#father arthur morgan

[allthemeniveloved]

Too Sweet - Sequel to Cradle

Summary: Arthur wears his daughter’s flower crown into town, showing his love and care without hesitation.

wc: 1,415

ao3 link, part 1

a/n: Inspired by @scarletlove2's comment!

The soft coos of your baby girl filled the cabin as dawn broke over the horizon, golden light filtering through the curtains. Arthur was already awake, sitting by the hearth with her cradled in his arms. His eyes were tired, shadows darkening the space beneath them, but his expression was peaceful. Content.

You watched them from the bed, a quiet smile playing on your lips as Arthur rocked her gently. His large, calloused hand dwarfed her tiny body, but his movements were impossibly delicate. He hummed an old tune, one you recognized from the gang’s nights around the fire, and though his voice was rough, it carried a soothing rhythm that made you want to drift back to sleep.

“You’re up early,” you said softly, sitting up and wrapping a shawl around your shoulders.

Arthur glanced at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “She woke up hungry,” he said, nodding toward the empty bottle on the small table beside him. “Didn’t wanna wake you. Figured you deserved some rest.”

You stood and crossed the room, leaning down to press a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “You deserve some rest, too, Arthur. You’ve been running yourself ragged.”

He shook his head, his gaze dropping back to the baby in his arms. “I’m alright. Can’t seem to sleep much anyhow. Every time I close my eyes, I think about… things.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “What kinda world she’s gonna grow up in. What I’ve gotta do to make sure it’s good enough for her.”

Your heart ached at the weight in his words, the unspoken fears that lingered behind them. You knelt beside him, resting your hand on his arm. “You’re already doing it, Arthur. Just by being here. By loving her.”

He didn’t answer right away, his thumb brushing over your daughter’s tiny hand as she squirmed against his chest. “She deserves better than this life. Better than runnin’ and hidin’. She deserves a home.”

You nodded, your own thoughts echoing his. Life with the gang wasn’t what you wanted for her—or for yourselves. The danger, the uncertainty, the endless cycle of violence and survival—it wasn’t a life you could bear to raise her in.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” you admitted quietly. “About leaving.”

Arthur’s head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Leavin’? You mean… for good?”

“Yes.” You held his gaze, your voice steady. “I know it’s dangerous, and I know Dutch would never let us go easy, but… we can’t keep doing this, Arthur. Not with her. She needs stability. She needs to grow up somewhere she can be safe.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his brows furrowed in thought. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the pull of loyalty to the gang warring with the deep, unshakable love he had for his daughter. For you.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice heavy but resolute. “I’ve been thinkin’ the same. Just didn’t know how to say it.”

Relief flooded through you, and you leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Arthur sighed, his free arm wrapping around you to pull you closer. For a moment, the three of you were wrapped in a quiet bubble of warmth, the weight of the world outside held at bay.

“I’ll talk to Charles,” Arthur said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “He’s good at coverin’ tracks, and he’ll keep quiet. We’ll need supplies, horses… somewhere to go.”

You nodded. “We’ll find a place. Somewhere far from here.”

Arthur looked down at the baby, her tiny hand clutching his finger in her sleep. His jaw tightened, and you could see the determination harden in his expression.

“I ain’t lettin’ anything happen to her,” he said firmly. “Or to you. We’re gettin’ outta this, and we’re gonna give her the life she deserves.”

You believed him. Arthur had always been a man of action, and now that he had a purpose that went beyond survival, you knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d seen it through.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the cabin in warm light. Your daughter stirred, her little eyes fluttering open as she let out a soft cry. Arthur stood, handing her carefully to you.

“Guess she’s hungry again,” he said with a small chuckle.

You smiled, holding her close. “You go rest, Arthur. I’ve got her.”

He hesitated, his protective instincts warring with his exhaustion, but finally he nodded. “Alright. Wake me if you need me.”

As he climbed into the cot and closed his eyes, you sat by the fire with your daughter, the weight of the coming changes heavy but hopeful in the air. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with Arthur by your side, you knew you could face it.

-

The morning sun spilled golden light over the wildflower-dotted meadow just beyond the small homestead you and Arthur had built. Your six-year-old daughter, Sarah, was kneeling in the grass, her little hands busy weaving a crown from the flowers she’d been gathering all morning. Arthur sat nearby, his long legs stretched out and his back propped against a tree, watching her with a smile that softened his rugged features.

“You about done there, little miss?” Arthur teased, tipping his hat back to get a better look at her handiwork.

“Not yet, Papa!” Sarah said, her small tongue peeking out in concentration as she tied a daisy stem into place. “You gotta be patient.”

Arthur chuckled, leaning his head back against the tree. “Patience, huh? You sure you didn’t learn that from your ma?”

You smiled from the porch, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee, watching the scene unfold. Sarah had Arthur wrapped around her little finger, and you both knew it.

Finally, Sarah stood, holding the flower crown aloft like it was a treasure. She marched over to Arthur with a triumphant grin. “Okay, Papa! All done!”

Arthur sat up straight, his grin widening as she climbed into his lap and carefully placed the crown on his head. It sat crooked, teetering on his messy hair, but she clapped her hands in delight.

“There!” she declared. “Now you’re a king!”

Arthur laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “A king, huh? Well, I reckon I couldn’t ask for a better crown.”

“You have to wear it into town!” Sarah said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “So everyone knows you’re a flower king.”

Arthur raised a brow but didn’t hesitate. “Alright, if that’s what my princess wants.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “Arthur, you’re really gonna wear that into town?”

He shrugged, his expression as relaxed as ever. “Why not? Ain’t nobody’s business what I wear.”

Sarah beamed, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re the best, Papa!”

Later that afternoon, the three of you made the trip into town, Sarah skipping happily beside Arthur while he strode confidently through the dusty streets, flower crown still perched on his head. People turned to stare, some with bemused smiles, others with outright laughter. Arthur, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

“Mr. Morgan,” an elderly woman called from her rocking chair on a porch. “That’s quite the look you’re sportin’ today.”

Arthur tipped his hat—well, the flower crown—at her with a grin. “Why, thank you kindly, ma’am. My little girl made it for me. Ain’t it somethin’?”

The woman chuckled, waving him off. “You’re a good father, Arthur.”

Sarah giggled, tugging at his hand. “See, Papa? Everyone loves it!”

You walked a step behind them, your heart full as you watched the easy way Arthur carried himself, unbothered by the stares or whispers. For all his gruffness and rough edges, he’d become the kind of father you’d always dreamed he’d be: patient, loving, and willing to wear a flower crown in public if it made his daughter smile.

When the errands were done, and the three of you made your way back home, Sarah sat on the wagon seat between you and Arthur, her little hands busy weaving another crown. She looked up at him, her eyes full of admiration.

“You’re the best king ever, Papa,” she said.

Arthur looked down at her, his blue eyes soft. “And you’re the best little princess a man could ask for, I reckon.”

As the wagon rolled on, laughter and love filled the air, and the flower crown stayed on Arthur’s head until the sun dipped below the horizon.

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

a/n: I'm not very good at writing children's dialogue, my apologies! Hope you still enjoyed!

[pyersiki]

Jack and uncle Arthur fishing mission ^_^ one of my fav moments in the game

[moeitsu]

oh. my. god.

[ravengards-rogue]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[taolaoo]

Hosea and Arthur's relationship is very dear to me. So so so father son coded. They are literally father and son. A funny, theatrical and charismatic father and his grumpy strong and equally theatrical son. I'm sure Hosea deserves a lot of the credit for how Arthur turned out in the end. They're alike. Like damn, they are so much alike. Not in looks, but they don't have to be. Because you don't have to be bound by blood to see the world the same way.

It will always warm my heart that Arthur himself admits that he always liked Hosea much more. When I first found out about it, I had no thoughts other than, yeah, it just feels right. It's the way it should be. It couldn't be otherwise. He was Hosea's son from the start and he continued to be Hosea's son until the very end.

Dutch van der Linde you don't belong here.

[arthursfuckinghat]

You know, whenever I see the discussions around Jack Marston possibly getting drafted in world war one, I can't help but physically ache at the thought of it.

Jack Marston, born into a gang that honoured freedom above everything, forced to sacrifice everything he has left for war.

Jack Marston, a boy who read about knights and soldiers, now forced to become one in another fight he never asked for.

Jack Marston, raised to be away from a life of violence, but now the world has found a way to drag him back in.

No matter what happens, Jack would have to face a really tragic dilemma. Does he go to war and sacrifice the legacy of freedom he was raised with? The life his family died for? Or refuse and be labeled a criminal, putting his parents to shame and repeating the same cycle his father went through?

It just tragically mirrors the struggle he’s always had - trying to find his own identity outside the legacy of John Marston, and the violence that came with it. But he's being pulled back in, no matter what he chooses.

He was never made for the violence that shaped his parents' life.

[bisclavret]

like many who have suffered at the hands of bbc merlin before me, i recently indulged in a thought experiment in which i outlined my own version of seasons 3-5 that stay thematically and tonally in line with the show (except they're less fucking stupid). but then i quickly realized that focusing on details is pointless: all you need is to solve the one Big Problem the show has, and the rest will follow. the problem in question? ✨morgana✨

i like the first two seasons. s1 achieves what it sets out to do and has fun while doing it, and s2, while flawed, sets up a ton of potential that the following seasons unfortunately squander, beginning with the insidious season 3. you can only distract me with cute knights and goblins and fart jokes for so long before i start seeing through you, evil, evil season of television.

my hypothesis is that if the writers had crafted s3 morgana into anything more sympathetic than a violent half-alive poltergeist that can never be reasoned with because she's suddenly terminally off her rocker, everything would've fallen into place. a sympathetic morgana would've made real, valid arguments against uther (and arthur) that wouldn't just be the ramblings of a woman possessed. her betrayal of arthur would have stemmed from her feeling increasingly morally superior to him because of his complacency in the face of their father's tyranny. under morgause's guidance she would stop believing that arthur is capable of change, and the whole point would be that she might actually be right. arthur would have to actively try and prove her wrong, instead of getting praised for doing the bare minimum because the bar is on the floor.

furthermore, morgana's prophetic dream about arthur and gwen becoming king and queen and her decision to prevent this however she can is a direct parallel to merlin learning about that same prophecy and making it happen by any means necessary. merlin's desires about his and arthur's futures are subtextually fueled by gay love and devotion, so why couldn't morgana's be? why couldn't she properly express her bitterness that arthur gets to be with gwen in a way she can't "took gwen away" from her, instead of suddenly declaring that gwen is nothing more than a servant, after two seasons of demonstrating again and again that she loves, values, and respects gwen more than anyone else in that godforsaken castle?

following this, an angry and emotionally volatile but still sensible morgana asking gwen to stay by her side during the coup of the castle in the s3 finale and gwen going behind her back to help arthur and the knights would've hurt like a bitch. double-sided betrayal! gwen having a real plot! the proper beginnings of a toxic yuri that would shape a generation!

then there's the utter hubris of having morgana shoot arrows at the same civilians she worried herself sick over for 2 seasons — even morgan, her medieval counterpart that was rooted in every sexist trope in existence, doesn't just go around killing senselessly but instead has (often petty!) personal vendettas against gwen, arthur, and the knights. morgana had every right to be sick of the pretensions around chivalry in camelot (she was always quick to mock it, even in s1), and to lash out at the knights and soldiers after years of feeling powerless in a castle full of armed men that blindly followed her oppressor. the show conveniently forgets that morgana was victimized as a woman as well as a sorcerer those first 2 seasons.

but like i said, this is not just about morgana. allowing her to remain a real and multifaceted character even as she betrays everyone in pursuit of her ambitions would've given the rest of the core four more interesting conflict to work with: merlin because he would have to experience real consequences to his actions, arthur because he would watch his sister go against his father (and his knights, and his birthright) and experience some actual internal dilemmas about it, and gwen because she would be forced to choose between morgana and arthur without the pretense that it's an obvious or easy choice for her to make.

even morgause and gaius would come off more interesting as mentors: neither one inherently evil or inherently good, both jaded by events that happened before our protagonists were even born, both heavily influencing morgana and merlin into fulfilling roles that they think are appropriate, but that morgana and merlin may not have chosen for themselves had they not been under their care.

you get the gist. if the show followed its own setup, morgana's mistakes wouldn't lie in cheap and senseless acts of violence but in alienating the people she loves because she is too hurt and jaded to trust them. meanwhile, everybody else would feel guilt over "failing" her and yet they would be too caught up in their own (sometimes flawed!) beliefs of right and wrong to truly see her point of view.

arthur would convince himself it was sorcery that corrupted her. merlin would know that isn't true but he wouldn't be able to argue without confessing everything, which is the defining conflict between him and morgana and it's cheapened when she's just an evil witch caricature and merlin is framed as inherently virtuous in contrast. gwen, too, would become a more active participant in her own life by choosing arthur over morgana and choosing to rule camelot with him instead of just waiting politely to see where things go.

and, of course, uther's downfall and death would be quick, final, and completely earned — when and why did the show even decide he of all people was the sympathetic villain, anyway?

lastly, and perhaps controversially, i think morgana should've learned merlin's true identity by season 4. her being the first of the main characters to find out makes perfect sense considering their shared history and their interconnected and mirrored arcs. even the show seems to agree, considering she does find out a little before arthur. but the narrative itself tried pointing flashing neon arrows towards this way earlier — there is a whole entire episode in s4 where merlin being emrys is repeatedly spelled out for morgana and she still isn't allowed to see it. that episode makes her look like the stupidest person to ever live, which is pretty funny im not gonna lie, but also another frustrating thing in the endless string of frustrating things that make up this show.

morgana learning that merlin has magic would've transformed the source of merlin's anxiety from a crippling fear of being outed someday to the crippling fear of knowing she could out him at any moment. this would make him want to beat her to the punch (perhaps he'd consider killing her for a minute and decide against it because she isn't a cartoonishly insane evil person in my version of events) and maybe he would even feel some tentative excitement at the idea of coming clean, now that it seems inevitable. after all, he always intended to tell arthur eventually! and i think gaius would have to admit outright that he does not want merlin to tell arthur he has magic because he, gaius, simply cannot risk such a gamble. it would be so interesting to see gaius and merlin clash and disagree once it becomes obvious that it's not merlin that isn't ready for the reveal, it's gaius. delicious!

with morgana's knowledge looming, things would inevitably spiral into a magic reveal by the end of season 4. i picture this season as an absolute mess of miscommunication between everyone at camelot, which is, y'know, canon. growing increasingly cunning and vengeful, morgana would use this tension to her advantage, destabilizing the court from the outside while she creates alliances with other sorcerers outside of camelot (instead of living alone in a hovel for no reason — morgana le fay i'm sorry i'm so sorry they gave you agravaine instead of your all-female entourage oh my god).

and here's where the events would change beyond recognition (aka here's where the meta becomes the fanfic i refuse to write). picture it with me: a militia of sorcerers infiltrates camelot and arthur and gwen have to set aside their differences (assuming gwen kissing lancelot and arthur overreacting happens, which it should) for the good of the kingdom as well as for love. picture high priestess morgana in her element, side by side with a bunch of misfit sorcerers that aren't so easily vilified, chopping down camelot's soldiers and knights and assuredly making their way to the newly-minted king.

then, just as it starts to seem that all hope is lost, in swoops merlin (the actual merlin, not his old fart disguise) on dragonback (kilgharrah hates morgana so much i know his sexist ass would stoop to anything to stop her)!!! imagine merlin showing off the extent of his powers in front of everyone and preventing the sorcerers from getting any further, declaring loud and clear that camelot is protected by him, by emrys. imagine that display of power alone being enough to send everyone home.

imagine the loyalties clearly drawn: merlin on arthur's side, morgana on the sorcerers'. imagine arthur, feeling confused and betrayed by everyone at this point, banishing merlin despite everything he's done for him in the angstiest, most emotionally dysregulated scene the show had ever put to screen. imagine merlin starting season 5 free at last but very lonesome, an embittered dragonlord like his father. imagine the absolute mess camelot would become without him, even with gwen — now queen guinevere — there to pick up the slack. imagine arthur actually earning merlin back, finally growing into his role as king as he does so. imagine the reunion.

all this and more could've been not just possible but inevitable if morgana was allowed to remain a complex character that is neither inherently good nor inherently evil: it was undeniably the biased and one-note treatment of morgana's downfall by the writers that set the precedent for literally everything else that happened after merlin chose to poison her. the show wouldn't have even had to jeopardize its tone or the monster-of-the-week vibe, all it would've had to do is admit that even the "good guys" are capable of mistakes and what makes them good is the ability to feel remorse and change for the better. (as opposed to uther, who was miles beyond redemption since way before the pilot and deserved to lose everything and die alone. OBVIOUSLY???)

in a world where morgana remains multifaceted and sympathetic, mordred would get a better arc as well, so if we really wanted to, we could still end on the same tragic note that the show ended on. with so much harm inflicted onto so many innocent people by the pendragons for so long (including mordred and the many druids and sorcerers that raised him), it could realistically end up being a little too late for anything more than one shining glimpse of king arthur and the sorcerer merlin's short-lived golden age before fate catches up to them. glimpsing that reality just to immediately lose it would've been far more satisfying and far more tragic than whatever the writers thought they were doing with all that pointless carrot-dangling.

and finally, an ending in line with morgana's new and improved arc. in this version, rather than bleeding out on the forest floor alone, she would channel the morgan le fay we know from the legends: sobered up by the reality of her brother dying, she would use her high priestess status (and perhaps also her pendragon status) to be granted passage over to avalon alongside arthur on the boat — a one-way ride — just to make sure he gets there safely. this is her penance for the harm she has caused, the same way arthur's penance is to die and leave the true ruler of camelot (gwen) behind to achieve everything he was too slow and indecisive to build while he still had time.

merlin's penance, then, would be to stay behind and watch them cross over without him, waiting and waiting and waiting until they come back or until he can finally join them. which is a bit fucking harsh if i'm honest, so i'd at least make it slightly more faithful to the legends by having him return as an old man and letting him take a long nap under a tree by the shore, his body slowly enveloped by vines like the cobwebbed fisher king in 3x08, never fully sure if he's dreaming or if there really are strange shapes fading in and out of the fog over the lake. still tragic, but nevertheless a little more open-ended and whimsical than [TRUCK NOISES] THE END!

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Hii can I please have a scene with Arthur Morgan and his fem s/o in an alternate universe where Arthur never got TB and he is happily married living with his wife on a cosy farm similar to the marstons. They have just had a newborn daughter and she is only a few days old and Arthur sees his wife picking up their newborn, still in shock from giving birth just days prior. She is cuddling and sweet talking her baby, gently kissing her head and loving her. She coos and gently but sweetly whispers good morning to her baby girl. I just want Arthur’s reaction to this and how he reacts to all the fluff plus him being a new father. Can you please end it with fem reader putting their child back in the crib and making their way to the living room, relaxing on the sofa together and talking about how they should visit the marstons soon. Thank you 💞💞💞💞💞💞

The Life a Good Man Deserves

Has it really been only a week since I watched her walk along the tree line of the forest near our home, soaking in the sun, glowing like a god damn angel? She was pregnant as could be, but she wanted to take one last walk before we took our first walk with our baby girl.

And a few days later, she was here. God was it hard, watchin' my wife hurt like that. Her screams and all the blood... it left me shakin' like a leaf. I've never felt so scared in my life I don't think. We didn't have a doctor or a nurse or anythin', but we had Charles and a forest only a few yards away. Thank whatever lord there was above that he had stopped by that morning, and right as he was about to leave I heard my wife screamin' for me from our bedroom. We both came running, and that was the start of the longest night of my life.

Charles made a million different remedies on the stove of our kitchen. For pain, for infection, any complications my wife or our little girl could have after birth. All the while I was holding my wife's hand as she brought our baby-girl into the world, how crazy life is sometimes.

We named her 'Briar-Rose.' Right after she was born, my wife looked out the window and saw the ones we had planted had finally bloomed. We'd have horrible luck with them before, so it seemed perfect.

I ought to go find them now, instead of just sittin' her day dreaming about the family that I finally have. God, I love them so much.

• • • • • • •

Arthur set his leather journal down on his bedside table, the matching ones he made for the two of you for your first anniversary you spent together in your home. The one he had built for you, with the help of Charles and John. Oh and little Jack of course, he did so much!

Arthur got up and slipped on a pair of worn old jeans and his favorite blue button up shirt. How it had survived all these years, he didn't know.

How he had survived all these years, he didn't know either.

Arthur quietly made his way to the nursery. It was right next to the bedroom the two of you shared, and the door was cracked open. There was no other place you could be. Arthur was about to walk in, but he stopped when he heard you talking to your daughter. He watched through the crack of the door, completely mesmerized.

Your hair was in a messy braid down your back, and you wore a long flowing white nightgown. It was long sleeved, and the strings around your bosom area were tied into a pretty bow. The sleeves, which had forever been too long for your arms but you refused to mend time, rested around your whole hand, only leaving your fingers sticking out. Arthur could see them sticking out under your coat and laughed to himself. He loved these little things about you, and he had them all written down in his journal.

Your coat, which was actually the brown plaid one that belonged to Abigail, also hung loosely around you with your nightgown. He smiled as he remembered both you and Abigail trading your favorite coats. John and Arthur had both been talking and they decided it was time to leave the gang, it wasn't an easy decision but a necessary one. You and Abigail were two peas in a pod, like sisters almost. You had both decided you needed to do something to always stay together now that you wouldn't be able to see each other everyday.

A small cry from your daughter pulled him from his thoughts.

"Oh my sweet girl, shh shh." You cooed softly, you picked up your daughter from her crib and cradled her in your arms. Holding her close and tight. You pressed a gentle kiss on your daughters head, and she calmed. You rocked her back and fourth and started talking to her.

"How'd my baby sleep? Did you sleep well?" You asked, your tone so gentle and full of love Arthur thought he could cry. You were the perfect mother. "I love you, so much my sweet girl. Your so beautiful. You've got your daddy in you, those stunning blue eyes and that hair of yours. I can't wait to watch you grow up."

Arthur couldn't take it, tears fell freely from his eyes and he opened the door of his daughters room and actually ran to you. He held you close to him, careful to not hurt your stomach.

"Oh Arthur, are you alright?" You said with a light laugh, though your voice was laced with concern.

"Honey, I have never been more alright in my life." He said shakily. His quiet voice held so much emotion it broke your heart.

When Arthur first found out you were pregnant, he was angry. Not at you, and certainly not at your unborn child. He was angry at himself, how could he be so stupid? Getting another woman pregnant, while still being in the gang? Which was definitely going to shit, by the way. Arthur could feel it happening. His heart actually hurt when he thought about Eliza and Issac, how his stupidity had gotten them killed. His little boy, and the woman he never married but god damn he should've, both dead over 10 dollars. 10. Fucking. Dollars. If he had been there, those bastards would've been dead in a second! He was a gunslinger for fucks sake! He could've saved them if he had just done right. But he was so scared to be a father, especially to a son. He didn't want to turn into his own father. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. But once a certain Karen Jones dragged him by the ear to the hiding spot you had found to cry in telling him to "fix it" he knew what he had to do. And it wasn't easy.

He held you in his arms, and apologized for every second he made you think or feel like he didn't want you or the child growing inside you. He said he had a plan, and it was the first time since joining the gang that you were relieved to hear those words.

"Arthur?"

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. Arthur pulled away from you so he could get a better look

"Would you like to hold your daughter Mr. Morgan?" You asked with a smile just as sweet as your southern drawl.

"Yes I would, Mrs. Morgan." He said with a smile, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes. He ever so carefully took his daughter into his arms. She fussed for a moment, before quickly settling back down again.

"I can't believe I'm a daddy..." Arthur said softly. "Look at my sweet girl... Both of my sweet girls."

You stood on your tip toes and kissed Arthur on the cheek, and you bent back down to kiss your daughter. You winced straightening back up.

"Sit down, please honey." Arthur said gently. "You just had a baby after all."

"'M fine sweetheart." You dismissed. "I need to get the best view possible of this.."

A sudden sharp cry erupted from your daughter, causing both you and Arthur to laugh.

"Still a view I want to see." You said with a smile. Arthur passed Briar off to you, and she quieted down a bit.

"Ain't nothin' like the touch of a mother." Arthur said softly, gently wrapping his arms around your stomach. With your body flush against his, he rested his chin on top of your head. You chuckled.

"You should sing her a lullaby. Arthur suggested. You chuckled, knowing he'd use any excuse to hear you sing. You took a breathe, and began a gentle lullaby:

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew Angels in heaven know I love you Know I love you, dear, know I love you Angels in heaven, know I love you.

Writing this letter, containing three lines Answer my question, "Will you be mine?" "Will you be mine, dear, will you be mine?" Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

You finished the song, and were now left with a sleeping daughter and a husband who was weeping. The sight of it brought tears to your own eyes.

"I just watched my wife sing my daughter to sleep for the first time.." Arthur wept. "Look at me, I'm a god damn mess. God I love you so much, I love her so much- (Name), this is real. This is our life."

"I can't belive it either!" You said with a sniffle. "Let me put her in her cradle before we wake her up."

Arthur nodded, sneaking a quick kiss to your forehead before heading to the door. Arthur was about to leave, but something told him to stay a moment longer. He turned just in time to see you tenderly set your daughter down in her crib and cover her up with her blanket which you had sewn by hand for her. You kissed your daughter one last time before joining Arthur.

As soon as you were in arms reach, Arthur scooped you up and carried you bridal style right into the living room. You giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl, causing Arthur to giggle too.

"Nothin but laughter and tears of joy in this house." You said happily. "That's exactly how I wanna be livin'!"

"Me too darlin!" Arthur said, gently setting you down on the sofa. He sat down right next to you and opened his arms, which you gladly crawled into. With your head resting in the crook of his neck and your legs curled up in his lap, you felt so safe. And so loved, you swore Arthur Morgan was sent from the lord above just for you.

"When do you think you'll be up for a trip to go see Abigail?" Arthur said, a sly smile on his face.

You gasped in excitment. "Oh goodness, is the house done already!? Did John invite you?"

"Yes ma'am! And guess what else darlin'?" Arthur said with a laugh. Your excitement was contagious, anyone could agree to that. "They made us a nursery for Briar-Rose."

Your eyes welled up with tears and you covered your mouth with your hand.

"Your kiddin' me..." You said softly, a smile slowly forming on your face.

"They really did honey." Arthur said and smiled softly at you. "Abigail wrote to me. I got the letter the night I went to town right before you had Briar. Said the house is done and we need to come visit as soon as you feel up to it after you have the baby."

"I don't know how soon, but I can't wait to go! Oh Arthur I miss her so much.." You said sadly. "I'm gonna write her back! We'll plan a visit next month...." You said, but your words trailed off into a yawn.

"Sounds good t'me baby." Arthur said, his hand natrually finding your hair to begin running his fingers through it. It put you to sleep faster then you'd like to admit.

Arthur let out a content sigh. He had never dared even daydream of a life like this for too long, yet here he was. Actually living the life of his dreams. With his wife, daughter, and even his 'brother'.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

authors note: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED CAUSE I LITERALLY HAD THE BEST TIME WRITING THISSS Xx

[ak319]

Hello, I love your writing so much, if you can do so, could you please write a Yandere!Arthur Morgan x infant daughter reader where he's a papa bear to her, and he finds out she's being bullied by other kids in school. Ofc familial /platonic please

Thank you and hope you have a great day!

AN: moi heart AGH! Cute!! Tsym btw! (^///^) Warnings/MDNI: None, jus' fluff fluff nd' fluff! A little angst, bullying +++ Arthur is 30, Modern AU🍼 tag list: @nayykura @shackspossum @whalecage

Arthur's ears perked at the sound of your soft burp, a tiny noise that brought a tired but satisfied smile to his face. Finally. One of the trickiest tasks, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. He adjusted his grip on you, gently patting your small back, his broad hand covering you almost entirely. Rocking in his old chair, the rhythmic creak matching his soft coos and steady breathing, he lulled you into a peaceful slumber, and before long, he drifted off too.

After a long, grueling day this was what grounded him. You were his balm, his anchor, the only thing keeping him steady after everything he’d been through. Holding you brought him a peace he never thought he’d feel again.

Stirring awake, he carefully laid you on the bed, making sure to stack pillows securely on the empty side. Then he stretched out beside you, his rugged face softening as he traced the curve of your cheek with a rough, calloused finger. He couldn’t resist placing featherlight kisses on your tiny forehead and rosy cheeks, his heart swelling with a love so fierce and pure it almost hurt

He couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. Just you, him, and this quiet farmhouse nestled in a peaceful community. The same family farmhouse he had nearly sold, back when everything seemed simpler, before life turned upside down.

Then he almost lost it all. Your mother, his wife (M/N), taken from him in a senseless tragedy during his time as a cop. The memory still felt like a jagged wound, one that would never fully heal. By some miracle, you had been spared, untouched by the violence that claimed her. God knows what he would have done if… if something had happened to you too. The thought alone twisted his stomach into knots. He knew he wouldn’t have survived it, he would’ve lost himself entirely.

So, he made a choice. He left it all behind after ensuring the culprits got caught and sentenced. The city, the job, the chaos. He packed up what was left of his life and came here, to the farm. Away from those dangerous, vengeful people who had shattered his family.

He wasn’t alone in the transition. His childhood best friend, John, stood by his side, helping him find his footing in this new chapter. With John’s support, he rebuilt, trading badges and bullets for the quiet rhythm of rural life. Now, he works from home as a graphic designer, balancing his new career with the role that means the most to him: being your father.

The move to the farmhouse was no easy feat, but Arthur didn’t care about the logistics, his top priority was you. Arthur let only Abigail watch over you while he handled the chaos of packing and unpacking. He didn’t trust babysitters, no way in hell. He’d heard enough horror stories from folks and read about things in the news that made his blood boil. The idea of leaving you with a stranger wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unthinkable.

The only person he trusted was Abigail. “You’re family, and you’ve got Jack, so you know how it is,” he’d said when asking her to keep an eye on you. His version of breathing was checking in every ten minutes, asking Abigail if you’d eaten, slept, or cried. Even when he knew you were safe, his mind wouldn’t rest until he saw you again.

The farm itself had seen its fair share of upgrades, some subtle, others impossible to miss. The once-simple property now stood fortified with long, reinforced fences and modern electric security gates. The kind designed to deliver a harmless but sharp jolt to anything attempting to breach them, ensuring no unwelcome visitors, human or otherwise, made it in.

Security cameras were mounted everywhere, their lenses scanning every corner of the property without missing a spot. Arthur had spent weeks installing them, triple-checking blind spots until there were none.

And for those thinking of trying their luck? Booby traps, carefully concealed and strategically placed, added an extra layer of insurance. He hadn’t been sure at first, was that going too far?--but the idea of anyone getting past his defenses to threaten you erased any hesitation.

Inside, the house was an entirely different kind of fortress. Childproofing was everywhere, every sharp corner was padded, and cabinets latched tight.

Then there was the basement. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had been transformed into a stockpile, his grandfather’s old cavalry arsenal, now fully restocked and meticulously maintained. The weapons had been relics from a long-forgotten outlaw era, but Arthur saw them as a necessity. A last resort. If anyone dared to cross that line, they’d find out the hard way what kind of man they were dealing with.

Because nothing, nothing, was more important than keeping you safe.

❀˖°

“Hey--no, no-" Arthur picked you up, his glare faltering under the effort to stay stern. “You don’t claw or brawl with Pa’ on this matter, miss.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as your legs thrashed in the air. 'Aren't you a tiny feral adorable kid---no be strict , Arthur-'

' “You, ma’am, are going in the tub-”

“WAIT! I’ll go myself!” you blurted, words tumbling out so fast they were practically gibberish. But Arthur, seasoned in the art of decoding your toddler babble, understood every syllable.

“Fine,” he huffed, setting you back down and straightening up with his hands on his hips. He gave you a look that screamed, I’m watching you.

Your eyes darted everywhere but to him. “Um-kay!,” you muttered with exaggerated determination, shuffling your feet as if preparing for the world’s longest journey.

“1,” you started.

“2…”

“um..4? 3-”

“You ain’t counting to ten for the tenth time, young lady. That’s it.” Before you could stage another dramatic delay, he swooped you up mid-mock-Olympian stance and plopped you straight into the tub.

“NOOOOOOO! NOT FAIR! you wailed, your indignation echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Nothing’s fair in baths and bedtimes,” he said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Bunny.”

❀˖°

Arthur set the plates and a steaming dish of soup and garlic bread on the table, his ears perking up as your voice carried in through the open window, accompanied by Mouse’s sharp barks. His German shepherd was stationed outside, a necessity for security, Arthur didn’t trust Mouse’s temperament indoors, and keeping the dog outside served as both a deterrent and a watchful guardian.

He glanced out and spotted you with a ball, your tiny frame dwarfed by the expanse of the yard. His jaw tightened. What’d I say about being out at this hour?

He stalked to the lawn without hesitation, his boots crunching against the gravel. He scooped you up without warning, setting you on his hip like you weighed nothing.

“When it’s near dusk, you are to be inside, you get inside without me needing to remind and call you every time,” he said, his voice firm, though not unkind. “Why do I always have to repeat myself?”

“I was gonna come, Pa’!” you protested, squirming slightly. Jeez, he needs to loosen up sometimes.

Arthur stopped, fixing you with a look that left no room for argument. “Some things I say are meant to be words on stone, you hear me? No arguing, Bug.”

He set you down gently but guided you firmly toward the house, casting one last glance at the fence and Mouse, whose ears twitched as if sensing Arthur’s unease.

❀˖°

The early morning mist still clung to the fields as Arthur loaded up the old truck, a fishing pole in the back, tackle box rattling as he slid it into place. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and fresh earth mingling with the faint smell of dew on the grass. You sat in the passenger seat, your legs swinging with excitement as you clutched your little fishing hat, a hand-me-down from Arthur that was still a bit too big for your head.

The drive to the lake was peaceful, the old truck rumbling along the dirt road as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. The lake, just a short distance from the farm, was quiet this time of morning, still and calm, with only the occasional ripple as the wind stirred the water.

Arthur parked the truck by the shore and hopped out, stretching his arms over his head. He opened the back, grabbing your tiny fishing rod first, a smaller one he had made sure to get just for you. He handed it over, his large hands carefully guiding yours to the handle.

“You know what to do, Bug?” he asked, crouching down to your level, his tone soft but serious.

You nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “I throw it in, wait, then reel it in, Pa’!”

“Good girl,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “But remember, patience is key. The fish don’t always bite right away.”

You gave him a mock serious look, puffing out your chest. “I can be patient.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled your hair before picking up his own rod. Together, you both walked to the edge of the water, the soft crunch of grass underfoot. He demonstrated how to cast his line, showing you the way to swing the rod before releasing it into the water. You watched carefully, eyes focused on the movement, and then it was your turn.

Arthur stood behind you, guiding your hands as you swung the rod and released the line, the soft splash of it hitting the water echoing in the quiet morning. You let out a little cheer, stepping back to wait.

“Good job, Bug. Now we wait.”

You sat down on the grassy shore, your legs dangling, and Arthur followed suit, sitting close enough that he could keep an eye on you but still giving you the space to enjoy the moment. The world seemed so still here, only the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore and the occasional bird call filling the air.

Minutes passed. Arthur cast his line again, his concentration on the ripples in the water, but he always kept an ear out for you. You were so quiet, so focused on the task at hand, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Pa’?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but curious.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can we do this every month!?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, his chest tight with love. “Of course, Bug. We’ll always fish together, whenever you want.”

You beamed, your little fingers still wrapped around the fishing rod, staring out at the lake with a peaceful contentment that mirrored his own.

And then, as if on cue, there was a tug on the line. You gasped, your eyes wide, and Arthur was there in a flash, his strong hands guiding yours as you struggled to reel it in.

“Got it, Bug! Reel it in, slow and steady. You’ve got this.”

You grinned, your little arms straining against the weight of the fish, the excitement in your eyes contagious. Arthur stood close, his hands still hovering just in case, but he could see you were doing it all on your own.

With a final pull, you brought the fish to the shore, Arthur helping you hold it up for a brief moment, both of you staring at the wriggling catch.

“We did it!” you cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

Arthur laughed, lifting you up into his arms. “You did it, Bug. You caught the first one. I’m proud of you.”

You giggled, your face flushed with happiness. “We’re gonna have fish for lunch! YAY!👹 "

Arthur laughed, holding you close. “Yeah, we will. And we’re gonna have a lot more days just like this.”

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you both spent the rest of the morning fishing, the peaceful quiet of the lake wrapping around you like a blanket. Every now and then, Arthur would catch a fish of his own, but it was clear which one of you was the real star of the day.

❀˖°

One evening, as usual, Arthur sat at his desk, working on his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused face. You were sitting nearby, playing quietly, but after a moment, you turned to him, your small brow furrowed in thought.

“Pa,” you asked, your voice soft but filled with curiosity, “why don’t I have a mommy like Jack? Like the ones on T. V. ?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question, dreading it, but he knew it was time to answer. He paused for a moment, setting his laptop aside, and turned to face you, his expression gentle.

“Well, Bug,” he started, his voice warm and tender, “you know how some kids have two parents, right? They’re like a big team, helpin' each other out. But you,” he said with a wink, “you’re extra special. Sometimes, God decides one parent is all a kid needs. Just one, but that one’s enough to love ‘em, protect ‘em, and make sure they’re always happy.”

He leaned down to your level, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “And that’s you, sweetheart. You got me, and I got you. We’re a team too, just the two of us.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. Arthur ruffled your hair affectionately, the worry in his chest easing as he saw you begin to understand.

“Some kids might need a bigger team, but not you. You’re my girl, and I’m all you need, ain’t that right?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes lighting up with trust and love. Arthur smiled, his heart full. “You don’t need a mommy to be loved, Bug. You’ve got all the love you could ever need, right here with me.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, feeling your little arms wrap around him. “And I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what.”

❀˖°

Arthur couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. One moment, it seemed like you were still a tiny thing, curled up in his arms, and now, the time had come to enroll you in school. He didn't want to let you go. He'd kept you close, always close, and the thought of someone else seeing you, taking care of you, made a cold knot form in his stomach. But he knew John was right. You needed to make friends. You needed to grow.

"Y/N needs to learn how to be around other kids, Arthur," John had said, his voice filled with that well-meaning confidence. "Jack goes to the same school too, so it'll be fine. It's just school. Let her have a chance."

Arthur had reluctantly agreed. He trusted John, mostly, and if Jack was there, well... that was a bit of relief. Still, the idea of you being away from him, surrounded by others, made his chest tighten. He was used to keeping you safe, keeping you all to himself. The thought of someone else influencing you, teaching you things....but he would do this for you.

And so, with his heart heavy but his determination set, Arthur had filled out the papers and enrolled you in school. He kept telling himself it was for your own good, that it would help you grow, make you more confident. Even if it was hard to admit, you were growing up, and he had to let you experience the world outside the walls of their home.

But Arthur knew something else, too. You were shy. You didn't like being around other people, especially strangers. He'd always been there to protect you, to shield you from the world outside. But now, the world would be coming to you.

As he walked you to school for the first time, his hand lingering a little too long on your shoulder, he whispered softly, "You stick close to brother Jack, alright? If you need any help, you go to him. You don’t need anyone else. Just him, just me, and you. No one else matters."

You gave him a shy nod, looking up at him with those wide eyes that always seemed to need reassurance. Arthur smiled down at you, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

"Good girl. And don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

❀˖°

“You eat your lunch today?” Arthur asked, his tone casual but observant, as you stood in front of him with your hands tucked behind your back.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh!”

Arthur opened the lunchbox, finding it spotless inside, not a crumb left. For a moment, he felt a spark of pride, was he really lucky enough to have a kid who finished her lunch every single day? But then, something about your overly innocent expression made him pause. He set the lunchbox down and folded his arms, tilting his head.

“So,” he said, setting the lunchbox down and crossing his arms, “how was it?”

“Hmm?” You glanced up at him.

“The sandwich,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah!” you said too brightly. “Really yummy.”

Arthur tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What did I make again? Just slipped my mind.”

“Uh… peanut butter and jam?” you mumbled.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed calm. He crouched down to your level, his presence steady and unyielding. “You sure about that, darlin’? Because I know I packed you a chicken and cheese sandwich this mornin’.”

You froze, the color draining from your face.

He sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Now, you and I both know you didn’t eat that sandwich. So why don’t you go on and tell me what really happened?”

You looked down at your shoes, your voice trembling. “I… I was going to eat it, but some kids… they took it.”

Arthur’s heart sank, though his expression remained calm for your sake. He reached out and gently lifted your chin so you had to meet his eyes. “They took it?”

You nodded, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. “I told them to stop, but… but they wouldn’t give it back. They laughed and said it wasn’t m-ine anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Bug,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “you listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, gets to treat you like that. You understand?”

You sniffled, nodding against his shoulder.

“They got names, these kids?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with a steel promise that this wasn’t going to be ignored.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. Then, in a barely audible whisper, you murmured a few names.

Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening. “Alright. I’ll deal with ‘em. You ain’t gotta worry about that anymore.”

As he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers brushed against a faint redness across your skin. He stilled, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but Arthur held it gently, his thumb brushing over the red mark. “Bug,” he said, his tone dropping to that low, firm register that always made you listen. “Who did this to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you sniffled. “It... it was the teacher,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Arthur blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “The teacher?” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath it.

“I told her about the kids taking my lunch,” you explained, your words coming in halting gasps. “She... she said I was tattling and hit me with a ruler for ‘causing trouble.’”

Arthur’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but only for a moment.

Arthur stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Get your shoes on, Bug. We’re going to the school.”

“But-”

"No buts. No one lays a hand on my girl, now c'mon, Pa’s got somethin’ he needs to take care of."

The sound of Arthur’s boots echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet hallway as he strode toward the principal’s office, his expression carved from stone. His hand hovered protectively over your shoulder as he guided you along.

The principal looked up as Arthur entered, his usual composure faltering at the sight of the respectable ex-cop's stormy glare.

“Mr. Morgan,” the principal began, forcing a tight smile, “is there-”

Arthur didn’t wait for pleasantries. “There a reason my daughter came home with a red welt on her hand?” he demanded, his voice low but seething.

The principal blinked, momentarily caught off guard “I--I’m not sure what you mean-”

“She told me her teacher hit her,” Arthur interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut. “With a ruler. After she reported kids stealin’ her lunch. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, if a teacher disciplined her, I’m sure-”

Arthur stepped forward, leaning over the desk, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think layin’ a hand on my girl is ‘discipline’? You call ignorin’ the bullies and punishin’ the victim a job well done?

“We have rules about-”

Arthur leaned forward, his presence towering even as he kept his voice level. “You got rules about discipline, huh? How about rules about protectin’ kids?! Or do you only enforce the ones that let you blame the victim!?”

“Mr. Morgan, I understand you’re upset-”

“Upset doesn’t cover it,” Arthur snapped, his voice rising slightly. “My girl’s been comin’ home hungry because you let bullies run wild. And now she’s got a bruise on her arm because she finally got tired of takin’ it? You think that’s how you run a school? By punishin’ the one kid who’s just tryin’ to eat her damn lunch in peace? Because if that’s how you run this place, we got a bigger problem than I thought.”

The principal held up his hands, visibly nervous. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan, we take such incidents seriously. I’ll speak to the teacher and-”

“No, you’ll do more than SPEAK!" Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, you’ll make sure she’s held accountable. And while you’re at it, you’ll deal with those bullies, too. My daughter’s been hungry three times this week because of them, and now she’s got a mark on her hand for speakin’ up?! That ends today.”

“Of course, of course,” the principal stammered. “I’ll handle it immediately.”

Arthur straightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’d better. You’re gonna deal with those bullies and that damned teacher, properly. And you’re gonna make damn sure no one here ever lays a hand on my daughter again. Otherwise, I’ll be takin’ this to the school board, the police, and anyone else who’ll listen. You got no idea what I can do. You got me? You’ll be answerin’ to me."

He turned, placing a reassuring hand on your back as he guided you out of the office. As soon as you were outside, he crouched down and looked you in the eye.

“You did the right thing, Bug,” he said softly. “And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you leave dealin’ with grown-ups to me, alright? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as he pulled you into a hug.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said, ruffling your hair. “We’ll make somethin’ good for dinner and figure out how to make sure this never happens again.

❀˖°

“So... no school?” you asked hesitantly, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and sighed. “No, Bug. You’re still gonna study--but at home, alright?”

He could already hear John’s voice nagging in his head, telling him he was being too overprotective, that keeping you out of school might isolate you further. But Arthur dismissed it. You were still so young, still figuring out the world, and he decided what was best for you. Nobody else.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over your hair. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you go back there to get hurt again. Not by kids who don’t know how to act, not by some teacher who should’ve never had a classroom in the first place. You’re my responsibility, and I ain’t lettin’ anybody mess with you like that. Ever again.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the bed. His words felt like a shield wrapping around you, and you trusted him entirely.

Arthur watched you settle, his jaw tightening slightly as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He’d been right on the edge of losing it, of storming over to those kids’ homes and making their parents pay the price and make them understand what it meant to raise decent human beings. And that teacher? Though fired, it still didn’t sit right with him. The thought of her laying a hand on you made his blood boil. It had taken every cell to control to not blow her brains out.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on you instead of the anger that threatened to bubble over. “I’ll teach you myself,” he said, his tone lighter now as he tried to make you smile. “We don’t need teachers like that, anyway. I’ll make sure you learn plenty, and we’ll even have fun doin’ it.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” he said, tugging the blanket up around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, you get some rest, Bug. We’ll figure out all the details in the mornin’.”

❀˖°

After finishing up the dishes and double checking all the doors, Arthur made his way back to your room. He found you sitting at your small desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with intense concentration.

"What’re you workin’ on, Bug?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, a hint of shyness in your eyes. "A thank-you card," you said quietly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "For who?"

"For you." You held up the paper, a drawing of you and him making a cake. Above it, in your wobbly handwriting, it read: "Thank you for being my Pa."

Arthur froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped closer, kneeling beside you to get a better look. "Well, I’ll be..." he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s real nice, darlin’. Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day."

You smiled, a little bashful but proud. "You always take care of me. So, I wanted to make something for you too."

Arthur reached out and gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "You don’t ever have to thank me for that, sweetheart. Lookin’ after you? That’s the best thing I’ll ever do."

You nuzzled into his chest, your small arms wrapping around his neck. "Still. Love you, Pa."

"I love you more, Bug. Always and forever."

[gremlin-boah]

I saw the “I found a child” can we see Feral Wild 14 year old Arthur being grabbed by Dutch like a stray feral bear cub out of a dumpster.

It’s the “husband didn’t want the dog” and now it’s attached and it’s mine now.

Pan to Hosea with wittle feral Arthur sticking next to him as he reads. “It’s just for tonight.” He says. (He was lying)

Pan to weather BIGGER slumped against Hosea as they’re sitting somewhere by the fire. “Awe. My sweet big bear.” *head pat*

T.T I love Papa hosea!!! He loves his boys.

A LITERAL WEEK LATER...

Awwweee Hosea will always be a father.

This is my most longest drawing yet.

And I love it sm.

[allthemeniveloved]

Cradle

Summary: Arthur Morgan cares for his newborn daughter, reflecting on his past mistakes and vowing to protect his family at all costs.

wc: 1,681

ao3 link

a/n: Literally cannot get enough of hot father Arthur Morgan/John Marston right now. I'm ovulating.

The storm rolled in fast, the low rumble of thunder following Arthur Morgan as he urged his horse forward, the reins tight in his hands. His heart was pounding—not from the gallop of the horse beneath him, but from the fear gnawing at his chest. He had been gone longer than he should’ve been, out scouting for supplies, and now he was racing the clock. Racing fate.

And racing to you.

The moment Charles had found him in camp, breathless and shouting about how you were in labor, Arthur felt the air rush out of his lungs. He hadn’t said a word, just mounted his horse and took off like a bullet, the world blurring around him. All he could think of was you—your face, your voice, and the child you were bringing into this wild, dangerous world.

The cabin came into view, nestled in a clearing just as the rain began to pour. Arthur pulled his horse to a stop, leaping from the saddle before the animal had fully stopped. His boots hit the muddy ground, splattering his pants, but he didn’t care. The soft glow of the lantern in the window was his beacon.

"Did I miss it?" he calls out to whomever could hear, fear laced in his voice.

“Arthur!” Abigail’s voice called from the doorway as she stepped outside, shielding her face from the rain. “You’re just in time!”

He pushed past her with a muttered “thanks,” his heart pounding as he crossed the threshold into the small cabin. It was warm inside, the air thick with the scent of herbs and something sharp, almost metallic. The midwife—a kind-faced older woman who had been passing through camp—was kneeling by the bed where you lay.

You. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you, your face pale and damp with sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead. You looked exhausted, your body trembling as you gripped the sheets beneath you, but your eyes snapped to him the moment he entered the room.

“Arthur,” you whispered, relief flooding your voice. “You made it.”

He crossed the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees beside you and taking your hand in his. His calloused fingers enveloped yours, rough but steady, grounding you as you held on for dear life.

“‘Course I made it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“You almost did,” you teased weakly, though your grip on his hand tightened as another contraction wracked your body. Your face twisted in pain, and Arthur’s heart ached in a way he’d never known before. He wished he could take it from you, bear it himself, but all he could do was be there.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m here. I got you.”

You nodded, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you did as he said. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gesture that spoke louder than words. He was here. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Time became a blur after that. The midwife gave instructions, Abigail hovered nearby with clean cloths, and Arthur stayed rooted by your side, his hand never leaving yours. He whispered words of encouragement, reassurances that you could do this, that you were the strongest person he’d ever known.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, a sharp cry filled the room.

You collapsed back against the pillows, tears streaming down your face as the midwife held up the squirming, wailing baby. Arthur stared, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the tiny, perfect life you had brought into the world.

“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced, her voice warm with pride. Arthur let out a shaky laugh, his hand still gripping yours as he turned to you, his blue eyes shining. “A baby girl,” he repeated, as if the words were foreign to him. “We got ourselves a daughter."

Arthur Morgan had a daughter.

The midwife cleaned the baby quickly before wrapping her in a soft blanket and placing her in your arms. You looked down at the tiny face, your tears mingling with laughter as you marveled at the little life you had created.

Arthur leaned closer, his large hand hovering over the baby’s head as if he was afraid to touch her. But when he finally did, his fingers were impossibly gentle, tracing the curve of the baby’s tiny cheek, then her nose.

As the baby settled in your arms, Arthur stayed close, his presence a steady warmth at your side. The storm raged on outside, but in that little cabin, all was calm. The three of you were together, and for the first time in a long time, Arthur felt like he had something worth fighting for.

-

The morning sun crept through the cracks in the cabin walls, casting golden rays over the small room. The air smelled of wood smoke and fresh pine, mingling with the faint scent of baby powder. Arthur Morgan stood near the hearth, rocking the tiny bundle in his arms with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place for a man of his size and reputation.

He hadn’t slept much the night before—not that he minded. Every sound the baby made, every soft whimper or rustle, had him awake and alert, ready to jump to your side or pick up the little one himself. But now, with you finally getting some well-deserved rest in the small cot across the room, it was just him and his daughter.

“She’s got your nose,” Arthur murmured, his deep voice quiet, as if afraid to break the spell of the moment. He traced a finger gently over her tiny features, marveling at how small and delicate she was. She stirred slightly, her face scrunching up in a way that made his heart ache.

“Already got a temper, huh?” he said with a small chuckle. “Guess that’s from me.”

He settled into the old rocking chair by the fire, cradling her close to his chest. The rhythmic creak of the chair mixed with the soft crackle of the fire, and for a moment, the chaos of the world outside seemed far away. He hummed a low tune, the same one his ma used to sing when he was a boy, his voice rough but steady.

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he whispered to her. “Didn’t think a man like me deserved somethin’ this good.”

She let out a small sigh, her tiny fist curling against his chest. Arthur stilled, his breath catching. It was the smallest thing, but it felt like the world to him. He hadn’t known he could love anything this much again, not since Isaac and Eliza. But here she was, proving him wrong with every beat of her little heart.

He glanced over at you, still asleep and bundled in blankets. You’d been through so much bringing her into the world, and Arthur had been there every step of the way. He’d held your hand, whispered reassurances in your ear, and wiped the sweat from your brow when you thought you couldn’t do it. And now, watching you sleep peacefully, he felt a surge of gratitude that he couldn’t quite put into words.

“She’s got your strength, too,” Arthur said softly, glancing down at the baby again. “Hope she’s got more of you than me. World could use more like her ma.”

The baby let out a small cry, her face scrunching up again. Arthur’s eyes widened, and he quickly stood, bouncing her gently in his arms. “Alright, alright, easy now,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “What’s the matter, huh? You hungry?”

He walked over to the small table where a clean bottle sat waiting, quickly warming it by the fire. Once it was ready, he settled back into the chair and offered it to her. She latched on immediately, her tiny lips working with determination. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh softly, his eyes crinkling with affection.

“There you go,” he said. “Ain’t no need to cry when your pa’s gotcha, huh?”

As she drank, Arthur leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. His mind wandered, thinking of everything he’d done, every bad choice he’d made, every road that had led him here. He wasn’t a good man—not by a long shot—but holding her, he wanted to try. For you. For her.

When she finished, he placed the bottle aside and held her up against his shoulder, patting her back gently. “You’re gonna have a good life,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t care what I gotta do. I’m gonna make sure you and your ma are safe. Always.” Arthur couldn't make the same mistake twice.

The baby let out a soft burp, and Arthur chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, settling her back into the crook of his arm.

A soft rustle from the bed caught his attention, and he turned to see you stirring, your eyes fluttering open. You smiled sleepily when you saw him, your gaze drifting to the baby in his arms.

“How’s she doin’?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

Arthur smiled, his expression soft. “She’s perfect. Just like her ma.”

You sat up, stretching before crossing the room to join him. Arthur shifted slightly, making room for you to sit on the arm of the chair. You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you both gazed down at your daughter.

“She’s gonna have your heart, you know,” you said teasingly, though there was warmth in your voice.

Arthur let out a quiet laugh. “Reckon she already does.”

For a long moment, the three of you sat there together, the fire casting a warm glow over the room. The outside world could wait. Right now, all that mattered was the love shared in that little cabin—Arthur, you, and the tiny miracle cradled in his arms.

[cynthia39100]

Merlin rewatch -- S2E8: The Sins of the Father

I like how much it was shown in this episode the way Merlin cared about Arthur as a person. He wanted to keep him safe and happy. Whether he chose the right method is another question. It also showed how much Arthur trusted Merlin with his true face and his vulnerability.

After accepting Morgause's challenge, Arthur was very insistent and confident in front of his father, but here in his own room, with Merlin cleaning his armour, he allowed himself to show uncertainty, if not in words but in his demeanour.

I love these little glances of how they spent everyday life together. Merlin stayed at night, doing his chores and chatting with Arthur about the day's event.

I liked that Merlin mentioned maybe Arthur would hesitate facing a woman, not teasing but out of worry. He also wanted to spare Arthur of his guilt so he didn’t object to persuading Morgause to withdraw. He didn't forget to reassure Arthur either when the combat was inevitable.

This scene was so cute. Merlin was all serious before the fight, but once Arthur was safe and had the energy to complain, it was fine again for Merlin to tease him. Arthur could only whine like a child and make excuses in front of Merlin because Merlin would tease him. He wouldn't take Arthur's excuses, but he also wouldn't look down on him because of the childish behaviour. In front of Morgause, he congratulated her for the victory; in front of Uther, he accepted his defeat even when Uther blamed it on Morgause's magic. With Merlin, he said that it was because Morgause was a woman, or later Morgause used magic, and let Merlin disagree with him.

Why was Arthur picking the wall with his dagger like a naughty boy was shot so beautifully in the sunlight?? So melancholy. Gorgeous.

It's always "we" <3 I like that while Merlin and Uther had the same opinion about Morgause's motivation, what Uther did was to lock Arthur in, and Merlin was to get Arthur out. It's not like Merlin was convinced. In fact, he argued about it all the way until Arthur brought out his mother. But he would always follow Arthur's lead.

I love that after all the ranting on the road, Merlin didn’t say anything, anything at all, when Arthur finally admitted the real reason he was so insistent on the trip -- to learn about his mother. Beautiful understanding.

Then came the lovely campfire scene. It might be the first time Merlin willingly shared a piece of himself. In too many similar scenes it was Arthur sharing his thoughts or emotions while Merlin reassure him, making this scene extra special. I think Arthur looked a bit surprised too. I also love how quick Merlin replied “No.” when Arthur asked if was wrong to seek a glimpse of his mother at all costs. This beautiful understanding made the fact that Merlin chose to deny the truthfulness of Ygraine's spirit in the end all the more tragic.

I wonder what Merlin thought about the fact that Arthur was born of magic. About Uther’s hypocrisy. There was one instance where he seemed to be angry about that. But mostly he was just sad for Arthur.

The fact that Arthur allowed Merlin to witness this was another proof of his immense trust in Merlin. He was so exposed and vulnerable, a little kid begging for his mother's forgiveness. And he trusted that Merlin wouldn't use it against him.

After all those beautiful mutual understanding and heart-to-heart, it ended with a lie and a broken smile. Merlin really sounded so cheerful if you didn't look at his face. The contrast was heartbreaking. Merlin wanted to protect Arthur's heart so much that he made an unforgivable lie. Arthur trusted Merlin so much that he accepted it. Their dynamic was so tragic and beautiful I will never get over it.

[S2E8] [other episodes]

[thessiansunfish]

The fact that Jack shows more enthusiasm going fishing with Arthur VS John, and him also telling Arthur to “go faster” while on a horse VS telling John to “slow down” speaks volumes to me.

I understand that he’s younger when Arthur takes him out, and children tend to be braver because they have yet to experience consequences, but I wonder if it’s also because he knows Arthur will protect him; VS John whose already shown to be uninterested and whose already abandoned him once.

[nathanfrazers]

and what good will your vanity be when the rapture comes by hanif abdurraqib x john marston

[itsallgoodmann]

my mom said i only like old men (which is undeniable true considering me and my sister do a “white boys of the month” where we pick out our favorite hot celebs and my age range is considerably higher than hers)

here are some contenders

if the men are not white we change it to “boys” of the month i promise i’m inclusive

[arthursfuckinghat]

Jack Marston oh Jack Marston they could never make me hate you.

They could never make me hate you for being raised by outlaws and then trying your best not to become one.

They could never make me hate you for getting trapped in the cycle of generational violence.

They could never make me hate you for suffering the consequences of violence and loss.

They could never make me hate you for failing to break free from a troubled past.

They could never make me hate you.