#i do Not like or support arthur/mary

[miguel-owhora]

creating this post as a safe space to drop my takes

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ Through my eyes

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Karen explains Mary and Arthur's story to you. Saddened, you're convinced you could never compete with her until the man in question proves you wrong. ✦ Warnings/Tags: Self-depreciation from both sides, kissing, comfort, fluff. Reader has been with the gang for a year. Use of Y/N. ✦ Words: 3k ✦ a/n: This is the answer to this ask by the lovely @crystalofmoon19. I really hope you'll like it, dear! And thank you for your support, you've been really sweet to me and my work! As always, I got carried away and wrote way too much. And as always, please reach out to me if you spot any misspellings. Also idk why I made this in Colter, guess I just feel way too hot rn and want some fresh snow + Arthur's coat is perfect for comfort. Credits. Arthur's pic is from my playthrough. Other pics are not mine found them on Pinterest. AO3

“And in the end, she rejected his proposal, then a few months later, sent him a letter telling she was marrying some wealthier gentleman!”

Your mouth hangs open in the air. Karen’s words enter through your ears and create a nice little nest for themselves in your brain. You had no idea. No idea Arthur had been this close to being married. That their relationship had been so strong, that, according to hearsays, he had reached his lowest after their break up, drunk most part of the day, fighting the rest of the time, obnoxious to everyone, even Dutch and Hosea.

“Y/N? You’re okay, there?” Karen asked you, disappointed her big reveal had left you reactionless.

You focused your gaze back on her. Her blonde hair is softly litten up by the setting sun, her breath exhaling a puff of steam as she breathes. Colter is a cold place, and it probably felt even colder because of the morose mood of the gang. You suddenly remember you’re supposed to be shocked. You are, of course, but in a very bad way. Not in an “Oh my God, I can’t believe this Karen, so much gossip!” kind of way.

How could you ever compete with that?

“Yeah, I’m alright. God, I had no idea so much happened between them.”

“Oh, trust me, it was definitely his biggest love story. Never saw him get into someone else after her. Not even Mary-Beth! Could you believe that?”

No, you couldn’t. You weren’t sure why but every word from Karen felt like an enormous stone falling into your belly and dragging you deeper and deeper into the sea. Your silly little crush on Arthur, when you first joined the gang a year ago, had turned into a way stronger attraction. Denying it at first, you had little by little let your emotions win, cherishing every moment with him, thanking Dutch for assigning both of you to the same missions, loving the quiet evenings where he would just sit next to you around the campfire to scribble in his journal while you would do your little hobby on your own. Silent most, but enjoying each other’s company, and so, so peaceful.

More than your emotions, you even had let your imagination take the lead, dreaming about a selfish future with him, seeing it every time he would give you a smile, or laugh at one of your jokes. A happy Arthur, relieved from his obligations, enjoys life's simplest joys. A house, a garden. Maybe a dog, considering he had loved having Copper. A marriage even. And why not a child? If he would feel ready. Something in you was telling you he would be a good father.

But now, you felt like this dream was rotten, condemned.  Like a broken match. The fire, the very thing it’s designed for,  not being able to be lit. Would never be lit. A wasted potential.

You tried to continue your gossiping chat with Karen, voice light but gaze elusive as you peeled the potatoes you were supposed to prepare while discussing, tedious tasks often ended up less difficult this way when you were working with the other girls. But behind your seemingly normal smile and hollow words, a haunting thought was hanging on to you as strongly as a rock trapped in a thousand-year-old iceberg. 

Arthur never fell in love again after Mary Linton.

Night had definitely fallen on the frozen mountains. After your endless vegetables centered-chores, you had helped Mr. Pearson turning them into a decent meal, his incessant blattering about the Navy giving you some sort of distraction. During dinner and after though, once you didn’t have any goal or job left to do for the day, your conversation with Karen came back into your wandering mind, her speech playing again and again like a used gramophone record.

Never fell in love again...

Sitting at one of the corners of the big cabin you had been sleeping in for the past few days along with the girls and some other gang members which mainly served as a common space, you were looking outside by a dilapidated window. A frozen World spread out before your eyes, every inch of surface covered in snow and ice, the landscape ending up looking like it was coated with a thick strange substance —dark blue colors Queen of this gloomy, misty horizon.

Arthur had returned from a very busy hunting day with Charles. Thanks to them, meat had been added to the vegetable paradise of a meal, resulting in a better-than-usual supper. He should have felt cheerful, but his mood wouldn't lighten. 

He had spotted you from across the room, noticing the hurtful absence of your smile on these sweet lips of yours. Smile he secretly loved. Lips he secretly fancied. 

Hesitating for a long moment, debating with himself, a self-depreciative rambling turning in his head like a well-oiled motor, he had ultimately decided to join you and investigate. Something pretty important must been bothering you, because loosing your usual little grin and eating your plate all by yourself really wasn't in your habits.

Approaching you, his boots and spurs clicking and stomping before you could see him, he plants them in front of you, standing there while his eyes lock on your face.

“Miss Y/L/N? Is everythin’ okay?”

“Oh, Mr Morgan. Yeah, don’t worry. Everything is great.”

He doesn’t believe you and honestly, you wouldn’t have convinced yourself either. And Arthur is a stubborn man. A stubborn, and caring one. He leans against the cabin's old creaky walls, on the other side of the window.

“Come on, don’t lie t’me girl. Everyone noticed you’re not in your right mind.” He honestly doesn’t know about everyone, but he surely did. His words are accompanied by a small, polite smile.

“I don’t think… I don’t think you’re the right person to talk about it.”

Arthur’s entire body froze. The hands he had on his belt as always when he was comfortable, flew to his chest as he crossed his arms, his thick winter coat folding with difficulty. His encouraging smile flattened, his brows pleating in a harsh frown.

“Erm… Alright, I get it. I won’t bother you, I guess.” 

Without loosening his arms, he pushed himself from the wall, taking a step to leave you some space. You couldn’t have missed it. This change of behavior, the hurtful expression he had displayed, as if he was truly pained by your words. Disappointed, maybe even shameful to have thought he could help you at all. He was just a sad, ugly bastard, after all.

You felt like you could hear all of it from where you were, and see it in the shadow that had taken his face and the gigantic mass that seemed to have fallen on his shoulders.

No, you didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to feel like that because of you and your stupid feelings, or your own dark thoughts.

“Wait, Arthur!”

He turned around the second you talked again.

“I’m sorry it’s just…” You sigh and look at him with an uncertain expression, knowing your next words were going to be risky. “It’s about you and Mary Linton…”

His eyes turn into two literal plates, his mouth slightly opening in outer astonishment. This was really not what he had in mind. You could have been sad because of a hundred logical reasons, the death of Davey and the loss of Sean and Mac, the complete fiasco of Blackwater, the hundred of dollars lost, the terrible and tough conditions of the Grizzlies plunging everyone into an unbearable cold and a threatening famine.  Not mentioning Hosea’s alarming coughing, Dutch’s mysterious decisions, and Micah as a whole.

But you, out of all these things, were worried about Mary.

Once his eyes had grown as round as they could, they got back into an interrogative expression, the wave of surprise over.

“Wha’…?! How d’ya even know ‘bout her?”

“Karen speaks a lot when she’s bored…” You briefly explained, trying to sound detached.

Arthur rolls his eyes to the Heavens. Of course, folks talked, and you had to know about it all at some point. But this wasn’t ideal at all. He would have preferred to tell it to you himself, at a time he would have felt comfortable doing so, with his own words. He didn’t want this to change anything between the two of you.

“And erm… What exactly bothers ya?”

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are jammed. Explaining that you feel jealous of what the both of them had shared would just come down to confessing your feelings for him plain and simple. 

You felt completely stuck. 

He’s right there before your eyes, the very source of all your worries and your every joy. Looking at you with those confused blue eyes, wondering what is happening in this pretty head of yours. But the words still won’t come out.  You feel more and more powerless, and instead of a sound, your eyes take over to get something out of your body, slow and sad tears filling them like a lonely glacier fills a mountain lake on its own.

Arthur’s usual frown furrows, his wrinkles more visible, contrasted by the shadows from the warm lights of the fire. Suddenly, his internal melancholic speech shuts down, as if the view of a single tear streaming down your cheek were absolutely intolerable to him. No worries nor anxious self-restraints crosses his mind —it’s now only instinct. He sees you crying. He has to help you. This is as easy as that.

His right hand reaches to you by itself.

It feels warm but coarse. This big, big hand on the side of your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Don’t waste those pretty tears for a sour-faced idiot like me.” His thumb gently wipes the drops of sadness that had overflowed from your two delicate lakes. “Come on, les’ jus’ talk about this somewhere quiet.”

Arthur gently uses the hand he had on your cheek to wrap it around your shoulders, solid arm gently pushing you up. He then leads you through the door, other members throwing curious gazes at the both of you.

But he doesn’t care. His priority, right now, is your well-being, and some privacy to allow him to finally whisper things in your ears he should have a long time ago. Not in front of everyone. Not with the other men looking at your sparkling eyes, and listening to the change in his voice he knew would crack, his usual intimidating persona crushed into a million pieces with only the sound of your own. Or with the other girls hearing the oh-so-important words he had to say. No. You would be the only one to witness this. 

He had brought you to the barn where the horses were kept. The snow was falling lazily, a few flakes passing through the holes in the dilapidated roof. The place is enveloped in a heavy silence, as if it was muffling every sound coming from the outside.

Once Arthur had closed the big wooden doors behind you and before he could do anything else, you finally burst.

“I shouldn't cry, I’m so sorry Arthur, I just… She looked like an incredible woman, so beautiful a-and distinguished, and me well… I'm just… me.” Your eyes fell to your feet. You like everything was coming out of you all at once and you couldn't contain it anymore.

“Stop it.” 

“How could I ever mean something to you? You've been with her for so long and even proposed to her and… and never fell in love again after her and…”

“Stop it, Y/N!”

Arthur cut your blabbering panic by pulling you against him. He held you so tightly you were almost crushed by his powerful arms, but it felt so good. Like he was holding together all the little pieces of you that had cracked, melting them with his warmth and molding yourself again with it.

“Now you l’sten to me, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to say things like this ever again.”

The sudden use of the pet name soothed your heart immediately. You buried your face into the furred collar of his big winter coat, the hairs tickling your nose. There, you can feel a little bit of his bare skin, your cheek finding shelter against it.

You stopped talking.

You just wanted him to continue to. His deep voice seemed to come directly from the inside of his chest, and you could feel it vibrating before actually hearing it.

“Ya know I’m no… Am no poet or, or good with words like Dutch…” He started, visibly unsure of what he was going to say. He’s relieved he had initiated the hug, this way, with your face in there, you couldn’t see his. The worried expression it was carrying, like a burden. “But lemme tell ya just how much I care about ya. Oh, my sweet girl.” 

This is it. He tries not to but his low tone begins to tremble. It’s so strange. It feels like forever since that happened for the last time.

“Yeah, Mary has been a real’ important part of my life, I won’t lie to ya. But it was so long ago, gorgeous. So long ago.” 

He knows he won’t shed a tear. He never cries. But his hands shake. His vocal cords vibrate in a vulnerable, softer, and higher-pitched quaver. His body tenses, heart as fast as if racing with a million wild horses galloping in the Great Plains. Even if his words couldn’t explain just how much you meant to him, you could have guessed by how you were affecting his entire flesh.

“Ya know what? It’s true. Our story ended badly. I never fell in love again after her.”

You sigh, more tears wetting your face and his blue coat, this truth so hard to swallow.

“Until that morning, when I saw you brushing Boadicea’s mane; your hair all covered in hay, the brightest smile I ever had the chance to witness on that sweet face o’ yours. That day, I knew my stupid foolish heart had done it all over again.”

You let out a single chuckle mixed with tears and emotions, so relieved. Even when you felt like you were at your lowest, he succeeded at making you smile.

“Grimshaw had forced me to groom all the gang’s horses to “get used to camp’s work”. Must have looked terrible.” You remembered with a smile, details of your first encounter with Arthur flooding your mind.

“You looked like a goddamn Angel, honey. T’was like the sun was shining jus’ for ya. Jesus, I knew it was too late for me.”

You pulled back from him just a little, enough for you to look at him in the eyes, but not for him to let go of you. Now that they had found you, his hands, still slightly quivering, refused to let go, their place on your back and behind your head feeling so natural and right. Your eyes behave the same way as them but with his face. He looks so moved that you have to pinch yourself internally to make sure you’re not dreaming this whole thing; never in your life you had seen him like this.

“I love you too, Arthur.” You confessed back to him, fingers cupping his cheeks in a delicate touch.

You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, but his arm helped you, your lips gently discovering themselves, brushing against each other in a soft and shy caress. Even if both your mouths were chapped by the biting cold, it was the most gentle kiss you had shared in your life, a satiny embrace that left you completely dreamy and light-headed.

The snowflakes silently swirl around the both of you, Nature the only witness of your souls melting into each other.

Opening your eyes again after this moment out of time, you're met with the happiest smile Arthur ever had on his face. He looked like and idiot in love, and you were sure you looked exactly the same.

“Please darlin’, don’t ever compare yourself to her ever again. What’s in the past stays there. And I wanna have a future with you.”

Your dreams sprang back straight from your heart to your mind. The visions you had about the both of you were more alive than ever, reinforced by his own needs shared with yours.

“You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re so smart and stunningly gorgeous. And, you wan’ a proof?” He playfully asks you, taking his hat off his head, a thin layer of snow falling from it.

Turning it over, he carefully pull a piece of paper out, hidden between two leathered segments in the inner part of his hat. His cut and reddened fingers unfold it and he gives it to you, his big smile turning into an embarrassed and sheepish one.

It’s a sketch of you.

You’re mesmerized by the details of it, the blades of hay messily tangled in your hair, the sparkling in your eyes, the exact clothes you were wearing that day. This smile, you’re more than certain he drew it way more beautiful than it really is. Arthur even had added some lines traced from your head to the end of the paper, as if you were the Sun itself and were emitting your own light.

This was impossible this was the same person as you, her beauty was too radiant and fascinating.

But no matter what you thought about yourself, seeing his work curled your lips in the exact same way as yourself on the drawing. With snowflakes replacing the twigs, you had turned into the living recreation of it. Arthur laughed when he noticed, and realized just how much he had loved you and continued to since that morning from a year ago. He bent towards you to put a small kiss on your forehead.

“Arthur it’s… It’s beautiful.” You find it difficult to find another word, speechless once again. 

You also had no idea of how talented at drawing nor attracted to you he was. This day definitely was full of surprises. You chuckled fondly before taking a last look at your portrait and giving it back to your lover. But Arthur’s large palm wrapped around your hand.

“No, please, keep it. This way, you’ll always remember how you look through my eyes.”

More tears threaten to escape your own, even though those were a direct extract from the immeasurable happiness you were experiencing.

“And... Now that I don’t have to hide myself while sketching ya, I’m going to draw lots of new ones.”

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries Thank you for reading all of this! Also, I didn't know this was a thing but if ever you want to be tagged in my works too, let me know! It would be my pleasure.

[vampyastro]

𝕬𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖕𝖙 𝟛

✐ ✧Common birth chart placements of famous writers✧ ✐

Hey everyone! I am someone who loves reading and writing so I decided to look into some of my favorite authors birth charts and find common placements amongst them that could indicate being a good writer. Of course there are other placements in a birth chart that can indicate this (I researched a lot of writers charts and of course not all of them have these placements), I just thought it was interesting to see these the common placements amongst prominent writers. If there are any writers you know of that have these placements feel free to let me know!

✐ I’ve noticed a lot of famous male writers have Gemini moons, meanwhile famous female writers have Libra moons.

✐ Gemini Moons: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Franz Kafka, Charles Baudelaire, J.D. Salinger, T.S Eliot

✐ Libra Moons: Sylvia Plath, Maya Angelou, Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, Agatha Christie, Louise Gluck

✐ Mercury is also another indicator of whether someone is a good writer. Mercury is the planet of communication, thinking patterns, mentality, reasoning/rational, etc. The authors Mercury sign can sometimes reflect the topics they write about. For instance, Oscar Wilde is a Scorpio Mercury and he wrote a lot about death, transformation, mystery and the fall from grace.

✐ Scorpio Mercury: Oscar Wilde, Sylvia Plath, Arthur Miller, Mark Twain

✐ Sagittarius Mercury: Albert Camus, Louisa May Alcott, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Charles Baudelaire, Christina Rossetti, Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, Louise Gluck

✐ Writers usually tend to have prominent 10th house placements. Many planets in the 10th house can represent authority, being career oriented and success. Most often I’ve seen Saturn be in many of these writers houses, which makes sense because many of these individuals had tough lives and preserved through many challenges in order to gain the success they had. Some died without even knowing how successful they were or the legacy they left on the world. Specifically Franz Kafka, he had Mars, Saturn, Neptune and Chiron in the 10th house. Kafka died thinking he was a failure, his writings didn’t reach their peak popularity until many years after his death.

✐ Other writers with prominent 10th house placements include:

Christina Rossetti (Moon, Saturn), Emily Dickinson (Saturn, North Node), Agatha Christie (Venus), Arthur Miller (Mars, Saturn, Neptune), Mary Shelley (Pluto), Oscar Wilde (Saturn), Ernest Hemingway (Neptune, Pluto), Shakespeare (Mercury, Pluto)

✐ Overall in my findings, I noticed that many writers I researched have multiple Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Gemini and Sagittarius placements in their charts.

-Side note, he’s not necessarily a writer, although he did write books; Sigmund Freud is a Gemini moon and Scorpio rising. I think that is very interesting lol.

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰! *:･ﾟ✧

𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮! ♡

P.s Let me know if you’re interested in more posts like this. I can do famous musicians, artists, psychologists, etc :) Also, thank you for all the support on my last two posts! 🫶��

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[prettyundeadgirl]

Love Like Ghosts

│Track One of Strange Trails

Summary: Within the night, an inebriated Arthur returns. You take care of him, and when morning arrives, he realizes how in love he really is.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Wordcount: 1.0k

Tags: Fluff

AO3 Link

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated! :)

The silver moon, curved like a bear’s sharp claw, shone a hazy glow through the lattice of leaves in the caliginous night. Branches swayed peacefully in the breeze, and amid the grassy land, water coalesced atop the mire earth. Hidden in the wavering stalks, a small orchestra of katydids performed their stridulations.

Everyone had scattered to greet their awaiting slumber, and you remained awake, sitting on the stairs and leaning against the firm wooden pillar with nature’s veins strangling it. You were engrossed in a book Mary-Beth had lent to you—one she had owned the longest and must’ve been a personal favorite, you figured from the frayed edges of the spine and the worn pages. It had been your solace for the time being, distracting you from your ceaseless worrying about Arthur’s absence and staving off the encroaching drowsiness. The lantern beside you illuminated enough light for you to read the tiny printed letters.

Time flowed like a river, and you grew inevitably weary, eyelids beginning to close until you heard steady hooves clomping in the muddy grounds near the entrance. The sound resonated throughout the area as it came closer and closer. Arthur returned, almost falling as he tried to dismount his horse. He hitched the reins to the hitching post, all the while holding a bottle devoid of whiskey in his other hand. You closed the tattered book in haste and doused the lantern, rushing toward him.

“Oh, Arthur, I’ve been worried sick.” You admitted.

“Why?” He asked, practically tripping over his own steps.

“What do you mean ‘why?’ I care about you. More than you know.” Your voice was laced with much sincerity, and you stated your words in confidence, realizing he wouldn’t remember anything by morning. He looked into your soft gaze for a moment, his befuddled state along with the lack of light dulling your worried expression. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” He let himself acquiesce to your words, and you placed his arm across your shoulders to give him as much support as you could offer.

“You look pretty tonight.” He slurred, and although you smiled and blushed at the compliment, you still rolled your eyes, knowing he was drunk and those words possibly held no truth.

Entering the once charming and grandiose manor that is now timeworn, veiled in the overgrowth of untouched green and merely a tomb contained with memories of the ones who inhabited it before, you guided him through the dark. Strangely, it provided a sense of comfort and safety, though not as much as Arthur did during your time with the gang.

The old stairs creaked in protest as you went up, and there was the occasional trip or two from Arthur, with a small chuckle following after. Pushing open the door revealed his cozy room, which was bathed in the soft gleam of moonlight filtered through the begrimed windowpanes and casting shadows on the walls. You removed his hat, placing it on the table nearby, and then, with careful and tender hands, you unbuckled his gun belt. It clinked as it came in contact with the wooden table. You laid him down and removed his boots, and when his eyes closed, you slowly pressed a small kiss on his forehead.

As you turned to make your way downstairs, a weak grip on your hand prevented you from doing so.

“Stay.” He murmured. “Please.”

“Why?” You repeated it in the same tone he had given you before.

“‘Cause I…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence for his half-mast eyes had spoken beyond what he could not, and deep within the beating chambers of your heart you knew what it was and felt the same.

You let out a sigh, “Move over.”

He provided as much room as the tight-fitted bed allowed, and as you lay side by side, he pulled you closer into him, arm twined around your waist, the space once between now nonexistent. There was a strong musk that was woven into the linen of his clothes, amalgamated with the scent of heady whiskey, and it wrapped around you with familiarity. You rested against his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall and hearing the drum of his heart against your ear, its rhythm growing faster as you placed your knee on his hip. 

His love for you was a quiet thing; it’s unrelenting and inevitable, yet everyone knew and talked about it. He harbored so much of it for you that it seemed to overflow in his drunken state, though it could only be expressed through actions such as placing the gentlest of kisses on your head, taking in the freshly washed scent of your hair, and holding you as close as he could. In your arms, there was a sense of comfort and peace that he hadn’t felt in a long time and never knew he had been missing in his life, and he was lulled into a calming sleep.

In the early wake of dawn, he hadn’t remembered much from the night as it was, for the most part, a disoriented blur, but he did recall your benevolent disposition, and he didn’t understand why you were so kind to him and always made an effort to look after his well-being. He always appreciated it nonetheless.

He had also recalled the vibrant color of your eyes in your gaze—irises deep and atlantic. He felt as though he could fall through them, following their course and soon getting lost in the darkness that lay beneath. They were endless and almost confusing, and he’d spend an eternity figuring out the mystery of them. A simple glance into your eyes, whether inebriated or not, would make the relentless, gloomy ruminations that sat in his mind scatter away.

He felt your warm presence alongside him, turning his head to your beautiful slumbering visage—peaceful and in bliss—that began his matutinal admiration. It was mesmerizing; you were mesmerizing to him. Every inch of you was, and he longed to live in this moment forever.

He wondered what he had said or done last night for you to end up in his bed and how he wished he could remember that part of the night. He relished the moment for a bit longer, tucking the wisps of hair behind your ear before reluctantly leaving.

[saintgoths]

ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱʏᴍᴘʜᴏɴʏ

ARTHUR MORGAN FIC.

you ask arthur out on a date.

RATING - 18+ [f/m sex, m!receiving oral, female worshiping, biting and cream pie].

WORD COUNT - 1,918.

You’ve never done this before, you were traditional, and frankly stuck up, you usually expected from others, a habit Ms. Grimshaw tried to smack out of you, but would blame Hosea for raising you with the cleanest spoon. Then there was Micah, who would joke about how you’d scare every man so in the end, she’d have no one but him to settle down with.

You always vomited at the idea, at the idea of laying down with Micah, so asking Arthur out on a date wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like you hated Arthur, you didn’t, it was actually quite the opposite. The two of you were sweet on one another and he had been very charming to you, very sweet, in all type of ways that’ll have Mary-Beth giggle and write down ideas for her novellas.

With a smile on your face, you had watched Arthur step down his horse and hitch it. “Slow down there,” you smiled as you stepped by him, confused his eyes looked down on you.

“What got a favour? I’ve done a lot of favours today,” he says in a comedic tone. “If you want me to do you a favour, you’re gonna have to wait till t’morrow cherry pie.”

“Oh,” you frowned as you readied a joke. “I thought you liked it when I asked you for favours,” you poked with a smug look.

He scratched the back of his head, it took the effort to make Arthur blush, but you had your quick and slimy ways. “Now what do you want?” He said as he picked out his cigarette, he lit it up with his lighter and watched you as the fiery hues illuminated his face.

“I want to take you out on a date,” you said with a confident look. Arthur almost choked on the smoke.

He laughed before he patted his chest. “You asking me out on a date?” He then looked around. “Is it flying pigs?”

You clicked your tongue annoyed, then you gently punched his shoulder. “Arthur…” you groaned impatient. “This is a once in a life time thing---”

“Sure is,” Arthur cut off as he stood up straight. “It’s normally me asking you to go places, since you’re traditional and all.”

“Well, not traditional enough to have you bed me without a ring,” you recalled and he shrugged his shoulders.

“You’ve been bedded before I even had the idea of courting you,” he pointed and you dramatically placed your hands on your hips. Amused by the raring look you had on your face he finally laughed. “I’m just kiddin’,” he said as he stepped on his cigarette. “When?”

“Dawn,” you answered and with a nod and agreeable, Arthur patted his horse.

Aside from the beguiled look Arthur had on his face, there had been an enthralled glint in his eyes that exposed he had been happy at this change of being asked out on a date by you. With your lips pursed you contemplated on doing more surprises to enthral him.

✿✿✿

Arthur’s body jerked in response to how your mouth had been closed around his thickness, he never considered himself to be a loud moaner, but the way your tongue flicked against the opening of his cock and how your eyes were kept on him, he couldn’t help but expose you to his flustered and dizzy cries of felicity as he moved the thickness of his fingers within the locks of your hair, and with an impatient flare in his eyes, he supported your mouth to sink lower, taking him entirely.

You gagged when you felt the head of his dick hit the back of your throat, with blurred eyes you blinked your tears away as you allowed Arthur to push the ring of your mouth to the base of his sack. Heavily you had breathed through your nose as he gently bucked his size into your opening a few couple of times, you could tell he was close, with the way his legs had stiffened and how the movement of his hips progressed to be rigid.

“[Y/N]!” He had cried out as he pressed the back of his head against the picnic blanket you had previously laid out for the two of you. “[Y/N]!” He gaspingly cried out as his thick ropes coated the walls of your throat, you swallowed as much as you could before you pulled away with a big sigh.

With a gulp, you sat on your knees while you chased after your breath. Listening to the sounds of the trickling waterfall the two of you had been near had returned you to a state of unwinding. It had been a beautiful spot you had chosen, a very private area away from the camp which had blessed you with the solitude to share the intimate time with your lover.

It’s not like the two of you never shared intimate moments in the camp, there had been countless times where the both of you did, despite the complaints or jokes shared around the camp after your interval with the Arthur, the connection between the two of you deepened enough to the point Arthur had not wanted others to hear how loud he could be with you. Alongside, Micah could be very annoying about it.

The spot had much healthy land, there was a lack of animals, but you had considered that to be due to the noises Arthur was making; but when you looked up, the beautiful view of the Moon that had spangled and shimmered in the night sky was beautiful enough to inspire the inmost of dreamers and creatives to make a love story or heartfelt painted art.

You had returned your sight to Arthur; he had circled the pad of his fingers against the depths of his nose as he gently breathed himself to stability. Briefly, you had smiled at the circumstance you had put him in, but had been too hungry to speak about it. Verily, the two of you were supposed to eat before you massed the lewd moment, but the both of you had an intense sexual appetite, particularly you.

“Come on, let’s eat the food I made,” you said as you moved towards the picnic basket and Arthur sat up on his elbows for support and you pulled a face at him before you made fun of him. “Arthur, don’t tell me my dick sucking tired you out, I’m not even finished with you.”

Moved, Arthur went to sit up straight. “Today’s just been tirin’,” he replied before he took some of the fare from the basket. You hummed as you leaned on the side of your body and Arthur glanced towards the curves of your body that had been highlighted by the stars, you had looked like the purest form of art, your hair messy but perfectly framed around your face, draped over your shoulders and fell like a river of ink, he could feel himself starken, shadowed eyes as his orbs detailed the rest of your body.

“I can feel you watching me,” you smiled as you leaned your head to the side. “If you wanted to lay with me before eating you could just say that,” you winked as you put your food away. “When it comes to you, I don’t need much persuasion,” you said as you sat tall on your knees and Arthur blushed.

“You don’t have an off button, don’t you?” Arthur joked; it wasn’t like he disliked the idea of feeling your warmth again, particularly because of how tense his dick had been.

In faux thought, with your index finger, you tapped the bottom of your chin as you pulled yourself closer to him. “Let me think---no,” you said before you leaned on top of him. “And it seems like you yourself don’t,” you said, suggestive of his hard cock.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Arthur chuckled and so you did, bodies pressed against each other as you had moaned into his mouth. With your arms folded around his shoulders, you could feel his large hands study your curves before they slid down the plumpness of your buttocks, you had gasped once you had felt the texture of his fingers slide against the wet slit of your opening, and impatient, you had circled the width of his cock.

Your thumb slid over the tip of it as he played with the pearl of your pussy. You had whimpered against his lips the second you felt two of his digits slip inside of you, slowly readying you for his bulk, you gently bounced against his fingers, your lips moving to the depth and slope of his neck as you could feel him move his shaft to your cunt.

You had groaned erst you felt the emptiness of his fingers, but it was soon replaced by his girth and like a symphony you had cried out in pleasure, he had reached so deep inside of you, that you couldn’t help but angle your back. “Arthur!” You had moaned while he supported you to bounce on his member, his hold had been firm, protective and possessive as you could feel his eyes pierce through you, like he had the desire to see the entirety of you inside and out.

A crave and covet to cognize the divinity that had sat on top of him. “[Y/N]!” He had moaned as the length of his arms curved around your figure, he picked up his pace by moving himself beneath you, his skin hot against yours as he pushed your figure against his rough lined build, over-whelmed you had allowed Arthur to hold you against him and take control, you moans uncovered with a denuded and impure melody as you could feel the size of his cock bind and cave deep inside of you.

Your eyes had been blurred with tears as you fell numb against his figure, he had been so rough but so gentle with the words he had whispered into your ear, calming you down but indulging you to take it. “It’s okay---you can take it---” he calmed and your moans twisted into a higher pitch, you had clenched hard around him as you could feel the liveliness in your body tingle with vigour.

Your toes curled as your eyes curved to the back of your head. “Arthur!” You had cried out, overstimulated with your pleasure, using all your strength to continue bouncing on his cock, feeling the wet tip lick against your walls and treacly spots, thus, with swiftness you had bit into his shoulder as your body shook against him, milking yourself around him with your cloying nectar.

You had fallen against him, but, Arthur, had continued to move, racing for his high as he tightly held you against him, as if you were a dainty kite ready to fly away. The man resumed to fuck you like you were a doll, sapping the white ropes of his cum inside of you, the ambrosia mixing with yours, and with a few more pumps, Arthur’s body had jerked and he eventually let go of you.

Tired, the two of you had been slumped, your body against his while Arthur’s body laid senseless against the used blanket. Exhausted, you had barely spoken a word, but had gently whimpered when you had felt his length slip out of your body.

“Tired?” He joked and slowly you looked up at him.

“I sure am,” you answered.

masterlist

tagging @javierssidechick because they gave me the idea.

[nthspecialll]

Something that rips me apart while being in camp is seeing Abigail and how little she interacts with the others. Most of the characters have interactions or encounters with other characters where they tell their story, fool around or just socialize. It is every day chit chatter, but not Abigail. Abigail's few only encounters are shouting at the campfire that being a mother sucks, talking to John about their child, Susan telling her to take up sex work or Micah trynna hit on her.

She has events, but none of them are as light hearted as Mary-Beth and Karen discussing a romantic curse, Bill praising Javier to the heavens to Sean because of a Job, a bigger group singing songs or Hosea giving advice.

Even in the two events she has with other girls that are nice, she is being a provider, she is being a mother, not to Jack but to the girls as she comforts them.

A lot of the times she will also sit on her own by the tent next to Jack, whereas a lot of the others will be sitting by the fireplace, even if they aren't talking, they are socializing.

She is similar to the gang, yet so different because she is a mother. Yes she is a theif like Mary-Beth, but she is also a mom. Yes, she is an attractive catch like Karen, but she is also a mom. There is a rift there that none of the other characters can relate to and because of that she gets isolated even if it isn't intentionally.

It really breaks my heart to see, often times she also sounds so damn tired when you speak to her or when you hear her muttering "what would I do without you?" to Jack.

Another thing that makes it worse is the fact she has zero support, there is no one there for her. There is a chance of her coming up to ask Arthur for five dollars because she needs to clothe her child yet John won't help. She carries a completely different burden and worry from the others, that they would not relate to. The only one who can is Arthur, because he too has had a child.

Arthur does help whereever he can, taking the role of John the best he can because he is a provider, but it is still quite clear there is a line that the two of them don't cross. Both of them know that John is meant to care for Abigail because he got her pregnant and it is his responsibility, and especially in this time period there really is this idea of "he is meant to help, so he will," the problem is though that John doesn't help, so Abigail is left on her own. Arthur only steps in in the worst times when she truely is at rock bottom.

[queer-ragnelle]

Seeking a book to read this winter break?

Brand "New" List of Additions to the Arthurian Preservation Project Archive

In time, all books will be added to my Retellings List or Medieval Literature List respectively, and possibly a third page for handbooks/informational resources. Retellings may be under construction for a bit as I reformat to accommodate the influx in links. There are some duplicates—Alan Lupack's and Mike Ashley's anthologies occasionally contain a one-off story I've otherwise included in an individual volume of collected works by the author.

Links connect to corresponding PDFs on my Google drive where they can be read and downloaded for free. But if you like what I do, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi. I haven't yet read these listings in full; I cannot attest to their content or quality. A big thank you to @wandrenowle for the help collecting!

Modern Retellings

Merlin in Love by Aaron Hill (1790) — Opera about Merlin & his love interest Columbine.

The Fortunate Island by Max Adeler (1882) — A family shipwrecks on an island only to discover its populated with Arthurian knights, including Dinadan, Bleoberis, & Agravaine.

Sir Marrok by Allen French (1902) — Werewolf knight.

The Story of Sir Galahad by Mary Blackwell Stirling (1908) — Illustrated retelling of Malory's Grail Quest.

The Story of Parzival by Mary Blackwell Stirling (1911) — Illustrated retelling of Eschenbach's Parzival.

Stories From King Arthur and His Round Table by Beatrice Clay (1913) — Illustrated retelling of Malory.

Cloud Castle and Other Papers by Edward Thomas (1922) — Contains two Arthurian entries: the story Bronwen The Welsh Idyll about Agravaine & his lady Bronwen, & the essay Isoud about the Prose Tristan.

Collected Poems by Rolfe Humphries (1924-1966) — Contains Dream of Rhonabwy about Owain & Arthur's chess game, A Brecon Version about Essylt/Trystan, Under Craig y Ddynas about Arthur's "sleeping" warriors, & The Return of Peredwr about the Grail Hero's arrival to court.

Peronnik the Fool by George Moore (1926) — The quest for the Holy Grail based on Breton folklore.

The Merriest Knight by Theodore Goodridge Roberts (1946-2001) — Anthology of short stories all about Dinadan.

The Eagles Have Flown by Henry Treece (1954) — A third Arthurian novel from Treece detailing the rivalry between Artos & Medrawt, with illustrations this time.

Launcelot, my Brother by Dorothy James Roberts (1954) — The fall of Camelot from Bors perspective, as a brother of Launcelot.

To the Chapel Perilous by Naomi Mitchison (1955) — Two rival journalists report about the goings on in Camelot.

The Pagan King by Edison Marshall (1959) — Historical fiction from the perspective of Pagan King Arthur.

Kinsmen of the Grail by Dorothy James Roberts (1963) — The Grail Quest but Gawain is Perceval's step dad.

Stories of King Arthur by Blanche Winder (1968) — Illustrated retelling of Malory.

Drustan the Wanderer by Anna Taylor (1971) — Retelling of Essylt/Drustan.

Merlin's Ring by H. Warner Munn (1974) Gwalchmai is a godson of Merlin's that uses his ring to travel through the magical & real worlds.

Lionors, Arthur's Uncrowned Queen by Barbara Ferry Johnson (1975) — Story of Arthur's sweetheart & mother of his son, Loholt.

Gawain and The Green Knight by Y. R. Ponsor (1979) — Illustrated prose retelling of SGATGK poem.

Firelord (#1), Beloved Exile (#2), The Lovers: Trystan and Yseult (#3) by Parke Godwin (pseudonym Kate Hawks) (1980-1999) — Book 1 Arthur, book 2 Guinevere, book 3 Trystan/Yseult.

Bride of the Spear by Kathleen Herbert (1982) — "Historical" romance retelling of Teneu/Owain.

Invitation to Camelot edited by Parke Godwin (1988) — Anthology of assorted Arthurian stories from authors like Phyllis Ann Karr & Sharan Newman.

Arthur, The Greatest King - An Anthology of Modern Arthurian Poems by Alan Lupack (1988) — Anthology of modern Arthurian poetry by various authors including E. A. Robinson, William Morris, C. S. Lewis, & Ralph Waldo Emerson.

The White Raven by Diana L Paxson (1988) — "Historical" romance retelling of Drustan/Esseilte.

Merlin Dreams by Peter Dickinson (1988) — Illustrated by Alan Lee.

The Pendragon Chronicles edited by Mike Ashley (1990) — An anthology of Arthurian stories, including some translations such as the Lady of the Fountain, and retellings by John Steinbeck & Phyllis Ann Karr.

Grails: Quest of the Dawn edited by Richard Gilliam (1992-1994) — Anthology of Grail Quest stories.

The Merlin Chronicles edited by Mike Ashley (1995) — Anthology about Merlin from authors like Theodore Goodridge Roberts & Phyllis Ann Karr.

The Chronicles of the Holy Grail edited by Mike Ashley (1996) — Anthology about the Holy Grail from authors like Cherith Baldry & Phyllis Ann Karr.

The Chronicles of the Round Table edited by Mike Ashley (1997) — Anthology of assorted Arthurian stories from authors like Cherith Baldry & Phyllis Ann Karr.

Sleepless Knights by Mark H Williams (2013) — 1,500 years have passed but Lucan the Butler’s still on the clock.

Medieval Literature

Three Arthurian Romances (Caradoc, The Knight with The Sword, The Perilous Graveyard) [This is on the Internet Archive & cannot be downloaded. If someone could help with that, lmk!] translated by Ross G. Arthur

Le Bel Inconnu (The Fair Unknown) translated by Colleen P. Donagher

Segurant The Knight of the Dragon (Portuguese) edited by Emanuele Arioli

An Anglo-Norman Reader by Jane Bliss

Stanzaic Morte Arthur / Alliterative Morte Arthure edited by Larry D. Benson

Sir Perceval de Galles / Ywain and Gawain edited by Mary Flowers Braswell

Sir Gawain: Eleven Romances and Tales edited by Thomas Hahn

Prose Merlin edited by John Conlee

The Middle English Breton Lays edited by Eve Sailsbury & Anne Laskaya

Il Ciclo Di Guiron Le Courtois Volumes 1-7 (Italian)

Wace's Roman de Brut / Layamon's Brut by Robert Wace & Eugene Mason

Arthurian Literature by Women edited by Alan Lupack & Barbara Tepa Lupack

Handbooks

Studies in the Fairy Mythology of Arthurian Romance by Lucy Allen Paton (1960)

A Companion to the Gawain-Poet edited by Derek Brewer (1990)

The Mammoth Book of King Arthur edited by Mike Ashley (2005)

A Bibliography of Modern Arthuriana 1500-2000 by Ann F. Howey & Stephen R. Reimer (2006)

[themultifandomgal]

Hey I got a request for Tommy Shelby

So basically Tommy is a single dad to a girl who is 2 so basically Tommy took you to Arthur for the day and all you was doing was crying in Arthur arms and nothing was stopping you crying when you only stop crying when tommy come back and when you got home all you want to do was be hold by Tommy and would cry when you got put down then at bed time all you did was cry when Tommy put you down so Tommy let you sleep with Him hope that make sense

Tommy Shelby- Clingy Daughter

12th March 1924. A day Thomas Shelby will never forget. There was a knock at the door, when Tommy opened it up there on the door step bundled up in a basket was a tiny baby, fast asleep. There was a little note stating that Tommy is the father and that the mother can't support a baby and that she needs a name.

2 years later and Tommys baby is now a toddler and super clingy, which doesn't help when Tommy needs to head off to London for the day. That's why Arthur offered to have YN for the day, what could go wrong right? Arthur knew how to look after a child, he helped take care of his siblings after all and YN knows who Arthur is.

"Ok YN uncle Arthur will look after you, I'll be back later for bed time ok?"

"No daddy" YN cries as her father places her in her uncles arms "daddy home"

"Later. I love you" Tommy gives YN a kiss on her head "she'll be fine once I've gone" tommy directs this towards his brother before leaving for the car

"Daddy!" YN cries even louder as she watched her dad get into the car and drive off. She tries to wiggle out of her uncles arms. Arthur shuts the front door and places the 2 year old on the floor who just stands crying at the front door

"Come on little one. Why don't we go get some breakfast?"

"I want daddy"

"I know YN. Daddy will be back later"

"No now!" YN stops her foot crying. Arthur just knows today is going to be a long day.

Arthur tries all day to stop her crying, giving her cuddles, food, playing with toys but the only time he got a break from the tears is when she cried herself to sleep, but the moment she wakes up the tears start all over again. Finally Tommy arrives at 6pm. A disheveled Arthur answers the door with a screaming 2 year old

"Shhh hey what's wrong?" Tommy says taking the 2 year old into his arms who immediately settled down with just the sound of sniffles coming from the toddler

"Been crying all day. Tried to give her food but she wouldn't eat and threw up from crying so much"

"Sorry Arthur, I didn't think she'd be this bad"

"It's alright brother, one of those things" Arthur shrugs

"Well I best get this one home and something in her. Next time I need to go to London I'll take her with me"

"No it's fine. Just needs to get used to you not being there. Her mother abandoned her, she doesn't have a mother. It's just you and her. I'll see you tomorrow"

"Alright. YN say by the uncle Arthur"

"Bye" she sniffs into her fathers neck with a little wave behind her.

"YN I need to put you down to make you food"

"No daddy" YN shakes her head sobbing once again "stay here"

"I'm not going anywhere"

"Mr Shelby would you like me to make something for her?" Mary asks

"If you could"

"And what would the little one like hmm?"

"YN what would you like Mary to make you?"

"Biscuits?"

"You can't have biscuits for tea. How about bread and soup?" Mary suggests

"Ok. Then biscuits?"

"Yes then a biscuit" Tommy says hugging the little girl closer to him. She's always been clingy but never this bad.

While Mary gets on with making YN some soup Tommy takes his daughter into the living room and sits her on his knee while he reads her a story.

Bath times and bed time has never been so difficult

"YN it's bed time"

"No I stay with you daddy"

"YN I'm here I'm not going anywhere but you need to go to bed" Tommy places YN in her bed once again and starts to walk out of her room

"Daddy!" she screams getting out of bed for the umpteenth time

"YN, daddy's tired and wants to go to bed"

"Daddy's bed" Tommy is frustrated and gives in to his daughter, picking her up he takes her into his room with him. Tommy places her in his bed before getting changed himself, when he returns the 2 year old is fast asleep. 1 night won't hurt he thinks to himself. Seeing his daughter so upset today broke his heart, he never wants to see her like that again. He will always protect his daughter even if that means she sleeping in his bed just because she's upset.

[larluce]

HI! for all the beautiful people that follow my "Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU" and my merthur content in general, I have a couple of announcements.

I want to turn my merthur time travel AU into a fic too. I mean, I already have several parts in "script format", it just needs to be passed into "fic format". The problem is: 1. I still have 2 other merthur fics in progress to finish and 2. I don't really have the time. The "fic format", or rather the "literary novel format" is way more complex and takes more time to write, especially for me since english is not my native language. But I could do it if I had help, more especifically if I had a co-writer.

So if anybody is interested and has the time please message me. You can tag whoever you believe might be interested in the comments too :)

Another thing I wanted to announce is that NOW I HAVE A KO-FI ACCOUNT!! :D It's my tip jar, you can support me with a tip if you like. I'd use the money mostly to pay artists to do art for my merthur stories. Though writing commissions may be available in the future . I've seen some people do it but I don't know if you'd like that. What do you think? Should I do it?

@aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys , @evadne01 , @serasvictoria02 , @hairdryerducks , @hopeaha , @curiously-lazy , @ harriettesthings , @andrealux16 , @wacko-weirdo , @greatdonutenemy , @yougottobekittenme , @anxiousosaurus , @kinkforwings , @someweirdassnamee , @impracticalantlers , @miyriu , @hobipabo

[mandoalorian]

delicate

Pairing: High honour Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Summary: When Arthur and the gang are out in Valentine, you can’t help but notice that he left his journal by his bedside, unattended. You’re aware that Arthur is never careless enough to leave something so valuable to him in camp and see you see it as an opportunity. Upon reading his journal, you discover something that changes everything…

Word count: 2,000

Author’s note: My first Arthur fic! It’s been a long time coming. This is also cross-posted on my AO3. I do not consent to my fics being posted anywhere else, or translated without permission. If you enjoyed this fic please reblog as it helps increase support!<3

Masterlist 

You saw it as an opportunity.

Arthur, John, Micah, Javier and Sadie were out in Valentine, following Dutch’s well-convoluted plan to rob the local bank. They’d been gone for three hours already and with Micah part of the team, you dreaded to think how they were getting on. Dutch and Hosea had gone to scout out a manor northwest of Lemoyne, in Scarlet Meadows. Hosea was following a lead he’d heard from a guy at Emerald Ranch – that apparently, a well-off family were residing over there. An excellent opportunity for a cash grab, Dutch was also sure. Lately, any possibility of getting money, Dutch got excited over. You didn’t understand why because the ledger appeared more filled out than ever. Perhaps it was merely nothing more than a sin of greed, although you were in no position to question it. 

Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen were doing laundry as Miss Grimshaw supervised, and Miss Molly O’Shea was napping in Dutch’s cot. She’d been sleeping a lot recently, you’d noticed. Uncle was nowhere in sight, probably sleeping or drunk or getting himself killed by Raiders. And Abigail was with Jack, nursing him back to health as influenza he’d developed after your time in Colter hadn’t yet subsided. The camp was empty. Not a soul in sight.

There was a small crate in the corner of his tent and organised neatly atop was a framed photo of his mother Beatrice, a small vase of flowers that were native to New Hanover, and a beat-up leather journal that he kept close to his bedside. Arthur was so protective of his journal, you’d often tease him for it. Sometimes, you’d admire him from afar. After a hard day, he’d often sit by the lake, slumped against a tree, jotting down his thoughts or filling the pages with doodles of his ventures. 

And this time it was calling out to you.

You wondered why he hadn’t taken it with him. Had he really just ‘left’ it at camp? Forgot to put it in his satchel before he left this morning? You were hyper-aware that you’d more than likely never get this chance again. The curiosity was begging to be explored and you took one final glance around camp before slowly inching towards the crate by his bedside. Arthur’s tent was really just a canopy and once you were under you felt a pang of guilt in his heart. You shouldn’t be snooping around his business like this. He had done nothing to warrant you doing that.

It wasn’t malicious. It was harmless. Just a little peek…

You sat on the edge of Arthur’s cot and picked up the journal, feeling the worn leather between your fingers. Undoing the clasp, you pulled it open midway and were greeted with an illustration of a girl. It was the back of her, so there was no way of making out her face, but as you took a closer look at the pattern on her ranch boots, you couldn’t help but recognise the embroidered swirls and shapes. They were your ranch boots, and Arthur’s illustration was a depiction of you. It was dated noon, 5th July 1899, just a few weeks ago. It appeared to be a drawing from observation, and you were pictured helping Pearson put away an assortment of canned goods. 

It took a moment for it to dawn on you. He’d drawn you.

Now you were invested. You turned to the next page to see a verse of words:

‘Sometimes I wonder when she sleeps

Is she ever dreaming of me?

Sometimes when I look into her eyes

I pretend she’s mine all the damn time’

To the left of the words was another illustration of you but this one had a lot more detail. A delicate flower was placed in your hair and this time, you could see your face. You could see the shape of your nose and the creases in the corner of your eyes when you smiled. It had never been so clear. Your gaze flicked back towards the words as you reread them over and over again. Could they have really been about you?

Surely not. Arthur had never done anything to suggest that he’d had these feelings for you. As far as you were aware, he was still hung up on Miss Mary Linton. You’d never met her before. You’d only heard tales from Hosea, how Arthur was sweet on her and she broke his heart to the point he didn’t want to leave camp for days. You couldn’t imagine Arthur that way. You supposed that since then, he had changed, and maybe since meeting you, he’d changed again.

On the outside, Arthur was rough. His skin was sun kissed and his clothes were old, his boots were muddy and he could go months without shaving. You’d heard stories of his questionable temperance but with you, he was patient and soft and gentle. You’d seen him be kind around little Jack too, and that relationship spoke volumes since John was mostly absent from his son’s life. Arthur was a good influence on Jack. Hell, you could argue he was the best influence around camp in general. Although he was often gloomy and he would, on occasion, pick fights with Micah or Bill, you saw through that. He had a good heart, wether he believed it, that didn’t matter.

A loud cough interrupted your thoughts. You froze, and it was like you could feel time moving. Arthur’s journal was still in your hands and you could feel the eyes of a cowboy bore into your back. You hoped and prayed it was anyone but Arthur. At least then you’d be able to potentially mangle yourself out of the fact you went behind your friend’s back. You wanted to put the journal down, hell, you needed to, but it was like your feet were glued to the ground and your hands were locked in place.

“What you doing snooping through my stuff, girl?” 

Oh, it was Arthur. You winced under his question and took a deep breath. You carefully placed the journal back on his bedside, just as it was before you took it. Perfect. Like it hadn’t moved an inch. Not that it mattered anymore…

“Well?”

Fuck. You cursed under your breath. Say something. Anything.

“Arthur-I’m-so-sorry-I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking-I-just-saw-it-there-and-you-always-got-your-head-down-in-it-and-never-show-anyone-and-I-was-just-curious-and-I-know-it-was-wrong-but-I-just-“

“Now, why you talkin’ like that? Like I’m holdin’ you up at gunpoint? Turn around and look at me.” He cut you off, his question was rhetorical and his voice stern.

You immediately obliged and spun around on your heel. Your stomach was in knots. You wish you had never looked. Never betrayed him like this. Arthur’s eyes were a piercing blue like you’d never noticed, and his lips were curled into a frown. But still, he remained stoic. It’s like he was trying to appear unbothered, but you could see right through him.

“You know now why I let nobody look in here?” Arthur muttered, leaning over you and snatching the journal from his bedside.

You nodded apologetically and watched as he stuffed the journal into his satchel.

“I’ll be on my way now.” Arthur tipped his hat to you before turning around. He paused and when he was looking away he muttered, “’Am sorry if… you thought it was weird, miss…” 

Your mouth felt dry as you watched him walk away.

Weird? He was worried that you thought it was weird.

You chased after him and caught up pretty quickly, placing the palm of your hand flat against the broadness of his back. “Arthur, what you wrote in there was the sweetest thing… not weird at all, I promise.”

Arthur stopped and looked down at you, still frowning. 

“I just had no idea you felt that way,” You continued, shaking your head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I overstepped your boundaries and we can just forget about it if that’s what you want…”

To clarify, forgetting about it was the last thing you wanted to do, but alas, this wasn’t about you anymore. You would do anything for Arthur’s forgiveness and if that meant pretending like today never happened, then so be it.

“Forget?” Arthur whispered. “You really expect me to forget about this?”

You pursed your lips together, holding back a sigh. “I don’t think you should. I know I’d struggle to forget what I saw in there… but also, I don’t want to forget. I… I’ve been sweet on you since the moment I met you, Arthur. Tilly and Mary-Beth would always tease me for it. Abigail knew too, but she said you’d never be interested in pursuing someone in camp. Hosea made it seem like you were still hung up on Miss Linton, and so I never said anything. Oh Arthur, you’ve always been so kind to me. So gentle and soft, you’re different to the others…” You placed a hand on his bicep and Arthur practically softened into your touch.

“I’m a bad man,” Arthur shook his head gruffly. “I’ve done bad things.”

“Haven’t we all?” you snapped back, exasperated. “I may just do the chores around camp but you forget my history, Mr Morgan. All of us are Van Der Linde’s and we are not good people. Hell, I struggle to even tell the difference between good and bad anymore. But when I’m with you, I feel good. Really good. I feel safe and protected and God, Arthur. When I saw you felt the same way… that you think about me in the same way…”

Arthur cut you off with a kiss. His lips were soft and plump and contrasted with the roughness of his stubble and quick-growing moustache. You let out a small gasp when his lips crashed atop yours but quickly melted into it, bringing your hands up to his head and running your fingers through his dark blonde hair. His tongue tasted like fresh mint and other herbs you couldn’t quite recognise, and you had never been closer to his musky familiar scent. Arthur’s big arms wrapped around your body and he held you tight against him. When he finally pulled away, he nudged his nose against yours and lingered for a moment, staring into your eyes.

“Forgive me for saying miss, but if it wasn’t already clear, I think I’m in love with you.”

The revelation made you giddy, your heart racing in your chest with the thrill of it all. You couldn’t believe it. Abigail…. Hosea…. They were all wrong. Arthur actually felt the same as you.

“I’m in love with you too,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes as Arthur enveloped you in a hug.

When you finally pulled away from him, it was only to ask him another important question.

“Do you forgive me for what I did, Arthur?” you asked him sadly. Arthur could see the guilt; it was written all over your face.

“If you didn’t do that, none of this would have ever happened,” Arthur smiled, pressing his index finger to your chin and picking your face up so you were looking at him in the eyes. He was smiling. He was okay…

“I s’pose that’s true,” you shrugged. “I’m still sorry, and it won’t happen again.”

“I believe you,” Arthur said, lacing his fingers with yours. “Now let’s go grab some of Pearson’s broth and we can take it to the lake. I think we have a lot to talk about…”

You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. You and Arthur walked side by side to the campfire and the entire way you felt yourself bubbling with anticipation over what was to come next.

[say-hwaet]

The Dynamic Between Arthur and the Marstons (long post )

I guess I should say there are spoilers, just in case…

After playing the story through several times, I have to say, that Arthur Morgan is one of the best characters ever written. Aside from his development, there is so much depth to him, and regardless of his honor, there is so much to unravel.

I’ve been thinking about the relationship that he has between the Marstons, meaning John, Abigail, and Jack, and it really makes sense as to how Arthur acts the way he does around them in the beginning and all the way to the end.

A lot of his behavior, I think, stems from the loss of Eliza and Isaac. It is my opinion that he himself was torn between living a full life with them and remaining loyal to his gang, and before or by the time he had made a choice, it was too late, as they were killed in a robbery. This had haunted him since and it made him extremely bitter. Later in the game, he tells Rains Fall that he realized that he didn’t get to live a bad life and have good things happen to him. I also think that he was with Eliza after Mary had broken their engagement. I can get into my support for this later, but that isn’t what this post is about.

I think that Arthur was angry with John out of jealousy. He is the “golden boy” and clearly was Dutch’s favorite at one point. Not only that but after Arthur loses his own son and lover, John and Abigail get pregnant and he takes off for a year. He abandons his family, which Arthur takes personally. Arthur had tried to do right by Eliza and Isaac and still failed. So when John has Jack and is within the circle of the gang to help and support him, he takes off. Arthur gives up a potential life with Eliza and Isaac for Loyalty to the gang and John throws it all away. When John comes back, Dutch welcomes him with open arms, and Arthur believes that he would have been held to a different standard if he had come back after being with Eliza and Isaac for a long time. And it doesn’t help that John treats Jack like crap in the beginning of RDR2.

Arthur, imo, was a good father to Isaac when he was present. We can see this in how he treats Jack. In Arthur’s journal, he writes how he should have married Abigail, but due to his feelings for Mary, he didn’t. I’m not sure why after years of not hearing from Mary he would say this, but meh. Perhaps, the hope of starting over, or that she did pop in again at some point (which is how Abigail might have met her?). Anyways. I think he says he should have married her so that she would have someone to rely on and that he could be the father Jack needed. He cares about Abigail, but I don’t think it is anything beyond that. Arthur seemed to me not to be one to be with a woman without some sort of relationship, based upon how he treats women and the prostitutes in Valentine, so I don’t think he was ever with Abigail. Even so, Abigail relies on Arthur, and while he puts up a front, he gives her money for clothing and spends time with Jack. Heck, he even tells John to step up and be a dad. In some of Arthur’s conversations with John, he tells him that he can’t be two people at once. He’s speaking from experience. I think he’s subtly telling John he needs to make a choice as to what life he’s going to live. Hosea and Arthur both tell Abigail and John to leave at parts of the game.

When Jack is kidnapped, and eventually rescued, I think it is one of the most heart-wrenching missions and scenes. I can see it in Arthur’s body language that he longs for the family that he once had. He’s alone in his pain and when everyone is celebrating, Arthur doesn’t sing with the gang; there isn’t even the option to do it like it does other times. Even in my first playthrough, it seemed so sad to me. Everyone was drinking and singing, but Arthur just looked so sad.

So, it is at this point that John starts to step up, and Arthur starts to show symptoms of his illness. When he learns of his diagnosis, Arthur’s eyes open to the reality of the gang’s downfall, and he acknowledges the doubts/reservations he has about Dutch’s plans and schemes. He isn’t blindly loyal anymore. He tries to get John, Abigail, and Jack out, so that they can have the life that he had lost due to loyalty to the gang. He continually tells John to get out and that it would mean a lot to him. In his journal, after rescuing John from prison, he writes in his journal “…We’ve argued over the years, but I’ve grown to care a little for [John]. He’s less of a fool than he was, and maybe he can have the luck that has eluded me. Jack is an innocent little boy. In him, I see what I missed [meaning Isaac]. We did it.” This speaks volumes to me about how he feels about them in the end. He sacrifices himself to let John live. And though it isn’t forever, Arthur dies believing that he made it, and that matters. And hopefully, he could finally be at peace and see Eliza and Isaac again.

I could keep going, but I think I am too long-winded. I guess that helps when writing fleshed-out fanfiction stories, but not for posts. LOL

Would love to hear other thoughts or opinions, I’m always keen for a discussion.

[brujahinaskirt]

Real talk: I used to dislike LH Arthur because fanon low-honor Arthur is... boring. But canon low-honor Arthur? He--his arc--is somethin' else.

[RDR2 MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW]

To start with what LH Arthur is not: MOST (not all, most) of the time, the fandom's interpretation (generous word choice) of low-honor Arthur amounts to little more than a mind-numbingly generic dark edgelord fuckprince with little to zero textual support. All his interesting traits, concerns, and cares are stripped away to leave a generic evil sexyman doll with no psychological complexity and maximum y/n fuckability. Or even duller, fanon LH Arthur is just a cornball redditor projecting all the dumb chaos shit they did in sandbox mode into the narrative and promptly ignoring said narrative in its entirety. (i.e., HAR HAR ARTHUR CANONICALLY BURNED HIS HORSE NAMED MARY ALIVE FOR FUN AND PISSED ON THE ASHES, YOU CAN DO THAT SO IT MEANS ROCKSTAR SAID IT HAPPENED) (sorry about your brain)

... but the canon low-honor Arthur trajectory is actually so fucking good. like yesss son please wake the fuck up after 20 years of consciously and painfully murdering your own self-concept to transform yourself into a workhorse of service to provide for a father who gives you nothing in return except a shadow of love (not even a genuine thank you).

yessss it is time to notice yourself again after two decades of blindness, to try and stop the bleeding, but you have lost your ability to heal with the crude tools you have turned your hands/mind/soul into (and for what? for whom??). So all you have at your disposal is to bleed some justice from the prophet-preacher-god-figure who was supposed to love you & love everyone you love most in this world.

yessssss forget revenge and fairness (pretty lies) and just get the only satisfaction available to you which is to make this, the final act of completing your self-destruction at his hands, take his entire family from him (prioritizing the people you love the most, he never deserved them).

And YESSSS use your last acts to spurn him, to rip his mask off, to let him know that YOU, the product of his own creation, his son, the blindly loyal pet he hammered into existence out of a child, SEES HIM for who he really is. Make sure he knows that someone is finally looking through this glitzy shell of a patriarch and psuedo-dreamer and looking RIGHT AT what's really under there. Which is nothing. Make your last words remind him of all the other people who destroyed themselves for him ("not Molly, not Ms. Grimshaw...") because they were more human and lived & felt more genuinely than he ever will. Make SURE he knows that YOU know he has nothing inside him, absolutely fucking nothing, he's not even a complete man; he's just a pathetic shadow of humanness, like a parrot imitating speech without ever really understanding it or feeling the weight of it ("[I'm dying but] you're dead, inside you're dead"); he has therefore become nothing more than the victim of another manipulator, another nothing-creature wrapped in a shell of someone who loves him but doesn't, really, and can't, and never did.

Yessssss hurt him so bad with the way you die he stops talking for seven years

[taolaoo]

There are a lot of things that make me despise dudebros. One of them is when Abigail and Arthur's relationship becomes the object of their stupid jokes.

So, Abigail and Arthur's relationship. If you ask me, I really don't think Arthur was head over heels in love with her. Absolutely not. The way he describes her and Jack in the journal is more like grieving for what was taken from him. It's so painfully obvious that he's comparing them to Eliza and Isaac in his mind. It's not love, it's just a glimpse of a lost feeling. But even if it is love, it's not in a healthy way.

An important clarification, but I also don't think Arthur ever slept with her. How could he if he had women of his own at that time? (Eliza and Mary, we don't know for sure which one he got into a relationship with first). Arthur doesn't seem to me like a man who can sleep with someone when he's already in a relationship, you know.

Bill's words in rdr1 about Abigail sleeping with everyone sound very funny coming out of his mouth in my opinion. Because first of all, it's Bill; secondly, he's a bastard who always likes to say things to piss others off; thirdly, why do you expect me to take him seriously after he said he slept with her too? I'd rather believe in flat earth than that Abigail, strong woman that she is, would let this smelly boykisser too close to breathe next to her.

What is certain between Arthur and Abigail is trust. From the way Jack is very friendly with him and not afraid to ask for his help, you could tell that Arthur has always been there for him and Abigail, especially after John left. And that's totally understandable. Because Arthur is the only man in the camp who seems normal, kind, and good enough to look after a child. (Hosea too, I'm sure he and Arthur were that strong support for Abigail when she was having a hard time, but that's a bit beside the point right now).

Because Abigail is careful and smart, maybe she even saw something in Arthur that he didn't want to tell anybody (you always know that a man can only be gentle and caring to a child when he has one of his own). That's why they have such a strong friendship, that's why Abigail can ask Arthur to take Jack fishing without a problem.

And yeah, it may be hard for Arthur because he sees ghosts of his past around them, but he doesn't say no. Because he's kind, selflessly kind to those he cares about no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

Their friendship is so underrated, I wish for once it was talked about in terms of strong friendship and trust, not some dumb pseudo romance that doesn't exist.

[aetherdecember]

Look, I love BBC Merlin and how they told the lore, but I’m a sucker for the relationship between Arthur and Mordred in the mythology. Specifically, I love how Mary Stewart (author of The Arthurian Saga**) and Nancy Springer (author of I Am Mordred**) wrote about the father/son relationship between them. So naturally, my brain has been conjuring up how I can include that in my Flipping the Coin au.

Since the main premise is Merlin died/Arthur lives, and now Arthur is the one waiting for Merlin to come back, things would stay consistent with canon up to the last episode (when Merlin flips the coin of their destiny and sacrifices himself so Arthur can live and thus stop Camlann from happening altogether). Which is where this idea will start:

Gwen is barren. She and Arthur never have kids. Eventually, everyone Arthur knows and loves dies. He can’t rule Camelot forever, and after Gwen’s death, he no longer wants to, so he fakes his death and wanders off figure out why he’s still here. He never gets an answer for that. Arthur spends the next millennium waiting. He keeps living. He meets people, experiences things he’d never experienced before, and learns things he’d never dreamed of learning. He can’t stay anywhere long, or else suspicions will rise, but he gets to see the world change, how technology advances, and witness humans continuing to be humans. When war breaks out, he joins the battle. It’s familiar. The rush of adrenaline is the same whether he’s wielding a sword or a gun. Only, he can’t see the enemy’s face anymore.

Peace comes again. At some point, he sleeps with a woman, and she happens to become pregnant. Bisexual disaster that he is, he’s had all sorts of partners from both sexes, but has never had this happen, even before the advent of reliable birth control. Later, he’ll learn her name is Morgause. She doesn’t look like the Morgause he knew before, nor does she act like her, but her name haunts him. After the baby is born, she gives him to Arthur, says she has no intentions of being a mother, and leaves. The last thing she had said to him was the baby’s name.

Mordred.

That night, Arthur holds Mordred and weeps.

There is irony in his son being named Mordred. First, in that the legends surrounding him, Merlin, Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, and all of it, had long ago decided Mordred was his son. And two, in a retelling of that legend, it had aptly phrased what he sensed was happening now. Granted, he isn’t a sorcerer, he doesn’t have magic, so he can’t support his feeling with anything other than he’d been around a long time and knew to his very core that it was true. Mordred’s birth is a signal of the beginning of the end.

Fatherhood brings him a new sense of purpose. Gone are the days of loneliness and drudgery. Every day with Mordred brings a new light into his life. Each smile is a miracle. Seeing Mordred experience things for the first time brings a new appreciation. Being there to watch him grow makes time fly like it never has before. But Arthur is afraid. He doesn’t want to be his father. He doesn’t know how to be a father, or what the right way to do it is. In all the years he’s been on the Earth, he’s never known a man who could concretely say, “This is the way to raise a son,” and actually reap the fruits of their efforts. Too frequently, he’d seen sons grow outside of the visions their fathers molded for them and receive only disappointment and disdain in return. So he was afraid, because he too had been that son.

*cue a series of fluffy father/son one shots of Arthur raising Mordred until Merlin comes back, takes one look, and is is like WTF????? No, I won’t have Mordred for a step son >:(*

**Mary Stewart and Nancy Springer have several other works, not just the stories I mentioned. The ones mentioned are the ones I’m pulling inspiration from ^^

Additional notes below the break:

Guinevere’s barrenness is not a headcanon I typically subscribe to for BBC Merlin. My headcanon is that after Arthur’s death, Gwen gives birth, and their child eventually succeeds her as ruler.

I’ve always seen Mordred’s appearance as the harbinger of Arthur’s downfall. Thus, the reason for the plot bunnies in my brain going crazy with this idea of how I could bring him in, still remain mostly canon compliant with BBC Merlin, and build off some of my favorite parts of the lore. (Mandatory disclaimer: for BBC Merlin, I don’t headcanon Mordred as Arthur’s son. But for the mythology, I do wholeheartedly support that canon.)

Arthur’s choice to participate and live once Camelot is gone is a decision to contrast my headcanon of how Merlin handled it. I don’t think Merlin thrived. I think he stayed busy, and tried to remain hopeful, but I think he was anxiously consumed with the anticipation of wondering when Arthur would come back. In this au, Arthur may or may not know that Merlin is supposed to come back (I’m still working on that detail), but he’s always been around others. I think he would seek camaraderie, and companionship, and that he would connect with others but only to a superficial level. I don’t think he’d exist in a void of loneliness. Plus, he doesn’t have the guilt of knowing he failed because the pressure from the prophecy is very one sided *coughcough*causemerlinnevertoldhim*coughcough*

Anyways, that’s enough rambling from me about this. I’ll probably share some snippets of writing next because there are some fantastic scenes coming together in the draft so stay tuned! ;D

[ccghastly]

Does the Van Der Linde Gang believe in Soothsaying?

Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen, Sadie, Grimshaw, Abigail. Arthur, John, Dutch, Hosea, Uncle, Micah, Bill, Keiran, Sean, Javier, Charles.

I like doing tarot spreads and was doing a few for the gang for fun, that got me pondering about what they would think of it

Enjoy!

Tilly: Intense Skeptic, but not rude

Mary-Beth: Intense Believer, embarrassed about it.

Karen: On the fence, but willing to believe

Sadie: Intense Skeptic, rude about it

Susan Grimshaw: Casual Believer. Thinks some practitioners are shams but not soothsaying itself

Abigail: Closeted Believer, Says she doesn't believe, but will panic over any advice and warnings delivered.

Arthur: Casual Believer, He has seen everything at this point.

John: Willing Skeptic, He has also seen a lot of weird shit, but prefers to deny and ignore most of it for his own sanity.

Dutch: Loud Skeptic, thinks its a good con, but doesn't think soothsaying is real.

Hosea: Loud Supporter Casual Believer, thinks people should be allowed to do as they like. Has had a few uncanny encounters.

Uncle: Loud Believer, says he has a cousin that can smell when you'll next be sick.

Micah: Closeted Believer, Loud Skeptic.

Bill: Furtive Intense Believer, wont bring it up himself but will try to fight naysayers.

Kieran: Doubtful. Lives by an "If you say so" motto, and not willing to state an opinion one way or another

Sean: Superstitious Believer, thinks that it's got the devil's hand in it and should be avoided.

Javier: Loud Skeptic, willing to go along with it just to disagree with everything.

Charles: Neutral Observer. Thinks that as long as people aren't doing him harm it's none of his business.

Thanks for Reading!

I was thinking about writing a little thing of a tarot reader visiting the gangs camp (probably dragged there by Dutch or Hosea) and the gang getting readings from them.

What are some questions the gang would ask a Tarot reader? What spreads would they want done?

Please let me know! I'd love to hear your ideas!

Heres a link to my Masterlist if you'd like to see more from me.