#grizzlies east
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millesaniclaim · 25 days ago
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hamish sinclair and arthur morgan. a pity
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roamingtigress · 6 months ago
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Dutch: "On the contrary, I feel very intimidatin'. They'll clear the bank as soon as I walk in."
Hosea: . . .
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coldmorte · 2 years ago
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Sundown.
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aiisstuffnthings · 3 months ago
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Fishing Trip
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madameriascreenshots · 10 months ago
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brainmoss · 11 months ago
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Some random pictures I took with the camera in Rdr2, but i liked them so why not share them too
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walterdecourceys · 5 months ago
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i am like actually terrified about backpacking in grizzly country i am feeling a dread i haven't experienced since i was in like fifth grade
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thorsenmark · 6 months ago
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Brown Bears Moving Through the Waters of Brooks River in Search of Salmon (Katmai National Park & Preserve) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: I captured this image at the Falls Platform with a view looking to the east at the Brooks River while observing brown bears in Katmai National Park.
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monkeyssalad-blog · 7 months ago
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"A Scene in Little Italy" -- 1895 by Jim Griffin Via Flickr: The song "The Sidewalks of New York" was written by Charles B. Lawlor & James W. Blake in 1894, Unknown artist, poster
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wintersongstress · 6 months ago
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RED DEAD REDEMPTION II  • scenery [94/?] —Travels Through Grizzlies East, Ambarino
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zae-heeyyy · 4 months ago
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Boisterous
Summary: Arthur takes you to The Loft. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 2,095 Warnings: 18+ MDNI Tags: rough sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, biting
a/n: I somehow ended up spending literal hours trying to perfect this drawing. I traced a lot and freehanded a lot too, but overall, I'm happy with the final product. TYSM for taking the time to read, like, reply, and reblog; I appreciate every interaction!
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Boisterous: behavior that is loud, energetic, and often unruly. It describes a person or situation that is full of noisy enthusiasm.
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When Arthur found "The Loft" two nights ago, he was grateful to sleep in a bed surrounded by four sturdy walls. The accommodation would've been perfect, but you were missing from it all. Lewd images of your past escapades together infiltrated his mind as he tried to sleep, and he made his best efforts to push them aside. Your pretty face lit up his brain, and he wrapped his hand around his cock, trying his best to imitate the ecstasy only you could make him feel. No grip was as delectable as yours, though, and despite a quick release, he was more pent-up than ever. He needed you there with him and planned to sweep you up and bring you back as soon as the sun rose.
The cowboy's sonorous voice roused you from your dreams about him, the early morning sun casting a golden glow on his face as he leaned over you. His beard had grown since the few days you'd last seen him.
"Get dressed. M'taking you somewhere."
Without a second thought, you joined him on the back of his horse within the hour. Arthur spared the details of this urgent impromptu trip, keeping you in suspense for the duration of the ride.
In a few hours, you'd passed through Valentine, went by Fort Wallace, and climbed up into the mountains of the Grizzlies East. As you rode on, the clouds grew thick and gray, and the smell of petrichor filled your nostrils. Arthur caressed a hand you had wrapped around his waist, reassuring you.
"Almost there."
But you weren't close enough; the atmosphere released a torrential downpour in the last fifteen minutes of your journey, leaving you drenched. A little after noon, you reached a towering outpost that Arthur coined, The Loft. Arthur ushered you inside, futilely shielding you from the rain and promising the heat of a fireplace as he closed the door behind you.
While you stood, rubbing your arms for warmth, Arthur checked for signs of other people, climbing a ladder and peaking over the top for a second before sliding down.
You two were all alone, finally.
When he got a good look at you, he realized just how soaked you were, the layers of your clothes sticking to you and showing every curve of your body. Arthur swallowed, mouth salivating from the view of your hard nipples peeking through your blouse.
All the blood left his head and traveled south, damn near making him dizzy. Maybe he should've been embarrassed, but he was just a man, and you were the most alluring thing ever.
Two large steps were all it took to get to you. One hand found the back of your head, and the other rested on your hip as he drew your lips to his, practically swallowing you in a scalding kiss.
You could feel the groan rumbling in his chest, and you giggled against his lips. The noise crescendoed as his lips separated from yours to find your jaw and neck. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, inhaling your scent while the hand on the back of your head traveled to the small of your back.
"Mmm," he hummed, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. "I missed y'so much."
And he had you all alone, truly alone, for the first time in your relationship. He'd been waiting to make love to you the way he really wanted. Your previous rendezvous were hushed, whispered, and sneaky, your moans muffled by Arthur's lips or hand. Even when he whisked you away to a hotel, he was keenly aware of everybody else around who could hear the two of you. Turning you into a whimpering mess filled him with fervent pride, but he wanted those parts of you, especially the sounds you made, all to himself.
The thought of finally hearing all those pretty little noises at full volume was enough to rile him up, and his hand groped your breast, kneading with a force he hadn't used on you before. You shivered against him; some of it was from your arousal, but the other part was the cold.
"The fire, Arthur," you said, shoving him off playfully. Grunting, he tore away from you, grateful for a log near the stove.
While his back was turned, you peeled the wet clothes off your body and dropped your blouse on the floor. Arthur spun back around right as you stepped out of your skirt, leaving you clad in your bloomers and nothing else. His breath hitched in his throat as if it were the first time your body had been bestowed upon him.
"Straight outta my dreams," he declared, his blue eyes shining with pure avidity. And just like that, Arthur strode across the room, dragging a chair with him and putting it against the door nob, just in case. You were back in his arms in an instant, his kisses emphasized with unadulterated sounds of pleasure. A rough hand slid into the waistband of your bloomers and grabbed a fistful of your ass, squeezing, letting go, and repeating.
You sigh breathlessly as he feels you up, leaning into his touch. Then without warning, he tastes you hungrily, tongue fucking your mouth.
His chest vibrates with titillation again, and you're hoisted up into his arms just a beat later, his hands cupping your rear. You squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding on tight as he carries you across the room and dumps you on blue cotton blankets. Breathing heavily, you watch under eyes saturated with desire as he promptly removes his own damp clothes.
You were just as taken aback by his body as he was with yours. Brown curls adorned his chest and stomach and gathered in a carnal wreath around his manhood. Touching him was like running your hands over a textured map: his scars, old and new, like rivers and valleys, while his muscles, firm and hot, were mountains and volcanoes. You could spend eternity exploring that map. Arthur would never get used to you ogling him in such a way, but now your hungry eyes lured him to you.
He climbed on top of you, pinning you under his weight. Usually, he'd ask if you were okay, but you answered the question before he'd even asked by tangling your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles to bring him closer.
His hard-on brushed against your leg, making him shudder. You helped him remove the last garment of clothes between the two of you, lifting your hips to help him pull the bloomers down your legs and off your feet.
Arthur normally took his time meticulously exploring you, leaving kisses in his wake, but damn it, the thought of the sweet grip of your pussy had been on his mind for days, and he needed it now.
His forehead leaned against yours, and he clutched your jaw, holding your face still to gawk at it. If someone saw him this way, they'd think he'd just completed a full sprint, every exhale coming out in a loud pant. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, turning him animalistic. He couldn't wait any longer.
The gunslinger dipped his head to look between you, a guttural utterance escaping him as you spread your legs, exposing your needy cunt. He held his cock, nearly discolored from being so hard, and rubbed it up and down your center, coating himself in your juices.
"Need you, woman," he bellows. The bass in his voice sends goosebumps spreading down your arms, and you nod, mouth agape, eyes staring into his. His jaw also hinges as he watches himself disappear inside you. Once wholly sheathed, he moans long and loud, a stark contrast to his regular subduedness.
You'd never seen him like this, so desperate and uninhibited. Your body responds to the unexpected but welcomed change, your pussy clenching around him, making both of you jolt. Holding himself up on his forearms, he rocks his hips into you at a steady pace, leaning down to kiss your neck.
Shy and coy Arthur had left the building, replaced by wolfish Arthur, willing to howl and snarl for what he wanted. And in the moment, he wanted to brand you with his mouth. Bruising you was defacing a masterpiece, but it was a crime he was happy to commit. He was an outlaw, after all. He nipped at your neck with his teeth, leaving a mark before moving on to another spot to do the same.
You cried out, the first orgasm of the night building within you. He knew your body well and adjusted to give you what you needed, straightening his back, digging his thumbs into your ribs, and pistoning in and out, his hand going to rub your clit. Head tipped back, he moaned, no, roared, with every thrust.
You knew this was rare: Arthur Morgan losing complete control of himself. He was lost in you, lost in your wetness, lost in your tightness, and lost in those sounds. His head snapped down, and he stared right through you, eyes wild.
"Let me hear you," he demanded, slowing his strokes to get your attention. Head spinning, you gasped, too cock drunk to pay attention to what he was saying.
Grumbling, he pulled out of you to switch positions, now standing on the side of the bed. He guided you back to him, aligning your backside with his crotch. He hugged you to his chest, your back pressed into him. Your hands instantly went to his forearm, holding onto him as he practically held you in the air.
"I said let me hear you," he growled in your ear, accenting each word of his demand with an electrifying pulse of his hips. You arched your back into him, his name coming off your lips like thunder.
"That's it, darlin’."
Perverse sounds of wet skin slapping together and boisterous cries filled the cabin.
You were starting to see stars, your vision blurring as you focused on the pressure building in your insides, wanting so desperately for it to boil over. Your toes dug into the buckskin rug at your feet, trying to keep the rest of your body upright.
Arthur was a machine, pounding into you with the goal of bringing both of you to the edge. He didn't relent—didn't show any mercy for the mess you'd become under him. It was overstimulating in the best way possible.
You just needed a second, just one, to get your barrings. Attempting to scoot forward for that break was futile. Arthur moved with you, his length plunging deeper than ever.
"C'mere," he growled as his cock grazed against that sweet spot in the depths of your core, making you holler out and lose the little balance you had left. It didn't matter, though; he held you taught against him, pinning your body between him and the bed. Keeping one arm wrapped around you, the other touched you right where you craved.
"Now," he groaned into your ear, fingers circling your clit antagonizingly slow. A chuckle exited him as you melted to his touch. "Want you to come undone right here. Can you do that for me?"
Droplets of sweat fell from his head onto your back, and you moaned out, "Y-yes, Arthur."
You didn't take long then; a wave of warmth crashed over you as your velvet walls contracted around him, making the man curse into the now-hot cabin air. His hips kept their steady rhythm as you came, Arthur chasing his own climax now.
"Good girl, good girl, good girl," He moaned with every thrust as you clenched around him. He folded himself in half, once again putting his full weight on you, his heart pounding against your back like a drum. More erratic now, his rhythm lost its steady cadence as his balls tightened, his orgasm coursing through his veins.
He pulled out of you, one hand still gripping your side as the other one pumped furiously at his cock. Moaning, whimpering, and whining, Arthur threw his head back as hot spurts of his lust splattered across your back.
Hand falling from your hip, his breath slowed as clarity flowed back into his eyes. Using his discarded bandana, he wiped his sins away from your back before gently rolling you over. He scratched the back of his neck, a sly grin making home on his face as he watched you splayed out and spent. Arthur had gotten everything he'd ever wanted: a bed, four walls, and you.
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millesaniclaim · 1 month ago
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arthur morgan and american standardbred. we will meet here again
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roamingtigress · 7 months ago
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simple amusements for simple minds
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ravengards-rogue · 2 months ago
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lucky bastard
john marston x fem!reader
✧ tags : afab + fem!reader, gendered language, established relationship, outdoor sex, lots of dirty talk, john being an idiot, mentions of sex work, all of this is very consensual reader is just shy. 18+
✧ wc : 1k
✧ a/n : this guy makes me insane against my will. everyday of my life.
✧ synopsis : john is full of bad ideas.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
"John Marston," Your voice is stern, harsh as you whisper. Both hands on his shoulders pushing yourself from the grasp he keeps you in so tightly. "Get the hell—"
"Don't be that way angel." His words are sweet but his voice is filled to the brim with snark. Edge to edge. "What? You too good for fuckin' in the woods now? Too much of a lady?"
You smack his shoulder. His response is to keep you exactly where you are - which is in his lap on an open trail, later at night. No blankets, bottoms discarded in a heap besides you since John insisted on getting you skin to skin.
You're not fucking in the woods, you're fucking just outside of them - a place to camp near the trees in the Grizzlies East - near Moonstone Pond.
You're right besides the trail, right where any down and out bastard could trot their horse through and get a clear shot of what's going on. There's better places to do this. Deeper in the trees where there's no chance of of somebody finding you both, for one.
But John seems excited at the idea of getting caught. And when John gets in one these moods, there's no reasoning with him. He gets caught up in his wants as always, foolhardy and crass. Though you mind it less than you're honest about.
His hands find your hips, blunt nails grasping at you for life as he moves you. Doesn't move himself, but rather - moves you, slides you up and down on the hard length of his cock with a smile just short of smug and just past mesmerized.
In the dead of night, it's easy to hear how he makes you feel. What he does to you. The wet lazy sound of thrusts of his dick in you drown all noise of the lonesome evening. You wrap yourself around him in a fit of desperation, hitting your fists weakly on his back. He laughs in the way he always does, presses a kiss to the parts of you he can reach while you throw a fit.
"You're such a rotten, no good, irritating bastard, Marston."
"And you just can't stay away from me, can you sweetheart?" He holds you in place while you bottom out and you can feel him swell when you say it. You almost want to sneer. "It ain't like you to play coy."
"I'm not playing anything. Someone's gonna come out here and see and—"
"And what? Some poor bastards gonna ride through here and see you split open on me and wish he was me? You feel sorry for him? I sure don't."
Your voice catches at the sudden change. The change in pace, the change in tone, the change in demeanor. His hands grip you tighter and he flips you until you're laying in the grass on your back. His dick kisses your cervix at the new angle, legs wrapped around his waist and blinking in surprise from where he looks down on you. More scar than man, all sharp lines and dark hair barely failing away from his face.
He leans down that time. You think to kiss you but instead he hikes you up until your spine arches so slightly and he thrusts that way. Fucks his cock so deep into you, it feels like all the airs been punched out of your lungs. It's more invasive than it's been all night, bigger and thicker - makes it feel like your cunt is being pulled open. The tip dragging on your insides, sticky and sensitive on each motion.
You gasp his name out, hands find his hair - tugging just to have something to hold. "John,"
"In fact, if anything - we're doing 'em a favor. Only time they see a woman at all is when they're paying for her. They could only be so lucky seeing a woman as beautiful as you feeling so good for me for free."
You make a whimpering noise and swallow it down. John laughs, scruff against your shoulder. His teeth tug at your ear lobe as he positions you - hand sliding between your bodies as his thumb finds your clit.
"I'd put a bullet clean between their eyes before they touch you, you know that? But I'm a decent man so," He laughs breathless. "A look is all they're gonna get. Charity, ain't it? In a way.''
You make a face at him, disarmed - weak, purely and plainly in a way that makes his laugh go from smug to charmed, affectionate. He kisses you on the lips that time. Corner of your mouth, your chin and cheek and shoulder. His arm cradling you easy in his grasp as you keep your legs up for him to fuck you.
Fire runs through your nerves as all the sensations settle in at once. The pleasure of having your clit rubbed even clumsily is enough to make you whine out in pleasure, especially in pace with being fucked so hard again and again. Something turns in your belly, honeyed - hot, like pouring sugar over a flame. You feel the warm iron of your own want be shaped by John with every consequential knock and thrust.
You breathe out as his attitude slows to merciful. He gets like this when you get close - gets all softhearted and gentle even as he's fucking you senseless.
You sniffle. "You're such a bastard, Marston."
"Don't I know it," He hums, easy and keeps going. "Getting close for me, angel? Gonna make me a nice little mess to clean up?"
"Shut up,"
He chuckles. "C'mon. You gonna let go for me?"
You swear. "Y-yeah."
"Good girl," He praises. You can't even pretend not to keen when he says it. "Go on then. Show me. Let me see,"
With another unceremonious thrust, you unravel in John's arms like the threaded frayed ends of a piece of twine. Pulled apart, you cum on his cock hard - a tingling sensation spreading through your whole body as your back curls up. Your legs force John to stay bottomed out as you shudder. The overwhelming pleasure doesn't seem to end.
You only breathe after a few minutes. John coaxes some comfort from you with a kiss to your collarbone.
"Still mad at me?"
You roll your eyes and smack his head lightly. "Shut up, Marston."
"Shut up ain't much of an answer." He says, pretending to sigh. "Guess I'll have to make you go one more to earn that forgiveness huh?"
Your lips quirk. Idiot. "Guess we'll just have to see."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago
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Unorthodox 1
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.
Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜
💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼
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The rumble keeps you awake. A storm but not the type in the sky. You yawn and lean against the hummer door, jostling with the wheels as the roaring snores fill the compartment. Pierson drives and sends dark looks in the rear view, equally as disturbed by the burly man snorting and snuffing beside you. Neither of you dare disturb him. You’re not that dumb. 
The man is intimidating even in slumber. You pull on the seat belt and adjust your posture. The hours spent in the back seat have you stiff and restless. You envy Syverson. He can sleep through anything. You really believe that. If it wasn't for you, he'd oversleep the alarm in his phone every time. 
You yawn as you sense Pierson's attitude shift. You're almost there. He nods at you in the mirror and you sigh. You reach to grab the thermos that will be lukewarm at best by now. Still, you have to appease the bear. 
You reach to squeeze Sy's shoulder. He snorts and sucks in a deep breath. You try to shake him, an impossible task for most. You brush your fingers down his sleep and poke his muscle. 
"Syverson," you say tersely, "time to wake up." 
He slumps away from you and snores even louder. You roll your eyes. He's stubborn even when he's asleep. You pull your hand back and snap your knuckles against his arm. 
"Sy! Up." 
Still he is unaffected. You undo your seat belt and move closer. You uncap the thermos and reach around him, hovering it under his nose. He quiets and sniffs, grumbling. He moves stuntedly to wrap his hand around yours and slide the metal cup free. He sits up and purrs over the brim.  
"Coffee," he growls and gulps deep. 
"About there," Pierson states. 
Sy hums flatly and finishes the coffee in another swig. He hands back the empty cup and you shimmy back to other end of the seat. You cap the thermos and put it back in the plastic holder. 
"Remind me," he flicks two fingers at you. 
You stir around and bring out your tablet, sliding back the protective cover. You tap and bring up the contract, flicking through the maps as you go over the numbers. Units in the east, with another party coming from the north. Estimates are about sixty men total, fifteen vehicles, and ammunition to match. 
"They're tryin' to short us," Sy insists. "I can sell half as many for double." 
"Yes, you can," you agree, "but you also need to network." 
He chortles, "this isn't a boardroom, Izzie." 
"Don't I know it," you utter. You miss those days sometimes. Sand and sun make you long for climate control and complimentary coffee. "Money is money, I get it, but this is a big one. Could open a lot of doors. Make it so you can demand your worth." 
"Mm, so wise," he praises in his grizzly way, "kit." 
You fold up the tablet cover and once more search around the pack. You take out the toiletry pouch and hand it over. He finds the mini toothbrush and uses a gulp of the bottled water to wash up, spitting out the window. As he checks his watch, you reach over with a tissue to wipe a spot of paste from his beard. 
"Thanks, Iz." 
You go about cleaning up yourself. Worse than the cold caffeine and sleepless night, its the lack of hygiene that gets to you most. You use a face wipe on your skin and ball it up. The money is convincing and as much as you might long for the old ways, those office walls drove you mad. 
"I need a fuckin' drink," Sy grumbles as he rubs his eyes. 
"Tell me about it," you scoff. 
"Huh? You never do." 
"Not with you," you counter. "Don't drink on the clock." 
"Mm, so you do partake?" 
"None of your business." 
"Ah, come on, Iz, you can't dangle the bait in front of me like that." 
"You got your vest on?" You ask. 
"Always. Don't change the subject." 
"Not much else to say about it," you zip up the pack and sit back, watching through the windshield, a cage between the front and backseats.  
Sy straps on his fingerless gloves and furls and unfurls his fists. He's getting impatient. He always gets a bit uppity before a meeting. Especially with money on the line. You don't doubt him for a minute. He handles numbers as well as he does a gun. 
"Let's say I get them to tack on another fifty," he says, "will you drink to that?" 
You look at him from the corner of your eye, "depends." 
"Depends on what?" He challenges. 
"No Titos." 
He's quiet as he drags his boot tread on the floor. Even in such a large vehicle, he's cramped. 
"How'd you know?" 
"Someone has to keep your pantry stocked," you tut. 
He chuckles, "s'pose." 
You tidy yourself as best as you can and set your jaw. It took a lot to get used to the whole not smiling thing. You were never very keen on it but every job you had before required it. 
"You get this one, you get a lot more than money," you gird. "I know you will." 
"Ah, you trust me, Izzie." 
"Trust is a strong word. I know you'll handle it," you say as you stretch your legs, checking your own vest as you tighten the straps.  You sense him watching you. 
"Eh, I think I might let you take lead," he snorts, "you can be terrifying when ya want to." 
"Whatever," you shrug off the joke. Scary? You? 
What's scary is walking into a job interview with a brute sharpening a hunting knife as casually he might clean his nails. Scarier even is to say yes to the offer. Life does lead you to the most unexpected places. Still, you prefer it to the purgatory of predictability house in the white corporate walls of the past.  
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madameriascreenshots · 10 months ago
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