blazedrobin

LilithsZephyr

28● I have no idea what's going on anymore. It's all over the place in here, just like my brain.

339 posts

Arthur Morgan Imagine

Request: Hey, do you think you’d be able to do a couple of headcanons where Arthur’s s/o dies not so long after giving birth?? I’m sorry if it’s a bit sad and all 😅

Of course! I’ll be honest, this was kinda sad to write! But!!! really fun and sweet at the same time :) Hope you like it! also thanks to all the nice messages on my first rdr2 imagine! it was really hear warming

You die shorty after childbirth

That small moment of happiness, when Arthur’s hands were full of the tiny, fragile warmth of your child was unfortunately short lived. The hand you rested on his cheek, slowly slid off his skin, his stubble prickling your fingertips as it did. You felt your body go numb, and your toes start to tingle as you grew evermore tired.

Miss Grimshaw gently pushed Arthur away from you. She felt your forehead as Arthurs eyes turned from his child - your child, to your face which was growing paler by the second. His eyes flickered to Susan and back to you. Arthur wasn’t an idiot; he knew the face of death ascending like sunrise to a bird. His heart turned stone, the feeling spreading to the rest of his body.

“(Y/n),” He said, voice bridging firm yet desperate. “(Y/n),” He said again, looking to Tilly who had just run out of the tent with her hands to her mouth.

“No….no.” He muttered, holding his child closer as to not let him witness the scene before him.

“Arthur-,” Susan whispered, hand to his shoulder.

Your eyes were barely open as you laid awfully still. He could hear the wails of the girls, and the silences of the men outside the tent.

“Here,” Susan quietly said, gesturing to hold the child.

“No,” he shook his head,

“Arthur-,” She insisted. She felt her voice getting caught in her throat.

With a feeling of barb wire around his throat, he surrendered. Susan gathered the baby in her arms with a few quiet tears running down her cheeks. She left the tent, cooing and singing to the baby.

As her voice drifted away, the tent turned stale. Arthur, was sitting on a box next to you, watching you, expecting, wanting you to move. But instead you lay, looking so still and so peaceful.

Shock inebriated him. How could you have died? It had gone so smoothly. How did you go so quick? After what felt like minutes, he lent over and picked up the hand that only minutes ago caressed his cheek. With both hands he pulled yours up to his mouth, kissing it, and eventually, crying into it.

——

When he takes Harry down to the lake, he often thinks of you.

There were many times that he took you down there for walks along the water or to teach you how to fish. He remembers sitting under the white moon in the navy sky, where you two could talk for hours on end, and not talk at all, enjoying each others company instead. Your presence to him was like a warming sunrise, and that day you died, it felt as if the sun never rose at all.

“Look Pa!” Harry yelled from the riverbank. Arthur walked over from fixing up his fishing line. He bent down, taking the circle shaped rock from his small child’s hands, “Don’t you think it looks like a perfect circle?” He said with a smile.

“Sure,” Arthur said with a grin, “We’ll keep that and add it to your collection, yeah?”

“Actually, can I put it on Mumma’s grave?” He asked.

Arthur ruffed his hair,

“She would really like that. Let’s go then.” He said softly.

There were times Arthur stifled a cry as he watched Harry grow up, growing into the features he once saw in you. And there were times he often imagined what you would have said or done in a certain situation. These images often plagued his dreams, the memory of you living on in them. He’s getting better though. Less frequently does he awaken in the middle of the night with a smile, only for it to fade as forgets you aren’t sleeping next to him anymore. It had only been six years, but he felt like he was losing the image of you, so when he felt your face fading, he pulled out the photo of your wedding day. A picture to which Harry often describes to Arthur as funny. In his little mind he couldn’t fathom how someone so pretty could be with someone so rough looking like Arthur. It makes both of them laugh.

But on the nights Arthur lay awake, disheartened by his parenting, or life in general, he thinks of the last conversation you two had before you passed, one that no matter how much time passed, still remained clear to him;

“Is he alright?” You said, voice croaky from the screaming,

“He’s perfect, (y/n).” Arthur replied, stroking the sweaty hair from your forehead,

You then, with all your energy, handed the small child to Arthur, who looked frightful,

“No, (y/n), n-,”

“Why not?” You said quizzically, watching Arthur put his hands up in defence,

“I’ll hurt em’,” He said, “I’m too rough (y/n) you kno-“

“Arthur,” You said, eyes staring into his, “You won’t hurt him, in fact i know, and i swear on it, you’ll be the best father I know. I know you’ll protect this child with your life.”

You then handed him over to Arthur, who looked as stiff as a board.

“You’re the kindest man in know, and this is going to be hard I know, but you have to trust yourself, okay?” You said, voice faint.

You put your hand to his cheek, thumb rubbing his tanned skin,

“I know you can do it,”.

Arthur lent into your cold hand to kiss it gently.

“I’m so proud of you (y/n),” he said, voice quiet as he looked into the eyes of your boy. He looked up again, feeling his love for you growing with every second, something he didn’t know was possible, “I love you.”

You smiled, a tear running down your face.

You felt your toe begin to tingle.

“I love you too.”