#RDR2 Looting

[fogaminghub]

🌌 Hey, fellow gamers! 🎮 If you're diving into Red Dead Redemption 2, make sure you don’t miss the chance to ace the Outlaws from the West mission! Our detailed guide has everything from shootout strategies to looting tips for that elusive Gold Medal! 🏅✨

[eclaire-went-bam]

bro wtf i loaded rdr2 & while in big valley, got attacked by a cougar. fair, i was in cougar territory. killed it. started heading up to the nearby trapper to sell the hide & carcass. on the way there, got mauled by a grizzly bear.

thought that was weird, bcs i thought the bear only spawned if the cougar wasn't there. shrugged it off. killed it. started going to trapper again.

sold cougar, went back to bear to skin it, BUT ANOTHER BEAR SPAWNED IN THE SAME PLACE & MAULED ME. oh btw both times my bolt action turned into a varmint after it mauled me ??

anyways i sell them. leave. IMMEDIATELY WHEN I GET ON THE PATH A PACK OF WOLVES SURROUND ME and right before i fire my first bullet BOUNTY HUNTERS SPAWN & THEY HEAR. i run, shoot the wolves, the bounty hunters try killing me so i kill them — MORE SPAWN IN THE SAME AREA ? and in the middle of it, my horse just fucking Levitated Straight Into The Air & Died Mid-Air before we both fell

finish off the hunters & revive my horse

& IMMEDIATELY AFTER WHILE I'M SKINNING THE WOLVES MORE SPAWN ???????

[pookiecowpoke]

Anyone else a little loot goblin or just me?

[those first few Colter missions, I have to loot all the bodies for my sanity and Dutch always screams at me to get a move on :')]

[meowdymista]

Evelyn Miller: Come! Prepare to be shocked! Come along, follow me.

John: You should know, unless you're showing me Big Foot, Im not so easily shocked, Mr Miller.

Evelyn Miller: But you will be! Wait until you see the waste! The boundless appetites of these men! I know you will be horribly shocked because I see that frontier spirit in you. The self reliance, the harmony with nature that us modern men have so lamentably lost-

*trots over bloodsoaked wagon tracks*

*tramples over 3 corpses in the road*

*passes by a campsite of 5 slaughtered civilians, 2 burned, 1 scalped and blinded by blood*

*passes by another campsite where a man was sobbing 30 seconds ago about a slaughtered woman before he calmly picked up her body, stowed it on his horse and rode off without a word*

Evelyn Miller: Oh no! Look! That poor creature is caught in a bear trap! 😥😭😫 also look at these hunters! 😱😡😤 Let's confront them!

[sir-walton-goggins]

Finally started playing rdr1!! It's been fun and a tad confusing, but I'm loving it, it has a unique charm

[merfaerie]

The other day I really let some lvl 34 fuckin cowpoke shoot me (lvl 136) dead in a fuckin field because I am too God damn NICE.

[flameshadowwolf]

Arthur’s gap moe���..

[softanddarkk]

Linger - Charles Smith (rdr2) x fem reader

This is a pining Charles POV based on the song Linger, by the cranberries and has anyone ever asked for this ? No. But I wanted it, it’s fan service for me and me only and I enjoyed every second of writing it so if you want a part two please let me know.

Charles and the reader have been in love for years and they are so oblivious to it that it’s criminal!

Warnings; none really, angsty Charles, smutty themes if you squint

If you, if you could return

Don't let it burn

Don’t let it fade…

Charles had seen a lot in his twenty seven years on this earth - but nothing ever made his heart beat quite as much as that first glimps of you after a long raid or robbery. He had always been happy to bring back his share of loot from jobs; he had became a provider for the gang, known for his loyalty and hard work - he liked it.

He belonged, possibly for the first time in his whole life.

But when you joined the gang, his commitment to coming “home” (wherever that may be and for however temporarily) strengthened tenfold.

your smile, your eyes, your voice - the job was intense, everytime he left he knew there was a high chance he wouldn’t be coming back.

He had sat with this fact, weighed up his options - he could live with that.

Until you - he had been completely okay with the fact that he might not see his next sunrise.

But now he was greedy, Charles wanted more.

No longer living just to be alive, he wanted a future.

A future with you.

But the gated paddock with grazing horses and a baby in his arms that had his hair but your eyes, that just wasn’t an viable option, as much as he might want it.

And he did, he so desperately wants it.

You had once read him one of your fantasy romance books, a juvenile piece of literature that the girls had passed around and poured over.

And as you dramatically delivered the lines, punctuating sentences with your glorious laugh, he wondered - fleetingly and if just for a moment, if love like that could really exist.

But he knew it was futile. He was not your prince in shining armour - not the man you would imagine when reading those words.

Charles was cold, quiet, lacking in social skills.

And you were you, passionate and stronge, someone who the whole gang loved and doted on as much as you doted upon them.

You chatted to all of them, you had time for everyone, you were everything he could not be; warm, engaging, someone people came to for comfort.

He concluded that fairytales are just that, fiction.

I'm sure I'm not being rude

But it's just your attitude

It's tearing me apart

It's ruining every day…

It got to him, it really did.

Because as much as he wanted you, Charles just didn’t see a reality where he would ever be enough.

In some twisted way, he had to accept both what he wanted and what you deserved.

You had shared with him, one night after far too many beers at a camp celebration, that you dreamed of leaving this life behind one day, settling down, owning a ranch and having a family.

He had lay there the following morning, in his stiff cot and itchy sheets, solem with the realisation that his own past stuck to him like dry straw on honey.

He lost his mother at such a young age, and his dad too, emotionally at least, as a result.

He left any semblance of family behind that day that he fled, a thirteen year old boy with nothing to his name but grief and rejection.

How could he be a father when he had barely had one himself ?

Was he fated to repeat his own sires mistakes ?

Or could he be a good father, a dad even.

Could he raise his sons to be loyal, fierce but soft, teach them to fish and shoot their bow but also how to treat those around them with respect?

Could he raise his daughters to be independent and strong, yet caring and optimistic?

And then he found it all quite laughable; because who would want children with a man like him.

Accepting that he was too wound up to rest, he got out of his cot, made a coffee and started up the fire, waiting until the others woke up.

I swore, I swore I would be true

And honey so did you

So why were you holding her hand?

Charles was so secretive about the feelings he had developed about you that he genuinely believed nobody would ever catch a wiff.

But as Arthur watched his close friends troubled face, and followed his stormy gaze to find it locked on you - laughing with Sean over something he assumed was stupid and down right juvenile - he felt true empathy for his good friend.

Arthur knew Charles well enough to know that under that big bear of an exterior was a heart of gold.

Although a relatively new addition to the gang, in comparison to himself or John, Arthur trusted Charles, a luxury he offered very few.

Because of this, the two often went on excursions together - Arthur managing to learn little bits of trivia Charles would sometimes offer, leaving him to piece together an overall view of his lift before the gang and his character like a jigsaw puzzle.

Charles was by no means big on chat, but Arthur liked to think he had a pretty good perception of him by now.

Additionally, Arthur was not a stranger to the concept of unrequited love.

So he sat there on his bar stool, his friend looking off longingly into the abyss, and weighted up his options.

It surely wasn’t smart to poke Charles, the metaphorical bear, he should most certainly leave his observations for another day.

But it’s nearly midnight, he’s a good few whisky’s deep, and when has Arthur ever chosen the correct decision.

“You’re real sweet on her, huh”

Charles wakes out of his trance and multiple emotions drench over his face; the first of which being outright confusion.

The second coming later - but stronger than the first - Anger.

Maybe at his bold accusation, maybe at being caught out, Arthur neither knows or cares.

And then, as he opens his mouth to protest - causing Arthur to hold up his hand in defiance, the final emotion: defeat.

Charles looks into his glass as if searching for the key to Pandora’s box.

“Just go speak to ‘er” Arthur offers, jesturing to you, causing Charles to smack his hand down as if you would suddenly squire the gift of telepathy and know Charles deep dirty secret.

“I can’t Arthur” the words come out in such a crestfallen way Arthur almost wants to bring his friend in for a embrace.

Everything about tone, his choice of words, tells Arthur that this a conversation Charles has already had with himself frequently and his heart hurts for the man.

Arthur knows this thought process all to well, after all, he’s lived it himself. He knows there’s nothing he can say now, no words of comfort, that can fix Charles sorrow.

So he doesn’t say anything, he listens.

He listens as Charles tells him that he’s not good enough for you.

He listens as Charles tells him to how you want a future he can’t provide.

And he hears how much it’s pulling the man apart.

He orders himself and Charles another drink, and then listens some more.

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

The night Sean returned he danced with you.

The stars shone overhead and the fire cracks and whistled, competing with the sound of the gangs laughter and chatting.

Charles looked down to see that you were looking at him, really looking - and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

He could see there was so much behind your eyes, so many thoughts in that miraculous brain of yours, and the fact that he couldn’t decipher a single one of them made his insides churn.

Where you looking at his scar, wondering why you were dancing with such an ugly brute of a man?

Or where you simply imagining someone else in his space? Maybe Sean or John or even javier.

But when you speak, your words send him even further down a spiral.

“You’re so handsome, mr Smith”

The words, the look in your eyes as you say them, the naughty smirk on your lips - charles wasn’t sure if he believed in heaven anymore, and he knew with all certainty that after his actions he would not be allowed entry, but that nice it felt like he transcended up to the pearly gates and shook hands with everyone wholly up there.

But then he realises he’s said nothing, and it’s too late, your face has changed, gone the look of awe, replaced with something resembling embarrassment and possibly even a little rejection.

“Sorry, I’m really drunk” you laugh off, and maybe if you hadn’t looked away from him you would have seen the blush on his cheeks and his mouth open to tell you just how much he loved you, just how much your words meant to him.

Maybe if you hadn’t dropped his hands and gone back to the others, he would have kissed you right there by the camp fire, in front of everyone he cared about.

But that wouldn’t happen, not that night.

Charles would think your words were the result of your alcohol consumption, nothing else.

And you would think that Charles just didn’t feel the same way.

You’d both wake up the next morning with the memory of that encounter, but you’d both pretend you didn’t. It was a game you both played, denying your feelings for eachother while knowing that when you turned in for the night and got into your seperate cots you would both be thinking only of the other.

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

“Can I braid your hair?”

A pointless question, Charles thought to himself. You could ask the man if he would load his own gun, turn it on himself and shoot and he’d do it without a please, thanking you for the command.

Anything for you.

Charles had injured himself in a raid, a silly mistake leading to him breaking a few fingers, nothing serious in the grand scheme of it all but still causing short term annoyance.

Due to this, his usual braid had admittadly become lose and somewhat of a disaster.

It wasn’t the first thing on his mind, but when you offered to help him, and the idea of you scraping your nails against his scalp was birthed into his brain, the chance to fulfil a fantasy was too hard to deny.

Scared of how his voice may come out if he used his words, he grumbled a response and sold it with a nod.

You took to work on his lengths, starting at the bottom and working your way up, a little too gentle for Charles liking if he was honest.

The idea of you pulling his hair had came across his thoughts, often late at night, but it was never accompanied by you both being fully clothed and his fingers being broken.

However when you reached his head and racked your fingers through his hair like a brush, he had to use everything in himself to fight the moans of satisfaction he wanted to release.

You chatted away to him the whole time and he tried to listen, he really did, but the combination of you being so close that he could smell you around him and your touch on his hair was ultimately distracting to say the least.

“Are you even listening to me?”

He wasn’t, he didn’t hear this, causing you to playfully tug, a little harder than expected by either of you, at his locks.

Charles made a sound he hoped he could pass off as a yelp, but that was really the result of his nightly fantasies of you peaking into reality in the strangest way possible.

“Sorry” you say, and it’s as if his groan did as much for you as your hair tugging did for him, but he couldn’t think about that without opening a box he had long decided to close, lock and bury deep.

So he went back to enjoying your touch, knowing that this might be the closest he ever got to you, and being okay with that.

If this was all Charles could have of you, at least he’d had something.

And surely something was better than nothing at all.

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger

[snapscube]

Hi Olivia, I'm half way through your RDR2 midnight snap episode and I couldn't wait any longer to thank you for making it. I've never even played this game but it's already becoming my favorite midnight snap video and I wanted to tell you why! This is a perfect balance of higher excitement to stretches of calmness that it reminds me to take breaks from study. I remember to write while you engage in the slow-methodical-contemplative-cowboy-sim looting, and then I don't burn myself out because I set my work aside to watch the gunfights and the more dramatic cutscenes. The best part is that the more exciting gameplay is enough to demand my attention but the lower soundscape you've cultivated and lack of shouting / screaming doesn't get me too hyped up that I can't sit back down to work. Your other midnight snap videos are always a treat but this series especially fills a need I didn't think was possible. I can't thank you enough, and I hope the video is received well enough to continue the game in this style :)

TYSM FOR ENJOYING IT!!! :D i have absolutely been planning more RDR2 episodes cause the response has been very very great!

[the-marsh-harrier]

Make me… (LH!Arthur Morgan x F!Reader)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Arthur, RDR2, and my first time writing for a long time so be kind. If you're going to share my writing, please reblog and I don't give permission for my work to be copied onto any other platforms. I only write on Tumblr so if you see this anywhere else, it's not me.

Masterlist

Part 2 - SMUT DNI if you are under 18!

Terminology: 'Carpet girl' - a woman that conducts sex work on the street usually carrying a carpet with her in order to do this. It's an 1800s term. (I remembered this from a TikTok video so could be remembering it wrong, either way - this is what this term is describing in this fic.)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of sexual encounters, slightly NSFW if you squint, use of the word 'skank', Arthur and Reader being rude to each other at the start.

You sat on the old table in the med tent examining the damage to your cheek in a small broken shard of a mirror. You were silently thankful that Tilly had already cleaned the cut and stitched it, so it didn’t look as bad as when you arrived back at camp. However, the blood staining your shirt was still a very evident reminder to how easily it could’ve been much worse.

You had gotten into a fight with a carpet girl in town after you and Abigail had ‘stepped on her territory’ while pulling your little scheme. Y/N and Abigail would take turns to lure a man into an alley, while the lure occupied the victim, the other would hit him round the head with a rock or brick. They’d mug him and run off with the loot. Normally, this wasn’t an issue until today where you ended up with a nasty cut on your cheek from the carpet girl’s switch blade before Abigail knocked her out as well.

“Where the hell is she then?”  Arthur’s angry voice boomed over the camp causing you to shrink slightly on the table. You prepared for another firm talking-to from him about being stupid, not needing to pull tricks anymore and every other comment he’d throw at you. You two had never attached a label to what you were but most of the camp had labelled you as Arthur’s whether he wanted to admit it or not.

The flaps to the med tent opened in an angry flurry as his spurs clinked against the dirt floor with every step. You dropped your head quickly, tilting the damaged side of your face away from him. He stopped in front of you with his hands rested on his gun belt. Without looking up, you could already feel the scolding glare pointed directly at your head. You heard he click his tongue frustratedly at your reluctance to look at him.

“Well. Show me your face then.” He ordered firmly but you didn’t move a muscle. You were oddly frozen under the weight of his looming presence – this wasn’t your Arthur, this felt more like his outlaw persona ordering a bounty around.

“Now.” His tone was dark and almost threatening causing you to finally look at him. Arthur looked at the fresh stitches on your face and hissed in a deep breath through his teeth. You saw Arthur lick his teeth as he looked down at the ground before looking at you expectantly. “I know what happened but you’re gonna tell me because I want you to hear how stupid it sounds.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed as you reluctantly recanted the story. “Me and Abigail just went out to make a little money and some skank decided she didn’t like it so… we got in a fight. She started to lose so she pulled a blade out on me and got in a slice on my cheek before Abigail could hit her with a brick.” You felt like a child having to explain yourself to him as he examined the wound on your face with your chin being held up by his fingers. He looked like a man possessed as his breathing grew heavier and his brows furrowed in annoyance. You tried to reach out to him, but he swatted you hands away with his free hand giving you no option but to fold them in your lap.

“You will listen to me this time.” Arthur growled. “From now on, you’re not allowed to use your ‘little tricks’ anymore. No more robbing people, you understand?” You could see he looked genuinely worried under his angry exterior… but it did little to make you want to agree with him.

“Excuse me but who are you to tell me that?” You sassed back as you pushed his hand off your chin. Telling the story again reignited your anger at the woman that had done this to you but now there was only Arthur there to bare the brunt of it.

Arthur’s head quirked to the side slightly as he bit his tongue, taking his time to think about his next response. “Don’t speak to me like that. I’m trying to keep you safe, and you make that difficult when you start acting stupid like this.” The glare he was sending at you could melt through steel.

“No, you’re trying to boss me about.” You snapped back matching his harsh glare with your own as you remained firm.

Arthur’s eyebrows twitched your response as he leaned forward caging you on the table between his solid arms. He nodded his head disappointingly at you. “Damn right I’m trying to boss you about because asking you to stop behaving like this clearly don’t work, does it?” He grumbled as his voice seemed to get lower and his drawl thicker. “I know it’s not the answer you want to hear, but you can’t go about mugging men in dark alleys. It’s dangerous and that-” he motioned to the stitching on your face “-is all the proof of it.”

Something about his condescending behaviour was making you even angrier and wanting to lash out. “Fine! I’ll go back to dancing in saloons then.” You sneered knowing that would get a rise out of him.

“Don’t you DARE.” He sneered back at you and pointed his finger in your face. “You’re more than a pretty face and a pair of tits and after today – that pretty face is gonna have nasty scar.” He tapped your jaw on the side where the wound was but was careful not to touch it.

You scoffed and smirked almost smugly. “It was my ass that got you paying for them dances anyway, you didn’t spend much time looking at my face from what I remember.” You crossed your arms over your chest in defiance. You attitude was causing his temper to rise and his blood pressure to go along with it. You noticed the vein in his neck start to become more prominent and his jaw tighten.

“I’ve provided for you, given you a place to live where you don’t have to spread your legs every night for whoever pays the most, and I’ve kept you safe.” He spoke with a firmer and authoritarian voice, the growl in his tone akin to wagon wheels on gravel. “All those times you needed bailed out of the jail and it was me coming to get you. You should be thankful.” There was a surprisingly calm edge to his voice, like he was somehow managing to keep his temper simmering under the surface.

You laughed sarcastically at him as you leaned forward, getting in his face just like he had with you. “You only paid to get me out because you knew I would’ve fucked my way out that cell otherwise.” You whispered sadistically at him. Truth be told, this argument was doing more to turn you on now as the adrenaline in your system shifted to trigger some other primal instincts in you.

Arthur didn’t like that one bit, as his expression darkened even more. “Watch your tongue when you speak to me.” He warned. “I’d have just as easily left you to rot in that cell. There’s plenty of other women out there who’d be happy to take your place and don’t forget it.” He was angry, and right now your words were getting to him.

“Awh, save your pretty words and choke on them.” You bit back, not backing down. Instead of feeling like a damsel in distress you felt more like a horny depraved wench.

Arthur didn’t budge. Though he was much bigger than you normally, he appeared even bigger as his entire body seemed to tense as he looked down at you. “What did you say to me?” He hissed. “Go on, say it again. I dare you.” He exaggerated the word ‘dare’ with a growl as if he was threatening you, but you didn’t bat an eye to his threat.

“I said...” You whispered dangerously. “Save your pretty words and god damn choke on them.” You hissed back in the same tone.

Arthur’s fist clenched on the table either side of you as he weighed up his next move. It was like a switch in his brain flipped, and there was no going back. You watched as his back stiffened and he ground his teeth in frustration. The veins in his neck bulged against his shirt collar. “I’ll make you regret those words…” He hissed, just barely managing to stay in control of his anger.

Something about seeing him so angry and teetering on the edge of his temper flipped a switch for you too. Something much more desperate and wanton flooded your system as you watched his biceps straining against his cotton workshirt.

“I hope you fucking do.” You smirked and looked him over seductively as you gave into your urges.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that.” Arthur grumbled, as his hands were trembling with rage. He had a million different things he wanted to scream at you… but he was refraining from it. “Don’t think you can turn me on just looking at me with those big pretty eyes of yours.” His voice was laced with sarcasm as he spoke, his hands gripping the edge of the table with enough force it could probably splinter it. “I’m not one of your customers at the saloon anymore.”

“But you were.” You chuckled smugly and looped your fingers round the base of his suspenders. “And you always came back to see me.” You whispered and shuffled forward on the table as you parted your legs. Your hands slowly pulled his crotch towards yours using the spring of his suspenders to do so.

“That was different back then and you know that.” He huffed as his nostrils flared and he stood more upright between your legs. “I was your customer. Not your-” He cut himself off before finishing the sentence. “I was just your customer.” He reaffirmed.

You could see his eyes were darkening for a different reason now. He was visibly trying to ignore the fact you were touching him, your fingers playing with his suspenders and the way your thighs were brushing his hips.

You continued to look up at him with a devilish smirk. “What are you now then? Huh, big boy?” You whispered as you played with the clasps of his suspenders.

Arthur maintained his sharp gaze down at you, his entire being was on edge as he continued to ignore the fact that you were slowly wrapping yourself around him. It was obvious that the both of you were pushing boundaries on purpose. As if trying to make the other admit your situation was much more than what you two had been pretending it was.

“I’m your friend, nothing more.” He grunted.

You chuckled and bit your lips. “I ain’t never had a friend that does the things you do to me before. So, I’ll rephrase my question.” You whispered as you popped the clasps on his suspenders. “What do you want to be to me?” You inched your face closer to his keeping your gaze on his lips and occasionally flickering your eyes up to meet his. You could see he was wrestling with himself to not give into you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game with me that you might not want to play.” Arthur muttered darkly as he tried to remain composed. You watched as his eyes wondered to your hands now hooked on the waistband of his jeans, and then trailed your body to your lips. It was obvious that you wanted him… and it was clear a part of him wanted you more.

You observed him with a calm curiosity. “Tell me what you want me to be to you.” You ordered softly. “Just tell me.” You slowly pushed his suspenders completely off his body before returning your hands back to his hips pulling him impossibly closer to you.

“Stop teasing me.” Arthur groaned but you could tell he was enjoying this much more than he wanted to let on. His hands found their way onto your thighs above your skirt, squeezing them firmly. “Just…” He exhaled, his voice as husky as a cold winter morning. “Kiss me.”

You decided to give in, just once. You slowly leant in towards him, gently brushing your lips to his in a featherlight graze. “Tell me.” You whispered, letting your breathe fan over his lips. You affectionately brushed the tip of your nose against the side of his. “Just tell me what you want me to be.”

Arthur drew in a deep breath as his hands move up to your hips, giving them a firm squeeze, his eyes trailing after his hands avoiding your gaze. “I want you to be…” He paused for a moment as his words go stuck in his throat. He dipped his head to the crook of your neck before he whispered softly against your neck. “Mine.”

He slowly started to kiss along your neck and shoulder as far as your blouse would permit. You knew he meant it – but it still felt good to hear him say it.

You tilted your head back to give him more access to your neck as you undid the buttons of your blouse so you could bare more of yourself to him. You shrugged yourself out of your blouse, leaving it pooled at your waist where it was tucked into your skirts.

“Say it again.” You whispered through a breathy moan as you locked your ankles behind him thighs, keeping him against you.

“I want you to be mine.” Arthur groaned against you neck as his nipped at the soft skin there. His grip tightening on your hips as he harshly pulled you hips closer to his so you could feel the bulge in his jeans. His lips roamed along the base of your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone. “I want you… all to myself…”

You moaned wantonly as he spoke, his words like pouring kerosene on your already burning desire for him. “I already am.” You mumbled as you got lost in him all over again.

Getting lost in Arthur was like swimming in a murky lake, never knowing what was lurking under the surface to pull you under. Every time you’d break free, you found yourself ready to walk back into his frigid waters and drowned all over again and again.

“Then prove it.” He breathed in a deep inhale through his nose against the area where your neck joined your shoulder. He dragged his tongue up your neck firmly up to your ear before catching your earlobe between his teeth. “Kiss me again.” He exhaled into your ear. “But don’t hold back this time.”

You shuddered as he managed to pull a small whimper from you as you relaxed evermore into his arms. You gently coaxed his head round to yours with small nuzzles against his cheek. The feeling of the stumble from his short beard scratching your skin sent shivers down your spine.

Once you were in reach of his lips, you kissed him deeply as your lips rolled against his in firm languid motions. The feelings behind the kiss coming from deep within you. Your lips moved together in a deliberate but effortless way causing you to slowly open your mouth to permit your tongues to dance together. The moment your tongues touched; Arthur made a deep groan seemingly emitting from the depths of his chest. He’d given in completely now and you could feel it.

He slowly pulled back from the kiss, resting his forehead to yours as he panted through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to rush this, not this time.

You waited with bated breath for his next move but what came next shocked you.

“Make me need you.” He whispered lustfully as he calmed himself slightly. “I want you to make me feel like I’m nothing without you.”

His words and tone were so wanting and longing, like he’s been keeping them a secret for his whole life. You brought your hands up from his hip, brushing them against his chest so he’d feel the pressure through the material of his shirt, until your fingertips braced against his jawline. You pulled him into a much hungrier and rougher kiss, pouring your desperation to have him into it. The pair of you panting and snatching breathes throughout the kiss, not wanting to stop even for a second until the burn in your chest became too great and you were forced by your own body to pull away from him.

Arthur’s body shook with the roughness of the kiss as he moved his hands to your waist trying in vain to pull you closer. Your eyes opened briefly to take in the conflicted and vulnerable expression on his face. His eyes still closed as he refused to look at you, part of him terrified that he would see rejection in them.

“Make me ache for you…” he sighed as rocked his body closer to you. “Make me regret the day I met you… I wanna wake up and not even know what’s become of me and wishing I didn’t have to survive another day without you in my bed.”

The muscles in your legs flexed as your hips ground against him. The small amount of friction created by your brunched up skirts and his jeans stimulated your core making you to moan quietly. Your breathing was heavy as you held his face close yours with just the tips of your fingers – your hold wasn’t firm, evermore proving he was willingly giving himself to you and only you. You closed your eyes as you breathed him in.

“You make the filthiest things sound like a fucking prayer.” You whispered breathlessly as you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Arthur smirked and chuckled lowly in response while one of his hands smoothed over the hair on the side of your head. “The filthiest things are all I deserve, and all I have to give.” He whispered as he took hold of your chin causing you to open your eyes to see his ocean eyes staring back into yours. His eyes held lustful adoration, something far deeper than you’d seen before. You thought you’d seen glimpses of his love for you before now but now you were truly seeing all of it.

“Let me worship you the only way I know how.” He mumbled, giving into his urges, and kissing you with the force only matched by a hurricane.

A/N: Sorry for the cut off but this fic was getting insanely long. If people made it to the end and want a Part 2, leave a comment or a like so I know. Thanks for reading!

[fogaminghub]

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[eomereadig]

Snippet: Hunting Knives

Fandom: RDR2

Pairing: Charles Smith/Reader

Rating: T

Tags: pre-relationship, getting together, kinda, meet-cute, also kinda, gender-neutral pronouns

Full fic now avaliable here

Someone was in your cabin. 

A man, if the heaviness of their footfalls was anything to go by. 

Your heart leapt into your mouth. 

An innocent man seeking shelter or a bandit? The chances that it was your brother or even your mother were infinitesimal this deep into the winter. You couldn’t imagine anyone would be out here hunting either, which left only one possible explanation for the unexpected visitor. 

He was a crook, whoever he was. He’d probably followed you up into the mountains with a view to mugging you or worse, or found the cabin and thought it ripe for looting. 

Either way, he had to go. 

Though you’d seen much of the world and knew how to take care of yourself, you could freely confess that you’d never actually killed another person before. Sure, you’d knocked countless on their asses and left more than a few in potentially life-threatening situations, but you’d never been the one to pull the trigger and extinguish that light in their eyes. This time: however, you knew you’d need to open yourself up to that possibility. 

The man likely had a gun, you thought. You’d need to move quickly and incapacitate him. With any luck, you’d have the element of surprise and be able to knock him out without a fight. 

Desperately, you looked around the rather bare washroom for something to use. The basin was heavy and made of clay – you imagined it could be used to deal a hefty blow but you’d rather not break it unless you had to, your father having made it himself before he died, after all. 

It was then that you spied the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, one of its doors detached from its hinges. Your brother had probably started a little DIY project and forgot to finish it before he left. Though the wood of the door didn’t look too sturdy, you figured it was your best option to at least get the drop on the interloper in the next room. 

Heart pounding, you picked up the slab of wood and weighed it in your hands. It was now or never – best to strike the intruder before he found you. 

You were almost dizzy with adrenaline as you crept towards the door of the washroom. You couldn’t hear any more footsteps from the other side of the door. The man must have been looking at something. Or, perhaps, waiting for you to strike…

Tentatively, you pushed open the door, paying to all the gods you knew that it wouldn’t creak. 

Luck seemed to be on your side, at least for the moment. The man’s back was turned. He’d appeared to have laid his pack on your table and was now rifling through its contents. In search of a weapon, perhaps?

Shit, he was big. Tall and broad in all the places that made you want to cower. Even just viewing him from the back, it was plain to see that this man had a tough life – the life of a hunter like yourself, a farmer – or, far more likely, a criminal. His hair was long and dark, braided down your back and allowing you to see his dark skin a little more clearly in the already poorly-lit cabin. 

This was it. If you didn’t take the opportunity to strike now, your life could be forfeit and your family’s possessions lost. 

Steeling yourself, you raised the wooden door above your head and tensed like a snake waiting to strike. And then, with a scream that was a little more fearful than you’d care to admit, you pounced. 

You brought the wood down at the man’s head as hard as you could, enough to knock the wind out of you, and closed your eyes as it found its mark. A cry of surprise and the harsh crack of splintering wood rang in your ears and you felt the weapon in your grasp all but crumble between your fingers. 

Full fic now avaliable here

[jihef03]

Love how rdr2 shows that revenge is " a fool's game" yet how irresistible it can be.

Dutch has been consumed by it since the beggining of the game, justifying it by the death of loved ones and endangering the gang at every turn in the process. It is easy to critzices him as the player and because Arthur calls him out on it but things blur later one.

An ill-stricken Arthur can choose to go back to the loot despite his previous attempt at becoming a better man, just for the chance to get back at Dutch and Micah. After all that, it is tragic to see Arthur leaves his brother and head on the path of violence one last time. Tragic yet so powerful. Micah and Dutch destroyed everything that Arthur held dear, they made it so his life amounted to near nothing. How could we blame Arthur to give into the tempation of revenge then? After trying to do good for so long and being at death's door, can we blame for trying to take his ennemies down with him ?

And of course there is John. He goes against Arthur and Abigail's wishes and is willing to risk his own family's safety to hunt down one man. But that one man killed his brother and ruined his first family, can we blame John for it ? Wouldn't you do the same? Revenge might be foolish but when it involves family it might just be too big to forget.

[ubercharge]

my bf and i have both been playing rdr2

he's sprinting around at full speed constantly running his horse into fences and walls, murdering people at 30% weapon accuracy but murdering them all the same (you get a ton of ammo so missing shots really only hurts your HP), stealing and looting at rapid pace, and dressing arthur up in many shiny new clothes

i like to hunt with a bow and discover new animals with my binoculars and brush my horse. we are playing two entirely different games

[verdemoun]

if you're going to kill me would you hurry it up? i'd much rather miss this meeting

fun fact i also draw sometimes. cringe is dead, here's my rdr2 oc - dr morde groves. groves is a banker, accountant and money lender located in valentine. in typical valentine's fashion, he is the bookkeeper for the o'driscolls and wears green so the gang (which he views as a pest species) don't bother him out riding. his horse is a 12 year old greyed out steel grey brenton named eucalypt.

starting chapter 4, there would be a random encounter mission where arthur finds black belle (assuming her photograph has been taken) walking along the roadside after her horse has been killed escaping bounty hunters. she asks to be taken to valentine and introduces dr groves as maude, who corrects it is morde* nowdays, as one of her former fellow gang members who got scared and abandoned outlawing after the shootout that took out the rest of the Colter Tobin gang. after some back and forth bickering, morde agrees to help black belle financially if arthur is able to assist him with his business. he is a money lender, after all, and his clients can be difficult to reach. arthur writes a very bitter journal entry about being in the whim of another usurer.

except the missions are actually... giving people money. a young pregnant girl on her own trying to get out of town before her parents can send her to an unwed woman's home, an elderly woman struggling to live alone after the death of her husband, and finally culminates in a young woman (definitely not eliza's model) trying to escape her abusive husband with her five year old son. arthur gets the option to murder the husband. in the final mission, black belle is off on a new horse to resume her outlawing ways, and morde offers arthur ongoing, legal work if he ever wanted an out of the gang, which of course arthur refuses. morde looks slightly disheartened but wishes him luck

if at any point between the missions morde is looted, similar to how you can still rob or shoot any of the storeowners and they just respawn with head injuries, you can get a collectable 'letter to irish', which is a cryptid letter trying to warn kieran that the o'driscolls were very aware and very angry that he was riding with the VDLs and would 'seek to have their debt repaid', both encouraging and offering to help him escape to california. it ends with a line hoping the daughter of llyr is doing well with his new companions, to make it clear the letter was definitely meant for kieran. unfortunately, it was never sent, and kieran couldn't read anyway.

in chapter 6 and onwards, a horse identical to branwen can be found tied beside eucalypt on the street

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Welcome to the world of RDR2! My fave artist plays my fave game?!?! What a miracle! If we may know, how does your Arthur and your horse looks like? 👁️👁️

Hello!! Thank you so much for the warm welcome! (❁´◡`❁)

I've known RDR2 since the day it released. I remember I was in sophomore year high school. Arthur CHARMED me almost immediately and it unlocked something in me ngl HAHAHAH. I'm most certainly not new to the story, I've watched 5 YouTubers and streamers play the game, I've known/recognized almost the easter eggs and all the strangers events from YouTube recommendations and stuff like those, so yeah, RDR2 used to be a brainrot of mine, until BOOM college happened.

Now that college is over, I'm completely free! I'm currently on Chapter 2 - Clemens Point. I'm super happy hunting for perfect pelts and fishing-- never paying my bounty to kill the bounty hunters so I can loot the shit outta them.

Anyway, here's my Arthur!

Black is hot, 'nuff said. The hat shall never be changed, that's a rule! Maybe I want to add some feathers to it though.

Here's my horse! He's an all-black American Standardbred called "Arson" (get it? cuz he's Arthur's son? like, Ar, Son, his son? And Arthur's a criminal get it...?)

I knew from the early days of the game that there's only one all-black horse in the RDR2 world -- the American Standardbred. I've memorized the place where he's located, and the first thing I do after the first horse stable mission with Hosea was to find him.

(Unfortunately he's a male, and I can't hear Arthur whispering "you're alright girl" "good girl" "eeeeeeasy girl" in my ear 😔)

ANYWAY, I have 2 other horses in the stable, I forgot their breeds, but I name them "Embezzlement" and "Vandalism" 😔🤣

I'm of course a High Honor, all I rob is just the bounty hunters after me. Don't worry I'm good with my Arthur 👌

Thank you for asking!

I'm most deffo gonna draw him 😉