought I'd say I'm open to taking requests if anybody is still around!

[tiredcowpoke]

Hey there! Just a blog update for some things going forward!

First, I think I may switch this blog wholly to a one-shot/really short series blog. My longer fics will be posted on AO3 and have a 'promotion' post on here so people can follow those updates. I just think it's easier for me that way, and interaction with the fic drops off on here the more parts it has.

Additionally, I would like to be more active on here, and I'll try, but I would consider my activity to be slow since I've just have a number of offline obligations.

And finally, just a reminder that I do take requests!! I might take a minute to complete them, but if you'd like to see an idea written by me, I'm always open to hearing them! My inbox is always open. 💕

[outlawmorgans]

Hey there!! I'm opening up writing commissions over the next couple of months in hopes of making some extra money. I'm struggling to make ends meet and my student loans only scratch the surface given the gouging in grocery prices in Canada and the housing crisis. I am really only trying to keep myself and my cat fed and healthy.

So, if you enjoy my writing (writing blogs listed below) and want a commission, please feel free to send me a DM on here or one of my sideblogs listed.

Fandoms I'm currently writing for: Red Dead Redemption, Stranger Things, The Last of Us, Peaky Blinders, and a few others I can't think of off the top of my head but feel free to ask.

Things I'll write: x reader fics, oc×canon, canon×canon, ocxoc, smut, gen fic, kinks (excluding anything mentioned in the following paragraph) and in-character letters.

Things I won't write: Any sexual content regarding minors, r*pe, incest (including adopted family) and bathroom play.

All payments will be taken via PayPal with half of the payment taken upfront (unless $10) once I agree to the commission.

PRICES:

Drabble (500 words) - $10 USD

Personalized Letters (500 words) - $10 USD

1000 words - $23 USD

2000 words - $46 USD

3000 words - $65 USD

4000 words - $85 USD

5000 words - $95 USD

If you can't commission, a reblog for signal boosting would be just as appreciated! <3

Writing blogs under the cut.

@tiredcowpoke @canadiansummer @joelsmorality @peakbys

[tiredcowpoke]

If I was going to do a one-shot challenge for 7 days, what kind of content would you most like to see?

NSFW

SFW

Mix Both

Voting ended onJul 27, 2023

[tiredcowpoke]

REGARDING THE SINCLAIRS [6]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Request: Not a request. Previous part: [X] Blurb: You had always assumed the stories of time travel in your family were just that. Stories. At worst, maybe an inside joke. However, your world starts to shift when your grandfather leaves his home to you in his will. The old Sinclair house, one that has been passed down for generations. Taking up the task of moving into and upgrading the home, a man dressed like he just stepped out of a western arrives, unconscious, on your porch with a letter in his hand. Warnings: Death, existential themes, angst.  Note: Catching up Tumblr to the AO3 version of this since I plan on trying to pick this back up. Sorry about that.

Between the driving and the late night chat from the night before, you found yourself carrying a sluggishness that you couldn’t shake off.

Thankfully, the roads weren’t too crowded as you drove up toward Beaver Hollow, Arthur sitting quietly in the passenger seat as he watched the trees pass. You tried not to show it, but you could feel yourself gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly than you needed to. You couldn’t help it–this situation was so strange. You were about to bring a historical figure to his last known location and eventually his own grave. Sci-fi was not your usual choice of genre, but you were sure there were probably some movies about why this was a bad idea.

Or nothing would happen. You really didn’t know. You weren’t Francis, who seemed to have the answers you needed. Some of them, at least.

The forests up near Roanoke Ridge were always a little foreboding, and Arthur had remarked that it was worse back in his own time. He didn’t elaborate any further, but you could imagine. There hadn’t been a ton of development in the state, but it had a few old towns and the mine served as a historical landmark. Aside from lumber, the tourist-y nature of the area must have given the residences enough to survive. Somewhat jokingly, you almost offered up going to the mine instead, but knew better.

This was for Arthur. He believed he needed it, and you supposed it was your job to go along with that.

Finally, you arrived at the small, dirt paved parking lot. You had no issue finding a spot, considering there seemed to be only one other car there. Cutting the engine, you let out a small sigh before glancing toward Arthur in the passenger seat.

“Last chance to turn back,” you said, meeting his gaze with a small grin.

“Came this far,” Arthur remarked, holding your gaze for a moment before he huffed, “‘Sides, it looks like you’re the one who’s more worried ‘bout this.”

“I don’t know,” you replied with a small chuckle, turning to glance out the windshield, “I mean…I figure there’s got to be some sort of…time travel rule against something like this.”

“If ya got them rules written down somewhere, I’d love to read them,” Arthur commented, finally releasing his seat belt before opening the passenger door, “C’mon.”

You stared at him from your seat for a few moments, almost wanting to laugh. For once, it seemed he was encouraging you to try something instead of the other way around. His relaxed nature about this whole thing was a little odd, but you figured he either hid his worries really well or maybe you really were worrying over nothing. Not that there weren’t a number of concerning things about the situation.

Finally, you got out of the car, shutting and locking the doors behind you before turning to head toward the opening of the site. The place seemed quiet, and you figured the early morning was a good choice to make sure there wouldn’t be too many people around. Someone recognizing Arthur…well, you had to assume their first conclusion wouldn’t be ‘time traveler’ but you didn’t want to risk that.

It was just you, Arthur, and a tired looking ticket sales assistant. She wasn’t exactly chatty, but she didn’t regard either of you with more than a somewhat sleepy glance before taking your money and pointing toward the entrance of the site. You led Arthur toward the area, stepping through a small, wooden gate before the replica of the camp stood before you.

It hadn’t changed much since you were a high-schooler. The wagons were worn, looking a little older than they did in your memory and in the pictures you saw on the website. There was a small campfire in the middle, surrounded by chairs. The replica of Dutch’s tent near the mouth of the cave, a few ropes and guiding signs leading down into the depths where you knew an exhibit on the Murfree Brood was. You shifted, glancing toward Arthur as he stepped by you, walking slowly forward a few steps before looking around. You watched him carefully, but he was difficult to read at that moment.

“Looks…” he started after a few moments, clearing his throat somewhat before continuing, “strange like this. Empty.”

“Yeah. They try to put everything how it was, but with how untouched everything is…” you replied, stepping forward to stand beside him.

“Pearson’s wagon is in the wrong spot,” Arthur commented, gesturing toward where a small info stand was, “It’s supposed to be there. Horse posts a little up toward that fence…”

“Can’t get everything right,” you said, “Most of it was based on your journal. I think your wagon has more information on this camp and the other ones you stayed in.”

“Who took my journal?” he asked, sounding vaguely offended, which made you hold back a small chuckle.

“I think a museum in New Austin has the physical rights to it, but they let affiliate sites use a virtual copy of it for research and reconstruction like this,” you explained, “I…I guess it’s weird to have your personal thoughts just out in the open like that, but it’s a good source of information.”

“Whole thing’s strange,” Arthur commented, finally shifting to move toward some of the wagons.

You trailed after him, not too sure what your role was in all of this. You figured you would just try to answer whatever questions he might have and just let him explore what was left of the camp. Plus, it was still an interesting site now that you weren’t an impatient kid just wanting to move on from the educational portion of the trip.

Arthur didn’t say much for a while, walking carefully as he took in the wagons and tents. He pointed out little inaccuracies in the layout, but otherwise he just seemed to be taking it in. You didn’t really want to press him for his thoughts, but it was interesting to see him take it in. Naturally, your curiosity got the better of you and you stepped under the tarp of the replica of his wagon, peering over the small table near the cot. Of course, the top of the table was encased in glass to avoid damage to the items there, but you curiously looked them over.

Some books on plants and nature, a cigarette carton with a brand that you were unfamiliar with, some everyday items–tonics, mostly.

“Did they get your favorite genre right?” you asked when Arthur finally joined you, peering over your shoulder for a moment.

“More or less,” he muttered, letting out an almost bitter huff, “Guess they didn’t know enough ‘bout my mama’s flower to try to recreate that.”

“Flower?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a nod, “I, uh…used to pick a fresh one whenever we’d be out near California and put it in a jar. Always kept it on or near this table.”

You nodded lightly at that, taking in the rest of the wagon. They had a few other personal items–the photos you saw on the internet when you sought them out that first night while he was passed out in your living room. For a moment, you grew nervous that somebody might put the pieces together like you did if you stayed too long. Still, the area seemed quiet enough for now that you figured you could take the drive up to his grave and you could spend as much time as you wanted there. Most people preferred the little historical sight and exploring the cave at Beaver Hollow.

Still, it was odd to hear Arthur talk about his space in his own words. The familiarity and intimacy clearly lacked in a place like this, but he seemed to take in the photos on his wagon with an unreadable expression before he stepped back to wander toward the center of the camp.

“Don’t know why they decided to preserve this,” Arthur said after a few moments, gesturing around him, “There’s plenty of places we stayed in out east and more out west that ain’t Beaver Hollow. Ain’t got good memories here.”

“Well…” you started, tucking your hands into your pockets as you approached him more. Really, you weren’t too sure how to put this without sounding harsh. “It’s not everybody, but a lot of people are…curious about the downfall of the Van der Linde Gang. Being able to stand in their last known location where they were…sort of whole…it appeals to a lot of people.”

“It appeal to you?”

“Not particularly…” you replied, taking in his expression. Arthur was keeping his face even, but you could tell there was something in his eyes. “I was more interested in the middle ages, anyway.”

Despite the heaviness to this whole experience, your statement managed to pull a smile from him but otherwise he didn’t say anything for a short while. He didn’t move any further to take in more structures, though you noticed how his gaze lingered on Dutch’s tent–his and Arthur’s were the closest replicas the park managed to make, according to their own statements about their park anyway. Yet, Arthur couldn’t seem to bring himself to look inside it, but he did stare at it for a few moments.

“Guess I seen what we came here to see,” Arthur spoke up after the heavy silence, glancing back toward you, “This place…just feels weird, anyway.”

“I know they let you down into the cave,” you said, gesturing toward the mouth of said cave at the back of the camp, “I think they got an exhibit on the Murfree Brood.”

“I seen more than enough of them bastards in my time,” Arthur replied, turning to head back toward the gates to the historical site. Given the dismissal, it left you to awkwardly follow him back out to the parking lot.

You weren’t too sure what to say to him–how to comfort him, if he needed it. While you were never the quickest to offer your shoulder, you felt a little helpless in the face of…all of this. Still, Arthur seemed adamant about seeing his own grave. After his demeanor in Beaver Hollow, you weren’t sure what to expect with that.

                                                       ****

Despite the questions and comments he had been making, Arthur was nearly silent on the drive up toward his grave site. It wasn’t a terribly long drive from Beaver Hollow, which added up with his escape from the camp at the end of his life. At least, the end of his life up until now, you supposed. As much as questions swirled in your head, how much you wanted to ask if he was doing okay, you decided to let him have his thoughts. As much as you were living together, and not exactly under circumstances that were decisions of yourself or Arthur, you didn’t want to push him. You didn’t know if you had the right to, if you even wanted to.

There were a few signs put up by the park that pointed you toward the grave site, the roads getting more winding and twisting the closer you got to your destination. The feeling in your gut almost matched the layout of the road before you, that nervousness returning. More so for Arthur than being seen by other people. You didn’t want to just lead him into a mental breakdown.

You let out a breath, deciding to break off the silence as you pulled up toward another small dirt parking lot next to a small hiking path.

“I know I sound like a broken record–that I’m repeating myself, but…are you sure about this?”

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, not meeting your gaze as you pulled into a space and parked the car, “Came all this way, didn’t we?”

“The day’s still young,” you replied, “We could head into Annesburg, go explore the mine…”

“I don’t want to see no mine…” Arthur muttered, pushing open the passenger door before stepping out. Your brow furrowed as you watched him, but otherwise you cut the engine and stepped outside to join him.

You led the way up the path, knowing it was still a couple more minutes away but Arthur otherwise didn’t make any other conversation and you were a little too nervous to try to do so. You could feel the morning sun on your skin as you continued up the path, feeling your exhaustion and the fact that you hadn’t packed any water for this. It was a beautiful bit of country, at least. Less so the tourist trap that was Beaver Hollow and more so like a quick stop you’d make off the side of the road on a trip.

Eventually, you reached the grave. There was a small sign with an inscription explaining what you were looking at and who Arthur was. It was brief with general information–the year of his birth and death, his role in the gang, and a mention of his battle with Tuberculosis near the end of his life.

The headstone itself was faded and in need of repair, though you could make out Arthur’s name and part of the scripture that had been inscribed on the cross. There were some ropes around the site to keep people from both falling and stepping on the grave itself, not that it stopped people from trying to dig it up over the years. Looking for buried money or even morbid curiosity. Yet, you held back that remark from leaving your mouth, as you doubted it would be all that nice of him to hear.

“Here it is…” you said once Arthur stepped up beside you.

“...Nice country out here. I can think of worse places I could’ve been buried,” Arthur commented, “You know who did it?”

You had to think for a moment, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to pick your brain for some of the stories your father and grandfather told.

“I think it was said in one of Jack’s books that his father mentioned it being Charles Smith,” you replied, finally turning your head to glance toward him.

Arthur nodded lightly, a small, tight grin crossing his face. “He’s a good man. Always has been. Or…well, y’know what I mean.”

You had immediately caught onto his use of present tense when talking about him, but apparently Arthur caught it too as he tossed his arm up in frustration as he backed away from his grave a few steps. He leaned against a nearby wooden pillar that closed in the small grave site on the cliff, staring at his grave for a few moments. The look on his face pulled at you–the lost look in his expression, the tension in his face from holding back what you assumed was some sort of grief. How could he not be feeling that?

“Arthur…” you started, but he spoke up before you could form a sentence in your head.

“This is…this is it, I guess. All that’s left of me. Never wanted some damn legacy, but guess it’s…strange to know.” He paused, letting out a heavy breath as you took a couple steps toward him. “Everybody I ever known. Just…gone. Lived out their lives, some of them probably a hell of a lot better than me…”

“I can’t even imagine…” you offered up in the way of condolences, Arthur removing his gaze from the grave and met yours.

“Why me?” he asked, putting a heavy feeling in your gut. “Could’ve been any of us. Jack, Mary-Beth, Tilly, Karen–hell, even those who died ‘fore the gang fell. Hosea. Sean. Lenny.”

“I wish I had an answer. I truly do,” you said, looking down at your shoes for a moment, “Francis…he made this decision. He’s the only one who would know, and I doubt he left anything for me to piece together about why…”

“Feels more like a punishment than a reward for helpin’ him,” Arthur muttered, making you nod lightly. You could see why he’d feel that way, especially with the scene in front of him. The reality he found himself in.

“He did give you a second chance…” you started, finally moving to lean against the fence he was situated against, “Might not seem like all that great of a gift he gave you right now, but…I mean, you can live a better life here, right? Could settle down with someone, find a job you enjoy–hell, you could even just enjoy the wonders of modern medicine.”

“I didn’t ask for no damn second chance,” Arthur stated, pushing himself off the fence.

“I…” you started, finding the words falling short. Really, you had no idea how to handle this.

“Can we head back into town?” he asked, glancing back at you, “I’ve seen all I wanna see and I’m starvin’.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You pushed yourself off the fence as well, lingering by his grave as you watched him start to walk back down the path. You let out a slow breath, wanting more than anything to give him some comfort. Yet, you wouldn’t even know where to begin. To even fathom the idea of losing everybody you ever loved seemingly overnight, losing the life you had previously, the land you once knew suddenly foreign and thrown centuries into the future. What could anybody say to help in that situation? You had no damn clue.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you shook your head as you started to follow down after him.

“Thank you so fuckin’ much, Great Uncle Francis,” you whispered.

[tiredcowpoke]

REGARDING THE SINCLAIRS [5]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Request: Not a request. Previous part: [X] Blurb: You had always assumed the stories of time travel in your family were just that. Stories. At worst, maybe an inside joke. However, your world starts to shift when your grandfather leaves his home to you in his will. The old Sinclair house, one that has been passed down for generations. Taking up the task of moving into and upgrading the home, a man dressed like he just stepped out of a western arrives, unconscious, on your porch with a letter in his hand.  Warnings: Mentions of a previously abusive relationship (not graphic.) Note: Catching up Tumblr to the AO3 version of this since I plan on trying to pick this back up. Sorry about that. 

Arthur turned the baseball cap over in his hands as if it was going to bite him as you walked back into the house after shoving a bag into the back of your car.

It was an early morning, almost six, and you could feel it. Still, you knew you had a bit of a drive ahead of you and you wanted to get to the motel by evening. A part of you was struggling not to let the stress of the situation get to you, but…well, you had no idea how someone would react to seeing their own grave. Still, Arthur had confirmed again that he wanted to do this. (Judging from the look on his face when you asked, you had a feeling that he was getting tired of you asking…) Still, the sight before you made you pause, a small grin crossing your face.

“The Elks aren’t my favorite team either, but it won’t bite you,” you said, gesturing toward the cap in his hands as you tried to lighten the mood.

“Huh?”

“It’s the team’s logo on the front,” you explained, “...Listen, I’d let you wear what you want, but there will be pictures there of old gang members. You included. I can’t risk someone recognizing you, as much as they probably will just think it’s a coincidence.”

“This hat and outfit will do that?” Arthur asked, sounding somewhat disbelieving. At that, he put the hat on. It fit nice, at least, his eyes peering out at you from under the brim.

Knowing who he was, you could easily tell it was him but…well, it was enough to not get people to take a second glance. He definitely looked like someone you’d pass by on the street without much thought. It was a downgrade. The cowboy fashion suited him, that was clear. Still, you didn’t want to risk it.

“Yeah, it’ll do,” you said with a nod, “Though, I guess I’m ready to go if you are.”

“Sure…” Again with the uncertainty, though from the glance he tossed over your shoulder, you had a feeling it was more about the car this time.

You never had to explain a car to someone before, but you’d certainly try. Offering Arthur a small smile, you gestured that he leave the house before you followed him out. You locked the door behind you, watching as he looked over your car with some mild unease. Arthur had ‘died’ in 1899, he was right on the cusp of a lot of technological advances. Yet, you had to realize that even the things that seemed new and innovative back then would seem outdated now.

“You used to rob trains, right?” you asked, stepping down from the porch as Arthur glanced back at you.

“Sure.”

“Well, this is kind of like a train,” you said, gesturing toward your car, “Minus the coal, steam…it functions like one. Kind of.”

“Damn small train…”

“Yeah,” you said around a laugh, “There’s some technology in here that makes it move. In all honesty, we might be here a while if I tried to explain all the parts but…it’s safe. I’m a good driver. You can just sit and relax.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Arthur replied, finally approaching the passenger side as you lingered by the driver’s side, “Kinda looks like a coach, just without the horses…”

“Yeah, horses aren’t that common for transportation these days,” you explained, opening the door, “I mean, some places may still, but I’d get used to cars.”

“Damn shame.”

Offering him a somewhat understanding smile, you got into the driver’s seat as Arthur opened his door after you. He watched somewhat curiously as you put on your seat belt, causing you to glance at him as you pulled out your keys. You were about to point out that he’d need to put his on when Arthur seemed to catch on, mimicking your movements with some hesitation. You turned on the engine, Arthur tensing somewhat but seemed to relax once he saw nothing else happened.

Some faint music played out of the speakers, but you flicked it off for now. As much as you could explain how that worked, you didn’t want to overwhelm him.

Though, he adapted well as you got onto the road into Strawberry. A little tense, his gaze mostly looking out of the window and windshield. If he was overly uncomfortable, he didn’t say much about it but you figured getting him into some conversation would help him adjust and make the drive not too insufferable without music.

“The gang…” you started, making him glance toward you, “You guys were out east near the end of the century. You ever been to Strawberry?”

“Yeah,” Arthur replied with a small huff, “Ain’t much there, but I used to have some lastin’ damage on that town.”

“Lasting damage?”

Arthur paused for a moment, almost like he was debating getting into it. “Well, if you know so much ‘bout me, the gang, guess you’ve heard of Micah?”

“Yeah. He’s definitely intertwined into the narrative of the downfall of your gang,” you replied, picking your words carefully, “He’s a…strangely divisive figure, though I don’t understand why.”

“Divisive?”

“Yeah, opinions are split. Nobody argues that he was a good guy or anything, but whether he was just a greedy bastard or if he just wanted to separate Dutch and didn’t think his actions would cause it all to fall apart.”

“Let me tell ya somethin’,” Arthur started, his voice tight, “Knowin’ Micah, that first impression is the only one people should have. Rat bastard cared for nobody but himself.”

“As much as I wish I could just say that’s that, unfortunately nobody’s going to believe me about…this whole situation. Still, I agree. It’s just people liking to be contrarian. There’s a number of debates about you that I’ve seen.”

“Yeah?” he asked, now catching his attention as you nodded, slowing the car somewhat to take a turn.

“It’s about morality, I guess. Also some dispute about events that happened in your journal and arguments about bias. It’s a lot to get into. The most common one I’ve heard is if you had good morals to begin with or if you only changed because of, uh, the TB.”

Arthur sat on that for a few moments, staring out as the outskirts of Strawberry approached. You were worried you had crossed a line, but you didn’t want to lie to him. It was clear people cared about the story, the events and the reality of the Van der Linde gang. People talked about it, and had differing opinions.

“What’s your view on that?”

“I, uh…” Well, you certainly weren’t expecting to have to give your input. Really, the old west and the Van der Linde gang wasn’t in your usual scope of historical interest.

“I think human nature is a little too hard to wrangle,” you continued, letting out a small sigh, “It’s a bit of a mess trying to guess the nature of historical figures. Though, based on your journal, it’s clear you had a shift in perspective. Wanted to help those closest to you, and had some more empathy. The TB gave you a different perspective, along with the downfall of the gang. Whether you would have developed it if you were sick or not doesn’t really matter when you are looking at the historical facts.”

“...Guess I can kinda understand that,” Arthur replied, watching as some more buildings started to pass. “Is this Strawberry?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “It’s definitely more than that little town you’re probably used to, but it’s still not much. A little too touristy, but some people settled here a little further out. Me included.”

It was a nice little town, though. You had seen more than enough wedding parties pass through to have celebrations and photo-shoots in the mountains. Retirees and vacation homes. It was far from the little town you saw in the grainy photographs in the town’s local museum. There was a lot more ‘life’ in Valentine an hour or so away. They had always retained their status as a farming town.

As much as you associated Valentine with your ex, you also knew their little summer end festival was coming up. Fireworks, camping, horseback riding, and dancing. You had always enjoyed it as a kid. Went on a couple dates to the festival itself over the years. A part of you wondered if it changed much. It might be worth going to. You figured it could be worth asking Arthur about, even if he didn’t seem the type to like crowds.

Still, after the small conversation about the gang and historical legacies, he didn’t speak up too much outside of asking the odd question about where the two of you were or how long it would take.

As much as you tried not to show it, you were nervous to show him Beaver Hollow. You had no idea what to expect, but you wanted him to do what he wished.

Arthur was placed in your care for a reason, you figured you might have to let him lead every now and again.

                                                         ****

It was about 3 am when a voice cut through your sleep-addled brain, causing you to stir somewhat.

It took you a moment to register the unfamiliar surroundings of the dark motel room, an air conditioner in the window humming quietly in the background. Shifting you noticed Arthur leaning down toward you, hand on your shoulder. At your waking, he removed his hand from your shoulder, shifting to let you sit up with a yawn.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Ain’t an emergency. Just…well, I’m starvin’.”

“Oh,” you replied with a small, somewhat breathless chuckle.

You both had been driving all day and finally reached a small town a few minutes from Beaver Hollow. The motel wasn’t exactly glamorous and didn’t offer much in the way of food. You figured you would just sneak out in the early morning to get some breakfast for the both of you and stop on the way back for a proper meal. You had ordered whatever room service they had there, but it wasn’t exactly appetizing. So, as much as you weren’t expected to be woken up, you probably should have expected that.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, gathering yourself up to a stand before digging around in your jacket for some change, “I think there’s a vending machine down the hall, I’ll get us something to eat. Hang tight.”

The wooded area had gotten significantly cooler after the sun had gone down, though the time of year still had it feeling pretty warm at night. The woods up near Strawberry were pretty, along with the mountains, but the forest out here was dense and almost dark. You recalled Arthur making a comment that it was worse back in his time, and you could believe that.

Making your way across the cool flooring of the balcony of the second floor, you approached the machine to buy a couple chips and snacks. Looking at it now, you realized that maybe you should have made more of an effort to feed yourselves. Even if you could sense the amount of nervousness that hung over the both of you.

Grabbing the food and stopping to purchase some bottled water, you wandered back toward the room.

Arthur was almost a silhouette in the darkness of the room as you closed the door behind you, but at least he was awake and sitting up. Turning on the lamp on the table between the two beds, you passed him some of the food.

“This is beef jerky and some chips,” you said, watching as he took them from you and turned them over in his hands with a somewhat confused expression.

“Everythin’ come wrapped up like this?” he asked, lifting the jerky package as you found a small chuckle escaping you.

“Mostly,” you replied, “If you want something to eat that’s quick and easy, it’ll probably come in a package like that.”

“Well…thank you,” Arthur replied, which you returned with a small, tired nod of your head as you started to eat. It was purely junk, but late at night like this you didn’t particularly care.

Though, Arthur at least seemed particular about the jerky, which you figured probably struck him as familiar. At least, somewhat. You didn’t know what he ate in a day, but most of the time he didn’t complain about the food you cooked him. Unless it really was something he had never put together before. Though, you figured his exhaustion might be making him quiet.

You had been hoping to sleep through the night and just head out into the big day tomorrow. It gave your mind a chance to wander, and you found yourself glancing up at him again.

“So, what are you expecting tomorrow?” you asked, “With the tour and…?”

“Ain’t sure,” Arthur replied after a moment, seeming more preoccupied with digging around for the last of his snack for a moment. “I guess…just to see. I remember a lot about that camp, but obviously…not what happened after.”

“It’s just…” you started, trailing off as you tried to gather your thoughts, “I’m worried about you, y’know? How you’ll handle it. It’s one thing to talk about it, but…seeing your own grave. That would be a lot for anybody.”

“I’m the one who wanted t’see it,” Arthur replied, glancing up at you, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“See, I just can’t,” you replied in some light humor, but there was a touch of seriousness to your tone, “I mean…Francis clearly knew…or knows, more about the outcome of this whole thing than I do. He dropped you here, at this specific time and with me, for a reason. So, I guess I feel some responsibility. I just hope in you wanting to do this, it won’t…leave you worse off than you already are.”

“I ain’t gonna pretend I know anythin’ ‘bout that whole…time travel business, but…” Arthur trailed off, glancing toward the closed bathroom door in thought. “I dunno. You didn’t ask for this, I certainly didn’t. If there’s a way to make this easier, some way to get back…maybe I’d find it here.”

“Arthur…” you started, leveling him with a sympathetic stare as you tried to find a way to say what you wanted to say without hurting him too much. “I don’t…I don’t think there is a way for you to go back. I know Francis set this whole thing up, but at this point…in both your timelines, you’re…”

“Dead,” Arthur said, finishing your thought with a small nod, “Then…guess maybe seein’ the grave might put the ideas outta my head.”

“I’m sorry…” you said around a small sigh, reaching across to place a comforting hand on his knee, “I mean, I can’t say anything with certainty but looking at this as rationally as I can…well, I doubt if there is a way, it’ll be here.”

“I still wanna see it,” Arthur replied after a moment, glancing back at you as you removed your hand from his knee and leaned back against the headboard of your bed.

“Then we’ll see it,” you replied with a short nod, “I’m not saying we shouldn’t.”

“I know. I…I appreciate this,” Arthur said, which made you give him a small grin.

“I’m still figuring everything out, too, but…well, I want to do what you feel is important to you,” you explained, “Even if I can’t wrap my head around it, I’ll help.”

[outlawmorgans]

Hey! I’m opening writing commissions again since I’m trying to make ends meet. (Medication, starting HRT, cat food, litter, and groceries for the most part.) I’ve been doing some original work commissions for a while as well, but figured I’d actually just make an etsy shop. You can find most of my information on the listing itself. 

So, if you want to help a struggling trans creator out, please feel free to check it out.

[tiredcowpoke]

ON THE TIP

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader Request: Not a request. Blurb: Away from camp, you finally manage to tell Arthur something that you have been meaning to for a long while. Warnings:  Mentions of a previously abusive relationship (not graphic), angst, but ultimately a lot of fluff and emotional stuff.  Note: This is really self-indulgent. I had a spark of an idea and it really took off...somewhere. lol I hope you enjoy this sweet, little thing.

Evening was starting to set, casting the area in a warm glow as the sun gradually dipped down behind the treeline.

You sat near the fire you had made, the bedroll not quite giving you much comfort but the tree truck at your back at least allowed you that extra support. The day’s heat still lingered, even with you choosing to sit a little further back from the fire to avoid overheating yourself. It was going to be one of those nights.

Still, you took these moments when you could.

It was getting harder and harder to pull Arthur away from gang business, as much as you respected the role he played and his duties. Yet, you had long observed that he was overworked, almost the first person up on the list to clean up other people’s messes that reasonably could have been handled before his involvement. It was one of the more common things he complained about when he’d finally settle in for the night, if he wasn’t coming in late at night and gently rolling you onto your side so he could slip in behind you on the cot.

So, when the camp seemed quiet and Arthur approached you with a quip about getting out for a while, it was hard to tell him ‘no.’

Leaving was good for you, too. A break from the camp–the chores, worries, and dramatics, depending on the day usually. It also gave you some comfort to know that you didn’t have to worry about Arthur, either. He seemed more relaxed during these moments, and it allowed you to relax too. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were more intune with his emotions when he was in camp. It was something that started to happen as you got closer, and only continued beyond that point. You could see the stress in his brow, feel the tension in his shoulders when he’d pull you into him near a campfire or when he wrapped his arms around you at night.

It felt a little easier to breathe when you finally got away from camp, sometimes. Even if it was for an hour.

Though, the sound of hoofbeats and some rustling in the bushes ahead of you pulled you from your thoughts. Sure enough, you saw the familiar horse and equally as familiar rider, Arthur taking his time to settle his horse beside yours. A rabbit hung, skinned, on the side of his saddle. You figured that was dinner for the night, which was fine with you.

“Think we ain’t the only people out here today,” Arthur commented, turning toward you as you glanced up from where you were carving a slice from an apple, “Animals are kind of scarce and I don’t wanna go stompin’ off into the bush.”

“There’s enough here to get us through the night,” you said, finally cutting off the piece of apple and held it out toward him as he approached.

Arthur muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ as he took a bite from it after slipping down to sit beside you against the tree trunk. Naturally, you found yourself leaning against his side as you continued to cut away at another piece of apple for yourself, allowing the silence to settle as Arthur’s voice was replaced by the light wind in the trees and the crackling of the wood on the fire. You felt him slip his arm around your back, hand coming back to rest on your arm.

It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t show affection toward you around camp, but in private he allowed you in closer like this. The kisses were slower, lingered a little more, and neither of you were rushed to be anywhere or doing anything. You could still remember how long it took for both of you to feel awkward like this. Weary and haunted by bad experiences, you didn’t particularly let people close. Arthur seemed the same way, only mentioning his past relationships once or twice early on but it was clear that he had backed away from the concept.

Yet, things were just…different.

Of course, you knew who Arthur was. You knew who you were, too. You had seen his uglier sides, the violence that the life he led pulled out of him. It had pulled things out of you, too, that you weren’t proud of. Yet, you saw the quieter side of him, too. When he had his nose buried in his journal or was listening to other stories the camp members would tell around the fire at night. How he talked to Jack, the other women around camp. The way he acted around you, too, the awkward friendship that shifted to a genuine kindness and fondness, the shared glances and inside jokes, the way he cupped your face when he kissed you for the first time.

You noticed a few complexities about him, probably more than Arthur saw in himself.

Given the violence that you had experienced in your past relationships, the yelling, fighting, sneered insults that still sat under your skin in some places, Arthur kind of took you off guard. If he was as rough as he came across sometimes, perhaps you could have expected the path your relationship would go. It would’ve been simple: you would’ve thought about him a certain way, he would’ve burst that bubble, and that’d be it. You knew Arthur had tried from time to time in the beginning, when things were new and uncertain. Quickly thrown up guards and pointless fights and arguments that’d never stay too long, in the end.

You shifted, stretching out a leg as you tried to will yourself back to the current moment.

“If your eyes weren’t open, I’d think you fell asleep,” Arthur commented, making you let out a small hum as you grinned softly.

“Something about places like this push me right into my head,” you replied.

“Me too.”

“Your thoughts are probably more interesting than mine,” you said as you shifted somewhat to tuck your knife away as you finished off the apple.

“Wouldn’t say that,” he muttered.

“You wouldn’t feel the need to write them down if you didn’t think they weren’t interesting in some way,” you said, leaning back into his side with a sigh. “I know you don’t think much of yourself, but you’re more interesting than you let on.”

“Interestin’ in like a third limb or a weird animal, maybe,” he returned around a small huff–you knew better than to take it as genuine humor. Not wholly, at least. Another wall he insisted on putting up, as much as you saw through it at this point.

“More like a puzzle or a riddle.”

“Hope the answer is worth it.”

You frowned, brow furrowing. You knew this aspect of Arthur was an uphill battle, one that he may never win, but a part of you always felt obligated to argue otherwise. Which was probably why you found yourself shifting back so you could swing your leg over his legs, straddling his lap so you could look directly at him. You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at your lips at the surprised look that settled in his expression, though his hands coming up to wrap around your lower back had you getting a little more comfortable. You cupped the sides of his jaw, a good-natured smile settling on your lips.

“I didn’t follow you out here so you could talk like that about yourself all night,” you stated, looking semi-sternly into his eyes before your expression softened, “But…I don’t really care about solving the riddle, so to say. I’m not here to…I don’t know, solve anything.”

“Well, I’m wishin’ I understood you a little better right now,” Arthur muttered, but the light playfulness was hard to miss. You let him pull you into a quick kiss, his free arm pulling you in closer so your bodies brushed a little more.

The shift in tone was a bit of a reassurance, but you knew you weren’t done. Really, there was something sitting heavy on the tip of your tongue. It kept appearing more and more whenever you were truly alone with him like this. The words were there, you knew what they were, yet there was a fear in you. You had said those words once before, to the wrong person, and there was that guarded part of you that feared you would do so again. Yet, everything about your relationship with Arthur seemed to rebuttal most doubts you had.

…You just needed to know if you were alone in the feeling.

Pulling back somewhat from the kiss, you leaned back somewhat to look over his face. His eyes seemed to search your own, a slight pinch between his eyebrows as you looked at him without speaking as you could feel a rush of thoughts battering against your skull. Yet, a part of you knew how you wanted to go about this.

“The last time I was in a situation like this…well, you know what that was like,” you said, dropping your gaze for a few moments. “I got told I was…many things. None of them too nice. I was told I wouldn’t ever find someone who’d…actually want me. I believed those things for a while, for a long while. I didn’t…intend for that to shift, it just happened…”

You let out a small sigh against the way your heart was racing, the momentary confidence you had only a minute ago starting to ebb out. Still, you couldn’t pull things back in now. You lifted your gaze back up to meet his own, smiling softly.

“You remember…a couple months ago, back before everything got thrown on its head? I got that…terrible little bullet wound?”

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, the look of confusion still not leaving his expression but he nodded lightly, “Never heard you holler like that before when Grimshaw pulled that out.”

“Not…not exactly talking about that, but it was a couple days after,” you continued, tilting your head somewhat thoughtfully. “I was feeling…really sorry for myself. I don’t know if I told you, but I kicked myself for such a long time that you found me like that. Over an injury, no less. Yet…you seemed to know exactly what to say. What’d help, what’d make me feel better. I realized after that…that most people I’ve had in my life, they only seemed to know how to do the opposite. A few of them purposefully doing so. I realized something, then, and…it kind of scared me, but I know it’s true…”

“Darlin’...” Arthur started, a hand coming up to rest against your cheek, his voice soft, but you knew you just had to say it.

“I realized back then that I’m in love with you, Arthur,” you stated, fighting the urge to shut your eyes or look away. “I love you. I just never really found the right words, but I need you to know that.”

Arthur didn’t say anything for an uncomfortable amount of time, seeming to almost process that. You couldn’t help the way your stomach tightened, the sting of rejection starting to prick at your eyes. He didn’t try to move you, however, hands still grasping onto you. Finally, he looked you in the eyes again.

“That’s really true?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice even as you spoke. “I tried to convince myself that it was something else for a good while, but that feeling’s just grown harder to ignore as time went on.”

“...I ain’t…” he started, shaking his head, “I didn’t ever think someone’d feel that way ‘bout me again.”

“Well, I do,” you confirmed, swallowing thickly as you gripped his shoulders somewhat as if he’d support you crashing down if he said what you feared he was going to. “If…if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. Just…say it. I made my mind up a long while ago, so trying to convince me out of it will just hurt more.”

“Sweetheart…” he started, reaching out to cup the side of your face again as he forced you to look at him. “I…know I don’t deserve a lot of things, I don’t deserve you. You could leave, fall for a better man. Yet, when I’m with you…”

“Arthur…” you started, ready to remind him that going this route would just hurt you more, yet you knew what was coming and it was choking out the words that wanted to get out.

“You make me happy,” he continued, “I know I might not be able to give you the same feelin’ all the time, but…I love you, too. Don’t think I’d ever get to say it, but I do.”

The relief had you almost crumpling, your mind taking a moment to catch up. You almost didn’t realize you had started crying until you felt Arthur pull you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you shook from the strength it took to not completely break down and just really send the wrong message. Yet, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him, pressing your face into his jacket. All those years you told yourself you were unlovable, that you were better off for it, and yet the opposite was staring you in the face.

It was a lot to process. Yet, despite the tears that were on your cheeks and stung at your eyes, you shifted so you could pull Arthur into a kiss. He responded instantly, holding you close as you let the gesture chase out the doubt that had settled heavily over you in the last couple moments.

“Scared the hell out of me, Morgan,” you muttered once the kiss was broken, Arthur pressing his forehead against your own.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he muttered in the space between you two, “Won’t be the last time I’ll scare you, I know, but I’m not goin’ anywhere for as long as you’ll have me.”

“As long as you’ll have me, too,” you replied in return, letting out a soft chuckle. “Say it again?”

“I love you, darlin’,” he said after a moment, “Have for a while now.”

“I love you, too.”

[mirclealignr]

- - - types of kisses prompt list

cheek kisses

neck kisses

forehead kisses

nose kisses

jawline kisses

eyelid kisses

peppered kisses

kissing goodbye

secret kisses

greeting kiss

kissing in the rain

goodnight kiss

morning kisses

accidental kiss

kissing to shut them up

confession kiss

first kiss

drunk kiss

kissing their injuries

laughing into the kiss

rushed kisses

angry kisses

dared to kiss

kiss to distract

mistletoe kiss

new years kiss

slow kisses

sloppy kisses

surprised with a kiss

kiss to the back of the hand

wiping their mouth with a kiss

kiss by candlelight

tearful kisses

kissing them sleeping

kissing to get their attention

reunion kiss

kissing to make someone jealous

life or death kiss

last kiss before dying

comforting kiss

[tiredcowpoke]

A BETTER EVENING

Pairing: Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader Request: Anon sent “Hey! I was wondering if you’d ever consider writing Molly? Something about an angsty molly/f!reader just makes me 😩. An “I can treat you so much better” type situation and both are aware there’s feelings there? (one-sided or otherwise! however it comes to you!). Smut if you are up to it, but no pressure at all!“ Warnings: Cheating (emotional, at least), pretty Dutch critical, angst, pining. Note: I'm upset I had to take forever with this, but I'm always down to write something with Molly. lol Thank you for requesting, anon, and I hope this at least lives up to your expectations? Regardless, I hope you all enjoy.

She disappeared down the shoreline again, fists clenched and arms swinging at her sides as if she was going to punch whoever might appear at the end of her march.

A part of you, not born out of frustration toward her or her situation, almost wished that she’d just keep going. You had seen and heard her issues with Dutch, that she had taken a punch from Karen a day or so back for some sort of fight between the two of them, and you knew she would fare better if she just left. Yet, you knew she wouldn’t. She was loyal to Dutch, she loved Dutch, and you could see her trying to win his affections back.

Given how he’d been acting around Mary-Beth, who was unwillingly dragged into this mess without wanting to be, you had found yourself biting your tongue a few times from making a comment or two to him about everything. Yet, you knew your time would be better spent giving Molly your time. Things had been good between you two–you had been warned by the other women a few times about her temperament and how Molly kept her distance. You still found a way to get her to talk with you–it wasn’t hard, back in Horseshoe. Spirits were high, or better than they had been since Colter, but now things felt…different.

Molly was distancing herself. Didn’t really want to talk with you for too long, and her anger was rearing its head a lot more since the gang had moved camps. With her and Dutch going head-to-head most days, you couldn’t blame her for the foul moods.

Still, you wanted to try. Even if it was a small conversation or she would brush you off.

Upon seeing her sit down on a rock just out of eyesight from most of the camp, you started to make your way over toward her. There was some apprehension to your movements–at most, you just didn’t want to ruin her day more than it already has been. It wasn’t even midday yet and she was sitting out on her own again after another shouting match. You knew you would have to tread carefully, at least.

“Molly?” you asked once you came within a couple steps of her.

She glanced toward you, eyes sharp but you could tell from the puffiness that she was holding back the tears. Seeing her like this, it pulled at something in your chest–sympathy, but also anger toward Dutch. You realized you were about to give her the apology that he wouldn’t.

“That was horrible…” you started, “I’m sorry. I know things aren’t good with you, but I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” she stated, voice tight. You didn’t believe that for a second, but you didn’t press as you gestured toward the space beside her.

“You mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” she replied shortly.

With a small exhale, you finally crossed the space between you two and sat down beside her. You looked out at the river, the islands across from you that were still shrouded in the morning mist. Even with the tension, you didn’t want to speak. To push Molly into talking when she didn’t want to. Yet, you just…wanted her to know you were there, you supposed. You had wanted that more than you cared to admit, and not just within situations like your current one.

You knew you were just putting yourself into more pain in the end, but it was hard not to feel drawn to her. Yet, you knew you couldn’t act on it. As far as you were aware, Molly hadn’t made any signals that she returned your sentiments, and you knew trying to pursue the woman who was with your gang’s leader was just asking for trouble. Reason pointed largely toward why it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

You had wanted to see her smile. See her laugh. Anything other than the shouting and crying that you had seen out of her as of late.

“I don’t know what to do,” Molly admitted, pulling you out of your thoughts as you glanced toward her. Her voice was shaky and tired, her Irish accent thick with the tears you could hear she was holding back.

“I know you’re all watchin’ me, too,” she continued, the venom in her voice taking you aback somewhat, “Just waitin’ for the next show–well, I’m sure you’ll all keep gettin’ it.”

“I’m not finding any amusement,” you said, tone even despite the anger that clearly sat her own. “You’re one of the first people I got close to in this camp. I care about you.”

Molly turned to glance over at you, then. While she didn’t say anything, you could see her expression shift. The sharp gaze she gave you when you first approached fell away to something a little softer, though you could clearly see the hurt in her eyes before she turned to look away from you. This place was draining her–clearly. You could see that, and you knew others did too. Yet, you had the feeling that you might be one of the few, if not the only one, to try to talk to her directly about it.

“Let’s get out of here,” you said, the words slipping out without much thought, as much as you knew an idea had been forming in your head.

“What?”

“Just for a while,” you continued, “I know a quiet place that would be nice for the afternoon. I…well, I think we both could use some time away from here.”

“I…I don’t know,” Molly replied after a pause, looking conflicted. You raised your hands somewhat in a placating gesture–you didn’t want to stress her out, but you thought that maybe it would be nice for her. You knew nobody else was going to, anyway.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought I would offer. I can lead my horse around, you won’t even have to explain it to anybody else. It’s not like I’m asking you to rob a bank with me or anything.”

Molly seemed to debate that for a few moments–in that time, though, you had noticed a change in her body language. Even if it was just a suddenness of the offer, she seemed to perk up somewhat at the idea, even if she hadn’t voiced it out loud just yet.

“…Not for too long,” she settled on, making a small grin appear on your face.

***

You appreciated the shift in temperature from Lymone into New Hanover.

Perhaps more than you did when the gang had been staying in Horseshoe, but the current camp was stifling in more ways than just the tension you had noticed in places. While it wasn’t a major drop in temperature, you didn’t want to go too far out, it felt like you could breathe a little easier. Well, as much as you could in the current situation.

Honestly, you were a little nervous as your horse trotted along at an easy pace, you being all too aware of the passenger you had behind you on the horse. Molly’s hands rested on your hips, the two of you not really talking much on the journey toward a little spot you knew from a while ago. A place you took off to from time to time to be alone with your thoughts, or when camplife got to you a little too much. It was quiet, isolated, and sometimes it felt like you were separated from reality for a while. Little peaceful places like that, you had learned to appreciate where you could.

You didn’t know if Molly would get the same experience, but you hoped so. At the end of the day, you were just hoping that perhaps it would give her a chance to relax. To get away from the camp, Dutch, and all the rest. (As much as a small part of you did wish that it’d be your company that would help her do that, but you didn’t want to put her in that position. As much as your mind tormented you with the idea from time to time.)

“I haven’t done this in a long while, you know,” Molly said suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts as you turned your head toward her somewhat over your shoulder. “Dutch used to take me on rides like this before, but…not so much anymore.”

“…He’s busy these days. You know how he is,” you offered in reply, though your tone betrayed the fact that you didn’t put much heart into your defense of Dutch. It kind of felt like a knee-jerk reaction, sometimes. You cleared your throat somewhat, perking up a little. “Though, I’m happy to take you out for a bit. It’s not too far now, I think.”

“Ya don’t have to defend him to me, you know,” she said, “He…I just want someone to tell me that they see what I do.”

“What do you see?” you asked after a pause.

“That he’s…different, now,” Molly said, you feeling her hands tighten a bit on your hips as she shifted on the back of your horse as you steered down toward a familiar patch of trees.

“A lot of things have changed lately, haven’t they?” you asked, “Not to dismiss your concerns…”

“Yes, but…” Molly trailed off, sounding a little frustrated but you were glad that at least she wasn’t bottling it all up. “Even before Blackwater, you saw how he was. I thought things were getting better in Horseshoe, but now he has no time for me. Can’t help but resent the man.”

“I can’t say I know him that well,” you said, “I’ve only been around for…maybe half a year? Yet…well, I’ve seen the way you two yell at each other now, so I can’t say I haven’t noticed a change.”

“Mortifyin’, that’s what that is,” Molly muttered, “I just don’t want to sit there and take it. I just want him to listen.”

“I know,” you replied, reaching a hand back to grasp at her own where she was gripping your shirt, “Dutch…he…Don’t tell anybody I said this, but it feels like doesn’t listen to anybody unless they are agreeing with him. From what I’ve seen, anyway. He may change. Come to his senses or something…”

God, listening to yourself say those last couple of sentences didn’t make you believe you believed what you were saying. Molly didn’t say anything in return–you couldn’t blame her. You wanted to respect her relationship with him; and for all you had to say, Dutch did help you out. Yet, you really didn’t want to force yourself to defend the man you saw hurting someone you cared about, day after day. You knew Molly hurled her own share back at him, but after seeing what happened with Mary-Beth and her discomfort, you couldn’t help but want to stand with Molly.

It wasn't your place to get involved, anyway. Not directly, at least. You could just offer her things like this, you supposed.

Finally, after making sure to take a path into the clearing that wouldn’t get you both smacked by tree branches, you arrived at the little clearing. The little stream, some rabbits running off into the bushes on the other side and the early evening sunlight giving you plenty of shade. You steered your horse to a stop near a tree, slipping out of the saddle first before offering your hands out to Molly for some help down with a somewhat awkward chuckle.

She took your offered help, slipping off the side of your horse with your assistance, gripping onto your hands as she glanced around herself. You couldn’t help but notice the freckles that dotted her cheeks, a few strands of her red hair resting against her shoulders as you still gripped her hands in your own. Your heart was beating hard, both worried about her reaction and the fact that you were still standing like you were.

Finally, you dropped your hands to your sides as you looked around yourself before giving Molly a small grin.

“Like I said, it’s not a gala or anything, but it’s nice.”

“I don’t think I could handle anythin’ more than this,” Molly said, “It’s…quiet.”

You made a sound of agreement, moving toward one of the trees to rest under as you gave Molly the option to follow. Really, you couldn’t say you had many hobbies that you could do in a place like this, but just taking in the relative quiet was enough for you. Though, you noticed Molly walking over to join you after a few moments, lowering herself down to sit next to you as you glanced toward her.

She pulled her legs up to her chest somewhat, crossing her arms on her knees as she looked off at the treeline across from you both. It was probably the most casual you had seen her.

“I used to look for places like this to write poetry,” Molly commented, making you raise your eyebrows at her somewhat.

“You’re a poet?”

She chuckled lightly at that, the sound pulling at your heart a little. “I appreciate the flattery, but I wouldn’t say that. I don’t write nearly enough.”

“You could always pick it up again,” you encouraged, “I’ve seen Arthur with his journal many times, Sean and his whittling. Javier and his guitar, even Uncle with the banjo…”

“I know, but…” Molly started with a small shrug of her shoulders, “I don’t think I could write the same. About nature, love, folktales…things have changed too much.”

“I don’t think that means you should stop…” you replied, “Not to pressure you. Just…well, I know Mary-Beth writes romance, but I doubt Arthur’s journal is sunshine and rainbows. It’s a way to express yourself, I guess.”

“I never took you for the creative sort,” Molly commented in some mild amusement, which made you huff.

“I just think I’m overcompensating for the fact that I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”

“Well…I don’t think many people have encouraged my poetry in a long while,” Molly admitted after a few moments, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said with a nod, glancing down at the tips of your shoes, “You deserve to have people supporting you.”

“You…always do that,” Molly said after another pause, which had you glancing back toward her, “Since we’ve met. You go out of your way to lift my spirits. I know I don’t appreciate that enough.”

“I just…” you started, squeezing your hands together, “I want to help. I like you–your company. I think you deserve better than a passing greeting or…” Dutch, you wanted to say. You deserve better than Dutch. “I know you appreciate it. You don’t have to say it.”

“…Why me?” Molly asked, the question taking you a little off guard. “You’re friendly with others, but you go out of your way for me…”

“I…It’s…” you said, trying not to stammer as you could feel your heart in your throat, “I mean…you have to know by now, right? I appreciate your company and friendship a lot, and I shouldn’t even say anything more, but…I’m sweet on you.”

“You’re sweet on me?” Molly asked, her tone not quite as shocked and put-off as you had been expecting. “That…makes sense, I just never thought…”

“You don’t have to say or do anything,” you said, meeting her gaze with your serious one, “I just know that you deserve better than Dutch. I know you love him, but I’d hate to see you chasing after someone who isn’t there anymore. The idea of him, at least. I don’t want to say I’d be the one who would be better for you, but…I just think you deserve better than to be brushed off and ignored. Certainly better than being condescended to and yelled at.”

Your gaze had dropped as you spoke, feeling like you were saying too much and should stop while you were ahead. Yet, it was all true. You knew you had felt some sort of way toward her for a while now, and to see her and Dutch had taken on a particular sting. Especially with how things had been lately. Still, it wasn’t your place. You were expecting to be told off or something along those lines, and you’d understand that.

So, you were surprised when she leaned into you, her head resting against your shoulder as she wrapped her arms around your middle. You returned the embrace, holding onto her as she didn’t say anything. You knew it was a lot to take in, and you were concerned that you had ruined things, but this reaction was a bit of a relief. You rubbed your hand over her shoulder lightly in a small, soothing gesture.

“Regardless of how you feel about this now or later, I just wanted you to hear that from somebody,” you muttered, Molly nodding before she pulled back somewhat.

It looked like she might say something for a few moments, but instead she just reached out for your arm again as she leaned her head against your shoulder. You sighed, turning your head and pressed a small kiss to her hairline before pulling back to look across the clearing where some rabbits had returned to graze.

“I know,” you muttered.

[tiredcowpoke]

SNAP

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader    Request: “Hey hey 👋 been a big fan of your writing for a while and glad to see you back! (mostly interact from sideblog @cirillamylove​) would love to request an comfort fic for Arthur Morgan with a chronically stressed out reader just really going through it (I didn’t see any prompt lists so I hope this is ok)“ Warnings: Major warning for an anxiety/panic attack, there’s also some blood and injury, along with some angst but there’s comfort at least. Reader’s gender neutral (or I haven’t used any specifically gendered language) Note: Adopting a new formatting style from my other blogs, so that’s what’s up with the sudden change. Also, I based this around my experiences with panic disorder and anxiety, so it got a little self indulgent but I hope it’ll help/ring true to people with similar experiences. Anyway, sorry for the quiet, I hope you all enjoy.

Much like an old rope, each strain and pull only disconnected and frayed what little you had keeping you together. The quick upheaval of camps, the shootouts, the uncertainty of your future, they pulled that rope taut.

It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of the lifestyle you had found yourself in and what it did to people. You had seen some cruel bastards in your time, those who reveled in destruction and bloodshed. There were those who pretended to saddle a gray area, but they were particularly easy to see through once they had to weigh their actions against their words. You had also seen some more level-headed outlaws, those who were outcasts already and saw no other way, those who were just trying to survive. You liked to think you stood within the latter group, and yet the risks were the same, regardless of what reasons you had for doing what you do.

Yet, the fear and stress made a predator that you found yourself struggling to escape from sometimes.

You weren’t the only one experiencing that–you saw it crop up in other camp members when things were bad. Abigail’s harsh words and fussiness over Jack, Hosea’s clipped answers and shouts, Dutch’s recklessness and anger, Arthur’s biting sarcasm and remarks thrown about without a second thought to harm. Among others.

You liked to think you had some control over your emotions–you shared your concerns, sure, but you could tell when you were reaching the end of your rope. The ache in your teeth and jaw from clenching and grinding them in your sleep, or the way you felt like you had to be on point in everything you did. The uncertainty felt suffocating some days–how far were you supposed to run? How long would these changes last? How much money does the gang really have? How much do they really need?

‘Worrywort,’ ‘a worrier,’ you had heard some sort of variation of that comment when it came to you from time to time. You didn’t think it was always a bad thing–someone had to worry, right? Yet, the anxiety that came from that had such a strong grip at times that you weren’t sure how to function. Locking up in moments you really shouldn’t be, and the clumsiness that resulted from the racing in your head at points didn’t exactly go over well with some people.

It made you weary to go out on jobs, to earn money for the gang that you were pressured to do constantly, and you didn’t know if you would be able to collect yourself if you fell apart.

Yet, it was inevitable. That final tug came with the sharp pain of a bullet ripping through your shoulder, and something in you snapped.

The ringing in your ears almost drowned out the sound of your horse’s hooves against the ground, the shout of your name as you continued to just ride. You didn’t know exactly where you were going–the outskirts of the town had long since disappeared into the distance, the plains of the Heartlands stretching out before you, and it was hard to recognize anything. You had rode around the area more than enough to know where things were, yet everything looked the same to you at the moment.

You knew you were pushing your horse, the snorts and the starts of the agitated head throwing finally seemed to register in your mind as you turned to make your way up a small incline. A part of you just wanted to get up high–somewhere safe, where you could see things. Finally, you pulled your horse to a stop once you climbed to a flat surface overlooking part of the Heartlands.

“Sorry, sorry…” you muttered at your horse, who stomped and huffed as you tried to calm the poor beast. In your mind, you felt like you were miles away from the moment, but thankfully that ringing in your ears and the rushing in your head was slowing down.

You were aware of the sharp pain that was radiating from your shoulder, but at the moment you didn’t really care. Once you had managed to calm your horse, you unsteadily climbed down from your staddle and moved forward a couple steps to sit yourself down on a rock. Your head was pounding, your heart racing as if it had run there on foot.

The shakiness that usually only seized you at night was now making you almost quake, teeth chattering and your hands shaking. You just wanted it to stop–this whole thing was minor, there was a fight with some trigger happy assholes, and you weren’t sure if Arthur followed you out this far or if you had just outran him, but you didn’t want him to see you like this. He had complained to you a couple times about being the camp’s ‘workhorse’ and how he struggled to keep everything together, and you didn’t want him to have to see you while it felt like you were coming apart at the seams.

You just couldn’t quite get your breath under control, still gasping like you had just sprinted several miles and shaking like a leaf. It’ll pass, you reminded yourself, it always does–

“What’re you doin’ out here?” a familiar voice called out, making you jump.You almost threw yourself to your feet, yet you let out a shaky breath and managed to just cast the owner of the voice a sharp glance.

“Just–” you snapped, “Get out of here, Arthur.”

If agitation hadn’t gotten a hold of your tongue, you would have realized how sharp that demand was. Yet, in the moment, you didn’t feel like you were in control of anything. Arthur didn’t respond to that for a few moments–you had looked away from him, not wanting to see the look on his face. You didn’t want to see his expression when he realized just how much of a mess you really were.

Yet, while a more prideful part of you was wishing he would just walk off, you also wanted him there. In a way. You didn’t really know what you wanted from him at the moment.

“You’re…” Arthur started, sounding almost torn on what he wanted to do, himself, “You’re bleedin’ on yourself. I saw you get shot.”

…Right. Right, you had been shot. In your current state, somehow that had managed to slip into the back of your mind. With your attention now drawn back to it, you could feel the sharp sting of the wound in your shoulder. Gingerly, you reached up and under the edge of the shirt you wore, pulling your hand back to see some blood on your fingertips. Shit.

“You got somethin’ to close that up with?” Arthur asked.

You still didn’t want to look at him, but you didn’t have the energy to get up or chase him off, despite your previous words. You pointed toward your saddle bags with your uninjured arm.

“I have an old shirt. I can cut a sleeve or…something and use that until someone can close it up properly later.”

Again, Arthur didn’t reply, but you heard him walk off behind you toward where your horse was. Thankfully, the momentary distraction helped with that terrible tightness in your chest, as much as you still shivered as if you were sitting out in the cold. The Heartlands wasn’t terribly hot, but it certainly wasn’t freezing either.

Arthur returned with the shirt you had mentioned, sitting down on the rock beside you. There was some space between you, so he wasn’t crowding you but it was enough to notice him. You watched as he cut a part of the sleeve off, cutting it down the middle somewhat so it was long enough to wrap around your arm.

“Ain’t…” he started, putting the hunting knife away, “Ain’t good at much else, but I’ve closed up enough wounds in my time. Should be enough until you get back to camp.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, letting him take your arm and wrap the make-shift bandage around it.

You took in a small breath at the sting of him tightening it, but it was a bit of a relief to know that at least you wouldn’t have to worry about too much blood loss on top of everything.

“...I don’t know what happened,” you said after a few moments, Arthur releasing your arm once the bandage was secure. “I thought…I thought I was fine. I had more–more control, and then…”

“We almost got into a shootout,” Arthur commented, “It’s happened before. I don’t think it’s anythin’ that’ll come back to hurt us any.”

“I guess, but…in the moment I don’t think I really knew what was going on. Something in me just…snapped. I can’t–I don’t…I don’t feel in control of myself these days. The running, the moving, the jobs, the packing up and moving again…”

“I know what you mean,” Arthur said with a small nod, “Things…I dunno, they ain’t great but we’ve made it outta things like this before. We’ll do it again. Don’t got much choice on that.”

“I know Dutch always…” you exhaled heavily, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes for a few moments, “He’s got his plans, but…I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“We…keep pushin’,” Arthur replied after a few moments, “That’s all we can do. We’ll get out the other side of this, we just have to keep goin’.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said with a shake of his head, clasping his hands together in his lap as he looked down at his boots, “I ask myself that a lot, but…no use givin’ up now.”

You nodded lightly, accepting that answer. It didn’t exactly mean you accepted the situation, but it was the one you were in. You also knew that Arthur didn’t like it either, that he could understand your stress in a way. Perhaps not in exactly the same ways, but it was enough that his words were a little soothing. That it wasn’t just you. That you weren’t worrying for nothing.

With a sigh, you reached up and rubbed at your eyes, feeling the wetness that soaked your cheeks. A quick flash of embarrassment had you trying to hide your face somewhat, but you knew it was no use since he’d seen it all anyway.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you admitted, wiping away the tears from your eyes and cheeks.

“Like what?”

You gestured vaguely to yourself with your good arm, letting out an almost humorless huff. “Me crying and shaking like a leaf, bleeding all over myself. I should have collected myself or…”

You trailed off, realizing how futile that statement was. You didn’t invite Arthur to come find you, he showed up on his own. You didn’t have time to ‘collect yourself’ and yet a part of you hated that you hadn’t.

“I don’t want you to think…lowly of me or that I’m just…a mess,” you continued, “I thought…I thought I had more control of myself, but…I don’t feel like I do.”

Despite your own words, you couldn’t help the way your eyes clouded over with unshed tears, voice cracking at the end as you pressed the back of your hand against your mouth to hold back the sob that threatened to come out. Out of control. That’s what scared you–you wanted to be in control of yourself, and yet…you certainly weren’t in that moment.

You were surprised, however, when you felt Arthur pull you into his side as he wrapped an arm around your back. While a part of you wanted to push away, to insist that you were fine, you found yourself wrapping an arm around his back as you pressed your head into the side of his neck. Arthur placed his free hand on the side of your head, the feeling causing you to close your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. You could feel the tears leaking out, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop holding onto him, your free arm curled into his chest. Your shoulder was protesting, but you didn’t care.

“You’re alright,” Arthur muttered, the softness of his tone surprising you as well. “I don’t think anythin’ different about you. Shouldn’t matter much if I did, my opinions ain’t worth much.”

“That’s such a lie and you know it,” you replied, voice thick but you couldn’t help the touch of amusement as you felt him chuckle in return.

“Well, first part’s true. Don’t know about the rest,” he said, making a small grin touch your face.

It was a relief that he didn’t judge you for what was happening, really. You had wanted him to believe that you had it under control, that your wellbeing wasn’t just another thing to add to his list of things he needed to keep on top of. Yet, you knew it wasn’t fair to just hold everything in. He cared, that much was true.

“You’ve been in camp long enough,” he continued, “You’ve seen the screamin’ matches, people stumbling around drunk, injured. You’ve seen me in some ways I wish you hadn’t. I can’t judge. You’re one of the strongest people here.”

“I don’t feel strong,” you muttered, voice muffled into his shoulder. Yet, it was an admission that seemed to lift some weight off your chest. “I want to be, but I don’t feel like I am.”

“You are,” Arthur insisted, “Amount of times you’ve seen me lash out, say things without thinkin’. You kept it together for a long time. Runnin’ off on your horse is not the worst way I’ve seen someone break.”

“...I’m sorry I snapped at you,” you said, letting out a heavy breath as you relaxed into his hold some more, “You didn’t have to stay, but you did and I appreciate this. More than I can say, Arthur.”

“We’re gonna get through it,” Arthur replied, resting his cheek against the side of your head, “It’ll be fine.”

You didn’t know if that was a lie or not–if that was naive thinking with what you both knew about what was happening. In the moment, however, you let yourself believe that. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, shutting your eyes as you let out a slow breath.

“Thank you.”

[outlawmorgans]

Want to help out a nonbinary person afford food and medication? 

Well, I’d be super grateful! lol 

A bit of a background: I’m currently trying to wrap up my university degree and most of my funding is going toward school and what is left over is sent to my family, who are currently in bankruptcy. We have been since the pandemic started. I’ve been trying to find long-term work alongside my schooling, but my province is deep in a recession on top of the worldwide inflation crisis and my job searching process has been pretty bleak. Additionally, the price of food is ridiculous and my household is living meal by meal. 

Ultimately, I’d just really appreciate anything that might help me buy a meal, my medications (antidepressants with terrible withdrawal if stopped suddenly) or to keep feeding my cat. I don’t really have the time or energy to offer much in return. I am a writer, but this situation has drained me in many ways and I don’t feel like I can do commissions at this time. 

I hate doing this, makes me feel a little sick, but after having another job fall out from under me, I don’t really have anywhere else to turn. 

If you can’t donate, reblogs would mean a ton. Thank you.

my kofi link

[tiredcowpoke]

Hey y'all! I'm going to be house sitting starting Sunday, so I figure I'll have plenty of time to work on the requests here! Thank you all for the patience.

[tiredcowpoke]

Thank you all for the requests! I wasn't expecting to get such a handful of them. lol I've had a busy week, but I am hoping to start working on some over the weekend. 💕

[tiredcowpoke]

Just a reminder that I do take requests on here! If you'd like to see me write something, don't be scared to let me know!

[tiredcowpoke]

heyy, i just did a full binge of your blank spots story and would love to be added to the tag list <3

Hey! I'm glad you're enjoying that! I'll add you to the tag list. c: