#arthur morgan & original character

[nataliabdraws]

arthur sketches featuring my OC Ramona

[shiningcullen69]

Arthur’s journal, featuring some propaganda of my Charthur baby.

[jennyartkim]

Ehhhh xd emm ups

[eccentricallygothic]

The Farmer's Bidding

Pairing: Dark!Arthur Morgan | Gender-Neutral Spouse!You. 

Description: Days when you're irrationally needy are Arthur's favorite. Because it is then you willingly do all his depraved bidding.

Part 2 to this but you can probably read it as is.

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), dark!Arthur, house wife kink, denial, torture, begging, degradation, humiliation, brat taming, nipple biting, kissing, unprotected sex, dick riding, sex pollen, forced marriage, enemies to fuckers, one spank, Arthur calling your hole pussy once just because he is a condescending asshole. Minors do not interact.

Type: Request (anon), here.

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Unbeknownst to you, Arthur had taken notice of your altered behavior the moment you had walked into the small dining area that was a few steps away from the kitchen this very morning, pot in hand that you had placed on its stand in the middle of the table before serving him his breakfast. 

Unlike your usual hateful self, today was one of those such days where you could not resist your husband. Could you really be blamed though? When he sat on a chair with his legs spread in the most manly manner possible, focused on what he was doing while his mouth released clouds of smoke every now and then? 

No, you reckoned not. 

So you had been availing every possible chance since this morning to brush past him, rub against him, linger over him and just make any physical contact that you could manage to get him to react. 

But Arthur had chosen to bite back his amused smirk while he had pretended not to notice you nearly whining out loud because of his faux obliviousness to your advances. Instead, he would continue to suck on his cigar and write away in his journal until you became so frustrated that you ‘accidentally’ tripped over your own feet in such a way that you landed right in his lap. 

The next few moments had been a fleeting blur. Your brain had only caught on when you were pouting and whining while sinking down on your husband's stiff shaft. 

But Arthur wouldn't be Arthur without his teasing. And so his rough and scarred hands restrained your hips tightly in place once you were resting on his balls, his grip thus disallowing you from creating the friction you so desperately craved.

“Now, how about this, baby?” His words were guttural and so they added to the heat between your legs. “You act like you’re better than all this mess…” You grunted as your nails dug into the hard skin of his manly shoulders. But Arthur did not relent. Your hole clenched and unclenched to try and aid itself in the discomfort it felt. “Ya act like you’re too good for me…” You whimpered as your forehead collapsed against his. Arthur’s darkened eyes stared into yours. “But I don’t pay you no mind for just half a day… and you turn into a silly lil’ critter…” Your face was already ablaze, but his words did not fail to add more warmth to it. 

They never did.

You still refused to speak hence openly admit your harlotry and stubbornly tried to rock yourself against him once more. He heavily chuckled and it sent shivers down your spine and up where your bodies connected. 

“Hng!” You shivered with a wince. 

“You know what to do, baby” when you whined in response, Arthur tutted you like you were no older than a little baby and leaned in to take a little lick at your nipple. You shuddered as you realized that the upper strings of your apron had been brought loose and your husband had ripped the buttoned opening of your dress so to reveal your chest to him. 

“N- No…” You tried to stand your ground. 

Arthur had once told you that he liked the fighting bit the most. 

Because crushing your pride and getting you to admit that you were his little slut so he would fuck you harder was what it was about. 

“Yeah, baby?” His voice was soft and playful. But you knew better than to take it lightheartedly.

You could see it clear as day in his lust clouded eyes. 

He had taken it as a challenge.

Arthur twirled his hot tongue around your erect nub, creeping one hand down to your privates and giving a good caress to them, his long fingers somehow reaching every crevice and bump.

“Ah!” Your back arched and the muscles in your thighs began to twitch when the rough stubble of his face began to drag itself towards your neck, his balmy lips finding their chapped way to your throat before he pressed a soft kiss to your sensitive skin.

You whined again, feeling your face scrunch in a pleading manner as you twisted and writhed, desperate to move your hips. Arthur knew just the way to kiss your neck. The amount of lip, tongue and teeth he put in each time he did it tightened your loins in a way that deprived you of your rational faculties and made you do whatever depraved bidding of his that he desired. 

“I know, baby, I know” he cooed with faux sympathy while he stroked your intimates in such a torturous manner that it added to your need but was not enough to satisfy it, his mouth sucking the marks of his ownership into your delicate skin. “And ya know how to help yourself here. You know the words, remember? I taught ya them myself” you cried out helplessly, on the verge of sobbing as you gave one last push to your weak knees so to rebel against the ironhold he had on your waist.

But strength had never been a debatable factor between Arthur and you.

“Please, hubby, please!” You caved in at last, pouting as you felt the words scald your tongue. “Please, fuck me! Please!” 

Arthur chuckled and the vibrations that sent up your seeping walls nearly made your head spin. “Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?” And the cruel hand that had been holding you back was finally let up, causing your hole to almost swallow his heavy sack. “Now fuck that cute lil’ pussy silly on my cock.” A harsh crack of his fingers against your ass set you obediently into motion. 

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[drizzledrawings]

Cowboys are often secretly fond of each other

[miller-n-morgan-2]

Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: GUYS I GRADUATED MY FROM MY COURSE! i give you this chapter as a token of my celebration... now I just have to make sure I don't have any models fall off the runway in my line up lmao

Summary: The newest arrival makes his way into camp, and inadvertently becomes the reason that chaos begins to spread. Luckily, his new uncle Arthur is there to carry the woes on his broad shoulders.

Warnings: mild swearing, canon typical violence, birth?? mentions of past death and Arthur remembering his deadbeat dad days. drinking, mild alcohol abuse?? also Hosea is a real one we love Hosea

WC: 4.5k

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?”  “She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.” “But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he was the one who asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

A week after the heist, Arthur’s shoulder was feeling better… but his head was hurting like hell. 

In fact, on this specific night, nearly everyone’s head was throbbing on account of the wails and cries of terrible pain coming from the edge of camp. 

Abigail had gone into labor around five hours ago, and the little baby had still not come into the world yet. As of right now, the men were huddled close to the fire, passing around a fresh bottle of whiskey in attempts to pass out so they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, the women were rushing to and fro about the camp, working their asses off to bring a new life to the gang. 

You figured it would help you bond with the boys more if you sat with them, moaning and groaning about the noise… but you’d much rather be helping, making sure nothing went wrong in the tumultuous process of birth. 

It wasn’t until close to one in the morning that a tiny baby boy was born, strong as ever, with lungs so powerful they could blow a lark out of a tree. His cries replaced Abigails, but after all that time, everyone was pleased to know the delivery was over, and both parties were healthy and sound. 

The men did eventually pass out, all except two. 

Arthur and John were up till the crack of dawn arguing, and it didn’t look good from an outside perspective. 

You were about to take back towards your tent when you came across them, hurriedly getting out of their line of sight so you could listen without suspicion. You knew you had no right to eavesdrop, but with everything you’ve heard from Abigail concerning John, you were bursting with curiosity in a way that turned your stomach. 

“I don’t see why I need to be convinced otherwise,” John ripped into his dearest friend, and even from behind a wall of tented fabric, you could imagine the look on his face. 

“You’re makin’ a mistake right now, and you ain’t gonna see it until it’s too late.”

“How would you know? S’not like you did any better,” the tone of his voice was bitter, almost. John caught himself, taking a step back and breathing more evenly after his fit of anger. “I didn’t mean that, Arthur… but you oughta know where my head’s at.”

Arthur was silent, and you wished more than anything you could see the look on his face to determine how Marston had gotten to him. Was he saddened or angry? Maybe even confused? You didn’t know, but you didn’t have long to dwell on it. 

“You listen here, boy,” Arthur’s voice sounded threatening, intimidating. It was perhaps the scariest you’ve heard him speak. “You ain’t got no idea what’s comin’ to you if you leave. There will be no place in hell you’ll be able to hide from the decision you’re about to make. It’ll follow you the rest of your days, and haunt you when you’re dead, you understand me?”

John didn’t speak, didn’t answer or even mumble an excuse, he just walked away. He walked towards Abigail’s tent, ducking his head under and closing the front panel. You stood there stunned, afraid to move… but then Arthur came up around the backside of the area and scared the shit out of you. 

“You hear all that?” He asked, a slanted look in his eyes and a distaste for you in his tone. It might be the remnants from his past conversation, but you hate the way it sounds. 

“Arthur,” you caught your breath from the fright he gave you just in time to mumble out an apology. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be listenin’, but Abigail’s been telling me things and I just…”

He managed to huff out one silent breath of a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Don’t be fretin’ on my account, I ain’t mad at you.” 

You sighed in relief, stepping closer to him now that you didn’t feel so burdened. 

“I don’t know him very well, but what I’ve seen… he doesn’t know his head from his ass. Is he really gonna leave?”

“I don’t know,” he started, crossing his arms and letting out a small yawn. He’s just as tired as you are. “I think I just bought a few days, maybe more, but who knows.”

“You think he can change his mind?” You relaxed your demeanor in front of him, but kept your head on a swivel just in case

He was so tired, you felt bad for keeping him awake, but you figured these thoughts were weighing heavy on him, and it might be good to get it off his chest. “He’s far too stubborn to do it on his own. We’d all have to raise hell for him to think badly of his own choices.”

You frowned, turning towards the tent of the new, young family… There were already so many problems in their unit. 

“Poor Abigail.” 

She’d be alone, and with a child to take care of. And meanwhile John would be scott free and having the time of his life.

“She’ll be alright, her and the boy. I’ll make sure of it,” he nodded towards where you were staring. “Around the time he started acting up, I told her I’d marry her, be the kid’s father if she wanted me to.”

Your head snapped around to him, and you processed his words. Abigail told you about part of his offer, because you’d given her the same one, sans one detail…

“You’re gonna marry her?” 

“Only if she wants me to, if John leaves.”

Good to know… but not really. It looks to you like John is pretty set in his ways, even if he ends up staying through the week, or even more. 

You nodded to him, but you hated the notion that he could already be promised to another person, even if you had absolutely no plans on pursuing him yourself. It was a small little envious monster that crawled in the pit of your stomach, and for a split second, you felt yourself resenting Abigail, who thus far, had become your closest friend after Arthur. 

“I actually offered the same,” you laughed, shaking your head and kicking your boot into the ground. “Not that it would last, but I just wanted her to know I was willing to help.”

“The whole gang chips in here and there, bein’ a family and whatnot… She’ll never go without help,” he assured, his posture becoming heavier with each minute passing. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and stretched your arms out, faking a massive yawn that looked real enough to pass you off. “It’s probably time we all turn in, huh?” 

For some reason he seemed vaguely sad for the interaction to be over. 

“Just about… I’ll catch you later, then,” he waved you off, heading back to his wagon and you to your tent. Even though they were relatively close, the entry points were on opposite sides.

You fell back into your cot with a heavy exhale. It’s been a long night, and with a crying baby in the camp, it’s looking to be a long next few months. 

-

The next few days were wonderful, despite the ill attitudes of a few grumbly men, Arthur not included. 

Dutch has been going on and on since the birth of the baby that the newest member should be given a worthy name. You assume he suggested his own namesake a few times, but since he’s been nothing but playful about the whole thing, you know he isn’t too bitter when they do finally settle on a name. 

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why. 

John Marston Jr, or as the two have taken to calling him already, Jack. 

You were surprised to see that waking up in the late afternoon the day of the birth, John was being… really different. He was putting in effort to help Abigail, he was making sure the others knew of all the information as it came, and most importantly, he was being positive about the whole situation. You suppose Arthur did knock some sense into him, and it was evident in how he was carrying himself. 

You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you felt relieved. Not only for Abigail, but selfishly, for yourself. If John sticks around and pulls his weight, Arthur doesn’t need to be tied down to a family. Not that he would ever see it that way, but still. 

You didn’t know where you stood with Arthur. He was a dear friend, you knew you could say that by now. You think that maybe the playful banter between you holds more than just friendship, but you can’t be sure, and you’re too damn chicken to test the waters. And obviously, a plain and simple conversation is entirely out of the question, because of ridiculous reasons you don’t care to list off. 

Maybe you’ll never know, and you’ll always be playing the game of ‘will we, won’t we’, unable to come to a sound conclusion. You think you’d be well enough with that, even if you never settle down with anyone. 

It’s a terrible absolute, and you should have never decided on it, but you think that being open ended and in this endless cycle of banter with Arthur is better than being in a committed relationship with anyone else. It makes the one on one interactions with him that much sweeter, though. Like today, when it was both your turns to watch baby Jack. The others were working on something in the town, and Abigail and some of the women were napping, having taken care of him through the night.

“He might be hungry,” you suggested, laughing at Arthur’s attempt to sooth the wailing infant. 

“I get hungry too, y’never see me cryin’ about it,” he was joking, clearly. He shook his head and reached for the glass bottle Miss Grimshaw had prepared this morning. 

Jack fed on the bottle and stopped crying, and in the aftermath, you paused to watch the scene before you. A big, gruff outlaw, with his hair tousled and shirt out of place from tiny hands fisting at it, and relaxed in his arms, a tiny baby being bottle fed. It was such a contradictory picture, but one you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. 

“Cute,” you mumbled, nearly under your breath, but he heard you. 

“He’s somethin’,” he chuckled, a small smile on his face when mentioning the boy he held so close. Arthur was many things, but amongst them was gentle. He was a kind creature by nature, that had only been hardened by experience, and these soft moments let his internal goodness show. 

“I meant you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond for a second. 

“I’m quite the opposite, but I’ll thank you for the thought.”

As tough as he was, and as rightfully boastful over his skill with a weapon or with his bare hands, he seemed to negate himself often. His intelligence, his artistic talent, his looks, even his presence during group gatherings. It saddened you, and you didn’t even know the root of his struggle.

“Why you always doin’ that?” 

“Doin’ what?” he asked, his head tilted to the side and a narrow look on his face. 

“Bein’ mean to yourself…” you answered, sitting down on the other end of the log he was relaxing against. 

What a treat it would be for Arthur to see himself through your eyes. He’d never think poorly of himself again. 

“M’not, just the truth.” 

And that was even sadder. Who on earth ever convinced this man that he wasn’t good enough? Whoever it was, you’d like them to be on the other side of your pistol’s barrel. 

You huffed out a sigh, leaning forward so he didn’t have to strain his neck to look back at you. 

“Y’know it’s too damn bad, I happen to think you’re a pretty decent person. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise,” you spoke firmly, laying it on thick so that maybe he can come to terms with believing you. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm, very much so…”

He looked back down at Jack, trying to distract himself from your complimentary onslaught. He didn’t much care for compliments, so he wasn’t even sure how to receive them, if he accepted them at all. He has a very strong belief system, and it’s constantly just a mantra of things like ‘I am a bad man, I do bad things, I am dangerous, I am getting old, I am ugly,’ and so on. He didn’t understand how much he had hurt himself by forming those beliefs in the first place. 

You sat with him in silence for a few minutes, just watching Jack finish the bottle and settle into Arthur’s arm for a nap. He slept a lot for someone that cries through the night. Hearing the soft cries in the night isn’t peaceful, but it’s better than the anxiety and feeling of dread his cries brought you the first day, when John was set on leaving. 

You keep replaying a moment from that morning in your head, when the sun was just over the ridge, and you were heading to your tent… 

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?” 

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely. 

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own. 

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,��� he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy. 

“Where does he live?” 

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son. 

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness. 

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.” 

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before. 

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.” 

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…” 

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future. 

“Even if John doesn’t leave… I swear I’m gonna do right by this boy,” he let out, his voice trembling but his words were of certainty. 

You felt a tear roll down your own cheek, and did nothing to stop it. This moment, whatever it was, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to keep it buried within the depths of your soul. 

You’ve been on the run for four years now, and in those four years, you’ve been on your own, making some sort of fantasy world for yourself where death was just the thing at the end of a duel, and you never had to pay the toll of those losses. 

You’d not been living in reality, and coming to this gang, meeting Arthur… it must have been preordained. It must have been fate. He himself, day by day, was restoring your humanity, and your ability to feel something that wasn’t just a farce.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, but being so close, he heard you clearly. 

He let out a huff that you suppose was meant to be a soft laugh. “You don’t just hear me, Red… you listen to me. I guess I’ll keep on tellin’ you things.”

And soon both your attentions were pulled back to Jack as he stirred slightly. 

You took a turn holding him while Arthur went to grab some food, and you found you rather liked this particular baby. He was a sweet little thing, not so bratty like the tiny cousins you grew up around. You can only hope he’ll stay this sweet as he grows older. 

-

A month had passed, and John was getting more angsty. 

Arthur was honestly surprised he had lasted this long. It seemed impossible that he stuck around, especially when he had to be the one to take a turn with the baby during the night. 

Fights had broken out with various members of the camp, mostly over John and his unwillingness to help anymore. Dutch had chewed him up and spit him out, and after that, John had made up his mind, for certain this time. 

“You ain’t leavin’, just sit down,” Arthur pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to stop him from packing up and saddling his horse.

“What makes you think I would stay with a bunch of folk who hate me?”

“We don’t hate you, you’re bein’ ridiculous. Sit down, we’ll talk about it.” Arthur tried to reach out for him again, but John pulled himself back and out of the way, two steps from the hitching post. “Boy, you’re not goin’ anywhere-”

“I’m leaving!” John burst out, taking Arthur by surprise. This wasn’t just another hissy fit or tantrum where he would eventually let it stew over. He was really gonna do it. “The kid ain’t mine, I counted back. She’s just try’na tie me down, Arthur... I feel for her, but I ain’t stayin.”

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?” 

“She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.”

“But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

“You don’t need me, Arthur. You’re the better one, always were…” 

“C’mon now, you know that ain’t true. S’just another excuse,” he waved his arms around, trying to emphasize just how stupid it sounded. Yes, it’s all Arthur’s fault that John is leaving. 

John doesn’t even answer Arthur, he just turns heel and readies his horse, all while the older of the two stands by and ridicules him for what he’s about to do. All John can do is tune him out, and pretend he doesn’t hear the distant crying at the other edge of camp, where Susan is trying to console a tired and emotionally devastated Abigail. Their son sleeps in Tilly’s arms, oblivious to anything happening around him, but what’s to come will put a damper on his previously bright future. 

By the time John is on his horse, loaded up and ready to head out, Arthur grabs hold of his leg, yanking it back from the stirrup. He looks to his eyes one more time, to see if there’s any guilt, any resolve, anything that might show he knows what he’s doing is wrong… but he only sees annoyance and pride. Two things John Marston usually wore on his face. 

“If you leave this camp, you best never come back again, ya hear?” 

And for the first time that night, Arthur saw just a shred of fear in the younger man’s eyes. 

“I hear,” he nodded, the fear turning into sadness in this last moment. “It just ain’t worth it no more.”

And with that, he turned his horse, and left the camp. 

Arthur went storming through the camp after the interaction, needing to find himself a drink. 

-

You were angry and rightfully so, stomping back into camp like a bear hunting its prey. Walking up to the campfire, there were only a few left awake. Pearson and Hosea sat, hunched over and with half full whiskey bottles in their hands. Probably from the stolen stash, the brand was decent.

“Anyone seen Arthur?” You asked them both, knowing that at least Hosea could tell you. 

“He passed out ages ago,” He nodded towards his covered wagon near the trees and rocks separating your space. “John left camp tonight.”

“I know, I caught him outside the saloon,” you sat down by them, reaching out for either bottle they were willing to hand over. “Gimme some of that, will ya?”

And of course, drinking was the solution at the end of the day. 

After a while, Pearson dragged himself to bed, leaving you and Hosea to sit and stew by the fire, milling about your tumultuous thoughts. You should have known he’d ask for details of your run in with John. 

“I was out scouting today… realized I needed to go to town for a pair of socks, mine got holes too big for sewin’,” you began, gaze trapped on the fire, the alcohol making it harder to focus on anything else at once. “Came outside and found him hitchin’ his horse.”

“You were the one who approached him, then?” 

“I thought about just wavin’, I thought I’d be seein’ him back here… but then I looked at his saddle. He was packed up for the trek of a million miles,” you sighed, taking another big swig of the pricey whiskey in your hand. You would finish the bottle in no time if you kept up like this, trying to quench your raging thirst for something strong and potent.

“What did you say to him?” 

“Nothing really, not at first. Just asked how the day had been, how Abigail was. I haven’t been here since this morning. I guess they started fighting real bad after I left. Dutch tore into him, too,” you spoke heavily, suddenly the swigs you were slamming back were making you a bit less understandable. Hosea though, was easily able to listen, because after years of Arthur’s drunk slurring, and having to make out sentences between, he was practically an expert. “All I said was that he shouldn’t leave, because he’ll regret it.”

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

“Nah, he just told me where to shove it. I think he’s scared… not of the kid, and not of Abigail. I think he doesn’t wanna end up like his father. Arthur’s told me something about it, but in my opinion, he’s trying to get out before the resentment turns to abuse n’ all that.”

“I reckon you're right. We all told him time and again he’d be a good father, but he’s stubborn as they come, and when his mind’s made up… there’s no stopping that boy.” Hosea shook his head once more, his sadness reflecting in the light of the fire. 

“I guess Arthur’s gonna marry Abigail, now…” you knew you were just trailing into your thoughts, and that while getting more drunk, you shouldn’t be saying them out loud… but you couldn’t help it. Selfishly, on your ride back to camp, this is all you thought about. 

“He offered, it’s up to Abigail to accept,” he said gently, raising his brows in thought as well. He doesn’t see it as a good match, but he thinks it’s honorable that Arthur would do such a thing. 

“I hope she doesn’t,” you murmured quietly, but it seems he still heard you. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

He chuckled under his breath, his side eye remaining on your features just a while longer before he stood up, patting you on the shoulder. 

“Don’t drink too much more. You’ll pass out before making the trip to your tent.”

And then he left you alone. With your thoughts and a bottle of whiskey in hand, who knows what more you could do in a situation like this. It was better to cut your losses and just turn in… so you did. 

Laying down on your cot, you expected sleep to take you. It should have, given how tired you were, but the single notion kept echoing in your head over and over…

Arthur Morgan isn’t mine, and he never was.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

[moeitsu]

I like to imagine these are some of the sketches in Arthur's journal when he's drawing Kate :")

Credit to Lee Walker and Jason Lohmeier

[purehypnotic]

can i kindly req for arthur morgan hcs,, he falls in love with reader?? -🩷

thank you SO SO much for this request !! it’s our pleasure, love you! hope we did you justice

🧸🏜 arthur morgan x reader, falling in love HCs 🏜🧸

gender neutral, sfw

𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡

-Arthur slumped in his seat near the bar, thumbing a chipped glass of whiskey. The sun was beating down mercilessly on Valentine, and Arthur found relief in the shade of the saloon.

-until he saw your body fling across the window outside.

-ever the good samaritan, Arthur scrambled to check on you. He tripped on his own feet to rush and survey the situation, expecting the worst reasons as to why you would be thrown so harshly.

-His hand flew to his mouth to stifle a chuckle when he saw a riderless horse and your ankle tangled up in the reins.

-Arthur bit back a smartass comment as he went to help you up, when a few things about you caught his eye.

-first, your outfit was buttoned wrong, as if you had rushed to throw something on.

-second, you weren’t wearing spurs (who the hell doesn’t wear spurs around here?)

-and third, you flinched like a feral cat when he hauled you up by the waist. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on.

-“You don’t know how to ride a horse, do ya now?” He squinted at you.

-You lifted a finger to the man’s face, ready to spit back at the accusation when you locked eyes with him.

-Something in his gaze told you he wasn’t trying to belittle you, just offering a hand.

-Lowering your hand, you let out a sigh of frustration. You had run for so long, had fought with everything you had, but still couldn’t figure out how to mount a damn horse. But the blue eyed man in front of you seemed like he knew. He seemed sturdy, reliable, and you had given up all dignity when you caught yourself nearly drooling over his build.

-Grabbing the reins of the horse, you hung your head and held them out to Arthur’s chest.

-”just help please”

-He explained each piece of equipment, showed you how to approach the pony without spooking it, and he found himself laughing when you struggled to jump atop the saddle.

-He offered you a boost, letting his hands linger on you for a bit longer than necessary. You let out a laugh of victory, and the pure joy on your face knocked the breath from Arthur’s lungs.

-With the rush of his racing heart, Arthur impulsively hauled himself up behind you.

-”This alright?” He asked in a low voice as he reached around you to grab the reins. He adjusted himself so he could speak closer to your ear, and his movement caused your back to press into his chest.

-(he did it on purpose).

- Arthur spent the rest of his day taking you on a tour through some backroads, teaching you to steer the whole way through.

-It was the most peaceful evening he’d ever had.

-You made conversation easy. The strange way his heart pounded made him loose-lipped around you, and he gladly told you snippets of his life.

-He told you stories about growing up in the gang, about tricking John into taking showers, about Hosea teaching him to read. And you accepted each story as if they were nuggets of gold. (he loved that)

-You had eventually opened up to him about being a runaway, explaining that you had never needed to learn to ride before going on the run. His heart squeezed to think of what you must have seen.

-As the sun dipped low and the sky turned purple, Arthur realized he had guided your horse toward camp out of habit.

-Despite being a hardened, tough man, Arthur couldn’t let you go.

-He pressed a kiss to your hair and decided that another addition to the gang couldn’t hurt.

𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡

as always,

love katie 💌

[baleful-blurbs]

we have : more rdr oc content. I love josephine so much it's actually a clinical diagnosis. ( arthur suffers from it too. )

[fish0009]

shiretur morgan and john horseton

[morning-star-joy]

when men like you come around masterlist

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC!Ethel

Summary: One of the most important lessons Ethel Taylor was taught in life was when you meet a bad man, pull the trigger and run. She's done it before, and she's ready to do it again when she crosses paths with outlaw Arthur Morgan. But something stays her hand, and when she ends up as the newest addition to the Van der Linde gang, they quickly become thorns in each other's sides, up until they're the only two that can pull off a big job posing as a doting, newlywed couple.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mentions of a past abusive relationship (emotional & physical abuse), mentions of murder. Rivals to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, lots of sass from both Arthur & Ethel. High Honor!Arthur with some Medium Honor vibes. Ethel POV written in second person, Arthur POV written in third person.

Chapters:

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

(more chapters TBD)

“You alright, Miss?” he asked, his voice a rough drawl.

You glanced from him towards the lawman that had been hot on your trail and shooting at you a moment before, now dead weight dragged far away along the dirt by a limp foot still caught in a stirrup, Lord knowing who would find him and what mayhem would follow.

“You just killed a lawman,” you said, looking back towards the man currently not pointing a gun at you, and so for just the moment, you didn’t point yours at him.

His worn hat was perched on his head to protect from the blaring sun, black brim covering his eyes, but you swore that you saw a twitch of his lips before he shifted in his saddle, glancing behind him towards where you had left the other dead body in the dust, before the man turned back and replied matter-of-factly, “So did you.”

Ethel & Arthur art by my wife @cowboycyns

[nataliabdraws]

Since you all seemed to like my last Ramona and Arthur art here are more!! They are so fun to draw

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Can I request something real quick?

Arthur founds out he has a daughter but she’s living in the streets type orphan…

i got WAYY too into this story lol i hope you enjoyy!! Xx

i took a little bit of creative liberty with this one and it was just a blast to write

Daughter of Legend

"She looks just like you, Arthur!" Dutch said, elbowing Arthur arm and wiggling his eyebrows.

"There's no way..." Arthur mumbled, his voice sounded distant. His mind was somewhere else.

"Arthur! We need to go talk to her at least. I mean, look at the girl!"

"Oh fine!" Arthur grumbled. There was no way. She couldn't be..unless... No... Wait... Oh god-

"Hey! Why don't you men jus' take a picture of me if yer' gonna keep starin'! Piss off!"

That voice pulled Arthur from his thoughts, and drew a laugh from Dutch.

"So sorry, little Miss!" Dutch said, raising his hands in the air. "We just-"

"No! Men like you only want one thing from a girl like me- and you can't have it! You friends with the men who came after me the other night? If you come any closer I'll scream!" The girl spat. And fucking god it just broke Arthur's heart. Was it really her?

"Honey.. we're not here to hurt you. Promise." Arthur said, looking the girl in the eyes. Icy blue, just like his. "I jus'..."

"You..." The girl started, cautiously making her way towards Arthur. The southern drawl of her voice sounding all too familiar. "Do I... Are you...?"

"Is your name Victoria...?" Arthur asked softly, his voice raw with emotion but also full of hope.

The girl's eyes welled up with tears, her mouth was agape. Dutch had taken a step back, watching in awe from a distance. Now he understood why Arthur had reacted the way he did.

The girl nodded viciously. She knew who she was talking too, but she couldn't dare believe it to be true. Because what if it wasn't him? Even though she knew it was.

"Victoria Morgan..? Is that your name?" Arthur breathed out. Was is real?

"Yes!" Victoria cried, covering her mouth with her palms. She shook her head viciously. This was real, this was happening. It wasn't just a hopeful daydream she allowed herself to indulge in anymore. Her whole body shook the fore of her sobs, she began to fall forawrd.

Arthur ran forward, catching his little girl in his arms.

"Daddy!" Victoria sobbed, she wrapped her arms around her father and sobbed into his chest. Not even his strong and secure arms wrapping around her could calm her. "Oh it's you it's you I thought you forgot about me! I thought you left! I couldn't find you! Dad!"

Victoria wailed. A sound so painful and raw, it was barley contained by Arthur chest. He silently wept, a steady stream of tears flowing down his face.

"Oh my sweet baby girl.." Arthur said shakily. He cradled Victoria's head in his hands. Just like when she was a baby. It quieted her down a bit, just like when she was a baby. "I looked so hard for you and yer' Mama.... So so hard baby.."

"She's dead daddy..." Victoria whispered. "I- I-"

"Shhh Shhh honey it's okay." Arthur said softly. "You don't need to tell me nothin' now. I'm with you now. I'm never lettin' you outta my sight again."

"I've been so scared.. I tried to find you, for years daddy. I needed you so bad." Victoria whispered.

"Look at me." Arthur said, pulling away from Victoria slightly and holding her face so he could look her in the eyes. "You will never leave my side again. I'm gon' protect you. 'M here now, you just try and forget everythin' that happened to you over all these years. I'm gonna take care of you now."

"Nothin' else matters now that I'm by your side?" Victoria said with a sad laugh. Arthur returned the laugh. He used to say that same thing to Victoria when he'd come back to visit her injured. To stop her from worrying.

"That's right baby, that's right." Arthur said, using his thumbs to wipe away Victoria's stray tears.

"Arthur.." Dutch started, not really sure what to say. "Go..go get your little girl back to camp. I'll finish everything up here. But we need to talk when I get back."

Arthur nodded gratefully. Victoria ignored anyone and anything that wasn't her father, feeling safe in his arms but still stuck in that constant mode of survival and terror.

"I never though I'd see your pretty face again." Arthur said with a light chuckle. "You've grown t'be such a beautiful young woman.. I'm s' sorry I couldn't have been here to watch it happen."

"It's okay." VIctoria said with a smile. "It wasn't by choice, on either of our parts."

"Mhm." Arthur nodded. He smoothed down the ruffled bits of his daughters honey blonde hair. "You're 15 now, god there's so much I need to tell you. S'much we need to talk about.. C'mon. Let's get you home."

Arthur scooped up Victoria in his arms, and made his way over to his horse. He got Victoria settled before climbing on behind her. Neither of them could believe this was real.

"I never thought I'd see you again..." Victoria said softly. Arthur took one arm off the reins and squeezed his daughter in a hug. "Your Arthur Morgan? The gunslinger? And was that Dutch Van Der Linde?"

"That's right honey." Arthur chuckled. "I forget last time I saw ya' you were too young to know I had a name other than 'daddy.' "

"I only knew your last name, cause I heard mama call you Mr. Morgan a few times." Victoria said with a sigh. "I never even knew her name...."

"Eliza." Arthur said softly. Victoria nodded, though she didn't speak. He understood, I mean, what was there to say?

"When she.. y'know. She knew the people were comin'. She sent me out the back door, told me to run straight into the woods near the house. To get in deep, and told me not 'to come back, to wait there for her. She never came to get me. I stayed hidden till the next mornin' before I went back to the house and found her."

Arthur let out a deep and heavy sigh. Sweet Eliza, murdered. Gone. Dead. Her last act was to protect their daughter. God the woman she was. Arthur could shoot himself in the foot, if only he had done things differently.

"Do you know who they were?" Arthur asked quietly. Victoria sighed, running her hands through her hair as she began to think back to that horrible day.

"I remember her sayin' something about a bunch of 'Irish bastards' but that's 'bout it." Victoria said, so casually. If only she knew the information she had just given to her father.

Arthur's head swam, he couldn't hear anything other than the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Irish bastards.

Irish fucking bastards.

O'Driscolls.

a/n: will definitly be doing a part two of this! i get wayyy to invested in these requests and drabbles lol Xx

[jennyartkim]

I have so many ideas or Arthur and and arg! 😩✨✨✨✨

[gemini-forest]

Phoebe already accepted Sadie as her mom. She just wants to know if Arthur would.

[drizzledrawings]

Arthur doesn’t know what lesbians are