Visualizing In The Mirror The Man I Want To Become

I fucking breathe for this typa content.

Bistro Huddy as text posts hihi

Pt 1/?

The sansa stark experience

Unfortunately, activating his reinforced tendon implants occasionally comes with involuntarily uttering "uppies!"

This is as annoying as a rock stuck in a boot thanks for speaking the truth finally thank you thank you

Some mfs in rdr fandom be like:

*Arthur being nice to random npc, in and out of gang*

Them: Awww, they're cute! Let's ship them

*Charles shows on the screen for a 0.00001 second in few kilometres near Arthur*

Them: They're in love, let's ship them, they're canon

*Arthur and Mary interaction, past lovers with an interesting story and literally look at eachother with guilty&loving eyes*

Them: ..She used Arthur, she doesn't love him 🙄

joeyyy, this is a family restaurant

Arthur Takes Off His Hat for Mary

When Arthur meets Mary for the first time in a while, he takes off his hat. I think it's very significant because he's still outdoors and doesn't need to do that. He could just tip his hat in greeting. From what I've seen of Southern hat etiquette, it's common to take off the hat only when you're inside a house. But he takes it off when in front of her. And when they're still outdoors.

Maybe I'm thinking too deeply into it but I think it really shows how much love and respect he has for Mary despite it all. This thought might be mismatched but I remember seeing a video about hat etiquette which explained this: your hat is a representation of your work and when you take it off in front of a woman, your work is not important in that moment, but she is (paraphrase).

Now I'm not American and neither do I have in-depth knowledge of Southern manners and etiquette so forgive me if this is wrong!!

ever the grumpy bastard

a kiss for each of your finger tips.

then a kiss on your palm, his whiskers scratchy against it as he brought it to cradle his face.

saying goodbye to arthur was never easy. tears welled up the moment he approached his mount. the silhouette of him walking from you was almost too much to bare, and dripped down your face in silent runs.

“sweet girl.” he’d say scoldingly when he turned around to see you, though his turquoise eyes swam with softness. “crying for me.”

he’d press his mouth against the tears in gentle kisses. then, mounted with his dark hat shadowing the panes of his face, he’d begin the ritual worship of your hands. he was leaning down towards you now, eyes closed as he savored the feeling of your hand against his cheek.

“i love you, darlin’. you know that.” he’d say this with his eyes still closed, as if he was feeling your love in his very bones.

you did, and you loved him. desperately. hungrily. with every cell in your body and without a moment’s doubt. you loved the outlaw like he was god. all of these thoughts raced through your head but you could only reply with, “come back to me in one piece. ill hunt you down after a fortnight.”

his eyes would open then, sparkling with humor. “you promise?”

you’d kiss him through his scratching laugh.

the days would pass painfully slow. laundry was scrubbed, a shirt of his nearly pressed and starched for him and hung in the closet. bread was baked and ate alongside a solitary bowl of stew. the small cabin you had for yourself become a prison. the days you spent with friends in town were the only reprieve.

but when he came back to you… oh lord, when he came back to you.

you’d spot him on the horizon. he galloped towards you with an eagerness that made you laugh. the book you clutched as comfort was thrown onto the floor as you barreled out the front door and down the steps.

and there he was, dirty and sweat-stained, smelling like gunpowder and coffee.

and there he was, taking you in his arms and bringing you close, breathing your name like a healing prayer.