#sister calderon

[abovesn4kes]

Side characters!!

[dulcemapis]

I graduated today. here's my cap

[heavenlymorals]

do you think arthur had nightmares after the whole ordeal with the o’driscoll’s in chapter 3? you’ve said he’s rather stoic and since he doesn’t really talk about his feelings with anyone (except for that talk with mary-beth behind a wagon in ch2) i could imagine it manifesting (not sure i’m using the right word) in that way. what do you think?? xxx

Oh yeah, I headcanon Arthur to think about his experiences all the time. He lives a cruel and violent life, there is no way he WON'T think about. The fact that he journals all of it shows that he actively thinks about it. Of course, not all people who lived a violent lifestyle will be diagnosed with PTSD in the future or have the symptoms, but regardless it'll always become a part of their lives.

I doubt that Arthur is too traumatized by it though simply because of how desensitized he is to it all. Even just look at the way he writes about it. It's sarcastic and degrading of HIMSELF rather than the situation. To me, Arthur views himself getting tortured as just a risk that comes with the job. The only clue that we have that MIGHT tell us that he was thinking about it more than that is the fact that he gets a deer dream but we also know that the deer dreams pop up only when Arthur has to face the reality of what he is doing in the Outlaw life, not what the outlaw has done to him mentally and emotionally.

And the thing about stoicism is that it's not about being emotionless. It's about being able to control your REACTIONS to an emotion. Stoic people can feel joy, sadness, anger, fear, etc. etc. but what sets them apart from other people is that they actively or unconsciously suppress the full extent of their emotions. Either that or he picks and chooses which emotions to show to people. This can also be an 1800s masculinity thing where he's more comfortable expressing "masculine" emotions like anger rather than "feminine" emotions like fear even though both fear and anger are regarded as "negative" emotions. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it's a real thing.

Just because Arthur is a rather stoic person does not mean he doesn't feel his fears or traumas. He does, he just doesn't "react" to them if that makes sense. Like for example, Arthur does NOT really mourn for Hosea in the way that normal people mourn their father. The most we got from him was anger, then a quiet sadness then nothing. But on the inside? He's hurting. That was his father. For Sean it was the same thing. Anger, a quiet sadness, and then nothing. And for Lenny as well. Anger, quiet sadness, and then nothing. But on the inside, WE KNOW he's hurting.

And again, he is more open with the girls, but he doesn't talk about his own fears or traumas. He only talks about himself in the sense of the things he's doing or have done or is happening to him, and how they make him feel depressed or sad but fears? Traumas? No.

The only time it happened is with Calderon. That's the only time we know for certain that Arthur is scared and there are many reasons why he feels more comfortable about speaking about his fears with Calderon instead of the gang members. It could be any of these reasons or all of them.

-She is an older woman.

-She is a woman of the cloth.

-The Christian mindset of the time.

-The fact that he doesn't really know her like he does the gang members so he's more loose with what he says and doesn't say because she's not a consistent figure in his life.

But overall? Arthur may feel fear or have traumas, but he's a stoic person in regards to that, so I highly doubt he's out there just breaking down every time something traumatic happens to him. There are so many interations of Arthur in fandom that has him be super sensitive and open to figures like Hosea or Dutch but the reality? He wouldn't be. He doesn't care to be.

Hope that answers your question, anon 🤭🫶🏼❤️

[brick-678]

“take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act”

i need this tattooed on my body immediately. i love sister calderon and brother dorkins so much. they’re some of the first religious figures i’ve ever encountered that were never off putting to me and it was rather nice.

[jaderavenarts]

I love Sister Calderón and I love how Arthur's scenes with her contextualize his character. I love her line about how hearts are rarely pure but they're rarely entirely impure either, I feel like that's one of the big theses of RDR2 and was a big part of helping Arthur finally understand himself. I love that in the "I'm afraid" scene she describes her perception of high honor Arthur as always smiling and helping people, and notes that helping people makes him happy. I love that Arthur seemed genuinely happy to see her at the train station as he approached her. I love how that scene lays out Arthur's realization over the course of the game of how he's thrown away so much of his life for his devotion to the gang. I love Sister Calderón's encouragement of "take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act." I love how much her scenes with Arthur are filled with understanding, love, hope, and peaceful introspection, with a side of good humor. I love that all of this shines a light on the good man inside of Arthur that people like Mary, Charles, and so many strangers saw despite the violent life he was raised into and wore as his armor for so much of his life.

[bouquetexquis]

The pains of loosing my end-game save means I have to witness Arthur admit he's afraid to Sister Calderon with that broken face one more time, I-

[historical-paramedics]

My thoughts on honour in rdr2 is not that it decides whether Arthur is a good man or a bad man because I feel like that doesn't really exist there's just people. Who do good things and do bad things and are a weird mix of the things they've done and experienced.

And I think for Arthur it's not that his low honour is a bad man it's that he's decided he's a bad man and doesn't give himself the chance to be anything other than that. I feel like the conversations with sister calderón is really important in presenting this, because she points out to him that people are more complicated than 'good', 'bad' like how she herself used to do bad things but she certainly isn't a bad person.

This is the same for Arthur he's not bad in low honour or even good in high honour the difference is that in high honour through things like talking to sister calderón at the train station Arthur allows himself the opportunity to do good things but in low honour he already believes he doesn't deserve it/isn't worth the effort and so doesn't give himself the chance to try.

Feel like it also comes down to a lot of how Arthur sees himself, we already know he has absolutely no self esteem from the way he talks to himself in the mirror/his journal. So maybe low honour is just Arthur with worse self esteem and not believing himself capable of being anything other than 'big scary outlaw'.

But also something about how no matter the honour he isn't just 'big scary outlaw' no matter how you play him or wtvr because no matter the honour Charles says "you're not as tough and dense as that" so whatever the honour charthur rules. That's right this was a charthur post the whole time (I'm rapidly going more insane someone switch me off)

Idk this might be really obvious or I could be way off the mark this is just some unhinged rambles from my rdr rotten brain 👍

[sunfir3rain]

i will never stop thinking about mary's last letter. how soulcrashing it was. the way that she now knew that it was over, that even though she tried to give it a one last chance not so long ago, she did not suceed and had to move on, even though it hurt- even though it could have been pretty obvious that arthur would not change his ways. the "i was just starting to dream the silliest and softest of dreams" line. it DESTROYS me. she was still dreaming about a kinder world in which they did not have to separate and in which arthur would have choosen some other, less dangerous ways. it's silly because it's unreal, it can't happen, but is it a sweet thought? THE ring. the fact that she still had it somewhere and was thinking about him all this time. and to top that off: "there is a good man within you, arthur, but he is wrestling with a giant", a line so real and so painful because we can hear it during arthur's last ride

[rdr2gifs]

Each time Arthur has helped someone without expecting payment (that I can remember) because I’ve seen some weird takes circling around about how Arthur only cares about money/doesn’t help people (yet again)

He helped a city photographer take pictures and acted as his protector because he liked him

He helped a doctor retrieve a stolen wagon full of medicine, he wasn’t even asked to do so, he did it out of his own good will

He wanted to make an old cranky man happy and proposed finding his lost trinkets for him

He helped Deborah MacGuiness find dinosaur bones out of curiosity. He didn’t receive any financial reward for it. Just a few trinkets and he was satisfied

He risked his life for Marko Dragic’s experiments (his main motivation in this mission was again, curiosity)

He rescued a boy being held hostage by the gunsmith in Rhodes

He rescued people from being trafficked and gave them a large sum of money (he could’ve kept it for himself) for a better life

He helped Mr. White and Mr. Black gain freedom and even helped them again after they got themselves into trouble

He rescued Charles Chatenay on at least 3 different occasions

He instantly hurried to retrieve Sister Calderon’s cross even though he has never met her before

In his first encounter with Marjorie and Bertram, he helps to calm Bertram down and is understanding even though Bertram gave him trouble. He even puts the bartender in his place after he speaks about Bertram in a degrading manner

He agreed to help a man get rid of nigh folk occupying his property and after he payed him with only a rat pelt, Arthur didn’t get angry and still asked him if he’d be really fine on his own after knowing he wouldn’t be able to pay

He let a homeless man hug him and listened to what he has to say

He helped to save Jamie from becoming a cult member and stopped him from taking his life

He helped a boy look for his lost dog

He saved an injured man’s life after driving him to a doctor

He helped a woman get rid of a body after she claimed she had to kill the man in self-defence

He donated to the poor and even to build a shelter for war-veterans

He taught Charlotte how to survive on her own

He tried to save a crazed village out of his own good will

He helped a war veteran retrieve his prosthetic leg and helped him hunt

He helped a man look for his lost friend in the snowy mountains

He helped Rain’s Fall retrieve sacred items important to his people

He helped to retrieve stolen medical supplies for the Wapiti tripe

He saved Captain Monroe’s life after hearing he was in danger

He helped Beau and Penelope escape from their terrible families

He has saved many hunters from getting mauled, given many ladies a ride home, saved people from dying of poisoning, helped gather herbs, helped a lost New Yorker find his way to the town, helped save many people’s lives (lady being held hostage in her own house in Lemoyne, folk getting tortured by The Murfees or Lemoyne Raiders etc.)

Let’s not forget the fact that Arthur is a provider for over 20 people. He cannot be running around and risking his life for free for everyone he meets. He needs money. Even so, he has helped all the people above for no reward and out of his own free will. When I see someone say that Arthur is only motivated by money and never helps people otherwise, I just instantly assume they stormed through the story and didn’t pay any attention. The encounters listed above make up the majority of chance encounters/side quests and in almost all of them he is helping people. 80% of these are also pre-diagnosis.

He has a hard time accepting any compliments or gratitude for his good deeds and always downplays himself. Even in the main story he is never thinking about himself and he always puts others first.

“You did not ask for anything, you only gave”

The encounters where he does require payment pale in comparison to those in which he doesn’t, and even so they are very justified as they are often dangerous, time consuming or straight up ridiculous. It’s weird to assume Arthur only helps people for money when he doesn’t want to deliver love letters, interview dangerous people and sneak into heavily guarded properties for free.

[nthspecialll]

Reverend vs Sister

I will always prefer Reverend's goodbye scene more than Sister Calderon's (both high honor). Sister's scene definitely has some emotional and sad parts, such as Arthur admitting his fright, making it good in its own way, but Reverends feels more personal because he actually understands.

Sister does not know Arthur, she doesn't know about his life, she doesn't know about his situation, she knows that he is a crook because he admits it but she only sees the good sides, she doesn't know the extent of what he has done so she gets a screwed impression on him. She tells him "you are a good man Arthur Morgan" but he isn't, that is a glorified image of him that has always itched me the wrong way because those last few months of helping does not right the decades of bad he has done.

Also the Sister does not know everything that is going on, she thinks he is just sick and wants to redeem himself for what he has done before he dies. She doesn't know about Dutch and the internal conflict that Arthur has with himself and his loyalty which is why her advice "why don't you help someone," doesn't really work.

If Arthur had just been sick and not had everything in camp going on, the advice to help would have been good, but it does not help with everything which is what is taking a massive part of his his struggles.

A lot of the time when they are talking, it doesn't feel like she is really listening to him and replying to him as the person he is but rather like any other. Now what I mean by that is a lot of what she says can be said to a lot of people, examples: "we have all lived bad lives," "you are a good man," "why don't you help someone," it doesn't fit with him really, it fits more with a local farmer who feels he is sinning for doubting the existence of god, it doesn't sound like an outlaw with hundreds of bodies on his consciousness.

It is by no means her fault not knowing everything going on as he didnt tell her but it still changes the impact.

Reverend on the other hand, he knows Arthur, he has known Arthur for years, most likely a decade or more, he has seen Arthur for everything he is in every state of his life, he has seen a father, he has seen a crook, a caretaker, a murderer, a robber, a savior.

He has seen it all and every side, and he has seen Arthur grow, especially in those last months, he is right when he says "you are not a good man, but you are not all bad either," because that is the truth and Reverend doesn't try to sugar coat it. He knows Arthur is not a good man, he has ruined lives, he has taken lives, he had robbed people blind and broken families, but he is better than some others who does the same, he cares for the gang, he goes out his way to help and does what he can, he sees Arthur.

Reverend also knows everything, he knows Arthur is sick, he has seen everything going on in camp, he knows how bad it is, he knows how conflicted Arthur is between supporting Dutch and seeing that Dutch is crazy. It hits so much harder when Reverend says "but you do see, you just can't admit it to yourself," because that is what Arthur is feeling, Arthur does know Dutch is gone but he doesn't want to see it.

Reverend's advice "you will do what is right, I know it, save who you can and let the rest rot," is also good advice. He knows Arthur would save them all if he could, but he can't, this is not a situation where everyone can be saved, so instead of giving false hope he gives advice Arthur can actually follow and gain something from.

Reverend also understands what Arthur is going through, he might never have been a murderer, but he has been down a path Sister hasn't. He has lost his faith, he has gambled, drunken and been high on who knows what, he understands the self-hatred Arthur has for doing all these bad things, but he pulled through and he is now seeing Arthur go through the same thing. He understands the wish for redemption but also how hard it is.

His talk with Arthur is personal, it applies to his situation and not the farmer down the road doubting god.

Now Arthur is not as emotional with Reverend because he does have a reputation to keep, but I am sure he gained more from it.

[twola]

I always hate like “requesting” something because it feels like a forceful “write this for me now!” kind of thing, but a I’ve always had this smutty idea in my head where Arthur is getting a little weaker from the TB, but is also pinning after some cute girl in camp. Some wooing occurs and things start getting steamy~ but it’s her first time or she’s not super experienced. I feel like HH!Arthur would try to be the gentleman to show her a sweet, gentle time, but wouldn’t have the stamina for missionary, so his partner would pick up where he leaves off by riding him like the work horse he is. I just thin the scenario would be perfect for like sexy words of encouragement (def NOT thinking of his mare voice lines *wink wink wink*) plus Arthur getting taken care of too instead of just doing the caring. I have like 0 writing skills tho lol so if you ever found yourself in need of smutty I soo I would feel HONORED for you to bring my nasty Arthur thoughts to life

Ooh, TB whumpy smut… I’m sensing a pattern here. My poor boah, how I love to torture him…

This was a good one! Still working on a few more. I love and thrive on feedback so drop me a line if you liked it.

Regret Me Not

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Regrets seem to take up much of his headspace these days... But for one regret of his, Arthur takes action with a little bit of urging on your part.

Arthur wheezes, covering his mouth with the back of his palm, the wet, hacking noise that scrapes out of his throat as he sits on the boulder south of Beaver Hollow, out of earshot of the camp. 

Not that he needed people’s stares. He looks terrible enough that he gets looks of pity from the women, avoided by the men - and Dutch? Well, he is living in another reality.

Another cough rips through him, as he feels as if he were drowning within his own body. A small hand lands on his back. He looks up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

You stand over his shoulder, rubbing gently, concern alight in your eyes. You look down and dig into the pockets of your skirts.

“Here.” You say with a small smile, handing him a bottle of tonic.

He coughs again, butchering his thanks, as he takes the bottle from your hands, uncorking it quickly and downing the foul-tasting liquid quickly.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, hand still resting on his shoulder, slowly, gently rubbing circles into his upper back.

Arthur wants to lean wholly into your touch. He wants to wrap himself into you and let you card your fingers through his hair. He wants to rest. He wants to sleep.

He wants, he wants - but alas. None of that was possible.

“Like hell.” He grits out hoarsely, tossing the empty bottle to the dirt at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You say softly. Your other hand moves to his back as well, rubbing at his other shoulder.

“ ‘S alright.” He murmurs, not wanting to let on how good your hands feel on him.

A silence settles in, and you rub at his shoulders for a few moments more before drawing your hands away from him.

“Well… I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doin’. I’ll see you later, Arthur.” You say, and he can hear the crunch of gravel under your boot as you turn on your heel. You begin to walk up the path back toward camp, as he turns and follows you with his gaze over his shoulder.

Arthur wants. In the embracing of his mortality, the facade of propriety and the painstakingly built walls around his heart crumble in the face of his own death.

He has watched you for months. Yearned for months, wanted and needed your attention, always too self-conscious to reach out and touch.

Sister Calderon’s words echo in his ears with each step you take away from him.

“Take a chance that love exists.”

“D-do you wanna get outta here?”

His voice is hoarse, almost weak sounding. Nothing of the man that he used to be.

You stop, turning around, a small smile creeping across your face. “God, get outta this hell hole? Absolutely. Anywhere is better than these hills.”

His heart hopes.

“I gotta go grab some mail from Van Horn. Ain't much better though…”

“It ain’t here, Mister Morgan. Let’s go.”

—

Van Horn is just as decrepit as the last time he was here. Falling apart and full of the dregs of society, left behind by the churning wheel of progress. He mirthfully counts himself as one of them, he supposes.

He tucks the letters he retrieved into his satchel, moseying slowly toward the back of the dock, where you stand with your elbows on the railing, gazing at the river’s lazy waters. Northward, toward the mountains and the river’s origins.

“Y’ready there, ma’am?”

You look back at him but don’t move. “Already? Ugh. Camp’s just so…”

Arthur sidles up next to you, placing his own elbows on the railing, grunting in agreement. You didn’t need to go any further, he knew where you were going with your comment.

The camp was… well, a gloom has settled upon it. Dutch acting irrational, angry. The loss of Hosea and Lenny. Running from Pinkertons.

And his own impending demise, of course.

“What’re you gonna do after?” Arthur asks quietly and notices the stuttering breath you take as your shoulders drop a little.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t have much else than this.”

Arthur hangs his head, taking in a deep breath. A breath that seems to barely fill his ailing lungs, and he coughs slightly under the rim of his hat.

“Y’got a good head on you. You’ll do fine.” He grits out, voice hoarse.

You remain silent, your eyes set on the water of the slow-flowing river. A boat chugs southbound, heading toward Saint Denis.

“I don’t know how I’ll fare being alone.” You softly murmur.

He sighs. “I’m sure you can stay with Abigail or Missus Adler. Or Charles. You got people to watch out for you.”

“But not you.”

A pang, a sharp pain shoots through his chest, above and beyond the near-constant constriction of his lungs.

“No. Not me.”

You look up at him, a sheen of wetness over your eyes. It pains him as he looks back.

A tear rolls down your face and it’s everything he is not to lean over and cup your face in his hands and wipe your tears away.

“Sweetheart, you deserve-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I deserve, Arthur Morgan.” You spit out, tears openly running down your cheeks.

Arthur sighs, looking back down at the water. It is murky, muddy, dirty right under the dock. Just like this damn town.

You push yourself into his surprised embrace, clutching at his shirt, and it takes him a moment to realize that this wasn’t a dream, and he winds his arms around you, pulling you against him.

“I wish you would stop hiding from me.” You whisper as he holds you to his chest, your cheek pressed against his breastbone, probably hearing the crackling failure of his lungs with each breath he takes.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. For years now, it’s been easier for him to keep that urn with the remains of his heart buried from all.

“I’m here… I’m here now.” He murmurs, resting his chin atop your head.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you, Arthur. Waitin’ and wishing for you to ask me to be yours.” You bury yourself in his embrace.

Fuck.

Arthur’s resolve cracks like a piece of porcelain.

“I’m just a fool. A fool for making you wait.”

You shudder against him, digging your fingers into his shirt, and your breath stutters as you try to stifle a sob. Pulling away, you look up at him, his bloodshot, sunken eyes, still the blue-green pools you would drown in.

You lean up on your toes, arms winding around his neck, but he turns his face away as you draw closer. 

“No. I ain’t gettin’ you sick too.”

You frown, glassy-eyed, about to draw your arms from him before he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, again and again, moving up toward your ear.

“But…. I’ll give you whatever else it is you want.” He rumbles, arms wound tight around you, his body arcing over yours.

You shiver in his embrace, pulling your head back ever so slightly to look him in the eye.

“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” You whisper, hands moving up and clutching at his collar.

He leans his forehead against yours. “If you want a dying, washed-up gunsling-”

You interrupt, pressing up on your toes and kissing his cheek, “I want you, Arthur Morgan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

So long.

So long.

Goddamnit. He’s been looking at you, yearning for you, for months. Before Blackwater and ferries and being chased by Pinkertons. Before Dutch became erratic, before all of these complications. When he was chasing tumbleweeds across the wild and open west.

He gives a shuddering sigh, and draws you closer, pulling you to him and placing his lips on the long line of your neck. You whimper as he pulls a bit of your pale skin between his teeth, suckling on it, hoping to leave a mark.

You throw your arms completely around his shoulders and begin to pant in his ear. Whimpers turn to whines as one of his large hands moves down from your waist to clench roughly at your rear, drawing you against his pelvis and his rapidly hardening cock.

“A-Arthur - please -” You moan, rubbing yourself against him, and he regretfully draws his mouth away from your skin, pink-tinged and wet from his attentions.

As much as he’d love to turn you around, throw up your skirts, and press himself into you for the sake of time, he knows you deserve more than that.

“Lemme get a room.” He pants, letting go of you, moving to adjust himself in his trousers. “Go on upstairs.”

You pull at the collar of your blouse to hide the evidence of your indiscretion and quietly nod, moving past him and slowly climbing the rickety stairs to the second story of the decrepit building. 

He quickly pays for a room, and grabs the key from the clerk with a dismissive grunt, hurrying his way up the stairs to find you leaning against the second-story railing, waiting for him. 

Arthur jams the key into the door’s lock, pushing it open, and lumbering into the room, where he immediately sheds the repeater strapped to his back and places it on the worn table next to the door. His gunbelt follows as you step inside, closing and locking the door behind you. 

He places his hat atop the pile of guns on the table, looking back at you.

“Still want to do-”

You cut him off by closing the distance between you and throwing your arms around his waist.

He pulls you toward the bed, and places his hands on your waist, holding you still, as he sits on the bed, the worn frame creaking under his weight. He doesn’t spare it a second thought, eyes trained on you, and he gently pulls you to sit in his lap.

You cup his cheek gently, thumb tracing along his beard that he’s kept longer to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. His large hand lands on your thigh, squeezing it as he presses his face into the hollow of your neck.

You gasp as you feel his tongue on your skin, clutching at his shirt as you tilt your head back.

You shiver again as his hand creeps up under your skirt, finger gently rubbing against the seam of your bloomers, which dampens quickly under his ministrations.

“It's been a while,” He grunts out, unable to stop his hips from bucking up against your legs with you seated in his lap, the long line of him chasing your warmth.

“M-me too. Ain’t since-” you mewl into his ear as his fingers push your bloomers to the side and brush against the damp skin of your core, “some stable boy when I was sixteen- ahh - we - we didn’t know what we was doin’.” You gasp out as his pointer finger, thick and strong, dips inside your entrance, sheathing to the knuckle within your cunt.

He slides another finger inside you, groaning against your hair when he realizes how tight you are, clutching desperately at his digits, imagining how good you would feel surrounding his cock.

“I’ll be good to you,” He grits out, crooking his fingers within you.

“Oh-” You gasp, “I know, I know you will, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls you from his lap and lays you on the bed next to him, and immediately starts to shed his clothing, tossing it into piles on the floor as you join him, skirts and shirts thrown from the bed, a union suit and chemise - your bloomers land on the floor and he quickly climbs atop you, spreading your legs and fitting his hips in the cradle of yours.

In this old, dirty bed in this old, dirty room, he swears he has never seen something so beautiful as you sprawled out beneath him, the rise and fall of your breathing, the blush crawling down your cheeks to your neck, spreading out across your chest, to your pink nipples, pebbling as they are exposed to the cool air.

He leans down, balancing himself on his forearms, finding that spot on your neck again and nibbling at it, while one of his hands works its way to the space between you, grasping his hard cock and stroking it as he presses the swollen head against your core.

You mewl as he presses in, the head of his cock entering you, his hand moving from its base to frame your head again.

“God, you’re perfect.” He groans as he starts to press himself inside, inch by inch disappearing into your wet warmth, your panting high and fast in his ear as he suckles on your neck once again.

He thrusts, gently, and his hips press against yours as he’s buried himself to the hilt in your cunt. You mewl out a high whine, nails digging into his shoulder.

Arthur presses himself up slightly, looking down upon you. His fingers begin playing with the curling hairs at your temple, waiting for you to open your eyes, a sign that you’re used to his length and girth within you.

And when you do, he’s stricken. Your eyes flutter open and you inhale a breath with a sweet sigh. God, for once in his damn life, he’s doing something right.

Your arms wind around his neck as you press your lips to his cheek, he knows that you want to taste him, to mold your lips together and moan into each other’s mouths - he wants that too, but it’s a step too far. He’s already half afraid of spreading his sickness to you.

Arthur thrusts, gently still, but faster and harder than he had been, you squeal in delight, which spurs him into finding a rhythm, his body moving over yours.

He grunts, panting as he moves his hips, fucking into you and pressing you down into this old, uncomfortable mattress. He swears he’ll bring you to some nice hotel in Saint Denis and make love to you on a plush expensive mattress-

A constriction in his chest stops him mid-thrust.

He pants, wheezing, his hips slowing as he struggles to catch his breath. Christ, what a sorry excuse for a man he is - can’t even please a woman in the state he’s in.

You gently push on his shoulder, and he has the stamina, at least, to raise himself up and look upon you, cheeks blazing in shame.

“Here, maybe I should get on top?” You ask, your hand cupping his cheek while the other gently lays upon his chest.

He groans at the thought, his traitorous cock twitching as he’s buried in your cunt, causing you to gasp out. 

“Alrigh’,” Arthur grunts, and steadies his knees while he pulls his hands to you: one beneath your lower back, one below your shoulder blades. In a jumble of limbs and skin, he rolls over, somehow keeping himself sheathed in you until you’re splayed atop him, your small hips spread out over his.

He has to admit, this was a good idea you had, even before you think to move, what a sight he’s given. His cock fully enveloped in your hips, the dark thatch of hair between your thighs mixing with the curls at his base. Up, up the curves of your waist, he trails his hands, gently skimming your sweat-slicked skin. Your breasts, small yet perky, he’s enraptured by the way your nipples pebble as he rubs his thumbs over them, the sweet sigh that leaves your lips as your head falls back.

God almighty, you’re the sweetest thing alive.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, fingers pulsing, as you roll your hips once over him. His breath stutters, eyes widening as inches of him leave you, only to gently return moments later.

“G-good?” You ask, a self-conscious fear in your eyes.

His hands clamp on your waist and help to guide your movement.

“So good, you’re so good.” He rasps, the end of his lips curling up into a smile.

You smile back, rolling your hips again, taking him and out, following the pathway to your own pleasure and dragging him along for the ride. 

Your murmuring devolves into gasping moans as you continue to gyrate above him, squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers spread wide over his pectorals.

“That’s it. You’re alright, girl.” He urges, one hand moving from your hip to where you’re joined, his thumb parting your folds just above where he’s speared into you.

You moan aloud, giving no qualm to volume as he circles and presses against that little nub of pleasure.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re almost there.” He whispers as his hips jut upward into yours, he can see the far-off look in your eyes, the way your lips hang open, the shortness of your breath, and the slightly painful way your fingers are clenching into his chest. He can tell, your pulsing, squeezing, sweet little cunt is so close.

You ride him fast, like a horse at a gallop, and that blooming lava in his gut churns in a way that he knows he’s not far behind.

“A-Ar…” You stutter as your eyes close tightly.

“That’s it, that’s it, Darlin’.” He urges, his other hand tight on your hips, aiding your movement.

“Agh, oh god - Arthur.” You moan out, bottoming out completely as you throw your head back. He groans aloud as he feels your muscles constrict around his shaft, the sweet clutch of your cunt.

He thrusts his hips upward again and is rewarded with the sweetest mewl from your mouth, he cannot help but to whimper as he feels warm, wet slick start to seep from where you’re joined, his swollen and heavy balls covered in them.

You recover, gasping as your hands move to his chest, your hips grinding down on him slowly.

“I wanna-” you pant, catching your breath, “I wanna make you come.”

Arthur groans in response, hips bucking upward as his hands fly to your hips again, clenching them hard.

“Ain’t gonna- augh- ain’t gonna be hard to give you that.” He stutters out, knowing that the pull in his gut is getting stronger with each sweet movement you make.

“You’re so good -” You mewl, rolling your hips over him as he grunts, hands sure on your waist, fingers pulsing as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth hanging open as he approaches that precipice.

“You feel just like I’ve always dreamed.” You sigh, and all he can respond with is a thrust upward of his hips, to give you more, to give you himself, all that’s left of him.

He’s there, he’s there. His eyes shoot wide and he grunts, hands hard over your hips. “Get- you gotta, move.”

But you lean forward, not stopping the gentle roll of your body over his, and kiss his forehead.

“Come inside me.” You breathe, hands steady over his beating heart, “Give me all of you.”

Of all the stupid, childish things… but the resolve of a dying man, it is far less strong than before - weakening much like his ailing lungs.

“Please.” 

He does, he does.

He grunts needily as he pumps his release into you. Staying sheathed in your warmth, not jerking himself into cold air.

Arthur sits up immediately, burying his head into the side of your neck, and suckles gently at the skin there as your fingers start to play with the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

He regrets, it’s all he has left, that again, he wasted his time, glancing shyly at you across the fire for all those months. All he can do is offer you a few fleeting moments of pleasure. He regrets, it’s all he has left, that he cannot taste your lips and the sweetness he knows lies beyond them.

“Darlin’-” he trails off into your skin, trying to compose himself.

I’m sorry- I’m sorry this is all that’s left of me - sorry I can’t give you nothin’ but -

You place your lips on his forehead gently before pulling back. You cup his cheeks in your hands and nod your head.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

[emerald-ranch]

Arthur’s life was never truly his. He was always being shaped into a killer and outlaw, his father’s lifestyle meant he never got to have a childhood and once he was taken in by Dutch the treatment same continued. Always told who he has to be and what to do. Sure he had a bit of free will but I feel like his destiny and path in life was always determined by someone around him. He was assigned the roll of outlaw at birth by his father and his father figures, he never got to really explore what he wanted to be in life.

I feel like the developers touched on this towards the end of the game with Arthur talking about all he has ever known is fighting when he speaks with Edith Downes in Annesburg or when he speaks with sister Calderon at Emerald station.

My poor boy, I wish he got to do everything he ever wanted in life for he is so much more than what his fathers planned for him

[haileylnmt]

The difference between Arthur’s relationship with Eliza and Mary was that Mary was who he loved and Eliza was who he had a kid with.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he hated Eliza or anything. They just so happened to be at the right place at the right time- she was a waitress and Arthur was just passing through. Eliza getting pregnant was likely something neither of them had expected. Yet, Arthur did the right thing by not completely abandoning them. Instead he visited as often as he could and gave Eliza money to help out. He also tried to do right for Isaac, showing the kid that he did have a father.

With Mary, it hints that they met when they were young and have been on and off ever since. She was the one who received a ring from Arthur. Despite their less than smooth relationship, they found their ways back to each other. And despite knowing that they’d never likely work considering who they were, they still longed.

I feel like this can also be shown when Arthur has his conversation with Sister Calderon when he says “I had a son” then “I had a girl who loved me, I threw that away.” I’m pretty sure that even though he mentions Isaac, that girl is Mary, not Eliza

—

This was just my interpretation of Arthur’s relationships with Eliza and Mary. You can think of them any way you want.

[outlawruben]

fav stranger mission?

Oooooooo I can’t pick a fave so I’ll give you my top 5.

1) Charles Chatenay (The Artist’s Way)

2) Albert Mason (Arcadia for Amateurs)

3) Algernon Wasp (Duchesses and Other Animals)

4) Sister Calderon (Of Men and Angels)

5) Margret (He’s British Of Course)

[crumbsssscookie]

hiii this is the research paper anon!! do you think 543 days logan would be friends with any other female drivers like abbi, doriane, etc.? i hope you’re having a nice day!! 🫶

Research paper anon!!! Great to hear from you <3 how are you, how is the paper? Are you making progress?

So I have to preface this that although I love to explore the topic of gender in motorsport, I'm not very knowledgeable on the F1 Academy girls, since I'm not too fond of the whole women-only series concept, that being said... yeah, Logan would have female racer friends but I think not that many.

I'm not telling anyone anything new when I say that being a woman in a male dominated field means relying on chance meetings or actively participating in women-led initiatives and even then you're more likely making "work friends" or acquaintances than close friends.

with logan rising through the traditional ladder, chance meetings are what she relies on the most and so I think our darling logan definitely knows the Al Quabisi sisters since she raced in the UAE and and Marta Garcia from her karting days. Also Jamie Chadwick and Tatiana Calderon who were performing well competitively in British F4 and F3 around the time when Logan was active there as well.

Those are all women that logan has met, whom alongside she competed on one or two occasions, with whom she spent some time, exchanged numbers, but didn't get to know them well enough to see as more than "work friends".

But i also see two drivers she would form friendships with. One being Sophia Flörsch who also competed in the 2020 F3 season, so they have ample time to get to know each other. funnily enough, they were both born in december 2000 (also i just realized i lied with saying Logan was the first woman to score F3 points, it was Sophia one year prior 🙈).

Logan's second female driver friend would be Lia Block imo. Having seen the good morning america appearances OG Logan and Lia did, I think they got along pretty well, seeing they're both American Williams Academy Drivers, plus Lia's dad was very well known in US rallying. For 543 days, it's giving besties.