#matthew the family man

[ilyasorokinn]

i have to write another trade fic now, and this one’s gonna be sad :(

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

anyway in terms of the Jon Matteson Characters Are All Related convo I don’t think that enough of us are mentioning Roman Murray which creates a world in which Paul and Richie (etc) are related to Linda Monroe

(I personally think that it’s very funny to cross your eyes until Matthews and Murray are blurry enough to look like the same name and headcanon Paul as Linda’s little brother kffkkfjkl)

[dawg-dyke]

Hosea and Dutch make me so sick.

[agoldengalaxy]

It Takes a Village

read on Ao3

words: 3812

Arthur Morgan returns from being held captive by the O'Driscolls, but he's nearly dead. Thankfully, he's very well cared for.

--

The world spins in circles as Arthur forces himself to sit up, holding weakly onto the reins of his horse. He isn’t quite sure how long he’s been riding. It feels like hours and minutes simultaneously. His vision is going in and out, and he can’t quite tell if it’s sunrise or sunset. Muted colors swirl in the sky, bouncing off of dew-coated grass.

The trees suddenly begin to look vaguely familiar, but it’s too blurry to know for sure. Then, the smell of whiskey greets his nose, and muffled exclamations fill the air. His horse stops without him telling it to, and he knows he needs to get down. Instead of stepping off gracefully like his brain tells him, he falls to the rocky ground. His entire body burns and he has to fight the urge to close his eyes, knowing he may not open them again if he does.

“Arthur!” A blurry silhouette stands over him. Then another, then another. Mary-Beth, Karen, then Dutch. He can’t make out his face, but he knows that voice anywhere.

“I told you it was a set-up, Dutch,” Arthur groans, feeling like ‘I-told-you-so’ is all he can think right now.

Much to his surprise, Dutch doesn’t make any kind of smart comment. “My boy…my dear boy, what?”

Had Dutch not even noticed he was gone? Arthur’s tongue feels numb, like dead weight in his mouth. “They got me, but I got away…”

“Yes, that you did...” Dutch sounds like he’s underwater, but Arthur feels his cool, calloused hand beneath his head, cradling it gently as he shouts for Miss Grimshaw. He can’t concentrate on the noise anymore, but a couple people pick him up, making his body scream in agony until somehow, he makes it to his bed. 

He blinks hard, wondering for a moment if Dutch would sit with him, but instead he watches him direct Susan to the stool nearby. “You’ll be okay, Mr. Morgan,” she says softly, kindness protruding through her normally hardened exterior. “You’re home.”

She gently takes his hand, and he lets her, not only because his arm feels like jelly and he can’t move it, but because he isn’t used to this tenderness. He thinks he likes it. She’s always been good to him, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen that look of concern in her eyes before.

“Thank you…Miss Grimshaw,” he manages, somehow. He blinks, and for a moment, she reminds him of his mother, doting on him after coming down with some illness when he was small. A sense of calm washes over him as he feels her squeeze his hand gently, letting himself slip into unconsciousness.

***

“- just don’t know what you want from me, Hosea. He’s here now, isn’t he?”

“That ain’t the point and you know it, Dutch.” When one of them sighs, Arthur manages to squint, seeing blurry silhouettes standing beside a nearby tent. The voices sound further away. Hosea continues, gesturing. “Look at him. That’s our boy, but he ain’t small anymore and he ain’t stupid. If he has concerns, you should listen. If I have concerns... Any day could be our last but I’ll be damned if -” He cuts himself off, his breath trembling. Dutch places a hand on his shoulder while he continues. “I don’t want Arthur to go before me. I don’t think I could bear it.”

A quiet breeze blows by. Dutch’s voice hardens. “You won’t have to,” he promises, both silhouettes pressed carefully together in an embrace. “We…all of us, including you, and Arthur, are gonna be fine. I’m figuring it out, just like I always do.”

Arthur doesn’t hear Hosea’s response.

***

Deer rush by in the forest. Isaac and Eliza call to him. Mary is there in the distance but she disappears in a wisp of smoke, her father shouting profanities. Jenny and Mac scream. Blood soaks the ground. Arthur can���t breathe.

“Easy, Arthur, easy. You’re safe. I’m right here with you.” A voice cuts through. Arthur gasps and latches on. He’s dreaming, he knows he’s dreaming. “That’s it. Breathe, my boy.”

“H-Hosea,” he wheezes. Pain spreads like a spider’s web from his chest down to every limb. He arches his back and grunts, wanting it to stop - both the pain and the memories. He continues while the older man calls for Reverend Swanson. “Hosea, I can’t…I can’t open m’eyes…”

There’s the sound of water droplets falling into a bucket, and a cool press is put on his forehead. “You’re gonna be okay,” Hosea continues, clearly trying to keep his voice calm, the way he always does. “It’s a fever…you’re exhausted. You just need some more rest.” The cool press gives him some semblance of relief, and he tries to focus on breathing. “Here, Arthur. Drink.” A bottle is put to his lips. Shakily, he manages to swallow some of it - whiskey. The burning pain is replaced by a familiar burn instead.

Arthur can feel himself breathing a little easier. He tries to relax, finally managing to open his eyes. Hosea swims into view above him, concern plastered all over his face as he tries to hide it with a smile. He’s cradling his head gently, and Arthur leans into the touch, coughing a little. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Save your strength, son.” Hosea’s thumb gently strokes his cheek. “They really did a number on you…”

Arthur’s eyelids flutter. “How bad is it?”

With his other hand, Hosea gently moves his hair off of his face. “Not bad. You’ll be right as rain real soon. For now, just relax.” A word gurgles in Arthur’s throat. Hosea leans a little closer. “What was that?”

Arthur winces, leaning further into Hosea’s touch. He feels absolutely pathetic, like a child; in fact, he remembers being a kid, asking Hosea to stay after a nightmare, and here he is again, driving the dreams away like a hero. “Stay with me. Please.”

Hosea seems surprised by the request, but he smiles a mere second later. “Of course, dear boy. Of course.” Softly, he begins singing some lullaby, and Arthur feels the pain dull, at least enough that when he closes his eyes this time, he doesn’t see anything behind them at all.

***

The sound of a crackling fire slowly reaches Arthur’s ears. Instead of the burning pain he’d started to become accustomed to, it’s a dull throb, and it seems more manageable. Slowly, he opens his eyes, greeted by the roof of his tent.

His head is pounding, but he manages to turn it slightly to look out. To his surprise, in the stool right next to him is Lenny, and even more surprisingly, he’s asleep, his head in his arms against Arthur’s bedroll.

Arthur’s heart warms. He’s always taken a liking to this kid, and it’s nice to know that the feeling is mutual. A quiet clearing of the throat takes his eyes off of him. Standing against one of the trees is Kieran, eyes seemingly bright in the night’s darkness.

“He’s been by your side for quite some time now,” he says quietly. “You’re really cared for, y’know?”

Kieran looks uncomfortable as usual, so Arthur just nods. “I’m…very lucky.”

“I’m real glad you’re okay.” Kieran sounds genuine, the most genuine he’s ever heard, which makes Arthur chuckle quietly.

“You’re a good kid, Kieran,” he replies, his voice low and husky. “I’m glad you’re here. Sorry I was so rough on ya in the beginnin’.”

Nearly tripping over himself, Kieran’s eyes widen. “O-Oh, no! No, it’s okay!” If it wasn’t so dark, Arthur was sure he’d see him blush. “You was just doin’ what you thought was right…” he clears his throat, pushing off of the tree. “I should let you get some rest. Night, Arthur.”

Arthur smiles slightly. “G’night. Get some rest too, ya hear?” The boy nods, then scurries off toward his tent. Arthur watches him go, then turns his gaze to Lenny. 

Even in the dark, he can see his peaceful face, reminding him just how young he actually is. He’d only been with the gang for a little while, but Arthur had really grown fond of him. He’s torn for a moment, not wanting to wake him up, but also wanting him to have an actual good night’s sleep in bed.

“Lenny,” he says softly, reaching out to gently place a hand on Lenny’s head. “You’re gonna hurt your neck like that, son.”

Lenny scrunches his nose up for a moment, like he’s holding onto the last bit of sleep before he recognizes the voice. His eyelids flutter open. “Arthur…? Hey, you’re awake!” A wide grin spreads across his face as he sits up, quickly scooching the stool closer. “How’re you feeling?”

He can’t help but chuckle through a cough. “I’m fine, I’m fine. What’re you doin’ here instead of in bed?”

Lenny’s face falls. “I…I been real worried about you, is all. You been asleep for three days, y’know.”

That sentence almost knocks the wind out of him. “Three days?” he repeats, trying to wrap his head around it. 

“Yeah, so, all of us been takin’ turns sittin’ with you ‘til you get better. I…didn’t realize how tired I was, I guess…”

Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, deciding not to think about how bad of a shape he must be in. Instead, he looks toward the other, clearing his throat. “Well…thank you, Lenny. For keepin’ me company. It was good to wake up to a friendly face.”

The boy smiles, and Arthur feels proud to be the one to have caused it. “Anytime. Guess anything beats wakin’ up in jail, huh?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’ll start yellin’ your name again.”

“Please don’t.”

Grinning, Arthur reaches up, weakly patting Lenny’s arm. “Alright then. You head on to bed now.”

“What? But - ”

“No buts, son. It’s late and you need real rest or you’ll be useless in the mornin’.” He doesn’t necessarily want to send him away, but for his own good, he knows he has to. “Go on, get. I’m fine.”

Lenny still seems unsure, but he stands up slowly, knowing that even in this state, he wouldn’t win an argument against him. “You better holler if you need anythin’.”

“I will, I will.”

Arthur watches him go, then exhales slowly. The camp is quiet. Everyone is safe. He listens to the crackle of the fire until his eyes slip closed again.

***

When he wakes again, it’s light out. He can’t be sure if it’s only been a few hours or if it’s been days, but he feels a little better. Sitting in the stool this time is Abigail, and she lights up when they lock eyes. “Good mornin’, Arthur! How’re you feelin’?”

“Mornin’,” he grunts, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Now that his body isn’t burning, he’s beginning to feel sore with all this lying around. “Fine, fine. Wishin’ I wasn’t stuck here.”

“I know, I know. But your wound’s lookin’ better already. Just a bit longer and you’ll be up in no time.” 

“Sure.”

Abigail seems to want to say something more, perhaps sensing his frustration, but stops herself. Instead, she seems to remember something. “Oh! I nearly forgot, Jack had somethin’ for you but he wanted to wait ‘til you were up. Jack! Oh, where did that boy go…?” Huffing a sigh, she stands up and smooths out her dress. “I’ll be right back, Arthur. Let me go check on him.”

As she wanders off toward her tent, he lifts a hand in goodbye, then exhales slowly. How long has it truly been since he returned from the O’Driscolls’ camp? How much time has he wasted just lying here? Glancing down at himself, he places both elbows on the bed, moving to push himself up when a voice by the tree stops him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Arthur throws his head back for a moment, annoyed by both the voice and the fact that he was probably right. He sighs loudly. “Here to make fun of me, Marston?”

John, leaning against a nearby tree, scoffs softly. “Just ‘cause you teased me when I was recoverin’ don’t mean I’m gonna do the same to you.”

“Then you’re a fool. I deserve it, don’t I?”

“Maybe.” Slowly, John sits in the stool Abigail had just recently occupied. “But when I’m a fool, you always steer me right.”

Arthur eyes him for a moment, slowly letting himself lay back down. “…Why’d you leave, John?” He knows he’s being childish, he knows that after all this he should just forgive John like everyone else, but the wounds still feel so fresh. They’d been raised together. They were taught the same values, so why did John forget them?

Leaning his elbows on his knees, John sighs, looking away. “…Can’t even remember now. I was stupid. I was a fool.”

“I coulda told you that,” he scoffs in return, but it turns into a cough. His throat burns as he tries to ask for water, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. 

John is by his side in an instant, gently supporting his head upward to place a canteen to his lips. Arthur drinks like he hasn’t in days, and honestly, he’s sure he hasn’t. The situation isn’t lost on him, either - he doesn’t think John has ever been so gentle before, and it’s after Arthur had just insulted him. Perhaps his kid brother is still in there, somewhere. Perhaps that’s why he’s been so hard on him.

Trying to catch his breath, Arthur puts his head back on his pillow while John leans back to close the canteen, trying not to smile. “Feel better?”

“Shut up.” Once he begins to breathe easier, he glances toward John again, groaning internally. There isn’t even any trace of scorn on John’s face - only relief. “Thanks, Marston.”

“‘Course.”

The grass crunches nearby with two sets of fast-moving feet. “I know you’re excited, Jack, but please be careful. He’s still hurt real bad.”

“I know, Momma!”

Jack and Abigail appear beside John. The two exchange a look, and Abigail breaks eye contact first, making John stand up wordlessly. She takes the stool without so much as another glance his way, pulling Jack up onto her lap. The boy is beaming, so bright Arthur thinks it could rival the sun. “Hey, Jack. Whatcha got there?”

“Uncle Arthur, I’m so glad you’re awake!” he exclaims, holding something up. “I made you this spur out of flowers I found near the stream.” It’s a small blob of a thing, bright yellow flowers all tied together and vaguely shaped like a spur. “I know you can’t use it for real, but I thought it might make you feel better…”

“Ain’t he amazin’?” Abigail gushes.

Arthur finds himself oddly touched. He cracks a smile, gently taking the flowers from the boy to inspect it. “Now this, this is really somethin’, Jack. Thank you very much, it’s beautiful. Hey, would you do me a favor?” Lighting up, Jack nods emphatically, and the man continues. “Put this in my journal over there. I don’t wanna accidentally squish it while I’m layin’ here.”

“Okay!” Jack climbs down off of his mother’s lap, carefully taking the spur from Arthur and placing it gently into the pages of his journal. “Did you like it, Uncle Arthur?”

“I loved it, son,” he assures him as he gets back into Abigail's lap. Reaching over, he gently pats the top of Jack’s head. “You got a real talent, there.”

Jack smiles, pulling a book from his back pocket. “Would you like to hear a story?”

“Sure.”

The boy’s quiet voice spins tales of romance and wonder, and before long Arthur’s eyelids grow heavy. He doesn’t fight it.

***

Birds tweet quietly, zipping in and out through the trees. Arthur groans softly, wondering when it’ll end, when he’ll be able to do anything other than lay here. A gentle hand finds its way onto his shoulder.

“Easy, now. You’re alright.”

Slowly, Arthur opens his eyes. “Charles?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m here. How are you feeling?” Charles is sitting in the stool beside him, his hand still on his shoulder, gentle and grounding.

Through a cough, Arthur says, “Better, I think.” He knows better than to completely lie to Charles - after all, he’s always able to see through him. “Feelin’…Feelin’ pretty useless, to be honest with you.”

“I know how it is,” he responds gently, “but you get your strength back little by little every day.”

“How is everyone?”

Charles looks away, but Arthur swears he can see the hint of a smile on his face. It seems like he almost wants to tease him, but he decides against it. “Everyone’s fine. Javier, Micah, and Bill have been on a few jobs. I’ve done some hunting. It ain’t the same without you, though.”

“Eh, you’re the one who’s good at it. I’m always just along for the ride,” he chuckles.

“You’ve improved with your bow a lot, though.”

He watches Charles for a moment, wondering if he’d gotten any sleep recently. He looks tired, but he always does. “Would you…do me a favor, Charles?”

“Anything.”

Arthur sighs. It’s something stupid, something he wouldn’t dare ask anyone else, but Charles is special. Charles wouldn’t judge him. Charles would do anything for him. He was special.

“Help me shave.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of tweeting birds. Charles seems taken aback, but before Arthur can even regret asking, he reaches for the oil and silver razor hesitantly, holding them in both hands. “Are you certain? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re the only one I trust for this,” he assures him, moving to push himself up. This time when he does it, it doesn’t hurt as much, and he leans back heavily. “I don’t think I can do it myself right now. Please, Charles.”

Charles sighs softly, then scoots his stool a little closer. “…Okay. Try to stay still.” He places the razor down, pouring some of the oil into his hands. He rubs them together, then gently rubs them into Arthur’s beard. “I didn’t think this was how my morning was going to go.”

Arthur chuckles, watching the lines form along Charles’ brow as he concentrates. “Me neither, but I also wasn’t expectin’ to be this beat up.”

“I’m shocked you managed to get out of there,” Charles admits, wiping his hands on the nearby towel. “But then, if anyone could, it’d be you, Arthur.” He picks up the razor, steadying his hand, and moves it up to Arthur’s chin.

It’s gentle in a way that surprises him. With a tool this sharp, Charles manages to trim down the beard without so much as knicking Arthur at all. He doesn’t want to break his concentration, so he just watches, watches him focus, wondering how they’d gotten so lucky to find Charles a few months ago. Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever found a man quite as talented, quite as kind, quite as amazing as Charles.

Charles takes his time, and Arthur lets him. Eventually, he puts the razor down, holding up the mirror for him to look. In the mirror, Arthur looks tired. His cheek is still bruised, and he’s paler than normal, but his beard is now a manageable length and he can’t help but chuckle in surprise. “I’ll have to hire you to do my shaves from now on.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think being a barber is the life for me,” Charles chuckles, leaning back a bit, “but I’m glad you like it.”

“Thank you. Really, I mean it.” Arthur looks over, placing a hand on Charles’ knee. “You’re a good man, Charles Smith.”

Smiling slightly, Charles places his hand on top of his, then pats it gently. “So are you.”

For some reason, when it comes from Charles, Arthur wants to believe it.

***

A few nights later, Arthur sits up in his bedroll again, lighting himself a cigarette. It immediately makes him feel better as he breathes out a puff of smoke. Suddenly, perhaps following the trail, Dutch appears at the side. 

“It’s nice to see you up, son.” Leaning against the nearby tree, Dutch watches, and his eyes say that he shouldn’t be smoking. Arthur knows he’s probably right, but he still blows one more puff before putting it out. “How are you feelin’?”

“Everyone keeps askin’, and the answer’s always fine.” Trying not to sound too frustrated, Arthur sighs softly. “I’m sorry. I shoulda seen it comin’.”

Dutch shakes his head, walking over to sit in the stool. “Nonsense, Arthur, nonsense. It…” he sighs, shaking his head. “It was my fault. I didn’t listen to you, or Hosea, and that’s what got you into this mess. I apologize.”

The apology almost leaves Arthur speechless. He blinks a few times, then smiles a little. “You know I’m always gonna be behind you, Dutch. Always.”

Dutch gently ruffles his hair. “And you know I’d never let Colm O’Driscoll hurt another person I love. I was gonna come for you, and kill every last one to make sure you were safe.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t known for sure, but that thought, looking back now, is ridiculous. Of course Dutch would come for him. They’re family. 

Quiet singing floats in the air, the familiar voice of Javier and his guitar carried through the trees. Arthur smiles, watching Dutch look up. “Go join everyone else. Find Hosea or somethin’. I’m fine over here.”

“You sure?”

“No need for you to be sittin’ over here feelin’ sorry for yourself when everyone’s havin’ fun, Dutch. Go.”

Exhaling, Dutch carefully stands up. “Okay, okay. Yell if you need anything, son.”

Arthur lifts a hand in goodbye, watching him walk off toward the others, where the fire crackles. Feeling better, he lays down, letting the peace eventually lull him back to sleep.

***

Another few days pass. A rotating group of people sit with him while he finishes recovering, and eventually he’s able to get up and walk around with minimal pain. He goes to the docks, breathing in the early morning air as he writes in his journal.

“I thought I’d be buryin’ you, Mr. Morgan.” Arthur looks up with a slight smile. “Not quite yet, Reverend.”

Swanson chuckles. “Good. How you feelin’?”

The question doesn’t bother him anymore. He sighs, remembering how often he’s saved the Reverend and now, he’s saved him in return. “Oh, ‘bout the same as you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Swanson smiles. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Arthur listens to the sound of receding footsteps, then stands up. When he turns around, he takes in the camp. As he listens to Hosea’s laughter, Mary-Beth and Tilly’s domino game, Charles and Lenny’s quiet voices, he finds himself feeling really, really good.

[imagination-phantom]

Oop! Sneaky Peeky!

Is it the man behind the slaughter?!

[namearentfunfr]

what hogwarts house would the hatchetfield characters belong to?

i mean obviously there are some obvious ones. hidgens is in ravenclaw. i still have difficulties deciding between hufflepuff and gryffindor for some characters, but massive hufflepuff vibe for paul and slytherin for emma

im conflicted between gryffindor and hufflepuff for ted as well. he has immense loyalty as seen in his love with jenny, but also not even that loyal when he left emma and paul to jreg. leaning towards gryffindor tho.

tom is a hufflepuff and becky is yet another gryffindor. lex is a slytherin and hannah is???? honestly im not sure about hannah

the million dollars question: what the fuck is the man in a hurry. im tempted to say gryffindor but he lacks the moral compass. same with gary. he seems like a ravenclaw but also slytherin based on how he immediately called gerald to talk inheritance after linda's death.

honestly i gotta see more au's for hatchetfield. some classic zombie apocalypses could be nice. superhero aus could be cool af. maybe i should flesh out my spiderverse au more

[ilyasorokinn]

you can bet your ass a trade fic is coming out.

[c-kiddo]

“back to the blooming grove” followed by “smoke fills the room” on the wildemount soundtrack. ... .. . 😐 say sike right now matthew. 

ok but for real, it fits so perfectly with ikithon showing up in ep141 like its got to be about that.. . the way th strings spike (idk music terms) a minute in, the tenseness of them building too ,, thats tmn smelling th smoke, trying the door but it wont open, trying the window, the clays trying to gather their things, etc etc .. . its so good i lov it

[hinakyuu]

“It’s always about you” Sir😭 You know him since was ten leave him alone oh my gosh😂 he’s just a babyyy

sir you are bullying an actual child. that’s so embarrassing 😩 you lived with his family, probs run into each other in the off-season, you are nine years his senior i-

the way he said matthew like pls ✋😭

that shit is personal “it’s always about you, hey?” it’s like he took a peek into my blog or something sjdkdk

*edit: this just came up on my dash via @mattatouile and it is hilarious

[dreamsuvivor]

I am convinced that Jane Austen laced her novels with crack, bc how else would you explain that a mf from the 19ct with the social skills of a wet paper towel is making me giggle like a school girl??

[somewherebetweenrage]

slightly mad about my tag situation let's see if this at least makes them easy to find

[hetaliafucker]

The 2022 Ebenezer Scrooge just gives me Arthur but as a Gilf vibes and I'm just. I need. I need AU fanart of Arthur as the 2022 Scrooge.

[mollyolikeme]

Okay anyone else experience greywaren like this?

First Quarter of book: Ronan not conscious. Maggie doing Maggie, that sly sly woman just stringing us along and leaving the questions unanswered. Haha! she’s so funny.

Second Quarter of book: Ronan not conscious. Maggie like wow I don’t know how you’re still keeping him asleep like you maybe answered two questions at this point. It’s not as funny as earlier.

Third Quarter of book: Ronan not conscious. OKAY. O—Kay. Haha. Like. I STILL have so many questions girl what are you doing to me like…. I’m not laughing anymore how are you gonna wrap this up?

Last Quarter of book: Ronan conscious. The End!

Me: …..wait. wut.