This is a really delayed @rdr-secret-cupid piece for the wonderful @alwaysbeliev. This one got re-assigned pretty late, but I do hope you enjoy. I wrote a little piece about how Arthur got into art. I included a little drawing of Arthur’s first sketch, since it was so late, I hope you enjoy!
“What the hell were you thinking?” Hosea growled, releasing Arthur’s arm as they approached a bored looking horse.
“The guy started it!” Arthur argued, rubbing his arm.
“We were supposed to be scouting only, now we gotta move on, they are gonna be on alert now.” Hosea couldn’t look at the boy and he stepped into the saddle.
He thrust out a hand for Arthur, who climbed sullenly onto the horse. The ride back to their camp outside of town was silent.
“Oh, you’re back early!” Bessie looked up from her darning, putting her work down as Hosea and Arthur dismounted.
Her smile fell as she looked up at Hosea’s face, her eyes slowly moving to Arthur’s shrunken form behind him. “Is everything alright?”
Hosea scowled and turned to face Arthur. “Why don’t you tell her about our trip to town.”
The kid held his hat in his hands, a sheepish and pained look on his face. Hosea turned and took the reins, leading Amelia off to get her settled with the rest of the horses. Bessie patted the crate next to her.
“Come and sit, tell me what happened.”
Arthur plopped heavily beside her, his heels digging into the soft earth as he pushed his lanky legs out in front of him. He had grown so much in the last couple years, Bessie thought, looking down at him. She knew what this was about, he had started another fight, blown their cover.
“So, what was it this time.” She said gently, picking up the pair of trousers she needed to mend.
“It weren’t all my fault!” Arthur started, his voice cracking.
happy (very belated) Valentine’s Day, @the-awkward-outlaw ! i hope you enjoy this!
summary: Arthur Morgan has never been very good at talking about his thoughts and feelings. He finds it much easier to show them, and he hopes he’s doing it the right way.
Sunlight filtered delicately through the trees in the early morning. Birds chirped somewhere above, hidden among the flourishing summer canopy, a shadow dashing here and there between the branches. A squirrel scurried around roots on the forest floor, pausing only to dig at a spot and sniff before deciding it was fruitless and moving on.
I’m your secret cupid, @southernlynxx !!! I’m so sorry this took forever dear; the past few weeks have been totally insane and out of my hands to control. I chose your first wish and decided to mix it up with some good reassurance (happy) angst which i found fitting for the theme;
John trying to understand & accept Arthur’s affection around camp! I hope you enjoy it, happy late Saint Valentine’sday!!!
Hello @annwritesallday I was your secret cupid for @rdr-secret-cupid:)
I apologise for the delay, my health kinda let me down and thus, I lost a lot of time.
I’m also more used to drawing, but your requests leaned more towards writing soooo… a chance to try something new, I guess? :)
English also isn’t my first language, so I’m sorry if there are mistakes!
Characters: Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan
Themes: Friendship, Emotional Comfort I guess?
Warnings: Hints at animal cruelty, emotional abuse and not so healthy drinking behavior
Summary: Arthur drinks a bit too much and tells Charles about his feelings (friendship)
———–
The sun had set hours ago at Clemens Point and by now, the lake was full of stars. It was a warm night, and in Charles opinion much more pleasent than the suffocating humid heat that lay over them during the days in this area.
He let out a sigh of relief as he sat down near the shore of the lake at the edge of camp. Drunken laughter and cheerful voices swept over to him, but they were dulled by the calm water in front of him.
Hosea had pulled of some kind of small scam today and had returned to camp with a crate of beer and a big smile on his face. One thing led to another and soon the overall interest in work and chores around camp had significantly lessened and rather turned towards storytelling, joking and singing.
And so, not much work got done that day, and though Charles did take over some of the other’s chores, there was still plenty to do. But that had to wait until tomorrow. It had been a long day and he was glad to finally have a quiet moment for himself.
He had considered joining Kieran at the scout fire, but the latter had also been doing more work around camp today than usual and not being the most outgoing person, he was probably grateful to have some time alone.
And so Charles had found himself this little spot at the shore, but after a few minutes, he heard footsteps approaching him.
The person stumbled a few times, clearly having had a bit too much whiskey, but Charles still recognized the man without having to turn around.
“Arthur.”
“Hello Charles”, Arthur greeted him and giggled as he struggled to keep his balance while trying to sit down next to him.
Arthur hadn’t been around camp for the past few days and had just come back this afternoon, a frown on his face and a distant look in his eyes. Something had definetly been on his mind and Charles wondered if Arthur had tried to wash it away with the alcohol. He hoped he was wrong.
His thoughts were interupted by Arthur’s slighty slurred voice.
“Really nice. The lake, it’s… is really nice. It’s… so much calm water. I like it. I feel…”
There was a shift in his voice and he paused.
Charles turned his head to look at Arthur, trying to figure out what was bothering him. But Arthur didn’t even seem to know himself as he gestured with his hands, triyng to find the right words, which appearently was made more difficult by the alcohol in his veins.
“I… I just… feel awful.”
It was a miserabel sight, really. Usually Arthur was well aware of the intimidating effect his size and appearance could have on others. He didn’t even have to do much, just stand tall, maybe cross his arms and put on a mean face.
But the man who now sat next to Charles on the dirty ground was nothing like that. He was slumped over, suddenly appearing much smaller than he actually was, not even trying to hide the emotions displayed on his face.
“Why? Arthur, did something happen?”
“Well, yeah… I think, I… There was this man and his - his horse… he said it died and he asked me to give him a ride.”
Arthur paused for a moment, letting out a defeated sigh, “I wanted to help him but it was a stupid… stupid trap an’ he’d killed the horse himself to make it look real and… and I jus’ wanted to help.”
He stopped once again, but this time, a small sob escaped Arthur. And Charles was glad the other man had to pause, as he himself also needed a moment to let it sink in.
It seemed so small and insignificant compared to other acts of violence he had witnessed over the years, and maybe that was why it wasn’t easy to understand. Killing a horse so you had the element of surprise while attempting to rob someone, not even knowing if they had any money at all? It didn’t make sense.
Next to him, Arthur was failing to keep his tears in check, so Charles carefully put his hand on his shoulder.
Arthur’s body tensed up for a moment and Charles felt a wave of disappointment rush through him, afraid that now Arthur would turn away and never open up to him ever again.
But after a few seconds, Arthur relaxed and continued to talk, “I thought I knew what I was doing. Jus’ wanted to do something right, as in… do the right thing. And I don’t know why it’s so… so hard for me.”
No matter how tough and dense Arthur sometimes acted, Charles knew there was more to him. He wasn’t quite sure yet what exactly, but people were complicated after all. However, some seemed to be more complicated than others. And seeing Arthur so hurt and confused? Somehow, it confused Charles too.
Arthur sniffed and finally turned his gaze to the younger outlaw, “It’s so easy for you and I just… don’t even understand what’s right and what’s wrong. Always have to think about it. I think I’m jealous… because you just… you just do what’s right without wondering what the right thing is. And I don’t even know what’s right. I don’t even know why I don’t know. No idea what I’m doing. I just - ”
“Arthur, stop that.”
“What?”
“Talking like that. It’s nonsense.”
While Arthur had been rambling on, Charles had recognized one of the emotions that was growing stronger within him right now. With every single word Arthur got out with shaky breaths, his anger grew. It wasn’t directed at Arthur, but rather at the situation. And he had to do something about it.
Arthur didn’t try to back away, his eyes were fixed on his face, probably stunned by his sudden change of tone.
With his hand still firmly on Arthur’s shoulder, Charles continued, “I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas from, but it’s not true.”
“I…”
“Arthur, I know you’ve probably had one or two beer too many. But don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re always putting yourself down, wether you’re sober or not.”
Arthur blinked a few times, looking almost offended, “I’m not drunk, just…”
“Just a little bit drunk, I know”, a small smile escaped him at Arthur’s blatant lie and his tone softened, “Can you just… listen to me for a moment?”
Arthur still looked somewhat unsure, but still gave him an hesitant nod.
“I don’t always know what’s right. And if there’s someone who claims they always do, they’re lying. And whoever put those ideas in your head is also a liar.”
There was a flash of realization in the teary eyes of the older outlaw and he slowly turned his head away. Someone had obviously come to Arthur’s mind.
Charles had a feeling who it was and maybe Arthur was even thinking of more than one person.
But whatever the case was, given Arthur’s reaction, Charles had definetly hit a nerve.
Now that he had, Charles almost felt a bit guilty. Almost.
He pushed those feelings away and instead focused on Arthur again, gesturing towards the camp behind them with his free hand, “Look, all those people… The girls all had their share of… bad experiences, and they trust you. They’re not naïve.”
“I would never-”
“No, of course not, because you know it’s wrong and given your reaction, you never even thought of it in the first place.”
Arthur shook his head, a grossed out expression all over his face.
“I’ve seen the way you laugh together. They care about you”, Charles paused at the disbelieving look Arthur gave him and rolled his eyes in response, “Don’t look at me like that, they DO. You’re like… this grumpy, big brother. If you don’t belive me, I’ll go and get them to come over so they can tell you yourself. You want me to do that?”
It was an attempt at humor, but it completly went over Arthur’s head, “No, I don’t want them to see me like… well…”
He tried to wipe the tears from his face, but his red eyes and nose were not easy to miss, even though the only source of light were the fires and lanterns from the nearby camp and the moon in the night sky above them.
Charles moved his hand from Arthur’s shoulder to his back, carefully patting him as the other man continued to rub at his face, “It’s okay Arthur. It’s alright. Nothing wrong with having emotions.”
He could have sworn to have heard a soft laugh from Arthur at that, and as he looked a bit closer, there actually seemed to be a genuine smile on his face.
“I mean it. There are people who go through life and don’t seem to think about how what they’re doing affects others at all. Like that guy who killed his horse. And even if they do, I doubt they care to much. But you obviously do care. That’s a good thing.”
“But?”
“But please… stop comparing yourself to me as if I’d know everything and never make mistakes. You have to think and decide for yourself.”
“Hosea told me the same”, there was a smile in Arthu’s voice now and this time, it was mirrored by his face. Charles returned the smile, but raised his eyebrows in a manner of faked disbelief.
Arthur laughed at that and raised his finger in a scolding gesture, “Oh don’t you look at me that. I’m afraid I’m not drunk enough to forget about this conversation once I’m sober again… I’m sorry, I… I guess the drink loosened the tongue… damn…”
“Well, I sure am glad it did. Someone had to… well, at least try to talk some sense into you.”
But Arthur didn’t respond to the teasing this time, and instead seemed to struggle to find the right words once again.
“I’m…”, Arthur paused, then laid his hand on Charle’s shoulder the same way the younger outlaw had done before, “Thank you. For… this, for beeing honest and… listening and… For beeing my friend.”
Charles nodded, glad that he appearently had gotten through some of the self-doubt that occupied Arthur’s mind.
“Charles, if… if there’s ever something you’d like to talk about… I care about you, too. And if you need to talk, I’ll be there too, okay?”
Here I am, super late, but @artofadmin I was your secret cupid. I wrote some Arthur and Albert fluff for you, I do hope you enjoy it. So sorry again that it’s late!
Characters:Albert Mason, Arthur Morgan Pairing: 2AM, Albert x Arthur Themes: Fluff, Pre-relationship, just cute shit Warnings:None Words:3,968 [ko-fi ] || [ ao3]
Chance Meeting
Saint Denis.
Arthur adjusted himself in the saddle. Why Dutch wanted anything to do with this city was beyond him, especially after Blackwater. He slowed Ulysses to a lazy walk as he wound his way through the streets, keeping an eye out for employment opportunities in the city.
He eventually found himself on the main drag, crowds of carriages and pedestrians filled the street. The chime of a trolley car filtered through the dun of activity, the noise grated in Arthur’s ears, another reason he hated the city. Making his way to the Bastille Saloon, he tied up Ulysses and gave the horse an apple, promising to be back soon.
The saloon was surprisingly busy for how early it was and Arthur moved to the bar to order a drink. He placed a handful of coins on the table and motioned for the bartender to leave the bottle, turning his attention to the poker table, the men around the table talked raucously.
“Seat taken?” He asked, pulling out one of the empty chairs.
The man next to him sized him up, a predatory smile sliding across his face as he waved for Arthur to take a seat.
“Join us! Join us! Take a seat, stranger!”
Arthur tipped his hat and sat down, placing the bottle of whisky on the table. The men quietly returned to their conversations. Arthur poured himself a shot before reaching into his bag and pulling out a handful of cash. He held it out long enough for the other players to notice before looking up at the dealer.
“How much I got to put down to play?” He fumbled with the money in his hands.
“Five dollars.” Said the dealer, almost sympathetically.
Arthur counted out the bills and pushed them across the table, the dealer traded it for chips before he picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them.
“Alright, gentlemen. Bets in.” He said and started to deal as the men bid.
Arthur pulled his cards toward himself, sneaking a quick peek at his hand.
“So— ” a voice broke the silence at the table, ”—you don’t look like you’re from around here, lad. What brings you to town?”
Arthur filled his glass again, looking up at the man, finding all eyes at the table were on him.
“I was sellin’ some cattle to one of the farms just east of town,” he shrugged.
This@rdr-secret-cupid is for @outlawsworld ! I’m so sorry about it being a little late. I really hope that you like this, I really tried to incorporate horses and your appearance the best that I could without being overbearing.
Sorry about any formatting issues, I’m on mobile!
Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day!
——————
The Way He Touched You
Arthur Morgan x Reader
Word Count: 2,350
Warnings: None really, but there is briefly some hostile words and behaviors aimed at the reader.
You were a successful seductress and thief. You were making hundreds, sometimes thousands of money from tempting big burly oafs. They always figured you were no threat, with your small stature and physique. And don’t forget about your oh-so-charming Southern Belle act! These men were fools, and you played them like a fiddle.
Your mistake was staying in the same town and seducing every man who lived there. You no longer had an audience. No bites. No money. Until one day, when a new man rode into town on the finest horse you’d ever seen. He was loaded. But he was big, and strong.
You seduced the man, tricking him into buying you two a night at the nicest hotel around. Once you made your way into the room, however, that’s where things went wrong.
You’d gotten to the point in your routine where you would normally incapacitate your victim. Normally you would find an object close by, like a candle stick or a boot that had been kicked off. Well, when you smashed a glass dish over the man’s head, he did not pass out. Rather, he started bleeding profusely and screaming at you. You bolted out of the hotel, bursting through the door and jumping on the first horse you saw: his.
With a quick kick to the sides the Arabian horse went into a full gallop, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground mixed in with the angry yells of the man you just failed to rob.
Pretty soon, the law and the townspeople were on you. But your stolen horse was faster than them. Eventually it seemed that they had given up. You couldn’t hear or see anything. You slowed the horse and dismounted, giving it a nice pat and an apple (which was also stolen).
You must have fallen asleep, because when you woke up to the sound of thundering hooves and angry men the sky was a different shade of blue. Luckily the horse you’d stolen, who you now recognized was a girl, was still nearby, grazing on the overgrown grass. Unfortunately, she was not a very camouflaged horse. She was the brightest shade of white with a pink nose and blue eyes. The mob found you easily.
You ran and mounted the mare, kicking her to make her go. The horse bolted, and you made decent ground, but the howling of nearby wolves spooked her and she threw you off.
“Fuck!“ You were panicking. You had no other means of escaping. Horse theft was punishable by hanging. Is this how you would go? Suddenly a horse skidded and stopped beside you.
“Those friends of yours?” The man asked.
“No! Can you get me outta here?” You were on the verge of crying. You didn’t want to die.
“I can try! Hop on up here, miss.” You hoped you could trust this man. With a prayer you hopped onto the back of the man’s horse, and after grabbing hold of his shirt you were off. His horse galloped faster than the Arabian had for you, perhaps he was a kind and tender man with his horse.
The man, whose name you had learned was Arthur, took you into a concealed part of the wilderness. You were scared of where he was bringing you, but more scared of what would happen if you jumped off. You saw the dim light of a campfire, the sound of people talking, horses snorting back and forth as they noticed a stranger approaching.
You found yourself in a camp full of people. Arthur lead you over to a tent, where a man with jet black hair and a mustache greeted you. You told him your story, and he laughed and recommended you become friends with a girl named Karen. Apparently she was in a similar “business” as you.
That was almost a full year ago now.
Now you were a dutiful helper around camp. You of course did the regular chores that Ms. Grimshaw assigned you, but you had also become the caretaker of the gang’s horses.
Except Arthur’s. He insisted on taking care of his mare. The one time he had found you taking care of his horse he didn’t talk to you the rest of the day! You found it strange but you respected his wishes.
Currently you were grooming Taima, Charles’ Appaloosa mare. You were running a brush through her black and white fur, giving her encouraging words as you went on. You had finished your other chores: washing and drying clothes, washing bowls for the evening stew; the same old routine. A calm breeze drifted through the camp, causing leaves to flap around and Taima’s man to flow, ever so slightly.
You noticed the sound of hooves alongside the rustling of the flora around you. Arthur was riding in. He had been gone a couple of days on a hit. His horse looked exhausted, covered in sweat and mud.
“Hey, Arthur.” You greeted him. He tipped his hat towards you. He hitched his horse and walked towards you.
“Would you mind givin’ my old girl a brush?”
“I thought you didn’t like me tendin’ to your horse.” He sensed the slight attitude in your voice, you’d been holding a slight, although stupid, grudge since Arthur went silent on you.
“Please, (Y/N), she’s filthy. I can’t tend to ‘er right now…” Arthur headed off to Dutch’s tent, followed by the closing of the flaps. You gave Taima a once over; she looked shiny and clean. You headed over to Arthur’s mare, who nickered in response to you patting her hindquarters.
You gently brushed her, caked mud falling off with ease. She would need a real bath to return to her solid black color. You cleaned her as best as you could. Although her white socks were still a beige color, she looked pristine everywhere else.
Arthur soon returned, letting out a low whistle at the sight of his horse. Of course he didn’t like that he didn’t do it himself, but he praised you on your grooming work.
“You wanna go for a ride, (Y/N)?”
“Why?” You eyed him suspiciously.
“Do you wanna go for a ride or not?”
Without another word you got up on Arthur’s horse and wrapped your arms under his, your hands resting on his shoulders. The mare trotted into the woods, and once you all reached the main road you took off towards Valentine.
When you arrived, Arthur hitched his horse up outside of the stable. Was he buying treats? You followed him inside the stable, where he was greeted by the owner who was eyeing you suspiciously.
“Whatcha think about that one?” Arthur pointed towards a palomino American Standardbred.
“That’s a fine horse,” you said quietly. You didn’t have the money for such a creature, which you voiced with Arthur.
“‘Scuse me sir, I’d like to purchase this horse for my wife!” Arthur gestured towards the golden horse. Wife? Wife? Your face flushed red with anxiety and embarrassment. Arthur paid for the horse, your horse. He got you basic tack as well, and made sure you were good to ride. You didn’t know what to say.
You began to leave the stable, but the owner called after you.
“Wait! Here’s a brush and some treats… for… you…” A realization had been made. “Why— sir! That ain’t your wife! That’s the whore that stole all the men’s money in this town!”
“Don’t you call my wife no such thing.” Arthur warned the man, his hand gripping
his holster. You were flabbergasted, both at Arthur’s new title for you and that you had been caught… again.
The man grabbed at the skirt of your dress, trying to pull you off of your horse. You kicked at him, “Stop it!” You hissed at him, glaring him down. You weren’t scary at all, but perhaps Arthur’s presence gave you a leg up in intimidation. He grabbed at you again, his dirty hand gripping your thigh through the fabric. Without hesitation Arthur drew his pistol and shot the man, blood splatter making its impression on your dress and skin. Now you were certain your dress was soiled.
“Let’s go.” Arthur grumbled. Arthur called for his horse and mounted up. You both calmly left the stable, but you felt like you were burning alive with all of the eyes on you two. You could hear a familiar voice, the sheriff. As soon as you and Arthur had made it close to the outskirts, you bolted. You made a detour and headed towards Emerald Ranch, to avoid giving directions to camp if somebody followed you.
The sheriff and his deputies followed you, but gave up easily. Your horse was kind to you, and easy to handle. But he began to spook. You held on tightly to the reins, causing the horse even more irritation.
“Let loose on the reins, keep your ass in the saddle!” Arthur guided you. You already knew this, but you tried your best to follow his directions. Your horse did calm down after a moment, snorting at you after the ordeal. Arthur smiled smugly at you.
“So I’m your wife now, huh?” You teased Arthur, who was flushed a crimson red. He hadn’t really thought about that.
“In Valentine you are.”
If only he knew how you felt about it. You didn’t push it. You thanked Arthur for your horse, who you’d decided to call Flavian, after his golden appearance. Arthur thought the name was weird, but didn’t question it. The two of you rode off towards camp, traveling through the oil fields to get back. It was a long ride, but a safe one. The hot sun burned your skin, turning you pink. You didn’t think you’d be in the sun for so long, you hadn’t really prepared.
In a daze, you felt something hit your chest. Arthur’s hat. You looked at him, his head already facing forward.
“You’re turnin’ red. Just wear it for now.” You put on the hat, the scent of him forcing its way into your nose and causing a familiar heat to rush to your face. You reached the wooded surroundings of the camp, just as the sun began to set.
After you’d arrived Arthur grabbed a bowl of Pearson’s stew and retreated to his tent. You grabbed a bowl as well and followed Arthur, you needed to give his hat back. When you got close enough, Arthur was sitting and holding his head in his hands, frustrated.
“Arthur?”
“Yes, Miss (Y/N)?” He seemed startled.
“Your hat…” You pulled the hat off of your head, reaching it out for him to take. He looked up at you, beet red. He reached for the hat and gently took it from your hand. “Are you okay…?” You stepped closer, into his tent. He seemed a bit concerned about this, his eyebrows knitting together.
“I’m fine, Miss (Y/N). Just tired. Confused.”
“Confused about what, Arthur?”
“You.”
“Well, what about me?” You kind of laughed, trying to conceal any nervousness in your voice.
“Well, I— It’s not important, (Y/N).”
You silently took a deep breath. You stepped closer to Arthur and sat down beside him on his cot. He recoiled a bit. Ouch.
“What, Arthur?” You were hurt at how repulsed he seemed to be by your presence. Sure, he bought you a horse, but probably because Dutch or Hosea told him to.
“The way that man touched you today. I didn’t like it.” He mumbled. He knew of your past, how you used to tempt men. What did Arthur mean?
The thought of you ever being touched by somebody filled Arthur with a quiet anger. He was jealous today. Jealous and protective and possessive. Over a woman that wasn’t his to begin with. He had been for months, and it worried him.
“I didn’t like him touchin’ you. I don’t like… I don’t like anybody touchin’ you!”
“Arthur.” You brought your small frame closer to him. This time he didn’t recoil. You turned your head to look at him, his eyes avoiding you. You brought a gentle hand to his forearm, his bright turquoise eyes met your green ones. “Arthur I’m in love with you… how could you not tell? Ever since you saved me…”
“You can’t be in love with me…” Arthur laughed with a hint of sadness. He turned to face you, your knees touching. He brought a calloused hand to your cheek, looking like he wanted so desperately to kiss you, but pulled himself away. He seemed ashamed.
“But I am. I am in love with you, Arthur Morgan.” You looked down at the ground, fearful of what he might respond with.
How could you be so vulnerable? How could you just tell him you’ve been in love with him for a year? What now? Were you going to tell him how every time he left on a mission that you’d be so sick to your stomach with worry that you were scared you’d vomit? How you felt a twinge of jealousy and then guilt when he interacted with any of the girls? How every time you saw him you’d try to take a picture in your mind, just in case?
Tears pricked at your eyes. Oh, great, you were crying now. Arthur lifted your head back up and wiped his thumb across your cheek, wiping your tears away. He smiled softly at you.
“We can talk about this later, (Y/N)… I can’t stand seein’ you cry.”
You latched onto Arthur, in the tightest hug you could manage. He brought his big arms around you, careful not to squeeze too tight.
You don’t remember much of anything after. Arthur had been right, you were both exhausted from the heat today.
The next morning you woke up, still encased in Arthur’s arms. It was still early, nobody else had woken up but you were sure somebody had seen the two of you. Arthur also seemed to be awake, and ran his fingers through your hair.
A/N: Heyo! This is for the lovely @that-wimpy-cowboy-doll who requested something with Arthur for the Valentines Gift thingy! Apologies for this being a little late; work has been short-staffed lately, which meant my writing time was cut to a considerably small amount. Hopefully this is what you want; if not, I’m totally fine with adjusting it to your needs! Much love!
____________
The night air was cool, a slight breeze disturbing the grass as you sat near the rock ledge at Horse Shoe Overlook. It was a relatively safe place. It was quiet, secluded; hardly a chance of being followed by any unsavory characters. Most of the gang was able to relax with the threat of danger having been quelled. At least for the time being spirits were high. That was evident by the faint sounds of guitar music and off-key singing reaching your ears. Normally you would be over there joining in on all the merriment.
But not tonight.
Tonight you had sequestered yourself away from the others, their positive auras putting a damper on your already bad mood. That and the thought that Arthur could return at any moment, his clothes all mussed from a full day of riding, and the sour expression that usually donned his face disappearing as he joined the other outlaws by the fire, oblivious to your inner turmoil. It made you sick to your stomach just thinking about it even now.
Suppressing a shiver, you wrapped your arms around yourself and dangled your legs over the ledge. The grasslands below were quiet. Not even a rabbit stirred among the foliage. It seemed to mirror the loneliness that was slowly building up within you. In some ways it was a small comfort; if you were feeling lonely, why shouldn’t the rest of the world feel lonely too.
A sigh involuntarily escaped your lips as your mind continued to think of the surly outlaw.
You had met him nearly over a year ago during one of your excursions to Blackwater. The gang hadn’t settler properly then; Arthur was sent as a look-out of sorts to scout the area and see if anything looked promising. You, on the other hand, were simply a farmers child running a few errands. It almost seemed like fate when you really thought about it. You hadn’t planned to be out and about, but your mother, a strong and very convincing woman, had insisted you go looking for another bolt of cloth. In reality, you suspected she had been hoping you would find a suitor. A dreamers hope really.
You had never been interested in anyone. Blackwater was a dry desert full of farmers desperate to pull together a boom town. They were all boring individuals; either expecting a spouse who would commit to more than their fair share of work or someone to produce a large family, which was something you weren’t ready for.
Not to mention your mother had talked you up to half the eligible suitors in town creating an aura of embarrassment and anxiety.
As you made your way through the various builders and hagglers, you had finally come to the only general store for miles. The building was crude, more of a haphazard collections of walls and roof, but it was enough to get the job done. The owner of the store, a middle-aged man with a full beard and thinning blonde hair, stood behind a pile of wooden boxes that served as a counter with a welcoming gleam in his eye.
“Hello there. What can I do for you today?”
“Morning Andrew, just here to pick up some cloth. Nothin’ too special.”
Andrew’s mouth pulled into a small smile.
“Well, we don’t have too much, but everything we have is in the corner over to your right. Help yourself.”
Nodding in thanks, you had turned around and smacked right into something solid. Apparently there had been another person in the store, but you hadn’t noticed. You felt yourself start to fall. Not only had you knocked into the stranger, but you had snagged the back of your trousers under your shoe. Needless to say, the ground came up pretty hard.
“Oh, sorry ma’am. Are you alright?”
It was with those six simple words that your life changed forever.
After the embarrassing encounter, Arthur, having been the recipient of your clumsiness, had offered to buy you a drink to clear up any misgivings. Naturally, you accepted. A few drinks later and you had divulged your entire life story; how many siblings you had, your mother’s knack for finding all your flaws, the way your father hardly spoke any words when he was at home, and how the chickens on your farm absolutely detested you with every fiber of their flightless being.
Arthur had remained a bit more tactful in that regard, but he had found you charming and amusing, so he asked to see you a second time. And then a third. And then a fourth. He asked to frequently to spend time with you, that you were hardly at home. Your parents were quite happy with the prospects of a possible marriage, even if they had never met the man in question.
One day, while the two of you were out on a leisurely stroll, Arthur had decided it was time to come clean about his life story. To say you were shocked was too simple. An outlaw? And not only that, but a member of one of the most notorious gangs out there; The Vanderlinde gang? It was a lot to take in. Despite your obvious feelings for him, you had asked for some space to think about everything he had said, even going to your mother for some hypothetical advice.
Clearly your misgivings hadn’t been too difficult to overcome considering you were here now with the gang, but, at the time, it felt like the hardest choice of your life. Now, here you still were, legs over the ledge, and your annoyance at Arthur continuing to grow.
A part of you felt a bit guilty for your frustrations, knowing that Arthur already does enough around camp without having to cater to your feelings, but it was the anniversary of the first day you had bumped into that man in the store. You had hoped to have been able to spend the day together. Maybe a picnic in the fields or a day in town, but Dutch had sent him on mission after mission, without any signs of protest from Arthur. It seemed to you as if he didn’t care at all.
“Hey darlin’. What are you doin’ all the way out here, huh?”
You’d recognize that voice anywhere. The drawl was hard to miss. Your knight in dusty denim had arrived. A little too late, you thought darkly.
Your silence became an invisible barrier between the two of you, as Arthur took a few tentative steps closer and eased himself onto the grass next to you. His own legs dangled over the rocky ledge next to you. They were close, but he left a considerably larger space than you were used too.
The quiet lingered for a while, neither of you saying anything; you looking anywhere but Arthur and the outlaw whistling and bobbing his left leg.
“So,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “I can tell somethin’s botherin’ ya. What’s wrong?”
You twisted your head too officially look at Arthur. His signature hat with the bullet hole was perched atop his scraggly mop of dark blond locks, his beard was a bit unkempt as well, and there was a thing veil of exhaustion behind his eyes. Your irritability evaporated.
“Do you know what today is, Arthur?” You asked quietly. He stared back at you, an odd expression on his face, and you took that to mean the worst. “I figured as much. I’m gonna go to bed Arthur. You come when you’re ready.”
As you made to stand up, Arthur clasped his hand gently around your wrist, stopping you.
“You think I’d forget?” He said, quiet as yours had previously been. “You think I’d forget one of the most important days of my life? The day we met?”
You locked eyes with him once again.
“Darlin’, I know things haven’t been easy lately, and I haven’t been able to spend much time with you.” He continued, voice full of emotion. “But don’t think for a second that you aren’t a priority. You mean more to me than the stars do the night sky.”
You felt tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you flung yourself forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.
“Oh Arthur!” You cried, the reassurance he had given you making your heart soar. Arthur chuckled and returned the hug, his had brushing gently against the small of your back. When you pulled away, he had a sheepish grin on his face. He dug in his pockets and took out a small bundle of cloth.
“Here. Open it.”
Taking the cloth in your hands, you gingerly peeled back the fabric to reveal a small comb with a flower decoration engraved on the ridge. It looked eerily similar to the one your mother had used when you were young.
“I remembered you sayin’ somethin’ about a comb that your mother had, so I had one made up for you.”
“Thank you, Arthur. This is the best gift anyone has ever given me.” You gushed, before learned forward to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.
Arthur smiled and clasped his hand in yours, before resting his head on your shoulders. The two of you stayed there for a while, just watching the stars and enjoying each others company while the sounds of the gang and the crackling fires faded into the background.
Happy Valentine’s Day @redeadepression! I was your secret cupid for this year’s @rdr-secret-cupid. I hope you like the piece I made for you.
After brainstorming for a few days I remembered a quote from Martin Luther King, and I was inspired to do a piece based on that quote, as I thought it really suited John’s final minutes. And sorry for being a bit late.
It was a lot of fun participating in this event again, the person this was for dropped out but I wanted the share anyway! It’s a pen drawing on watercolor ❤️ Happy Valentine’s Day everyone
howdy,@painterlypeach !! I was your secret cupid this year ^0^ I went with the coffee shop au charthur prompt, and it was a delight!! I’ve never drawn anything for a modern au so this was a lot of fun lol. Thanks so much for your patience, and thanks a million to @rdr-secret-cupid for hosting the event!! Hope you like it!!!
Happy Valentine’s day @boedkerillustrations ! I hope you enjoy your angsty piece about Arthur, it was fun to write!
Arthur leaned up against a brick wall, enjoying the shade on the hot summer day at the park in Saint Denis. Droves of people swirled around him, mingling and mixing together with the same ebb and flow of a river moving leisurely around a rock. To be honest Arthur enjoyed the indirect attention. It allowed him to watch the people fret over little details of their day that seemed oh so important in the moment but tomorrow would be forgotten. The colors of their dresses. Who was coming to dinner. Where they should vacation next.
Blah, blah blah.
Talk was a worthless currency to a walking dead man. It didn’t matter. But stealing these little moments away drowned out the other words that constantly rang in his ears.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Albert Mason, Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang
Words: 2816
Summary: The gang club around Arthur in an attempt to cheer him up.
————————————————————————————–
Cheer Up
Sean considered his trademark bastardry as usually for the greater good, and today was certainly one of those times. Arthur, as he usually was as of late, was sulking on the edge of camp and decimating a twig with his pocket knife. The more pleasantly-dispositioned members of the gang – if anyone in a den of thieves and killers could be described as such – had been sharing knowing looks since Hosea had spoken to them (a little too cryptically than Sean liked) yesterday.
Sean threw his shoulders back as cockily as he could muster and spread a beaming smile across his face as he swaggered over to Arthur’s post, bouncing jovially off his heels like he usually did.
‘Hey-a, big man!’ he chirped.
Arthur grunted in response. His hair was unkempt, flopping limply in front of his eyes – deep, sad green like a dead man’s prize emerald as they were – and his nigh-permanent frown. He didn’t look up, so Sean tipped himself playfully sideways like a bowled-over puppy to try and make eye contact. He cleared his throat a little. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Just fine, Sean.’ He ground out, elongating the first syllable to the point of uncomfortability.
‘You sure there?’ He pressed.
Arthur grit his teeth and looked up for the first time, albeit glaringly. ‘Yes. What do you want, Sean?’
The boy took the liberty of sitting down beside him. ‘Good, cos I wanted to ask you something.’
Arthur looked resigned and huffed, pushing back his hat and put the knife and what little remained of the twig down. ‘And what might that be?’ he asked, practically raking his hands down his face in weariness.
There was an awkward pause as Sean fabricated the question . A bird crowed obnoxiously above them.
‘Well, uh, I was gonna ask y’ how best to get good leads? You’ve always been real good at finding the best paydays.’ Sean said, and opened his mouth to rephrase but was cut off.
‘I’ve had a lot of experience, kid. It’s just keeping your ear to the ground and keeping quiet, which I know does not come naturally to you.’ Arthur replied, but he didn’t sound hostile. Sean saw that as a win, and smiled crookedly. ‘Thanks, English. Y’know, I only ask because – ‘cause I look up to you.’ He added quickly.
Arthur smiled a little (progress!) and shook his head in exasperation. ‘God knows why.’
*
Charles had watched Sean retreat from his ‘task’ an hour or so before, and figured that was a long enough wait to divert suspicion. Arthur, though having been slightly cheered – it was hard not to be around Sean – was still moping like a kicked puppy, having moved exactly twice to put some money into the box and relocate himself to his tent to draw. Even Dutch had been nigh doting on him, giving him a well meaning pat on the shoulder and frequent reassurances of ‘well done, my boy,’ and the like. Charles had thought it out of his place to ask why, as only Dutch, Hosea, and Grimshaw seemed to know. All he knew was Hosea’s request, and his first idea had been to take Arthur hunting. He couldn’t think of a better one, so headed to Arthur’s tent.
‘Hello, Arthur,’ he began, softly. ‘Am I disturbing anything?’
Arthur looked up, his eyes heavy and sad. ‘Not particularly.’
Charles cleared his throat and eventually met his eyes. ‘Pearson’s been on my back to go hunting as usual. Do you want to come with me?’
Arthur was physically incapable of not making himself useful, so he wordlessly closed his journal (far more gently than one may have expected) and retrieved his bow from the end of his cot.
A few hours later they were riding back to camp, their horses weighed down with enough to feed the camp for a good while. Charles remembered what Hosea had asked and cleared his throat. ‘You’re getting better with that bow.’ He commented.
‘Thanks,’ Arthur replied, brightening slightly. ‘I’ve been practicing.’
The thought of big, gruff Arthur Morgan – the feared enforcer of the mighty Van der Linde gang – taking time to practice something his friend had taught him was an endearing one. Charles’ mouth quirked up into a muted grin. ‘That’s good. You’re a- you’re a good man, Arthur.’ He said conclusively, and after the fact worried that might have appeared random.
But it must not have, as for once Arthur didn’t protest.
*
Sadie jumped a little as she felt the searing heat of a determined bullet whiz so close to the side of her head she thought it must have pulled a few hairs out. She growled profane at the O’Driscolls under her breath as she ducked in and out of cover, occasionally checking on Arthur out of the corner of her eye. He looked almost nonchalant, though that wasn’t too much of a surprise given the amount of times he must have been ineffectually ambushed by the O’Driscolls. He hadn’t bristled when they’d burst from the trees, hollering, ‘It’s Dutch’s boy! Kill him!’, instead dutifully finding cover and eliminating them with an accuracy so programmed it was eerie.
Sadie told him so as she swaggered out of cover. ‘We made short work of them.’ She smirked, jabbing one of the O’Driscolls with the toe of her boot and tucking her revolver back into its holster. ‘You’re a hell of a shot.’
Arthur holstered his revolver with the same nonchalance you would pair with a shrug. ‘I’ve had practice.’ He turned back to the wagon the O’Driscolls had jumped out of, and regarded the rolling-eyed skewbald hitched to the front of it.
Sadie hid a snicker at the new addition to the back of his hat in handwriting that was unmistakably Hosea’s. Fearing he’d hear and the plan would be ruined, Sadie approached the horse too. ‘Poor thing,’ she muttered. ‘Should we take it?’
Arthur looked pensive as the horse shuffled his hooves and kicked up goldust. ‘Looks strong enough. We probably oughtta.’
Kieran immediately perked up when he saw both the note on the back of Arthur’s hat and the new horse trailing behind him. He gave Sadie a wide berth as she snarled at him, but even the threat of being parted from several body parts couldn’t keep the twinkly smile from his face as he took the new horse – his new project, he decided – in. ‘Oh, he’s a beauty! Where’d you find him?’
‘You’ve probably seen him before, O’Driscoll. We got bushwhacked byyour old gang.’ Sadie seethed.
Kieran opened his mouth to protest but Arthur shut him off with an eyeroll. ‘Indeed we did. Good shooting, anyway, Sadie.’
‘Oh, you too.’ She remembered Hosea’s message. ‘Y’know, I’m glad we get on. You’re a good man, Arthur. Not everyone respects me as I am.’
Arthur shrugged. ‘I understand your reasoning.’
Sadie sauntered off with an appreciative nod, and Arthur set his sights on the horse and Kieran.
‘We got some work to do. I noticed a–’ Arthur began, but Kieran somehow found the audacity to cut him off with a stunned squawk.
‘We?!’
‘Yes, we. Ain’t you the horseman, Duffy?’
Kieran didn’t mention it, but he was glad he had graduated from O’Driscoll to Duffy. They both looked the horse over, Arthur talking to him softly and inspecting the grazes on his legs. It was remarkably gentle. Kieran thought better of telling him that. ‘He likes you,’ was the next best thing. ‘Most horses seem to.’
Arthur actually smiled, albeit his head tilting slightly in puzzlement as why he was getting complimented so much.
*
Someone was wondering the same. Micah was stewing over his prized guns as he cleaned them with a creepy meticulousness – he wasn’t in the mood to talk to the rest of the gang, even to jibe them, so he had resigned himself to telling Baylock his seething complaints.
‘And why’s everyone flocking around Morgan so much?’ he muttered. ‘He ain’t that special. Sure he’s a good shot, but he just mopes around camp looking all miserable. Why that girl turned down me to dance and not him I don’t know. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with all this bullshit, Baylock.’
Baylock snorted. It wasn’t in agreement, he just had a fly on his nose. As Micah looked up to pat him, he saw Dutch sauntering over to where Arthur was drawing (something else Micah loathed) and patting him on the shoulder. They both wandered and looked like they were talking. Micah was perversely overjoyed when they got within earshot.
‘You know you’ve always been special to me.’ he caught Dutch saying. ‘I shouldn’t say this, but you’re my favourite.’
‘Please, we both know John’s the golden boy.’ Arthur scoffed mirthlessly.
Dutch looked as affronted as Micah was feeling. ‘Son, you were the first. And you got a damn sight more brains than him too, even with all your poetic moping.’
Arthur smiled with such genuine joy Micah growled to himself. Hosea limped over to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. ‘I second that.’
Eventually they went out of earshot, so Micah reverted to training Baylock to bite on command. Dutch swaggered past, whistling.
‘Hey, boss?’
He seemed in a good mood. ‘What you want?’ He snapped.
‘Heard you talking to Morgan. What’s all the fuss about? He ain’t leaving, is he?’
Dutch scowled, as did Hosea who materialized beside him. ‘That’s none of your concern, Mr Bell. Besides, Arthur’s the most loyal man I know.’
Dutch glided off. Hosea fixed Micah with the most chilling glare he’d ever seen, and with a man as antagonistic as Micah that was not a short list.
*
‘So where’d you say this house is, Marston?’ Arthur called forwards over the sound of the hooves thudding in unison.
John turned back, a mischievous grin twisted on his face. ‘Nearby. With all that journaling you do I’d think you’d be more patient.’ He teased. Arthur would have nudged him.
‘Least I can read, Johnny,’ he muttered with a smirk, drawing up alongside him as they slowed. John mock scowled and checked his watch.
‘We’re in good time. Here’s the house.’
They both hopped off the horses and unthreaded their repeaters from the saddles with their usual discipline in such matters, before marching shoulder to shoulder to pick their way through the trees. The house itself had seen better days, a strange, dusty gap in the roof acting as a doorway for the occasional crow. ‘What did that guy say the take from this was?’
John wrinkled his nose but winced as the still-deep scar stung. ‘Gold, I think.’
As they reached the door Arthur gave John a look, who read it as be ready. John shouldered the repeater and Arthur turned the handle.
…to no effect. Arthur nearly smacked his face onto the rotted door as he stepped forward into the space that didn’t come. John laughed, a sound made up of the wheeze of a punctured lung but with the undertone of a low giggle.
‘Sonofa–’ Arthur growled, but shook his head to disguise his amusement. He smacked the door with his shoulder like a bull.
‘Calm down, you thug.’ John chuckled. ‘That looks more like it.’ He threw a hand at the gap in the roof and raised an eyebrow when he realized the extremely ladder-like formation of the tree branches next to it.
‘No,’ Arthur said lowly, a grin tracing across his face.
‘It’ll be worth it!’ John chirped. ‘The guy said the gold’s under the middle of the floor anyway.’
Arthur thought on this a moment. ‘I’ve got some dynamite.’
‘That’s typical of you.’ John remarked.
Arthur shoved his shoulder. ‘Not what I meant, you fool! I was gonna say we could climb the tree and drop the dynamite on said floor.’
‘Why?!’
‘How else do you suggest we rip up all the floorboards?! And I’d like to stay in one piece, so I’d rather not be that enclosed with an explosion.’
John blinked. ‘You’re smarter than you look, brother. Who’s climbing?’
Arthur just stared at him. There was a pause.
‘Well I ain’t doing it! You’re smaller!’
John rolled his eyes, catching how much they sounded like kids assigning chores. They sort of were, really. ‘Flip a coin?’
‘Every time you’ve suggested that since you was twelve years old I’ve said no.’
John huffed and rubbed his hands together as he approached the tree. ‘Fine,’ he drawled. ‘Just pass me the dynamite when I’m high enough up.’
Seconds later John was covered in pine needles and old floorboards, but they had four fat gold bars. Arthur snickered at his brother’s appearance.
‘Don’t I at least get an extra bar for my troubles?!’
‘No. I came up with the idea, Johnny.’ Arthur said, smugly tucking the gold into his satchel.
John looked a little absent as they remounted and he saw the note still on Arthur’s hat. ‘That you did, brother. That you did.’
*
Arthur was still so perplexed by the sudden onslaught of compliments that he went to tuck himself in the woods like he was prone to. He didn’t expect to see Albert Mason again, despite how he had been thinking of him so often – not of late necessarily, as he had other things of his mind: more ghosts on the wall than anything, a soft-eyed woman and a little boy with curly brown hair, two hastily-lashed wooden shapes in recently disturbed earth. Admittedly, the strange increase in attention paid to him had served a good distraction, but it was times like these when he was riding along alone that they still plagued him.
‘Down, boy! I just need to… there. I promise we’ll go to the butchers later.’ The voice that was, oddly, emanating from a cluster of bushes and trees.
‘Mr Mason?’ Arthur asked, sticking his head through to the small clearing the trees concealed. He was lucky he wasn’t being ambushed, to be honest. It seemed the sort of place the O’Driscolls would like. As it happened, Albert was getting ambushed, albeit the culprits weren’t gun wielding thugs dressed in green. It was a mewling mass of brown fluff that, on closer inspection, was a bear cub. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Morgan!’ Albert said, blushing slightly. His boater hat looked decidedly chewed.
‘What’s that?!’ Arthur all but squawked.
‘Oh!’ He replied, leaping up from the earth and brandishing his camera. ‘I’m trying to photograph some field mice but they’re awfully quick.’
‘That ain’t what I was referring to.’ Arthur quipped back. He pointed softly at the bear cub.
Albert beamed down at the cub, which he was holding on its back like a baby. ‘This is Achilles.’
‘What, like Homer?’
Albert suppressed how taken aback he was. ‘Yes. I thought it suited him.’
‘I like it. Hey there, little feller.’ Arthur reached to stroke the bear’s head, who whined and clambered onto him. ‘Aww.’
‘He likes you – he’s positively biddable! More than I can say for me.’ Albert rolled his sleeve up to reveal a few telling scratch marks. ‘But we get on now, don’t we, boy?’
The cub squeaked in agreement.
Arthur chuckled. ‘Here’s your baby back then, mama bear.’
Achilles didn’t let go, instead making a quiet keening noise and snuffling into his jacket.
Albert tilted his head lovingly. ‘I think he’s more our baby now.’
*
Arthur rode back the following day in high humor, albeit with a few baby bear claw shaped rips in his shirt. He’d promised he would come and visit: that arrangement was frighteningly similar to one Arthur had made before, but he figured the stakes were lower.
Nevertheless his good mood was noticed once he got back to camp.
‘Who goes there?’ Sean called.
‘It’s Arthur, you dumbass!’
‘You look cheery.’
‘And you’re already spoilin’ it, boy.’ Arthur replied fondly as he hitched his horse.
‘Hello, my boy.’ Hosea said, patting his shoulder and handing him a cup of coffee. ‘How’re the adventures?’
‘Worthwhile, mostly. Just been nice to get out – camp’s nice but everyone’s been weirdly… attentive lately.’ Arthur mused.
Hosea looked at him around a cigarette, and made a show of not looking smug. ‘Oh really?’
‘Yeah. Like everyone: Bill told me I was smart the other day. Completely out of the blue. And Javier said I was a good shot, and Sean said he looks up to me or something, and that’s not even counting Sadie and Charles and the rest. It’s odd.’
Hosea could scarcely contain his joy. ‘But you look happy.’
Arthur looked pensive, nodded, and had just the faintest twitch of a smile. ‘Yeah. I guess I am.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ hosea smiled, patted his shoulder again, and as he stood allowed his hand to ghost over the back of Arthur’s hat to remove the note he’d tucked there some time prior. As Arthur sauntered off, he traced the faded swirls of words on the note: Cheer me up!
![papauue:pretty boah who probably just woke uptwitter post [x]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/607966f3b36250208168e99296535644/9c297a337ed3deaa-3a/s1280x1920/823eafe593821050cf3ad2884d1c87045dd04045.png "papauue:pretty boah who probably just woke uptwitter post [x]")
