#dad!arthur morgan

[bimrsadler]

Hello, I saw requests were open. I wanted to see if you could write Arthur finding out he has a child/teen that he didn't know about, but now needs to help care for them. How he has to bond with them whether it be through interests like drawing or teaching them to hunt/self-defense.

A Pretty Dream

Characters: Arthur Morgan, Arthur’s daughter

Warnings/tags: dad!Arthur, fluff

Word count: 1,000

Notes: went with giving Arthur a daughter named Sarah (maybe around preteen age) who he bonds with through drawing

Arthur hadn’t expected to feel so nervous, he knew she would like the gift but he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointing her.

He didn’t even believe Sarah was his when the telegram came through and she stepped off the train. His heart skipped a beat when he realized there was no mistaking it — those were his eyes.

It terrified him. Seeing a child with his eyes look up at him for guidance when he himself was lost. But he couldn’t abandon her, not when she needed him the most.

It took time to warm up to each other and Sarah was fiercely independent, never wanting to be told what to do or how to do it.

But with time she took interest in Arthur’s adventures, asking to come with on the outings that weren’t too dangerous. She loved watching him sketch his surroundings most of all, in awe of the drawings that he thought were simple scribbles.

So Arthur’s hand sat in his satchel, fingers gripping the journal and pencils he picked out for her, waiting for the right moment.

He watched lovingly as she flipped over rocks to look for critters and undiscovered treasures. A sense of adventure had been instilled in her during her time with Arthur and the others.

She loved dresses and flowers and all those other things that young girls were expected to, but she loved learning and exploring more. If she had to work for something or get dirty in the process? Even better. And God help anyone who told her she wasn’t allowed.

The natural world was her playground, the animals and trees and everything around them; her happiness. One day Arthur hoped to introduce her to Albert Mason so long as gators weren’t involved in that day’s photography.

“Hey sweet pea! C’mere for a bit.” Arthur patted the ground underneath the tree, motioning for her to sit beside him.

Timidly revealing the leather bound journal from his satchel, he slowly handed it to her. “I uh, wanted to give this to ya. I know ya been wantin’ to try drawin’ more so…”

Arthur watched her small hands grab the journal exuberantly as her face lit up, “are ya serious?!” She shot up to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight hug, “thank you!”

“Ain’t nothin’ honey.”

“Well you’re gonna teach me how to draw better right?”

“Do my best but uh, I never fancied myself as an artist.”

Arthur felt an elbow in his side as his daughter scoffed, “oh hush, y’are too. Now! What should I draw?”

“Well,” Arthur gestured broadly to the area in front of them, “see anything ya like?”

Holding the pencil up to her lips in thought, she pointed animatedly. “That rabbit under the tree over there! See it?!”

“Sure do,” Arthur drawled with a grin.

He watched as she nervously began sketching what she saw, “now relax — it don’t need to be perfect… jus’ try yer best.”

Arthur felt his affirmations were clumsy but he truly meant them, and it seemed as though the awkward anxieties of a parent and child who met later in life were finally fading.

He didn’t have all the answers and never would, but they felt like family now and he would do anything to protect her.

As the warm afternoon breeze cooled to evening, Arthur advised on which parts to shade, which lines to draw first, how to make things more realistic; anything he could think to teach.

She listened intently and applied everything he taught, and it felt good to be a teacher. Not a killer or a robber, just a man helping his kid.

The drawing was finished as the sun began to set, an indication that it was time to head back to camp.

Arthur helped Sarah up on the back of the horse, and wondered if it was time to find her her own.

Her expectant inquiry interrupted his thoughts however, “soooo is there anything we’re doin’ tomorrow?”

“Well I’m goin’ huntin’. Ain’t the nicest thing and it can be real boring but if yer inter—”

“Sure!” She exclaimed more enthusiastically than anticipated. “Then after maybe you and Aunt Sadie can teach me to shoot?!”

Arthur let out a soft chuckle, she did love spending time with Sadie and he would most certainly be fighting a losing battle (with both of them) to say no. “In good time kiddo. I do want ya to be able to take care of yerself but I don’t want ya to grow up too fast neither.”

“I’ll just practice with cans and bottles. I mean, you do want me to be able to defend myself right?”

Arthur sighed, he knew Sadie would say the same and maybe they were right. “Of course,” he stated with a tone, “but I can protect ya til then too ya know…”

Arthur could hear Sarah roll her eyes, “I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to know how to do these things. Even if some people think it ain’t ladylike.”

Arthur laughed to himself as he hurried the horse along, “yer right sweet pea, we’ll get to it. I promise.”

After arriving in camp, Arthur watched her run excitedly to Charles and the girls; showing off the drawing that she was rightfully proud of.

Arthur never thought he would get a second chance at fatherhood. He wasn’t sure at first if he even wanted it and most certainly felt he didn’t deserve it.

But there she was — reading to Jack at the campfire which he politely asked for after being shown the drawing.

Abigail flashed a kind smile from the seat beside them, no doubt thrilled that Jack had her to befriend.

It wasn’t lost on him that this life was dangerous and unfit for them, as much as he would always love the gang; he needed to love his daughter more.

And maybe one day Abigail’s little dream of turning John into a rancher would have room for Arthur and his girl to join them. It was a pretty dream.

#arthur morgan #dad!arthur morgan #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption #rdr2

[thy-cocoa-doth-grow-cold]

saying "omg my wife" and it's a huge 6'+ cowboy with a tragic past

#this is about Arthur and Charles #the besties #and my wives #they r my wives (plus tilly and sadie) and hosea is my dad #ok thank u :3 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #i 🫶 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #charles smith

[keii]

Ride 'em cowboy! Outlaw Toji! AU

#you can see it right i can see it #deadbeat outlaw leaving his son to be raised in a saloon and megumi grows up to be a lil sweetheart #sees his dad's wanted posters plastered everywhere #toji the type to ask for a lady to wash his back like arthur morgan #... miss u arthur.... sushi play that game again LOL #toji would thrive in the wild wild west #art #killamonart #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #artists on tumblr

[godmerlin]

Merlin 4x03 The Wicked Day

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlinedit #merlingifs #my gifs #colin morgan #bradley james #this scene had my dad rolling with laughter last night #it always gets me that this is the episode arthur becomes king and they're talking about “peeing” iconic show #arthur in 3rd gif is a parent who is sick of their children's shit #merthur

[korkusts]

And I give…. A small dollop of rdr

#his dads #arthur morgan #rdr2 hosea #hosea rdr2 #rdr2 dutch #dutch x hosea #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #red dead redemption hosea #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption

[rivetingrosie4]

What a Life (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 2)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for 2 of the edits above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: General | tumblr masterlist | Ao3 | Part 1

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Just a scene in which Arthur and reader enjoy secluded family life with their very young son. Arthur is a cute and loving dad and is adored by reader.

Tags: fluff without plot, family fluff, romantic fluff, domestic setting, parenthood

Word count: 2,660

In the cool shadow of the cabin, thrown long by the late morning sun, you sit with your little son, watching him play in the sandbox. The mourning dove’s rounded, plaintive hoots are parried by the sharp, tinkling warbles of goldfinches in the nearby pine branches, and the fragrances of crisp mist and thick sod linger in the mountain air.

You watch the faint glimmer of day paint the crests of Gabriel’s cupid’s bow with light, his plump lips resting between his two rotund cheeks as he concentrates on the toys before him. The wispy feathers of his splayed lashes bow and rise with each blink. His beautiful, shimmering eyes inspect each toy, each color, each shape. Out of all the blocks, large puzzle pieces, rings, balls, and animal toys half-buried in the sand, he has landed on one. You watch the bulbous pads and segments of each tiny, clumsy finger curl to a strong, stable grasp around the edge of the object of his aim—a large block with an Appaloosa sketched and painted lovingly on the side.

“Just like your daddy,” you whisper to yourself.

Dipping your fingers into the sand and feeling its chill envelop your skin, you look up with a smile to gaze in the direction of the stables. In the distance, you catch sight of Arthur hauling a huge saddle and its accompanying tack, a moment before he disappears through the door and into the shaded interior.

You recall the quiet rustling of his rising this morning when he’d been up before the sun, as he often is. And the way he’d kept from waking the baby in his room, intentionally leaving you to reap the reward of your son’s customary gleeful smile, his bounce in his crib, and his lifting of his arms for you.

You turn back to your eleven-month-old with a burgeoning smirk. “Wanna come help Mama make some sourdough?”

“Yeah,” he immediately chirps, recognizing nothing but the lilt of a question in your voice. But he doesn’t look up at you, still captured by the blocks and puzzle pieces.

You stand and take a few steps away to prompt him. “Well let’s go!” you call.

He braces himself on the sand with his palms, a moment later lifting his tush into the air. When he straightens, his brows knot, and his lips dangle from between his cheeks as he gazes down confoundedly at the discomfort of sand stuck to his flesh.

You snort a laugh as you cover the sandbox behind him. “Just go like this, Gabe Baby.”

You show him your flattened hands and slowly brush them together.

His brows don’t budge as he looks back and forth from your hands to his own, unable to fully brush them.

“Like this,” you whisper, gently taking his wrists and swiftly brushing his palms back and forth over each other.

When the sand is removed, he toddles to follow you up towards the cabin, and you carry him when you reach the oak staircase to the back door.

As you turn onto the wraparound porch, you notice Arthur now hefting a huge bale of hay by its cords into the stable, his black leather hat shading most of his face in the distance. But you like to imagine he wears a subconscious smile, now enjoying a life of simplicity, filled with nature and horses and art and family and love, tucked away from the gnarled heartache that gang life had left in its wake.

“Sandy baby,” you mumble when you arrive inside and close the back door behind you.

You promptly remove both your shoes and strip Gabriel to his diaper, tossing his sandy clothes into the hamper.

“Are you dry?” you ask vainly as he starts to toddle away. “Wait, are you dry?” You deftly hook a finger down his back and into his diaper before he can fully get away.

Peering into his diaper, you find no present. You carefully squeeze his bottom to discover no liquid deposit.

When you release him, he immediately darts down the hall. You follow and walk into the kitchen, beckoning him to join you. When he does and you bend to pick him up, he whines to be allowed to remain standing on his own.

“Well how’re you gonna see from down there?” you lightly ask.

When he shakes his head, you half-frown. It was just a couple weeks ago that eleven-month-old Gabriel began walking. Since then, he’s always wriggling out of your arms and dashing across rooms, seemingly already excited to be as independent as he can be.

At first, it stung. With the love and special intimacy of mother and son—and with even the chemistry and well-being of your bodies both dependent on the other—the two of you had been closer than peas in a pod, glued at the hip for so long. It’s always been and still is a precious bond to you, though its daily aspects continue to gradually change. And it was hard to so suddenly feel a little unneeded. But Arthur has helped you find a comfort in the balance of realizing that your feelings are only natural, and that you’ve been raising a wonderful and healthy little boy, with this change as just another bit of proof.

As well as the fact that Gabriel still likes to cherry-pick when he’s carried and when he walks on his own. You suspect that like any human, his adamant desire for independence doesn’t do one thing to hinder his deep enjoyment and fierce need of being held.

So you turn and begin pulling ingredients and dishes from the cupboard, at last going to the fridge to retrieve your sourdough starter. You begin mixing ingredients in your big bowl atop the counter, when you hear a whimper and feel a few hard tugs at your palazzos. And you smirk.

You glance down to find him with arms outstretched and upheld for you, bouncing on his tiptoes with longing. You stoop and lift him to you, hugging him to your hip and pressing a few kisses soundly to his smooth cheek.

Describing each action aloud to him, you finish mixing, dust the countertop with copious amounts of flour, and turn the bowl with your free hand to dump the dough.

“Now we knead,” you almost sing, in hushed tones.

Perched on your hip, his plump little arm drapes with familiarity and utmost contentedness over the back of your shoulder. He watches your every gesture with a mixture of restful curiosity and heightened interest.

You push the dough away and pull it towards you again and again, tucking the edges underneath as you do, to form a smooth, rounded surface on top.

“You wanna feel it? You wanna knead?” you ask.

Leaning forward, you let him reach and press his tiny hand into the supple surface of the cool dough.

“Gentle,” you say, showing him the way you keep your fingers outstretched and softly brush and pat the surface of the dough with the pads of your fingertips. “No squeezing.”

The two of you watch his little fingers delve into the pliant mass of dough, leaving a mark of small craters. When they begin to slowly bounce back, you watch his face instead of the dough.

He releases a single cooed sigh of delight as he looks at you with a bright smile, which you heartily return.

How you love, you love, you love him.

You sprinkle the dough with flour and rest it in a basket for its turn to prove. After fetching a dough you’d left proving hours before, you carefully score it with one long slice for expansion, and several small strokes for a quaint wheat kernel design on the other side.

“Mama.” Gabriel pats your sternum and rests a couple fingers past his lips.

“You hungry?” you ask.

When he nods, you brush a hand down the slope of the back of his head and kiss his temple. You add as you set him to his feet, “Let me get this in the oven, then I’ll feed you.”

After setting the parchment-papered sourdough in its cast iron dutch oven and pouring a bain marie past the paper, you place the whole thing in the oven and set a timer. You glance at the oven window with a small smile, eager to see the crispy crust on your extra-sour boule. Since you first noticed its resemblance to Gabriel’s tummy, you’ve made a tradition of kissing the top of the boule, then indelicately turning Gabriel sideways in your arms and blowing a raspberry on his bare belly, making him cackle hysterically. These days, he’s even begun giggling when you turn him in your arms and before you ever kiss his belly, already tickled by the anticipation alone.

With Gabriel in tow, you walk to the couch in the living room. Gabriel rests both arms over the seat cushion and tries to lift one leg up over the edge, but you reach your hands under his arms and pull him into your lap.

Just before you unhook your bra from its strap to nurse, the two of you hear the back door open.

Gabriel’s eyes widen, and a grin begins to pull on the corners of his mouth. “Da,” he says.

He wiggles down off the couch, and as he toddles down the hall, you listen to his bare little feet patting quietly along the hardwood floor. You smile to yourself at the precious sound, so deeply dear to you.

As you hear Arthur’s rustling, jingling presence in the doorway and the naturally firm, heavy footfalls of his work boots, you imagine him resting his black hat on the wall as his small son comes around the corner in only his diaper, bared rounded belly and all.

When you hear the playful growl and the resultant squeal and cackle, your grin splits wider.

“You’re in your nethers, baby boah!”

You can detect the pinch of a smile in Arthur’s voice and the breath of laughter with the last couple words.

More little pads of bare feet as Gabriel comes running back around the corner and down the hall. He hesitates as he toddles, turning back to ensure Arthur’s tailing, eager to play this game with his father.

Still, when Arthur leans around the corner and pulls an exaggeratedly silly face with an outright grunt, Gabriel’s little body gives a tiny jump. His squeal and adorable laughter ring out into the air. He clumsily darts into the kitchen.

When his father follows with a few long strides and the sturdy clops of his boots, he brings with him the musty scents of alfalfa hay and tanned rawhide, of trail dust and undiluted sunshine. And the two subsequently begin an elaborate game of peek-a-boo, back and forth around the island. You can’t help but laugh along at the purest sound of undiluted joy—the beauty and innocence of your own child so easily tickled and contented by life and love—as you turn on the couch and watch the pair. No matter how many times Arthur jumps out to stop him with a silly face and a low hoot or growl, Gabriel instantly screams and squeals, his body utterly racked with tightly coiled cackles.

Arthur wheezes and snickers every time.

“Oh my God, listen to him!” you laugh.

It’s always another several seconds before Gabriel totally recovers and manages to catch his breath, his laughter smoothing with each heave of air.

With the next turn of their game, Arthur lingers behind the island when Gabriel rounds it, not jumping out even when his son takes reticent steps forward, looking for him. Arthur continues to linger, even quietly backing up to hide himself, watching his son for the right moment to strike.

Finally Arthur leaps out, and Gabriel jumps with the highest squeal and loudest cackles you’ve heard yet.

You and Arthur both burst with your own laughter at his reaction.

When your son’s breathing finally evens, you call, “Gabriel, I thought you were hungry?”

“Oh, were you about to eat, son?” Arthur asks in his deep timbre. “You hungry?”

Gabriel nods and pats a hand to his belly above the rim of his diaper.

“Well, better go see Mama,” Arthur quietly grunts as he picks his son up by the underarms and sets him on his hip out of habit. Arthur lifts him over the couch back and sets him down into your lap, then remains behind the couch himself, watching over your shoulder.

After cushioning your back and adjusting him in your arms, you reach beneath your tee, unhook the front of your bra, and gently bring Gabriel to your breast to nurse. He latches on immediately, very well accustomed to your routine. A certain profound peace washes over you as you watch him. His lips flange around you as he suckles; his quiet breaths through his nose briefly pause each time he swallows; and his plump little arm rests wistfully over your chest.

Many people may look away, abashed and discomfited, unable to fit something at once both so innocent and intimate into their world. But it’s always made perfect sense to you. And maybe motherhood was a dream too quaint, one not rebellious or modern enough, seemingly not daring or adventurous enough. But it was your dream.

When Gabriel spots Arthur’s face over your shoulder, he pulls away from your breast with a growingly wry grin, clearly expecting to continue the game from moments ago. Droplets of your milk spill between you and his mouth as he voices a syllable and lifts his arm, attempting to goad Arthur into another silly face.

Arthur silently complies with cross-eyes and a sideways tongue.

Gabriel promptly giggles, and the two of you smile and chuckle at the sound.

“Don’t while he’s nursing, he’ll choke,” you lightly say.

After softly cooing and corralling Gabriel back to his feeding, you continue watching him with a contented smile. You brush your hand down over the back of his head, into the growing downy hair that curls funnily at the base of his neck. As he closes his eyes, you brush the backs of your curled fingers down over his temple, and gently trail your fingertips across the velvet flower-petal skin of his plump baby cheek.

You hear the long, relaxed sound of Arthur’s husky breath over your shoulder, a sound you know very well, especially these days.

“What a life, huh?” he quietly says.

He means to facetiously point out Gabriel’s current lot—nursing at his mother’s breast with his father at the ready to make him smile and laugh. That is, a life full of love and joy, well taken care of, and absent of a care in the world. Just as he should be for now.

It doesn’t take you a few moments, and you’re turning to look into Arthur’s cerulean-sage eyes. A knowingness resides in your gaze. Because you yourself, as well as your husband, have been given all you’d so deeply and totally longed for—and longed, a word too weak—more than you could’ve ever imagined you’d actually live to get.

“Yeah,” you quietly, pensively respond. “What a life.”

The love of your life holds your gaze, and understands.

Your love and gratefulness are immeasurable and uncontainable, filling you and stretching past the bounds of your body and being, like fragmented granules of glittering dust floating from a burst star.

Strangely enough, even with all the joy and contentment and peace, the words and the shared gaze are not without a mingling of loss and ache.

They are not gone entirely. But you both have someone now, to join you in weathering them.

You are not alone.

Arthur leans to you, and you share a few kisses, soft as breath. You turn and close your eyes a moment as he rests his forehead to your temple. And you both gaze down at your son with contented smiles.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 #morgan & family #morgan & family fluff dump #what a life #fluff dump #fan fic #fanfic #dad arthur morgan #father arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x fem!reader #rdr2 fluff #arthur morgan fluff #family fluff #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan family fluff #rdr2 community #arthur morgan fic #fluff fic #wholesome #rivetingrosie4 #rivetingrosie

[ju5t4h0tp3r50nl0l]

Ok, but this fanart!!!

I've been staring at this art by @krazyy_art for at least 5h !! Oh. my. god. I'm in love with modern Arthur Morgan. Look at his tummy!! 😫🩵

(Again, not my art.)

#arthur #arthur morgan #daddy #dad bod #tummy #look at him #look at his face #look at his little face #my husband #my bf (real) #my bf <3 #my bf is the best #i love arthur morgan #morgan #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #rdr2 fanart #red dead redemption arthur #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanart #cowboy #cowboys #modern au #not my art #omg hes so pretty #so hot omg #omg he looks so good #omg help

[stuart-little-anti]

I always see the idea that John would look at a buck and think "hello, old friend" but I never see the idea how Jack would see a wolf and think "hey, pops"

#john marston #jack marston #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #john misses his brother #and jack just misses everyone #esp his dad

[drinkinggblood]

chapter 2-3 or something

#red dead redemption 2 #idk this is canon yeah? #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 dutch #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #arthurs like. a little errand boy for his dad whos insane

[redcoati]

Arthur has been trying to work out to lose the weight he gained from depression eating after being rejected by Mary. the camp has never been so stocked up with chopped firewood

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #cowboy #dad bod #sad old man #bear

[dailyarthurmorgan]

credit.

#this is his vogue cover shoot title hottest man with the fullest lungs #how i overcame tuberculosis and an even worse disease my adoptive dad #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 photography #arthur morgan photography

[historical-paramedics]

I think that Tilly John Arthur are siblings because they just are but also because John is suchhhh a middle child oh my godd John's a middle child

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #john marston #tilly jackson #im the youngest of three i know a middle child when i see one #my dad is a middle child

[hannibalzero]

Charthur headcanons

🦬🦌🦬🦌🦬🦌

When Arthur leaves, Charles hogs the bed and keeps Arthur’s pillow in his arms. He misses the man but loves hugging their big bed.

Becoming normal ranchers, was a bit of an adjustment. Both men were not used to having privacy or having a roof over their heads. Imagine their amazement watching the rain fall and knowing they didn’t have to go out into it.

Arthur draws and paints Charles a lot, Charles is flattered but will pose for him….sometimes.

When Arthur finds something new or interesting he feels like he will burst if he didn’t tell Charles. Arthur will wait for the go ahead from Charles before telling him about the new thing. Dinosaurs blew Charles mind

Comfortable silence is a blessing to the two men.

Both also enjoy time away from eachother but give it three days and they are running for the other.

Charles got Arthur a puppy, only for Arthur to hold out a kitten for Charles.

Charles enjoys the collections of odd trinkets that Arthur has found. (Though the female fertility statue worried him…was Arthur gaining weight?-side eyes Arthur- ) he really enjoys the cigarette cards the most.

Charles is a big reader, something he picked up from Hosea. They share a good sized book collection.

When Arthur is stressed, he tends to steal Charles’ hoodie. So he can just glance at the cowboy and know something’s off.

#my writing #headcanon #rdr2 #charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith #not fat shaming #just a mpreg joke lol #both Arthur and Charles deserve dad bods too

[lesbian-for-arthur-morgan]

Hello! Love your work!

Can you do headcanons for Hosea with a daughter? (Or child if you'd prefer gender neutrality)

She's his kid with Bessie, and I was wondering how the two would be, growing up in the gang, how he'd be as a father, how she'd be with the other members, whatever you'd like to write!

As for her age, I'm thinking young adult during the events of the game, maybe John's age too

Thank you!

Hosea with a Child

Gender Neutral language!

Genre: Fluff! Some angst - No game spoilers Featuring: Dad!Hosea, Platonic John, Platonic Arthur Warnings: Mentions of death and grief

AN: I hope you like these! I really enjoyed writing this request it was so cute and fun to think about Hosea as a dad raising a kid in the gang <3 Thank you so much

---> Requests are open! Check out my guidelines if you have any questions!

<><><><>

Childhood Years:

According to Hosea, you were the only good thing he had ever done with his life.

Being his only child with Bessie, you were spoiled as much as he could afford. As an infant you were given the warmest blankets, the softest toys, and the most attention he could give you.

That short period of time where he left the gang was around the time that you were born after him and Bessie’s wedding. He wanted to give you a proper childhood away from the hardship of the life of an outlaw.

As he said himself, though, the life just draws you back in.

When he went back to Dutch he brought you and Bessie with him.

Hosea worshiped and adored you. Everything he did in the gang he convinced himself was for you and Bessie.

He told you the story of Robin Hood as you grew old enough to understand stories before bedtime. He’d sit you in front of the fire and smile as you gazed up at him in wonder while he told the tale of the hero who stole from the rich to give to the poor.

During the earlier years of the gang, when they still stole for the good of others in one way or another, you always thought of Hosea as Robin Hood - he was a hero to you.

You started calling Dutch “Uncle Dutch” and considered many other members of the gang as family.

You were only eight when Arthur was brought in to the group. You followed him like a shadow and it warmed Hosea’s heart to see you trying to play with another kid (even though Arthur was fourteen by this time - he was still the youngest person for you to hang around).

Since Hosea eventually started viewing Arthur as a son, you viewed him as your badass older brother.

Teen Years:

By the time you turned fifteen, you were expected to start contributing to the gang. Most of the time you were just a pickpocket. Hosea didn’t want you robbing trains or putting yourself in any real danger, and Bessie wouldn’t allow you to do anything that could taint your soul (as she would put it).

For a while you were just quick and sneaky.

Arthur watched over you whenever you went into town to grab a few coins and watches from the people walking through the streets just in case anyone caught on to your act and you needed assistance.

You whined to Hosea that you felt like he didn’t trust you to take care of yourself since Arthur was always babysitting you, Hosea said he’d figure something out. He knew you could take care of yourself, of course.

He fixed it by telling Arthur to be sneakier while he was watching you.

Once you turned sixteen, Hosea started taking you on hunting trips with him. He wanted to make sure you could take care of yourself and your mom in case anything happened to him.

“Give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, he’ll eat forever.” He’d say on nearly every hunting trip the two of you went on.

“But we’re hunting deer, Pop, not fishin’.” You’d correct him and he’d just wave his hand in the air as if to dismiss you. “Same concept, kid.” He’d retort.

At seventeen, John joined the Van Der Linde gang. It was the first time there was someone exactly your age near you daily that you got to interact with.

At first, John was following Arthur around like a puppy and it made you so jealous. You complained to Hosea about it, you said John was taking your brother from you and it wasn’t fair.

Hosea laughed lightly whenever you dramatically groaned and whined and told you to give it time, John would become your friend as well.

Hosea was right of course, as always. After a month or two the amazement over Arthur Morgan wore off and John became a great friend of yours.

The two of you bickered a lot, though. Being the same age and all, you were constantly at each other’s throats.

Bessie always said that you and John were like an old married couple. That comment caused you two to look at each other gag over dramatically.

Young Adulthood (around the events of the game):

When your mom, Bessie, died a part of you died with her. Hosea might as well have died too.

For a year, he never left his bed and when he did it was only to grab another bottle of whiskey to drown his sorrows in.

Some days were better than others during he grieving, but there were weeks that would go by when he couldn’t bear to look at you.

You had Bessie’s eyes and her smile. You had all the best parts of Bessie and seeing her in you but not seeing her made Hosea’s heart shatter all over again.

During this time you depended on Arthur and John to be your rocks. They were the ones who kept your focus away from the black hole of grief eating away at your insides. And during the days that the grief was too much to handle, they pat your back and held your hand while you let yourself rot away in bed.

Some nights John would come to see you when he couldn’t sleep and the two of you would cry over Bessie until you drifted out of consciousness.

Everyone felt her death deeply.

As time goes by, your wounds have healed as have Hosea’s. He sobered up and after a long crying session where all you two did was hold each other and reminisce over Bessie, you were a family again.

During the events at Blackwater, you were Hosea’s first priority. He got you packed and to safety as fast as he could once it was time to flee.

In that huge snowstorm on your way east, Hosea gave you his extra jacket and gloves to keep you warm. You rode in the wagon with Abigail and Jack, huddling with them for warmth and assuring them that John would be okay and back soon.

For a while after Blackwater, Hosea refused to let you out of his sights. After what happened with Bessie and the chaos that was that whole situation, you were the only thing he lived for. He couldn’t have anything happen to you.

You didn’t complain, either. You didn’t want to be away from him for a while. You were terrified during Blackwater, terrified you’d lose him or John or Arthur. You let him baby you and watch over you like a hawk as long as it gave his mind peace.

At Horseshoe Overlook, you went hunting with Hosea as often as you could. It was like a tradition for the two of you.

“Give a man a fish,” He’d start his lecture on the importance of learning survival skills and you’d have to stifle a groan and a laugh.

You’d probably heard that phrase nearly a million times at that point. He always said fish, too. Never changed it for whatever you were hunting.

Hosea wasn’t only your father, but your best friend. He was the best person you knew despite his occupation, and you adored him with your entire being.

He wasn’t technically a good man, but he was a great dad.

<><><><>

I hope you enjoyed these!! Thank you for reading

#rdr2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 x reader #hosea matthews #hosea matthews as a dad #hosea matthews x reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #john marston #john marston x reader

[dutchysasscheek]

(Chapter 3, being fishin with Dutch and Hosea)

Dutch: talks about his mother, the relationship he had with her and that she’s buried in Blackwater

Hosea: nice catch, arthur! 😃

#rdr2 memes #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #rdr2memes #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #dutchy my king #dutch van der linde rdr2 #hosea matthews #dutch x hosea #my gay dads #this mission is so wholesome what a shame they all die at the end

[azures-bazar]

Afterlife - Arthur reunites with Isaac

Heavily inspired by X-Files - Mulder finds Samantha 💔 Moby's song "My Weakness" perfectly suited this :')

(yes that's the Londonderry son's model, but I genuinely thought pairing him with Arthur would to the trick :'))

I made a version with my dead OC but Arthur meeting Isaac in the afterlife is TEN TIMES more relevant 💔

Sorry if it's centered/doesn't look good. I keep messing up with Pixlr editor lol

#arthur morgan #isaac morgan #arthur morgan and isaac #rdr2 #rdr2 photography #rdr2 scenery #afterlife #red dead redemtion 2 #red dead redemption #dad arthur morgan #family reunion #sorry for making you folks sad this idea came out of my brain at 3AM