The lovely ones around here call me Sunny, and this is our little safe space — yours, mine, and everyone sweet enough to wander in. I write for One Piece and Demon Slayer, though I have right now a hyperfixiation for Red Dead Redemption 2.
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i finished..... the game......... im so distraught..........
Oh Cherub… my poor sweetheart...
Believe me when I say I feel your pain. I mourned Arthur Morgan like he was real, no joke, for three days straight I was walking around like a widow. Nobody could talk to me, I was in mourning, and I stand by that.
Reading your updates had me both excited and heartbroken, because I knew exactly what was coming for you… and I just had to sit there like 😶🌫️. I wanted to answer you properly so badly, but I was in Türkiye visiting family, and honestly? Maybe it was for the best, because I would’ve had to lie through my teeth not to spoil anything.
I kept thinking about that ask you sent me (about him being a good father) and I was just WAITING for you to find out about Eliza and Isaac 😭 I didn’t want to ruin that moment for you, no matter how much it hurt.
And Molly… gosh... That one shattered me too. I knew she lied because she loved Dutch. And then the Pinkerton confirming they spoke to her but that she never said anything? That pain is on a whole different level. She deserved so much better.
But listen, despite how much this game broke your heart (and it probably already did), I’m proud of you for finishing it. Truly. And I really hope you can still find some comfort in the Epilogue with John Marston. There are some genuinely beautiful, quiet moments waiting for you there.
And if it all feels like too much… you can always just restart and live peacefully in Horseshoe Overlook forever, no Thomas Downes mission, no Micah Bell mission. Just vibes, sunshine, and pretending everything is fine 🥹
So I know that you’re not doing any One Piece requests, but this is less so of a request and more of a question. Idk if you would consider them to be the same but I wanted to ask anyway. I was just wondering on why you think that Crocodile was the one that wasn’t married on your Mihawk analysis. Also, I saw a post saying that the only finger on Crocodiles hand that doesn’t have a ring is the ring finger. Did you notice that as well?
I would love to know your thoughts if you want to post them.
The Empty Ring Finger of Crocodile - Theory Talk
Oh this is actually such a fun question because there’s a lot to unpack here and I’ve definitely thought about it more than I probably should 🙃
First of all, yes, I did notice the ring thing. But not just with Crocodile. If you look closely at official artwork by Oda, there’s actually a pattern where characters who wear rings but aren’t married tend to have their ring finger empty. Sanji is a really good example of that too. It feels way too consistent to be accidental, so I genuinely think Oda is very intentional about that detail.
And with Crocodile specifically, his ring finger being empty has always stood out to me. Especially because his design is so deliberate in every other aspect. Nothing about him feels random, so leaving that finger bare while the others are decorated? That feels like a choice.
As for why I personally don’t think Crocodile was the one who was married in my Mihawk analysis, it mostly comes down to his character and his past.
Crocodile has always been driven by ambition above everything else. His original dream was to become Pirate King, he challenged Whitebeard when he was still young, and even later in Alabasta he talks about how much he trained and refined his Devil Fruit abilities to become as powerful as he is. Everything about him screams obsession with strength, control, and proving himself.
And I just don’t see a life like that leaving much room for something like marriage. Not in the emotional sense, at least. He doesn’t strike me as someone who would allow himself that kind of vulnerability while chasing power the way he does.
Now... where it gets really interesting to me is his past, especially in connection with Ivankov.
I don’t believe the “Crocodile is Luffy’s mom” theory, it’s fun but not something I personally subscribe to BUT I do think there’s something there with Ivankov that’s important. I’ve always leaned toward the idea that Crocodile might have been born female and chose to transition, possibly through Ivankov’s powers.
Not because of gender in a casual sense, but because of how Crocodile views strength. If he grew up feeling like his body didn’t align with the power and authority he wanted, that could absolutely tie into his obsession with becoming stronger and being taken seriously.
There are also little hints that just feel… pointed. Like that chapter cover 938 with the title “a woman’s secret,” which is such a weirdly specific phrase to associate with him of all people. Oda doesn’t usually throw things like that in without meaning something.
And then there’s Marineford. The moment he finds out Luffy is Dragon’s son, his behavior shifts. And I don’t think that’s random either.
What makes this even more interesting to me is a pattern we’ve already seen in the story: Dragon helps people, and those same people end up saving Luffy later. It’s almost like a full circle every time. Dragon saves Shanks, and Shanks becomes the one who inspires and protects Luffy. Dragon saves Kuma, and Kuma ends up protecting the Straw Hats and quite literally saving them.
So the idea that Crocodile could fall into that same pattern doesn’t feel far-fetched at all.
So this is why my personal theory is that Crocodile might have had some kind of past connection with Dragon—maybe not friendship, but something more like a debt. The idea that he could have been saved by the Revolutionary Army at some point, maybe even from slavery, would explain both his connection to Ivankov and why he’d feel the need to “repay” something when it comes to Luffy.
Because Crocodile doesn't seem like the type to leave favors or debts open.
So when I put all of that together, his ambition, his possible past, his mindset, the little visual details like the ring finger, it just doesn’t feel like there was ever space in his life for marriage. At least not in the way we typically think of it.
But honestly, that’s what makes him so fascinating. There are so many gaps in his story that you can feel something happened, we just don’t have the full picture yet.
Anyway I definitely rambled but I hope that answered your question a bit 🖤
omg twinsies cause I just started another playthrough of rdr2 <3 I love fishing in game (fishing game-aholic tbh) and I wished our bby boy Arthur gave himself more credit for ANYTHING, but especially fishing. where is his leniency when I forget to bait the line....... Arthur, you're not a moron, I'm simply lost in the joy of fishing........
All that to say I think it would be nice to go fishing with him.
Ah yessss 😭 I swear fishing in RDR2 is like free therapy at this point.
I don’t even know how many times I’ve replayed it, but there’s just something so calming about standing there with Arthur, water gently moving, no chaos for once… just vibes.
And his little comments?? PLEASE!
“You, sir, are a fish.”
“You’re coming with me.”
I lose it every single time like why is he so unintentionally funny 😭
BUT ALSO don’t even get me started on how he talks about himself. Every time he calls himself stupid or a moron I am literally yelling at my screen like:
“NO??? YOU ARE THE BEST BOI?? HELLO???”
Meanwhile I’m the one forgetting to bait the line half the time like Arthur babe… that’s on ME, not you 😭
So yeah… my RDR2 experience in a nutshell:
peacefully fishing → giggling at his dialogue → immediately switching to aggressively defending and praising him like he can hear me through the screen 😭
so then i restarted my game and decided i will not be doing that !
OH… Cherub my sweetheart... I know exactly which mission you mean 😭(atleast I hope)
And trust me, I get the instinct to avoid it. That whole sequence is rough—uncomfortable, isolating, and honestly one of the moments where the game really stops holding your hand emotionally.
But that’s also kind of the point.
Arthur’s story isn’t meant to be easy or “safe” to experience. The pain, the helplessness, the moments where things go wrong and you can’t fix them immediately, that’s what makes his character hit so hard later on. That mission, as awful as it feels, is part of what builds the weight of everything that comes after.
If you stop before the epilogue, you’re only seeing part of who he is.
And I promise you… the full journey? It hurts, but it’s also what makes him one of the most beautifully written characters in gaming.
You can always do a second playthrough and live in your favorite chapter forever (we all do that 😭), but I really, really recommend finishing it at least once.
“If I got any good left in me… I’m gonna spend what time I got makin’ sure they get a life that ain’t like mine.”
Warnings: angst, death mention, sickness
Word Count: 2400~
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader
crossposted on AO3
The fire had burned low.
Just a soft bed of embers glowing red in the dark, the kind of quiet night where even the horses seemed to settle easier. Too quiet. You noticed him watching you from across camp.
Arthur Morgan stood near the hitching post, hat tipped low, arms folded loosely over his chest. The firelight caught the edges of his face when he shifted. And it made the unease in your stomach twist tighter. Because the longer you looked at him… the more wrong he seemed.
Arthur had always been broad-shouldered, solid — a man who filled whatever space he stood in. Now his coat hung a little looser. His jaw looked sharper than you remembered. The firelight didn’t hide how pale he’d gotten either, not completely.
You had noticed it weeks ago. At first it had just been small things.
Arthur coughing and turning away.
Arthur skipping supper, claiming he “wasn’t hungry.”
Arthur sitting quieter than usual.
Then the weight started disappearing.
And now when he moved… there was a heaviness to it. Like every step cost him something. Your chest had been tight all evening.
Arthur finally pushed off the post and walked toward you.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Something about the way he moved made your pulse pick up.
“Hey,” he said. His voice sounded the same. But softer somehow.
You looked up from the log you were sitting on. “Hey yourself.”
Arthur rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. That nervous gesture again. He glanced briefly around camp — at the tents, the dark shapes of wagons, the quiet fire. Then he looked back at you.
“…Come walk with me a minute.”
Your stomach sank instantly. Arthur never said things like that. Not unless something was wrong. Still, you stood.
“Alright.”
He led you a short distance away from camp, down toward the edge of the trees where the firelight barely reached. Crickets hummed softly in the grass. Arthur stopped beside a fallen log. Then turned to you. And for a moment… he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you. Really looked. Like he was memorizing your face.
A cold knot formed in your chest. “Arthur?”
He exhaled slowly. “Sit a minute.”
Your unease spiked, but you obeyed, lowering yourself onto the log. Arthur remained standing for a second longer before finally sitting beside you. Up close the changes were impossible to ignore. His skin looked drawn tight across his cheekbones. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes. And the way he breathed — just slightly heavier than usual — made dread curl in your stomach.
You swallowed. “You ain’t been lookin’ well lately.”
Arthur huffed a faint, humorless breath. “Yeah… I figured you noticed.”
Your chest tightened. “Arthur, what’s goin’ on?”
He rubbed his palms slowly over his thighs. Then said quietly: “I went to see a doctor in Saint Denis.”
Your heart skipped.
Arthur never saw doctors.
Not for bullets.
Not for broken ribs.
Not for anything.
You felt the dread deepen.
Arthur stared at the dirt between his boots.
“Turns out…” he muttered, voice rough, “…I got tuberculosis.”
The word didn’t land at first. Just hung in the air.
Tuberculosis.
Your brain tried to make sense of it.
Arthur kept speaking, but the sound of his voice felt distant.
“Caught it from a fella some time back. Beatin’ money outta him. Sick man.”
Your ears rang.
“I didn’t know then,” Arthur continued quietly. “Doc says once you got it…” He swallowed. “…it’s already too late.”
Too late.
Your chest constricted.
“No.”
Arthur didn’t argue. That somehow made it worse.
“No,” you repeated, shaking your head, the word cracking in your throat.
Arthur looked up at you. And the look in his eyes — soft, resigned, heartbreakingly gentle — made something inside you shatter. He wasn’t fighting it. He already knew.
“You’re lyin’,” you whispered.
“I ain’t.”
Your breath hitched. And suddenly your mind flooded. Fragments. Memories slamming into each other like broken glass.
Arthur laughing the first time you fell off your horse.
“Hell of a dismount.”
You throwing dirt at him while he laughed harder.
Arthur sitting by the river, sleeves rolled up, sketching quietly while the water rushed past.
The way he’d glanced up at you over his journal.
Warm.
Soft.
Arthur handing you a tin cup of coffee before dawn.
“Figured you’d wake grumpy without it.”
Arthur lifting you onto his horse after the Lemoyne ambush when your hands were shaking too badly to climb.
“Easy now. I got you.”
Arthur leaning against a tree while you tried to teach him a card trick.
“You’re cheatin’.”
“I ain’t!”
“You definitely are.”
Arthur laughing.
Arthur smiling.
Arthur alive.
And suddenly the realization crashed down so violently it stole the air from your lungs. There would be no more mornings like that.
No more quiet coffee.
No more stupid card tricks.
No more Arthur.
Your hands started shaking. Arthur noticed instantly.
“Hey…”
You stood abruptly. “No.”
Your voice cracked sharp enough to make his shoulders tense.
“No, that’s not— no.”
Arthur slowly stood too. “You ain’t gotta—”
“How long?” you demanded. The question tore out of you.
Arthur hesitated. That was answer enough.
Your chest heaved. “Arthur,” you choked, “how long?”
His voice came low. “…Not long.”
Something inside you broke open. Tears spilled down your face before you could stop them.
Arthur’s expression twisted. “Damn it,” he muttered softly, stepping forward. “That ain’t what I wanted—”
“You’re dying.” The words came out ragged.
Arthur froze. You could see the truth written across his face — in the hollowness of his cheeks, the faint tremor in his breathing, the way he held himself like every breath took effort.
All the things you’d noticed.
All the things you’d tried not to understand.
Your voice shattered while repeating your words.
“You’re dying.”
Arthur’s eyes glistened in the firelight.
“…Yeah.”
Your knees nearly gave out. Arthur caught your arms instantly. His hands were warm. Steady. Too steady.
“Easy,” he murmured.
Your fingers clenched in his coat.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Arthur exhaled. “Because I knew you’d look at me like that.”
Your vision blurred. “I look at you like what?”
“Like I’m already gone.” His voice broke slightly on the last word.
Your grip tightened. “You’re not allowed to just decide that!”
Arthur gave a sad half-smile. “Ain’t exactly my decision.”
Your heart hammered wildly.
“There’s medicine, doctors—”
Arthur shook his head slowly. “I seen the way the doc looked at me.”
The quiet certainty in his voice crushed the hope before it could form. Silence fell between you again. The fire crackled softly. Arthur rubbed his thumb gently over your sleeve.
“I needed to tell you,” he said after a moment.
Your chest tightened. “Why?”
Arthur inhaled. Then said something that made your stomach drop.
“Because things in this gang are about to go bad.”
Your brows knit together through the tears. “What?”
“Dutch,” Arthur murmured. “He ain’t thinkin’ straight no more. Micah’s whisperin’ in his ear every chance he gets.” He looked at you carefully. “And when it breaks… it’s gonna break ugly.”
Your pulse pounded.
Arthur’s hands slid down to hold yours.
“I’m gettin’ you out before that happens.”
The words hit like a gunshot. Your head snapped up.
“What?”
“I’ll take you somewhere safe,” Arthur continued quietly. “Away from all this.”
“No.”
Arthur’s grip tightened.
“Yes.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You are.”
“No!”
Arthur’s voice cracked suddenly. “Please.”
The word fell heavy between you. Your heart twisted painfully. Arthur looked down at your joined hands.
“I ain’t got long,” he said softly. “But that’s enough time to make sure you’re somewhere safe.”
Tears streamed freely down your face. “You think I want safe if it ain’t with you?”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t the point.”
“It is to me!”
Arthur looked up. And the heartbreak in his eyes was almost unbearable.
“You deserve mornings that ain’t spent listenin’ for gunshots,” he said hoarsely. “You deserve a life that ain’t runnin’ from Pinkertons.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “You deserve more than what a dying outlaw can give you.”
Your breath shuddered violently. “I don’t want more.”
Arthur’s face crumpled for a split second. Then he pulled you into his arms.
Hard.
Desperate.
Your face pressed into his chest. You could feel how thin he had become. How sharp his ribs felt beneath the fabric. Your hands clutched the back of his coat as another wave of memories crashed through your mind —
Arthur teaching you to fish.
Arthur grumbling while fixing a wagon wheel.
Arthur handing you wildflowers he swore he didn’t pick.
Arthur’s voice beside the fire late at night.
Arthur.
Arthur.
Arthur.
Your voice broke against his chest. “I can’t lose you.”
Arthur held you tighter. His chin rested against your hair.
“I know,” he whispered. His voice trembled. “But you ain’t losing me tonight.”
The fire crackled softly behind you. Arthur closed his eyes. Holding you like he was trying to keep time from moving forward.
Years passed.
Long enough for the world to change.
Long enough for the noise of gunfire and desperate nights around dying campfires to fade into something distant — like a life that had belonged to someone else.
The gang was gone.
People scattered.
Names turned into rumors and ghosts.
But some names never really left you.
And one afternoon, nearly eight years later, a letter arrived. The envelope looked worn from travel. The paper had softened at the folds, dust from the road still clinging faintly to the edges. Your name was written carefully across the front in a handwriting you didn’t recognize.
Inside was a short letter signed by John Marston.
It was simple.
Straightforward.
John wrote that he had heard you were still alive. That word had reached him through people who still remembered the old days. He said he hoped you had found the kind of life Arthur always wanted for you.
Then the letter slowed.
The tone shifted.
John explained that after everything ended, he had come into possession of something that once belonged to Arthur Morgan.
Arthur’s journal.
John wrote that he had kept it a long time. Didn’t quite know what to do with it until he decided to write himself to keep the memory of him alive. But when he heard you were alive… he figured there were a few pages that belonged to you more than anyone else. At the bottom of the letter he had written one last line.
Arthur talked about you in these. Figured you oughta have ’em.
Folded inside the envelope were several loose sheets. Older than the letter. The paper looked worn, the edges softened with age and travel. Your hands trembled before you even unfolded them.
Because you already knew.
The paper felt familiar the moment your fingers touched it. Your breath caught when your eyes landed on the ink. Arthur’s handwriting.
Refined.
Slanted.
Strong.
The kind of writing that always looked like the pencil was trying to keep up with his thoughts. But these lines looked different. A little uneven. The strokes thinner in places. Like the hand holding the pencil had been tired.
Weak.
And between the lines of writing… there were sketches.
Small ones.
Quick ones.
Your chest tightened as your eyes moved across the page.
Arthur had drawn you.
More than once.
One sketch was simple — just the outline of your face in profile, your hair falling loose. The lines were soft, careful, like he had taken his time with it.
Another was rougher.
You sitting by a campfire, knees drawn up slightly, staring into the flames. He had even shaded the light of the fire across your cheek.
There was a third one lower on the page.
You laughing. Head tilted back slightly. The lines there were looser, faster — like he had been trying to capture the moment before it disappeared.
Your fingers trembled as you traced one of the drawings. Arthur had always sketched things in that journal.
Landscapes.
Animals.
People.
But seeing yourself there… seeing the way he had drawn you… Your vision blurred before you even began reading the words. Still, you forced yourself to continue.
Don’t rightly know why I’m writin’ this down tonight. Maybe just tryin’ to make sense of things while I still can. They cried tonight. Didn’t want ’em to. That wasn’t the point of tellin’ ’em. But I reckon hearin’ a man say he’s dyin’ ain’t somethin’ anyone takes easy. Truth is… seein’ the fear in their eyes near about broke me worse than the sickness. They been watchin’ me longer than I realized. Noticed the cough. The weight I lost. Always did see right through me.
World’s closin’ in around us now. Dutch ain’t the same man no more. Micah’s poison’s sunk deep. And I can feel it comin’… the end of all this. Thing is… they ain’t supposed to go down with the rest of us. They deserve a life that ain’t runnin’ from lawmen and graves.
The handwriting dipped slightly there. The next lines looked shakier.
They always believed there was somethin’ better in me. Even when I didn’t. Reckon I’d like to prove ’em right before this is over.
Your breath trembled as you continued reading. The final lines were pressed deeper into the paper. Like the pencil had lingered there longer than the rest.
If I got any good left in me… I’m gonna spend what time I got makin’ sure they get a life that ain’t like mine. Truth is… there ain’t much time left.
Your hands shook.
For a long moment you just stared at the page. At the familiar slant of his letters. At the small imperfections in the ink where the pencil must have dragged slower near the end. Your thumb brushed softly across the sketch beside the final paragraph.
Arthur had drawn you again there. Smaller this time. Just your face. Looking at something beyond the page. Arthur’s voice seemed to echo between the lines.
Low.
Gentle.
Steady.
You swallowed hard. Then quietly… you read the last sentence out loud.
“If I got any good left in me… I’m gonna spend what time I got makin’ sure they get a life that ain’t like mine.”
The room felt impossibly still. Your chest tightened painfully as the meaning settled deep in your bones. Arthur’s last quiet act of love. After all those years. After all that time.
Your fingers rested on the paper, tracing the faint lines of his sketches.
His drawings.
His handwriting.
His words.
And finally the tears came.
And for the first time in years—
You cried for him all over again.
Thank you to @aotjjksimp for this wonderful request.
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SUNNYYYYY i played some more rdr2 im on chapter 3 now and im really sad bc we left horseshoe overlook :( like that was our home. rhodes is ok but it could never beat our first home T_T also !!!! idk if i told u but i did the fishing mission with jack, and omg arthur is so sweetie pie when he talks to kids 😭😫 papa arthur........
My sweetheart Cherub, Chapter 2 and the camp at Horseshoe Overlook were also one of my favorite parts of the game. I was honestly so sad when we had to pack up and leave too. That place really felt like home for the gang. The cliffs, the view, the calm mornings… Rhodes is nice, but Horseshoe just had a special kind of peace to it.
And YES!! The fishing mission with Jack is one of the sweetest moments. If you notice when you greet Jack around camp, Arthur’s voice gets so incredibly soft. It melts my heart every single time. He’s such a gentle sweetheart with kids. 😭 (I don’t even want children, but if Arthur were real… I might have to reconsider. 👀)
I’m not going to spoil anything for you though—just enjoy the journey and take your time with the game. And please, do not read my upcoming fic with him yet, because that would be a massive spoiler for you darling.
He wipes you down gently with a damp cloth if he has one. Adjusts your clothes. Fixes your hair with those big, careful hands.
He doesn’t talk much at first — just keeps you close.
But eventually, rough voice near your ear:
"You alright?"
And if you look even slightly overwhelmed?
He’ll hold you tighter. Slower breathing. Thumb brushing your hip.
He doesn’t walk away after. Ever.
B = Body Part (Favorite)
Arthur is an ass man.
It’s subtle, but it shows in the way his eyes follow you when you walk away. The way his hands automatically settle on your hips when you stand between his legs. The way his palm spreads over your backside when he pulls you closer.
He likes the weight of you there, the way he can grip and guide you.
If you catch him staring?
He’ll clear his throat and mutter something like:
"What? Ain’t illegal to look."
But he absolutely got caught.
C = Cum
Arthur prefers finishing inside you when the moment allows it.
For him it’s tied to closeness — that last moment where he pulls you tight and holds you there.
If that isn’t possible because of circumstances or risk, he’ll pull away at the last second, breathing rough and jaw clenched.
But his natural instinct is always to stay close, to bury his face in your neck and ride the moment out with you in his arms.
D = Dirty Talk
Sparse but devastating and praise-heavy.
His voice drops into that deep, gravelly murmur that vibrates through your entire body.
Things like:
"Easy… easy girl."
"You’re alright… I got you."
"That’s it… takin’ me so well."
"Look at you."
"That feel good?"
"You take me so damn well."
He talks the way he soothes his horse — steady, grounding, calm.
Sometimes he growls your name like it’s a warning.
And if you talk back?
Tease him?
His grip tightens.
"Careful."
E = Experience
Arthur isn’t inexperienced — but he’s not flashy either.
He’s learned through rough living, brief encounters, and knowing what feels good.
What makes him different is attentiveness.
He watches you. Learns you. Adjusts to you.
Once he figures out what makes you unravel?
He never forgets.
F = Favorite Position
Arthur loves positions where he can see your face.
Eye contact matters to him.
One of his favorites is when you're on your back while he kneels between your legs, leaning over you. It gives him the ability to move slowly and deeply while watching every expression you make.
His hands usually pin your hips in place.
And he looks down at you like he’s memorizing every reaction.
G = Goofy (How serious is he?)
Arthur is focused, but not humorless.
If something unhinged or awkward happens — a tent pole creaks, someone shouts outside camp, or you both lose balance — he’ll let out a quiet, breathy laugh.
Then mutter under his breath:
"Well… that’s new."
He’s grounded and calm even in intimate moments.
The humor comes naturally, never forced.
H = Hair (Grooming Preferences)
Arthur is naturally hairy.
Thick chest hair that spreads across his chest and down his stomach in a faint golden trail.
There’s some on his back and shoulders too — not excessive, just natural.
He keeps things trimmed the same way he maintains his beard: occasionally with a knife or razor when he remembers.
But he’s never clean-shaven.
Rugged suits him.
I = Intimacy
This is where Arthur is dangerous.
He craves intimacy more than sex.
Foreheads touching.
Breathing synced.
Hands exploring slowly before anything heated even starts.
Sometimes he just holds you and gets worked up from closeness alone.
J = Jack Off
He does.
Usually after a long day when you’re not around.
But if you tease him earlier? Sit too close? Whisper something bold?
He’ll lie on his bedroll later thinking about it.
Jaw tight. Breath heavy.
And he’ll feel slightly guilty about how vividly he imagines you.
K = Kink
Arthur’s quiet kink is praise and soft validation.
He acts tough and self-reliant, but deep down he carries a lot of guilt and doubt.
So when someone he cares about genuinely praises him?
It hits him harder than he expects.
Hearing things like:
"You’re good to me.""You take such good care of me.""You’re doing so well."
It softens him instantly.
He may grumble or shake his head, but you’ll see the way his shoulders relax.
And he’ll hold you closer.
L = Location
Tent. Against a tree. Behind the supply wagon.
Camp life means risk.
He prefers semi-hidden but dangerous enough to make your pulse race.
The thrill does something to him.
M = Motivation
It’s not just lust.
It’s relief.
From the violence.
From Dutch.
From the weight of being the reliable one.
With you, he can let go.
N = NO (Things he won’t do)
Arthur would never be comfortable with sharing his partner.
Things like:
- threesomes
- partner swapping
- watching someone else with you
wouldn’t anger him so much as hurt him deeply.
Arthur isn’t possessive in a controlling way, but emotionally he’s very devoted.
The idea of someone else touching you like that would make him quiet and withdrawn.
And you’d see the jealousy in his eyes even if he tried to hide it.
O = Oral (Giving & Receiving)
Arthur is extremely attentive when giving.
He takes his time, patient and focused, enjoying the way you react to him. He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy of being between your thighs and hearing you unravel.
He genuinely enjoys the taste and the way you respond.
Receiving is something he enjoys too, but what affects him the most is eye contact.
Seeing you look up at him with that expression?
It nearly breaks his composure.
His breathing gets rough and his hands automatically find your hair.
P = Pace
Starts slow.
Almost unbearably slow.
Builds until he’s gripping you harder, breath rougher.
When he loses rhythm slightly? That’s when he’s close.
Q = Quickie
Oh yes.
Behind a barn.
In the woods after a job.
In the tent while everyone’s distracted.
Quickies make him rougher.
Less controlled.
R = Risk
Moderate.
He won’t endanger you recklessly — but a little danger? The possibility of being heard?
It heightens everything.
S = Stamina
High.
He’s strong. Endurance built from hard living.
But more importantly? He doesn’t rush you.
T = Toys
Not really.
Maybe using his belt to lightly restrain your wrists once.
Mostly he relies on hands. Strength. Presence.
U = Unfair
His voice.
It’s unfair.
Low. Gravelly. Especially when he’s close to losing control.
Also the way he lifts you effortlessly.
V = Volume
Usually controlled.
Low groans. Heavy breathing.
But if you really push him?
He’ll let out a deep, unfiltered sound that makes your stomach flip.
W = Wild Card (Unexpected)
He’s surprisingly tender afterward.
Kisses your knuckles.
Adjusts your clothes carefully.
Like he’s afraid you’ll see how soft he really is.
X = X-Ray (What’s he packing?)
Arthur absolutely gives off big-dick energy, and he’s not shy about it.
He’s built the same way everywhere else: broad, thick, and substantial.
Nothing exaggerated, but clearly well-endowed.
The kind of size that makes you realize immediately why he moves slowly and carefully at first.
He knows the effect he has.
And sometimes that small, knowing smirk shows it.
Y = Yearning
Arthur yearns deeply.
Sometimes during, he’ll hold you a little too tight.
Like he’s trying to memorize you.
As if part of him fears losing this.
Z = ZZZ (After)
He doesn’t fall asleep immediately.
He stays awake longer than you think.
Listening to your breathing.
Making sure you’re okay.
Only when he’s certain you’re safe does he let himself drift off.
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HAHAHA HIM PISSING CAUGHT ME OFF GUARD and also where he was arguing with the people that were fighting with lenny and you expect it to be an all out brawl but the immediate cut to arthur and everyone in the saloon doing the can-can dance LIKE THIS GAME IS SO SILLY 😭💞
and yes !!!! i agree the sad tone of his voice is like super quick to make people be like "omg aw haha" but then its like a little drunken confession like ohh :( i did the mary quest as well and UGHHHH my heart :( like the lingering feelings and undertones makes me so distraught. i knew they were a thing bc i seen edits and like brief fandom discussions whenever rdr2 was brought up and seeing it in game made me like "aw :(" i even made sure to freshen up arthur before he saw mary too !!
HAHAHA right?? That entire saloon sequence is pure chaos 😭 This game is so unserious sometimes and I love it for that.
But yeah… the sad little drunken confessions hit way harder than the silly moments 😔 The way his voice drops for a split second and suddenly you realize there’s a lot more sitting under the surface. And the whole thing with Mary Linton just destroys me every time. The lingering feelings, the “what could’ve been”… it hurts in the quietest way.
Also SAME about freshening him up beforehand 😭 I literally always make Arthur take a bath and put him in a nice outfit before any cutscene. Man deserves to look his best.
And don’t forget to read his journal!!! It adds so much to his character and his thoughts about everything going on. Plus the little “A ❤︎ M” he scribbles in there??? I’m never emotionally recovering from that.
i played the drunk arthur and lenny mission 😭😭 lenny asking arthur "why weren't you ever married?" followed by arthur's sad little "no one will have me" AHHHH 😭😭😭😭😭 he is soo cute
Oh my God that line actually ruined me.
That whole mission in Red Dead Redemption 2 is pure chaos. It’s hilarious. It’s messy. It’s Arthur and Lenny being absolute idiots in the best way. I’m laughing the entire time.
And then that tiny sad look.
“No one will have me.”
EXCUSE ME?
The way he says it isn’t dramatic. He’s not fishing for pity. He’s not angry. It’s so quiet and sad. So matter-of-fact. Like he genuinely believes that about himself.
And that’s what makes it devastating.
Because in the middle of all that drunken chaos, you suddenly hear how he sees himself. Like he doesn’t think he’s the kind of man someone would choose. Like he’s already decided he’s not meant for that kind of love.
Meanwhile there is a completely unhinged Sunny in front of her tv screaming:
“I WILL HAVE YOU. I WILL MARRY YOU. RIGHT NOW. DON’T TEST ME.”
Every. Single. Time.
Like excuse me??? No one will have you??? Half the fandom is ready with rings and legal documents.
The contrast kills me. He’s stumbling around, yelling for Lenny, getting into fights — and then he drops one of the saddest lines in the game so softly it almost slips past you.
And the worst part? The tone makes it adorable. Which makes it worse. Because now you want to protect him. And marry him. And feed him stew. And tell him he’s wrong.
Unfortunately… he is fictional. Which feels deeply unfair.
Also wait — were you able to run from the sheriff or did you get caught? Because drunk Arthur trying to escape is a whole separate disaster 😭
