#leviticus cornwall
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Sadie and some bad folk
#Colm was so fun to design#my art#rdr2#red dead redemption#dutch van der linde#arthur morgan#sadie adler#colm odriscoll#cleet and Joe#Leviticus Cornwall#angelo bronte#Andrew Milton#Edgar Ross#anthro au#animals
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Last drawing is fan art for a gift fan fic for the fantasy au by SweetSunBurn
https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FantasyAU_RDR2/works/61971253
#fantasy au#rdr2#rdr2 au#meek’s art#Bill williamson#kieran duffy#kieran x bill#bill x kieran#Charles smith#dutch van der linde#colm o'driscoll#Leviticus cornwall#Art dump
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Arthur and John being the badass duo brothers that VanderMatthews brought them up to be 🔥
(Lets just pretend Arthur stole Swanson secret Stash and he was high as hell here instead of having TB and John is just happend to be an emo stoner)
#rdr2#red dead redemption community#red dead fandom#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#dutchieliciousplans#VanderMatthews#arthur morgan#orthur#orthur morgan#leviticus cornwall#john marston#jim milton#rip van winkle#chapter 6#rdr2 chapter 6#john marston and arthur morgan#john and arthur#dutch has a plan#camrea mode#rdr2 camrea mode#rdr2 photomode#rdr2 photography#red dead photographraphy#rockstar#rockstar games
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This is a post for the person who blessed us with THOSE photos of Arthur Morgan
On behalf of the entire fandom I want to say my earnest thanks, I hope that both sides of your pillow will always be cold, you will always come across three-star animals and you will never be stuck bc of stable bug in rdo.
God bless you my brother/sister/sibling in Christ.
#rdr 2#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#rdr#arthur callahan#leviticus cornwall#tacitus kilgore#fenton
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🎮 Just embarked on "Who the Hell is Leviticus Cornwall" in Red Dead Redemption 2? 🤠 Our latest blog post breaks down the mission step-by-step, helping you meet all Gold Medal requirements! From saving Lenny to taking out guards, get the strategies you need to succeed!
#Red Dead Redemption 2#Leviticus Cornwall#RDR2 Mission Guide#Gold Medal Strategy#Train Heist#RDR2 Tips#RDR2 Gameplay#Red Dead Tips#Gaming Guide#RDR2 Walkthrough#Video Game Strategy#RDR2 Heist#Dutch Van Der Linde#Red Dead Redemption#How To Get Gold Medal#RDR2 Mission Overview#Action Adventure Games#Epic Gaming Moments#Save Lenny#Game Characters#Open World Gaming#Gaming Community#Video Game Guide#Gamer Tips#Dynamite Strategy#Looting Guide#Heist Planning#RDR2 Characters#Red Dead Fans#Gaming Secrets
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This just reminded me of a photo of Arthur I tooked 😆 that boah will get himself comfortable literally anywhere and find the most awkward places to take a nap
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This is probably the most asshole face I've seen on a person
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Person: How’s your morning going?
Me:
#arthur morgan#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#cowboy#western#rdr#red dead redemption#who the hell is leviticus cornwall#mission#meme#homegrown#cursed#this is basically every single day for me lmaoooo#not a morning person XD
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I wonder what would have happened to the gang if Dutch died at the Blackwater massacre?
#but#imagine no train heist and no Leviticus Cornwall hunting them down#also imagine them kicking off Micah sooner or later#or not rescuing him from Strawberry#and Hosea taking Dutch's role and guiding them#or maybe they would eventually split up?#one can only imagine#RDR2#Dutch van der Linde
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Choose the low honor ending javier guy, be meaner 😈
Dishonor maxing <3
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✧Night Moths
✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur has a simple task to do, searching for any lead possible at the Mayor's party. Only problem? You also have a job of your own. Based on “The Gilded Cage” ✦ Warnings/tags: guns, strangers to…sinners?, SMUT 18+, reader is part of a St Denis gang, cover names used at first, smoking, Arthur is extremely horny and a little rough with you (you pushed his limits), cursing, outdoor sex, fingering, tits play, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 9,8k ✦ a/n: YES. I KNOW. This is super long. I have absolutely zero excuse. I feel like this is my best piece yet, but I'm so nervous about posting it! Once again, a big thank you to the incredible @zae-heeyyy, my jedi master, my confidence-booster and patience Queen, who beta-read this big baby and helped me so much with so many things, as always. (Go check her blog I'm begging you)
Glasses are twinkling and clinking all around you. Words are spoken, laughs are let out, champagne drank.
You're leaning against one of the stoned garden walls, fancy decor of the Mayor's house, the perfectly cut bushes looking just as fresh and neat as every guest at this party. You can hear the distinguished music coming from a quartet playing under a gazebo a few meters away from you, and smell the fresh air of the night blending with aromas of flowers, expensive alcohol, hint of vanilla and sweet scents hiding a stronger note of sweat and cologne. Around you, all the richest, wealthiest, and noteworthiest of people in St Denis. You can hear them talk; their conversation as dull and superficial as an empty chrysalid, an abandoned cocoon emptied from all substance, from all interest and life.
You hated those kinds of discussions. Hated those kinds of people, the ones that have the easiest and simplest life one could ever have; being fed, being cared for, even being told what to think and do. You almost envied them in a way, they didn't have to worry about a single thing apart from losing their power. It seemed comfortable somehow, worry-free. The exact opposite of what you had always known.
And yet, you had to bear with them. A very specific task had been assigned to you by your gang. A simple job, one you were often sent off to as you had grown by the years into a great thief and a terribly efficient shapeshifter; blending into any type of party, or gathering, always making a good impression, putting people at ease. You were now an expert at this little game, especially with rich men. They were all the same, always wanting more, demanding the same thing from you. You had learned how to play with their greediness and lust to turn it into your advantage, saloons becoming your jungle as you sneaked easily between your prey to rob them, a deadly and redoubtable leopard in a world of apes.
You needed to steal some important documents from the mayor's office. The main informer of your gang had specified it was a pretty strong lead, and that you could gain a lot from it; something to do with Leviticus Cornwall's dirty deeds with the mayor, a blackmail opportunity.
Your boss had decided to send you, knowing you would easily integrate the party, and even more easily steal the documents. So here you were, feline eyes looking all around you, scanning, observing, evaluating. You couldn't just come, steal the papers, and go; it would have been too suspicious. All the contrary, you needed to be seen and leave a good impression like you always did, maybe stay for a couple of hours, and then smoothly retrieve your goal before disappearing in the secrecy of the dark night. A flamboyant, harmless butterfly… on the surface.
You sighed, trying to pay attention to what was being said to you. Right in front of you, a middle-aged man was talking, explaining something about how he had acquired his incredible wealth. His speech was sadly boring, his eyes glum, his clothes basic, his face awfully bland.
The empty chrysalis in all its gloomy glory.
You forced yourself to nod and give the man a charming smile. This was your job. You had to at least do it properly. Why was tonight a lot harder than the others? Were you frightened to be right under the Mayor's nose, fooling him into his own home? Were you tired, or sick?
In a way, you were. Sick of this life, of this constant pretending, of being here listening to the literal hollow vessel bragging about himself, sick of needing to appear actually interested, charmed even.
Suddenly, the music coming from the quartet is too loud, sharp violin blending with his words, making you even less focused. You were here for too long already, you needed a break and to finish your mission.
You politely interrupted the stranger, placing a gentle hand on his forearm, a gesture that you had noticed was prompt to soften most men. Along with your most charming smile, you excused yourself from him and quickly walked to a less crowded area, praying that no one would interrupt you.
You made your way up to the exterior stairs of the luxurious mansion just before the patio door and windows, and stopped on top of them, placing your hands on the central low wall, between two Greek columns. Another fancy facade, the house itself was just an imitation from another culture. Did any of these fools have any personal identity at all?
From here, you had a good view of the whole party. Countless fake smiles, masks, a literal scene of a play that could have its place at the Théâtre Râleur. A play of pale phantom shells.
You reached for your purse, taking a cigarette out, mindlessly putting it between your lips. Maybe smoking would help. You searched for a match, silently cursing realizing you hadn't any left.
"Ya need some fire, Ma’am?"
A deep voice said behind you, making you turn, surprised. It was unusual for people to startle you, your ears had been trained to notice the faintest of footsteps in order to survive.
You got even more surprised considering who had talked. A man was standing before you. He was taller, and largely wider than you, his black suit struggling to contain what looked like a well-built body; which made you wonder how could he have been so quiet. His shoulders especially looked way broader than the men you had the habit of running into at those sorts of gatherings. A very classical white bow looked like it was strangling him. His black tailcoat and white jacket looked larger too, making you wonder how much did he had to pay for the tailor to sew them custom-made.
His hair had a soft indescribable color, somewhere between a light brown and a sandy blond. His face, the work of a brutal draftsman, rough edges and strong squared jaw gratified with some scars. One on his chin, another on his nose, nose that seemed broken now that you were thinking about it. It looked like the artist that had drawn this man had sharpened his pencils too much and traced lines in a hurry, piercing through the canvas, his features ending up rugged and scared, some trace of graphite shrapnel that would have damaged the portrait.
What disturbed you the most were his eyes. They looked out of place considering how robust his features were. One could have expected them to be dark, black even. But they were the exact opposite, their bright and soft indigo color leaving you disarmed, two sapphires locked on your own pupils.
He was handing you a match, and you slowly took it, your fingers slightly discovering how his palm felt under them. Firm, calloused. Another stone-like feature of him.
He looked like those Greek statues carved by artists. His beauty so singular and yet enticing. So different.
"Why, thank you, kind sir." You showed your gratitude to him with a grin, lighting the match by simply rubbing it against the cold stone of the fence, a little flame appearing instantly. You brought it to your mouth, the cigarette finally catching fire, and you breathed in.
"Ya don't smoke much?" He questioned, voice deep. You hadn't noticed how deep it was the first time, nor how pronounced his accent was, dragging and drawling every word, a slow melody of his own.
"Not too often, indeed." You informed him. It was the truth, you were basically just smoking during jobs to blend in more easily, most people doing it. It was an easy way to start a conversation with anyone. Just like he had done with you, you noted.
"Needed a break from high society?" He inquired, a sarcastic tone in his voice.
"I guess you could say that." You answered, exhaling a long drag of smoke.
You were now completely turned to face him, your cigarette making back and forth from your mouth to the air where you tossed the burned ashes with a little movement from your thumb to the cigarette’s end. Your motions were elegant, distinguished but looked natural. It caught his interest.
"What's your name, sir?" You spoke again, curious about this uncommon newcomer.
"Tacitus Kilgore. What is yours, Ma'am?" He asked you back before placing himself on your left, both of you leaning on the low fence of the patio.
You contained a chuckle. There was no way in the World this man was named like this. You knew something was odd about him. The scars, his knuckles redden and subtly wounded as if had fought recently. His strong stature, miles away from a lazy bourgeois being served, his wild hair longer than the actual trendy haircut, his stubble fitting more a countryman than an actual St Denis gentleman.
Years of playing with people and observing them had made your eyes alert and expert, and you could see when someone was pretending.
When someone was playing a role just like you were, not belonging into this World.
"Rose Schultz." Of course, it wasn't your real name either. You had to be a really poor thief to give him your actual one. He didn't react to it though, his face impassible just like the start of your whole conversation.
Apart from this vague feeling you had about him not being a rich gentleman, you found trouble in reading his emotions. His facial features were closed, impenetrable, mysterious. This also disturbed you as you had the habits of figuring men out right away; he on the other hand was a whole challenge by himself, his intentions hidden behind an emotionless face. This man probably was a champion at poker.
"Nice t' meet ya, Missus Schultz. Are you, erm, hidin' from someone here? Or jus' judgin' everyone from your perch?" He went on with a more amused voice.
"Just know that I'm not the type to hide from someone, Mister." You replied, a little grin curling up your lips.
"Yeah, you sure don't look like it..."
"You wanna know what I think you look like, Mister?"
"Go ahead."
"A wild horse who's trapped, and can't wait to be freed again."
Silence. His eyes stared deeply into yours, stabbing you in sharp blue flashes of Apatite, as keen as the blade of a knife. After just a few seconds, you finally see his mouth moving, his cold expression changing as a slight grin made his way between the stillness of his features.
"You sort of a witch or somethin' ?" He asked you, amused once again. His little smile is even more evident in his eyes, his lower eyelids crinkling slightly in amusement.
"Maybe." You answered cockily, feeling more at ease with him now that he was slightly more open.
Still, there was something that was making you feel weak in the knees; maybe it was his tall stature, his strong build, or the palpable tension you could feel beaming out from him, as if he was ready to jump on someone who would have crossed him at any second.
In a way, you liked it. It was almost exciting.
"I better not mess wi’chu then. Don't wanna end up cursed or somethin'." He joked, features relaxing, body leaning slightly more against the low wall in a more comfortable position.
"Oh, I wouldn't dare. You also look like the type of man you don't wanna mess with..."
"I'm surprised how well you already know me, darlin'." He admitted, internally enjoying your conversation more and more.
Your heart swelled at the surname. It felt so good in your ears, it sounded better than from any person who ever said it to you. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to hear him say it just to you.
"I'm kinda talented at figuring people out." You simply replied, before taking another drag at your cigarette.
"I too. And I also think you're not here to jus' play nice with everyone and enjoy yourself." He suddenly confessed to you with a knowing gaze, eyebrows raising as if he was trying to make you understand something.
He knew too. You both knew you weren't from this world, like two predators from the same species, recognizing themselves, circling, judging, from one individual to another. Your breath stopped for a very short time, nobody could have noticed it, but somehow you were sure he did.
"Don't ya worry little "rose", I won't tell no one..."
You didn't miss how he was playing with your false name. On top of being astonishingly handsome, he had some spirit…
He's still looking intensely into your eyes. "In return, I expect you to do the same...", he added in a low voice, his tone firmer and even more resonant than earlier.
A threat. His presence only intimidates you, and it's working so well that you're almost sure he must be an expert in terrorizing too. He must be one hell of a weapon all by himself.
You slowly nodded your head, trying to swallow as naturally as possible to look unphased.
"Guess we have a deal here, "Tacitus"." You emphasized his name, making it clear you're more than doubtful about it being real too.
It made him laugh, and you almost lost it at the sound of it. It was as deep, raw, and genuine as his entire being seemed to be. You loved it. You loved it too much.
Exhaling some smoke, you noticed he had pulled out a cigarette too and had joined your smoking, holding it between his thumb and index finger. You had mixed feelings for this man. He was just as intimidating as he was enticing, and you let your curiosity win the best of you as you carried on your conversation with him.
"I hate it here." You suddenly confessed.
There was no point in playing anymore, and even if you didn’t really know why you had told him that, a part of you felt like maybe, just maybe, he could have understood you.
"Yeah, I get what ya mean. Sometimes I think that those people are jus'… reptiles in fancy clothin'."
You had seen right. Your chest felt light, as if he had lifted a weight in you with just those simple words.
"I just want to be anywhere else but here. Somewhere nicer, more authentic. Like in Big Valley..." You went on with your regrets.
"You too know about this place uh? Yeah, I can picture ya picking flowers in Lil’ Creek..."
This time it was your turn to chuckle, your laugh creating a little puff of smoke in the air. Was he being serious or just teasing you? You didn’t really care. Now, you felt like something special was linking you both as you knew exactly where this spot was, a happy memory brought back in your mind thanks to his words. The wild and fresh river, the meadows covered in thousands of violet flowers, the snowy mountains in the background.
Your cristal-clear laugh made him smile back at you.
"So... What does a woman like you is actually doing here, then?" He asked you, his eyes roaming all along your body while he did.
You were glad you had put on the prettiest dress you had, its dark burgundy color matching perfectly the tone of your skin, and its generous cleavage showing a delicious amount of your chest, underlined by a black translucent shawl covering your shoulders and twirling around your arms. You were offering a tempting sight for every man. You knew he had looked at it, his eyes lingering there had almost burned your skin, sent a warm feeling between your tights, and made your hand hold your cigarette tighter.
"You really thought it would be that easy, Mister?" You answered with another cheeky grin, looking at him with a sensual gaze, your words let out in a languorous whisper, knowing damn well he was trying to gain information, probably to probe if he could get something out of it for himself. "You really thought I would just confess everything to you about myself and what I'm doing here, just because you've got a firm tone and pretty face?"
He let out a dry single chuckle, his cigarette hanging in the air, smirking some more. This damn smirk, it was making you have more and more inappropriate thoughts about this man. The wildness, the dangerousness he was emitting should have made every girl flee, but you, all the contrary, were attracted by it like a moth to a flame.
Or maybe he was the Moth. Maybe he was the beautiful, singular, and ephemeral Moth in the world of chrysalides you were searching for all along.
"Oh trust me, I could make you spit out everythin' I want, Miss." He replied to your taunting words with the serious threatening tone he had used before. "Could make this pretty mouth behave..." He added, looking right into your soul, bending slightly towards you.
You felt like the tension was about to make your whole body burst. There was something between you two, you were sure he could feel it too. A sinuous, dark creature swimming and circling incessantly under the surface of a frozen lake; waiting, craving to be unleashed, to break the thin layer of ice that was keeping it caged.
He was inviting you to measure yourself to him. Bent towards you, wanting you to close the other half of the space between you both. A challenge, or a mark of respect, the case you didn’t want to venture into this territory.
But truth was, you wanted to. You wanted to break the ice yourself, you wanted to just kiss him, right here, right now.
Of course, it was a bad idea. And you were a professional, on a mission.
Instead, you put your hand on his bicep and brought your head inches away from his, not closing the space between your mouths. You’re accepting this silent fight, excited to show him what you’re capable of. You’re enveloped by his strong scent; your lips so close to his. You can see by his widening smirk how delighted he is you didn’t change your mind nor lost your guts. Responding to your bold move, he slowly snaked an arm around your waist. His hand landed on your lower back, just on the verge of being offensive.
Both of you stayed like this for a moment, your breath mixing, merging in a dangerous and exciting cocktail, but neither of you actually crossing the limit.
He could sense just how close he was to though, his muscles were tensed under your fingers, his forehead almost resting on yours with a light frown on it. You could see in his impassive handsome face a whole new emotion.
Pure, raw lust.
"You're such a temptatious, thorny rose..." He mumbled in a hot whisper against your lips, the warmth between your legs now burning like a wildfire. Your pussy was aching for him, and you couldn't hold it anymore.
You felt his body twitching as he was going to finally do it, finally break the ice of the frozen lake, finally let his impulses and needs break free, his unholy, deep, atrociously torturous desires-
"Ah, Arthur !" A relieved voice interrupted both of you and he immediately let go of you, his head snapping to look at the man who had talked, eyes widening.
A tall gentleman with a perfectly cut mustache as black as his long curly hair and hat was looking at your companion with a contained, amused smile.
"Will you excuse us, Miss?" He said unctuously to you, his voice polite and charming.
It was more of a statement than a question. He quickly took one of your hands and put a polite kiss on it before bending slightly towards you, as a gentleman would, and looked at your opponent with an insistent gaze.
Arthur was fulminating. He wasn't actually showing it, his face had come back to its usual cold, emotionless expression. But you could feel from where you were the unbearable tension and frustration that was dripping from his body language, almost as a halo of warmth you could physically touch with your hands. He took a last look at you, eyes expressing a mix of regret and bitterness.
"Goodnight, Miss." He coldly greeted you, walking next to you to follow his friend and go down the stairs, his shoulder brushing against yours while doing it.
"Goodnight, Arthur..." You answered him emphasizing his name once again, making it really clear that you remembered it was not the one he had given you and that you were pretty proud you had seen right. A playful, teasing grin on your face, you look one last time at him before he vanished in the ocean of guests.
Your Butterfly had disappeared just as quickly as he had materialized; leaving you alone with the empty cocoons once more. It was more than time for you to do your job and get out of here. Your cigarette finished, now feeling cold between your fingers, you tossed it away and headed into the mansion, feeling just as frustrated as so-called Arthur.
Arthur was pissed. He had never felt so frustrated in ages, and it was making his thoughts even less easy to discipline. His cigarette was on the verge of being smoked all at once from how intense he was getting and how heavy his breath had turned, the end of it constantly burning in a red shining little point as he was walking.
This whole year he had felt like he didn't have any control over anything anymore and he hated it.
He was already feeling embittered in his everyday life, Dutch listening less and less to his opinion, Micah sneaking around him more and more, Mary coming back to him just to ask him to help her goddamn father who had always treated him like shit.
On top of that, Dutch had made him look like an idiot using his actual name in front of you, making him wonder what was even the whole point of having a cover if he wasn't capable of sticking to it; which he had bitterly pointed out to him, but his superior had shrugged it off, seemingly happy to be here amongst the important people, looking as careless as ever.
Yes, Arthur was feeling frustrated, frustrated and tired of this. Tonight, instead of giving of himself, he wanted to take, for once. He needed to, even. He was about to before being interrupted, and this thought was gnawing at him from the inside.
He was barely paying attention to what Dutch was saying to him and the others once Hosea and Bill had joined them. All he could see was your insanely beautiful face, your inviting lips, the perfect outline of your breasts from your cleavage, like engraved into his pupils.
The way you were talking, charming and teasing, the way you were smoking, all of this dreadfully turning him on during all your conversation. He had made an enormous amount of effort in order not to just kiss you.
He had joked about you being a witch, but it was the only explanation: you had bewitched him, threw your darkest, most sinful curse on him. Never in his life he had felt so attracted to someone after having talked with them for only such a short amount of time. What an insane fool he was.
On top of it, he was raging about the fact he probably wouldn't have the occasion to see you ever again. He had understood you clearly weren't just another rich man's wife, and he was certain you had given him a false name. His cock was throbbing terribly hurtfully in his pants, making his jaw clench, his brows frowning even more than usual. It was begging to be buried in you, between your legs, in your mouth, or your hands, even your breasts or your ass, anything but the cold feeling of nothingness he was feeling right now around it.
The sudden explosive sound and colorful lighting of fireworks had pulled him out of his blasphemous thoughts.
He understood Dutch was ordering him something about following one of the Mayor's domestic, and gladly obliged, relieved to have another thing to focus on. Something about Cornwall sending an important letter to Lemieux, which he had to steal. Nothing difficult, he had done those sorts of things countless times.
Nothing new.
Nothing puzzling, like you had been.
As he followed the man, eyes locked on his white suit from afar, he quickly took a glance at the patio to see if you were still there. You weren't. His dick ached as he let out a deep exhale. Damn it.
Arthur rapidly found himself inside the Mayor's house. His servant had entered what looked like an office. He waited a few seconds after the room had felt silent, behind the corner of the walls, just to be sure, and entered it.
The room was indeed an office, a little desk with an armchair on his left, bookcases covering every wall, simply illuminated by a flickering orange lamp. Everything looked normal, except for the dark figure of a person in the middle of the place.
You.
He recognized your sensual dress immediately and witnessed you shoving some papers in what looked like a leathered little pocket held around your right thigh by leathered straps, just like a holster would be. His mind raced, a million reflections flying under his eyes.
You were some sort of professional thief. And he didn’t have to be a genius to understand you had just taken the precise thing he was there for.
"That's why you were here, lil' rose?!" He asked you almost in disbelief, closing the door behind him.
You looked at him with a bold grin, looking almost amused by the situation. He, on the other hand, felt nothing but amusement. Anger, to have been fooled so easily, and that you had got ahead of him, losing the quiet game that had been played out between you. Envy, as you were now possessing two things he wanted to take away from you. Arousal, as his eyes were glued to the thigh that was now visible to his greedy eyes as you had pulled up your dress to put the sheets in your hidden pocket. Need, as his member felt hard again just by the sight of you doing it.
"Yeah, and you can only dream for me to give them to you if those papers were your target too, Arthur."
Damn, that teasing, cheeky mouth of yours. His fantasies came back in full force, and his gaze darkened. As temptatious as you were, he needed those documents. And he would do anything he had to to have them back.
"Give ‘em to me." He lowly ordered you, voice so severe you could have melted right into the carpeted floor of this damn office. But you didn't.
"Hell no."
"Give ‘em t’me, woman. I won't ask nicely a third time."
"If you want them, you'll have to catch me, pretty boy."
Lord, why was everyone so prompt to call him this way lately? He almost grunted at the way you had said it, and he would have lied if this time he didn't like it when it fell from your lips. He wanted to reply with something witty and even more threatening, but in a flash, you had opened the window, and easily jumped outside.
This Goddamn woman. What was she exactly? Some sort of feline? Yeah, probably a panther, agile, impressive, dangerous like one.
He instantly ran after you, jumping through the window too, landing in a loud thud. He quickly spotted your dress running away, escaping by the entry’s portal, then in the nearest street, disappearing behind St Denis's myriad of flashing lights.
How could he had missed it? His mind was filled with images of it.
He had the common decency of grabbing back his gun from the butler at the party's entry, making him almost fall on the ground as he hadn't slowed but had grabbed them while running, the poor man wondering what the Hell made both of these people in such a hurry.
He was now flying at full speed around the luxurious streets, following the faint glimpse of your dress's color at the corner of every turn. He felt like he could follow your scent like a hunting dog, your sweet and peachy perfume confirming him you had passed there before.
He had enough, feeling his restrain and manners crackling more and more into little pieces. You were making him feel like a damn animal, reducing his whole being to primal needs and functions. He should have been disgusted with himself for that. But all he could do right now was thinking about the damn documents hidden against your damn alluring thigh.
"Stop now, you Goddamn... Evil woman!" He tried to call you out, but you just wouldn't stop. He started firing at you, getting angrier and more fed up by the second, a bullet exploding a piece of the bricked wall right next to your head, some splinters cutting slightly the top of your ear.
You bent over to dodge his bullets one more time and you heard him cursing again loudly behind you. On top of being big, strong and clever, he was fast. In a quick movement of your feet, shaking them, you removed your shoes, unable to run at your fastest speed with heels. You continued your frenzied course, way more at ease.
Arthur rushed in where you were just mere seconds after you, noticing the shoes abandoned on the floor. What the Hell was even this woman, he asked himself for the second time this evening. Some sort of temptatious, dark retelling of Cinderella?
He almost made himself laugh at the thought, understanding your move because his own polished shoes were frankly a pain to run with, making him slip with every shift as if he was walking on soap and regret his good old boots, before acknowledging he had lost your trace.
Shit!
He looked all around him, his eyes scanning every inch, his breath rapid and sharp, his forehead and neck a pool of sweat. No signs of you, unless...
Something fell right on his face, but gently, as a caress from a fresh breeze. Your perfume filled up his nostrils and lungs and it made his heart race. He took it in his hands, the sensations pleasant under his fingerprints.
It was your black shawl.
Tilting his head up, he found you.
You were making your way up to the roof of the town by climbing on a thin ladder.
Arthur exhaled deeply through his nose like a buffalo. He was used to this kind of high-speed chase, but this was a whole new thing, which made him regret his lasso too, his hand searching for it on his belt out of habit but closing on nothing.
Damned party, damned suit, damned you.
He climbed after you, refusing to give up, enraged like a wild beast.
He would catch you, dead or alive.
In a way, this was making him even more aroused than any work-girl show he had ever seen.
"I'm going to kill ya, that's a promise!"
You could hear just how furious his voice was now, and you were starting to pray you would flee successfully from him, cause you knew he would eat you alive if he could get his hands on you.
Arriving on top of the building, you caught your breath for a microsecond, before searching for a way out, gaze frantic, heart beating out of your chest. You were considering climbing to another roof, but the deep, breathless sounds of your pursuer prevented you from doing more thinking.
Arthur had reached the top of the roof too, and was already aiming his gun at you. This time he didn't even bother to say anything, shooting at you again while getting up. He was so seething you wouldn’t have been surprised to see saliva bubbling from his mouth.
By divine intervention, you dodged again, and without any thinking, you ran all the way to the edge of the roof, and jumped.
You stayed in the air for a few seconds.
You felt like time had stopped, the air brushing against your skin, your heart hanging somewhere between the sky and the total void.
You landed on a fancy and illuminated balcony a few meters away. You hurt your feet and legs with the shock, but smiled proudly to yourself. You were out of reach, he was way bigger and way heavier than you, there was no way he coul-
A gigantic mass fell on you, as Arthur had proved you wrong and jumped from the roof you had just left and was crashing directly into you.
Both of you fell on the ground and struggled for a few seconds; you tried to resist him but it was a fight already lost, this literal force of nature easily handling you like he wanted.
You ended up lying on your back, Arthur sitting on you, towering over you with all his might, quickly grabbing your wrists to prevent you from fighting, his legs parted around your hips stopping you from escaping. You were trapped.
"You're a pain in the ass girl, you know that?!" He shouted at you, breathless, raging mad. You were both panting, sweating heavily. His face was entirely red, and your cheeks even more crimson.
You both looked at each other, eyes locked, and you stayed silent. The dark creature prowling under the thin floe had returned and it was getting bigger, stronger, out of control with each passing second. There was something extremely erotic in the way he was almost lying on top of you, both of you out of breath, sweaty, and burning red, both your hearts beating at full speed in the same erratic rhythm.
Just like before at the reception, you knew he could feel it too. You knew it from the dark gaze he was looking at you with, the shady swirls of the murky leviathan reflecting in the depths of his pupils, from the deepest well of his urges, forbidden territory to which no man ever had access.
A simple touch of his hand, that's all it took.
He put both of your hands into a single one of his, using his other one to pull up your dress, fingers roaming on your thigh.
You couldn't hold it anymore, you bent toward him and slammed your lips against his in the most powerful and decadent kiss you had ever shared with someone, almost biting him.
The moment you did, Arthur's mind exploded, and every poor drop of restrain he had evaporated as quickly as if it was on the Sun's surface. The beast had won, finally shattering the weak layer of ice into a million pieces; your two souls blending in what could have felt like a fevered dream.
The grunt he let out onto your kiss was animalistic, and the tension in his body just as powerful as a waterfall with a brutal, unstoppable current. The hand that was holding your wrist let go of it and slipped under your head, fingers in your hair, as his tongue licked against your lips, searching for a way in. You let him in, eagerly, wondering if he would have forced the way if you didn’t.
He tasted strong, as if to match his whole being, a powerful flavor of tobacco, merged with a faint trace of sweetness and bitterness from the champagne he had drank. Like if you were smoking the finest and strongest of cigars. It made you love it even more.
Abandoning all your restraints too, your hands wrapped around his neck and your hips started pushing up against his, even if you couldn't move much, his two muscular thighs keeping you grounded to the balcony's paved floor. It felt so cold against your back, contrasting with the heat Arthur was burning with, consuming, devastating, raging.
He growled again when he felt your movement under him. He needed more of you, right now. This whole seduction game, the adrenaline rose by the chase, your bold charming attitude, your insanely insolent beauty, it was making him insane. He roughly ripped off his bowtie with one hand, needing some air; it felt like you two were under the desert’s scorching sun, stifling, dazing.
The right hand he had on your thigh traveled even higher under your dress, devouring every inch of flesh it could, and his appetite was only getting worse the more he discovered you. He smoothly moved his legs from around yours to put himself between them, and you instantly, almost from instinct, hooked them around his hips.
The sudden contact of your blazing core against his equally hot bulge made you sigh in pleasure, and he loved it. Breaking your kiss for the first time since you had initiated it, he pulled back to look at you, his deep gaze devouring you, undressing you just by its stare.
“What’s your real name?” He asked you, voice hoarser than ever, demanding it from you.
You told him your name, limbs feeling like mush under his intense eyes. He repeated it quietly, like a prayer he would recite on his own. You felt less and less like the panther you thought you were, and more and more like he was the predator alone. In a shaking tone, you questioned back to know his full, real name, needing to know what words you’d have to whisper in gratitude when he would finally take what he wanted from you. To whisper, or shout to the Heavens.
“Arthur Morgan.” He let out, his lips quickly returning to their current addiction, your skin. The way they were attacking your neck didn’t have an ounce of control now, his mouth opening widely to almost take a whole bite of your flesh there, letting kisses everywhere it could.
“Tell me if you don’t want this.” He added against your skin, between two greedy open-mouth kisses.
A way to escape. The predator stilling, letting a way out. But you didn't wanted it. Not at all. Not now that he had surrendered to you, trusting you with the intimacy of his real name, that would be stuck in your mind for God knows how long.
“I want it.” You asserted, voice almost cracking with the weight of your need.
He moaned a relieved sound in answer, his nose exhaling some air that tickled your neck.
You weren’t even sure he could stop himself if you had said no. He was consuming you, and he felt completely drunk, as if you were coated with a powerful whiskey. Strong alcohol that his tongue was now licking all the way from your shoulder, up to your ear.
You moaned, the feeling of his hungriness so good and perfect on you.
"Gonna take care of ya now." He growled in a rumbling whisper, making your legs feel weak. Another one of his promises, but this one was going to give you salvation, and you were thanking him for keeping it.
The bold hand he had under your dress took another step towards insanity by landing on your undergarments, his thick fingers searching for a way in. You were trembling with anticipation. You couldn't even register the fact that you were really doing this, right now, with a complete stranger you had met only a few hours ago, and who wanted to kill you minutes before, on the balcony of what looked like a habited place.
The obscenity, the depravation, the boldness of it was only matched by his relentless thirst for you.
His fingers had finally pulled your underwear to the side, and you sighed seeing him on top of you, eyes drawn to your bare pussy, carnal features empathized by the obscurity of the night. The tip of his fingers traveled amongst your folds, wolves into the forest, a territory they were now claiming as theirs.
You almost begged for him, for the wolves to eat you up all and let nothing behind them, please Arthur, and he offered you this damnation, the desperate call of his name igniting another fire in his already infernal mind. A single, calloused finger pushed into your folds, making you spread your legs even more to grant it better access. It was stretching you pleasantly, his skin rough and firm inside. You started letting out sweet, quiet moans, showing him just how much you were enjoying this.
Your two hands now gripping his back, holding on for something, anything, his dark jacket suddenly feeling way too smooth to grab onto; you were wondering how touching his naked back could feel.
Arthur was doing everything in his power not to burst once more, grunting in response to your loving sound. Slowly, he pushed another one, thriving in how wet and hot your cunt felt around his fingers, craving for the moment he would finally be able to feel this downright perfection around his cock. He felt like he was ruining you, throwing you to these wolves, and you were thanking him for it.
For now, he focused on you, blue eyes glued on your face when he started curling his digits inside of you, searching for this so special, so delightful spot within your walls. He was observant, noticing every sound you were making, every muscle tensing, to know if it was the place you liked that he was brushing right now. Wanting it to be the place you liked most.
By adding his thumb on your clit and pushing a little deeper his index and middle finger in your desperate pussy, he realized he finally had found the Graill as your back arched against the ground, your own hands gripping harder on him, eyes shutting in pure pleasure.
"Oh, God! Yes, right there..." You rewarded him, voice high-pitched and filled with delight, a tingling sensation spreading on your legs and shoulders.
He exhaled deeply, your words making his own member gorging, pressing against the fabric of his suit that felt too small to contain him. He started pushing in and out, pulling a whine out of your throat with every movement, as the thick tip of his fingers rubbed against your sweet spot every time, wolves once again in a world of sweetness and honey, lapping your delight, feasting on your pleasure.
“Told ya I would make this pretty mouth behave…” He said cockily after one of your moans. He was enjoying this all too much, finally feeling in control again, being the one and only responsible for your ecstasy.
The distance between his mouth and you seemed to be unacceptable for him as he had succumbed once more to his needs, his lips finding your skin again, tongue tasting, teasing your chest this time, everywhere he could on the cleavage he had desired since the first time he had laid eyes on you tonight. Bent over to you, looking like a curved beast feasting on its prey.
You were feeling your pleasure building, Arthur’s face hungrily searching for one of your nipples under the neckline of your dress, and sucking it once he had finally found it. His teeth and nose had pulled your dress, freeing your entire left breast, bare, defenseless in front of him.
Maybe he was the wolf himself. He sure looked like it, his face a maw fed by your soft flesh.
Every nerve of your pussy screamed for deliverance, this familiar sensation taking form in your lower stomach. Your moans were becoming even more high-pitched, breathless, almost obscene, much to the outlaw's delight.
You had thought of him before being a terribly efficient and multi-functional weapon. You couldn’t have known just how right you had been, your hardening nipple still chewed by his mouth while his right hand was sending you to your edge, thumb skillfully circling on your clit faster and faster, the two other fingers tearing apart your sweet spot, in and out, in and out, again and again, until…
“A-Arthur, don’t stop, please!” Your voice slit the night open, tone pleading as if you were begging for your life.
“I won’t girl, it’s all okay… Give it t’me…” He encouraged you, even his breath feeling rough against the skin of your chest before he sucked hard on the skin of one of your breasts, accompanying you to your salvation.
It was enough to send you over your limit, your pussy clenching, throbbing, entirely consumed. You moaned so loudly it could have turned into a scream, hips jerking against his palm, his other hand quickly grabbing your hip to steady you and carry you through it as his fingers were dragging every last drop of your pleasure out of you.
“Yeahhh, that’s it gorgeous, just like that…”
He was frowning, the sinful sensations of your wet cunt coating his fingers in a warm slick and tensing around them making his eyebrow and jaw just as tensed, his face just a hint of how fucking riled up he was because of it.
Your head was still spinning and your breath uneven when he finally pulled his digits out of your walls, the fresh air replacing them. Lost in your haze, you weren't capable of doing anything else but looking at him through lidded, heavy eyes.
He was absolutely beautiful, even more than at the start of the night. His true nature out at last, his white fancy shirt disheveled now that he had removed his bowtie and soaked from efforts. Cheeks and throat as red as a sanguine sunset. Pearls of sweat sparkling on his burning skin with the Ocean of street lights of St Denis, reminding you of a night sky, making his sandy hair stick to his forehead in the hottest way possible.
You didn't knew how could all this had escalated so quickly, but at that moment, you felt like this man before you was your whole universe, his deep ultramarine eyes completing the stellar work of art he was, shining, shimmering, more than any star in the sky, as if the Gods had capture the entire Milky Way and imprisoned it in his being.
Arthur had ultimately pulled his cock out of his black suit pants, only piece of flesh out of his clothes, and your thoughts were immediately contradicted; there was no way any virtuous God could have made a man so depraved. He was the work of the Other Side, Lust and Temptation personified. King of the wolves, he could have had all the Hounds of Hell kneeling before him.
He pumped himself a few times, unable to resist the call his member had been screaming for hours, reinforced by the way his fingers had tasted your wet cavern. Some precum had already leaked from his big pinkish head when he was fingering you and was now glistening in the night, making you think about the stars again. Your breath got caught at this sight and you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a praise.
"Perfect..." You simply stated in a whisper, eyes glued to his throbbing, veiny member, relieved he had already pulled an orgasm out of you because there was no way he could have fit in you otherwise. Your eyes followed the dark path of his hair, from the glimpse you had on his chest between the open collar of his shirt, all the way down to his pelvis and at the base of his shaft.
You could only imagine what it looked like without any clothes on, and you were dying to know.
"Trust me, you're the perfect one, darlin'." He asserted, firm tone leaving little to contradiction.
He positioned himself in front of your entrance.
You weren't even completely back from the world your first relief had brought you to, and he was already at your door again. But this time, Arthur couldn’t stop himself.
He had given once again, just like always. Now he wanted to take. He needed to take. The starving, depraved wolf. Slowly pushing, teasing himself, making his cock’s head sink into your dripping territory, creating wet and soggy sounds, a hardened spear into honey.
He couldn't hold back a baritone moan, the feeling was even better than what he remembered. He hadn't taken the time or allowed himself to lay with a woman in ages, and God, what a return to this primal bliss.
He slowly moved some more, his hands spreading your legs a bit wider from around his waist to allow him to penetrate you more easily. Once you had entirely enveloped him, his tip deep inside, he let out another deep throaty grunt, the feeling making it hard for him to keep his thoughts clear.
"Ahh... Shit, darlin’... So tight…"
Considering how his length was stretching you, you bet he felt your pussy tight. The first word that came into your mind was “complete”. So complete with his huge cock inside of you; you felt like you could have died happily like this. One of your hands slipped from the top of his back to the lower part of it, just above his ass, pressing there, showing him just how much you wanted him to move, to let go.
Arthur didn't need much more as he pulled back slowly only to snap his hips back against yours, his cock pushing again all the way through your cunt in one hard single time, giving you another wave of pleasure as you both moaned together, unable to resist the intense sensation he was creating for both of you.
Hearing you whine, finally feeling your perfectly tight and warm pussy around him, it was making him lose all sense of restraint, and as your other hand ran through his hair, your angelic voice whispering his name as if he was your Lord and savior, he lost it.
He started to pull in and out of you faster, harder, your bodies colliding in a delicious way, obscene noises echoing through the silence of the darkness. His increase in pace made your body scream in pleasure and you buried your face into the crook of his neck under the collar of his shirt, biting his skin there.
It made him grunt loudly, and one of his hands roamed from your hips to your rear, grabbing a fistful of your ass in an instinctive response. His other hand was on the ground next to you, keeping him from crushing you against it. It made your head blank with pleasure.
"Shit, Arthur! M-more!" You begged, feeling like you could die if he stopped, your voice turning into high squeals.
"Anhh- God... More? Don’t worry girl, I'll g-give you more...-Mmh!"
His voice was heavy with pleasure, words cut off by moans and grunts you were delighted to hear, the most unholy and arousing music you had ever had the honor to listen to.
True to his words, he obliged, hips thrusting endlessly, member empaling you with each move. You could feel the flesh of his pelvis against yours with how deep he dived into you, and around it the stiffness of his suit, rubbing again the breast he had pulled out of your dress before, nipple sensitive after his previous treatment.
If what was between you was once a frozen lake, it had now turned into an Ocean of lava, magma exploding, engulfing both of you in the most burning and devastating passion you'd ever experienced, a volcanic explosion of desires.
The hand he had on your asscheek reluctantly let go of it, but you ended up thanking him for it, cause he was now using it to put your left leg above his shoulder, grabbing under your knee, allowing him to fuck you in an even better angle than before. He was ruining you once again, but this time felt like the pack of starving enraged wolves had taken him with you to consume him entirely.
You leaned against the floor, back of your head feeling the paved coldness, only hint that everything was actually real. Arthur's eyes locked with yours as he kept on fucking you hard and fast, this intimate contact making his member twitch.
You felt so goddamn good around him, and looked so goddamn gorgeous like this, your cheeky grin long gone, replaced by a delightful frown of pleasure, mouth open in a quiet scream. Arthur felt his peak coming dangerously close, but his pace hadn't slowed, his fat cock thrusting in and out of you. In and out, like a furious, sacred metronome. In an out, like a blessed psalm you'd both be reciting together.
“Come on girl, I know you have another, -Damn it!-, another one in ya. Give it to me, come on, jus’ for me…”
Words and voice drowned in a flood of pleasure and curses, of deep grunts and growls, his possessiveness sending you over the edge once again, your inside closing its trap around him, squeezing just how he needed to.
His eyes shut close, eyebrows furrowing in utter pleasure as he sank so hard and deeply you could have felt him splitting your guts in half, his dick throbbing and harder than ever. It reached a spot so deep and good inside of you, burning it, your pleasure bursting as you felt your orgasm coming for the second time.
"A-Arthur!" You cried out as you came around him, creaming him, walls clenching in a delicious sensation that made him reach the stars.
"God, damn it!" He shouted, voice deeper and rougher on the curse word before quickly removing himself from you in a flash of lucidity, finishing messily, cum spilling from his red sensitive member in white spurts that ended up right on your belly as a feral, powerful growl escaped his chest and his head tilted backward, letting you see his throat covered in sweat and veins.
For a moment, both of you had turned into beasts, shattered all the limits, broke all the shackles, diminishing you into your more primitive instincts. The Wolves of Lust had devoured your being into the very last delicious bone.
And that’s how you felt. Boneless.
Now, stillness. A cold breeze enveloped the pair of you, the only sounds now being the distant agitation of the city and your pantless breaths. He slowly brought his chin back down and opened his eyes, mesmerized by the sight of you returning from the realm of pure pleasure he had provided for you for the second time.
He felt powerful. He felt good. Better than he had for months, finally satisfied. Like a God, a King. King of all the Wolves, Cerberus, the only guardian of your unholy realm.
He wanted to do this again with you, as soon as possible.
He carefully put his softening dick back in its clothed cage, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his pants as he felt completely spent, his hands shaking slightly. He wanted to help you get cleaned up, but you had already brushed what you could of his release off your dress.
It would probably leave stains on your clothing nevertheless.
A twisted, dark part of him, the part that came from the same pit as the dark creature and the Wolves, felt almost aroused and proud at the thought you would keep an imprint of him on it. This part was relishing noticing the big ruby mark it had left on your breast as you were putting it back under your neckline; he grinned to himself knowing it would make your memories of him more difficult to forget.
He didn't want you to forget.
He slowly got up, offering you his hand to help you stand. You quickly put back your dress in its usual state, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. A silence settled between you two, thousands of questions floating in the air, but none of you ready to ask them out loud yet.
Finally, as you started shivering, only realizing now how cold this night was without Arthur's burning hot body on top of you, he spoke, voice even hoarser from having pushed on it too much, accent making every world sound heavy when they fell from his mouth.
"When can I see you again?" More than a demand, a promise. An order even. Cerberus needs his territory.
You already knew he kept them; his promises. Except for the one he had made to kill you. But in a way, he did, because you felt like you wouldn’t be able to ever feel so alive again without him.
Like a condemnation.
"You won't."
Certainty in your voice. But he didn't mind it. He had already broken you before.
"Oh, but I think I will, darlin'." Was all he said before stepping over the fence of the balcony, ready to jump off it. Before doing it, he pulled something out of his jacket and waved it at you.
The fucking papers.
A lightning of understanding and panic struck you; what you had thought was a lustful touch on your thigh, the one that had set everything on fire between the both of you, that had unleashed the Wolves, was in reality his sneaky hand retrieving the document from your hidden pocket.
Shit!
He gave you his cocky grin, blue gaze sparkling with mischief, greeting you with a two finger’s salute then jumped, disappearing in the night, away from you once again. You could have gone after him, as much as your weak and spent body would have allowed you to, but somehow, after all that he had done to you tonight, you felt like he had well deserved those damned letters.
tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries credits: Arthur's pic is not mine, belongs to fv8tt on Pinterest. Dividers and little moths doodle by me.
I reall hope you liked this one! I'm thinking about writing another part where the reader could confront Arthur again... Tell me if you'd like that! -Pine 🌱
#arthur morgan#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x female reader#rdr2 arthur#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan fanfiction#arthur morgan smut#arthur morgan rdr2#rdr2 fanfiction#pinefic#arthur morgan fanfic
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Enjoy the photos of Arthur smiling.
#rdr2#red dead redemption community#red dead fandom#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#dutchieliciousplans#Arthur morgan#red dead redemption 2 arthur#rdr2 arthur#red dead arthur#red dead 2 arthur morgan#leviticus cornwall#red dead clemens point#clemens point#chapter 3#vanderlinde gang#van der linde gang#rdr photography#rdr photomode#red dead photomode#red deead photography#rdr2 photography#photo mode#rdr2 photomode#red dead photographraphy#rockstar games#rockstar#games#video games
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Intriguing 🤔 I haven’t seen too much from this perspective yet….
Devil's Backbone : Limpany I
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female OC Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries
Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.
Limpany I: Business, The Fine Institution
The story begins, as many do in nineteenth century America, with business magnates and robber barons.
➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done? I've fallen in love with a man on the run Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you, please Don't take that sinner from me Oh, don't take that sinner from me.
- The Civil Wars, “Devil’s Backbone”
--
“I do believe that this is the beginning of a beneficial partnership, Archibald.”
Crystal glassware clinks, as two men proceed to sip the amber liquid contained within. One of the men clears his throat, pulling slightly on his silken tie at his neck. “I agree. The output of the mines is too large at this point without having reliable transportation down the Lannahechee.”
“Good. My office will confirm the details, to include the stake in the mine.”
Archibald Jameson nods, knowing that he did not have much choice in the matter. The goblet of cut glass between his fingers glints back at him as if mocking him. Glancing back up to the man opposite him, Archibald smoothes his mustache as a waiter refilled his glass.
“Leviticus, as I mentioned before in my letter, any sort of rumor of mismanagement or financial distress is simply that, rumor. Jameson Mining and Coal is operating at record capacity.” Jameson states, waving the waiter off from the table.
“Why, Archibald,” the greying man across the table leans back in his chair, a mischievous grin across his face, “I completely understand. Please don’t misconstrue my intentions. I simply am investing in a business I see as an opportunity for growth."
Jameson hid the grimace he wanted to give, knowing that the cash infusion that he was getting from the man across the table from him would stabilize the mining operation in the wake of strikes over the past year. He needed this, as much as he wanted to stay far away from the encroaching industrialist.
“Mister Cornwall."
A thin, middle-aged, bespectacled man in a grey suit approaches the table, carrying a small briefcase. He turns to Jameson, “Ah, Mister Jameson, it is a pleasure. Cameron Spence, Vice President of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar.”
Jameson nods, extending his hand in greeting. “Pleasure, Mister Spence.” Spence nods back, taking a seat at the circular table.
Leviticus Cornwall clears his throat, causing a suit-clad butler behind him to jump slightly, and rush to a cabinet to obtain another goblet. The young man places it on the table, filling it with the same amber liquor as the glasses on the table.
Jameson glances out the window, to scenery rushing past. Past the green trees, he could see the glint of the sun on Flat Iron Lake. The butler, a young man barely old enough to grow facial hair, pipes up. “G-Gentlemen, we will be arriving in Saint Denis within the hour, as we have just passed Rhodes.”
Cornwall waves the boy off, who seemed relieved to be dismissed. He nods, placing the decanter he had been pouring from in the center of the table. The boy moves toward the back of the rail car, opening the mahogany door and closing it again behind him.
“Jameson, have you met the mayor of Saint Denis? Lemieux?” Cornwall asks, grabbing his goblet, and taking a large draw.
“Of course. My brother Heston spends a lot of time in Saint Denis, can’t expect him to spend all of his time on that godforsaken island.” Jameson replies, taking a sip from his glass. The expensive whiskey is smooth down his throat, with none of the burn of cheap swill. Spence places the briefcase he was carrying on his lap, opening it and taking papers from it, putting them down in front of Cornwall.
Cornwall gave a cursory glance, reaching over the paperwork to a box of cigars on the table. He opened the black lacquer box, grabbing one and offering it to Jameson with a raise of his eyebrows. Jameson accepts it, as Cornwall struck a match to light his own.
He leans back in the chair as he pulls from the cigar, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. It plumed in the air of the railcar, dancing around the pretentious crystal chandelier sensually.
“He’s a feckless fool, but with enough persuasion ,” Cornwall gives a knowing look, “…he can be of use.”
“So, Mister Jameson, now that you’ve seen the Heartland Oil Fields, do you have any commentary?” Spence asks, raising his eyebrows as he moved papers in and out of his briefcase.
“I will not pretend to have knowledge of the running of an oil refinery. Had it been a coal mine, then I could give some commentary.” Jameson states, diplomatically, as he lit his own cigar.
Cornwall smirks, chuckling to himself.
Cameron Spence brushes his forehead with a silk handkerchief, catching beading sweat. “Certainly we’ve arrived in Lemoyne…” He places another piece of paper in front of Cornwall, to which Cornwall seemed a little more interested than the previous stack.
“Ah, is this from Mister Varley? I’m glad we were able to convince him that his best option was to accept a purchase offer from us.” Cornwall places the cigar on the ashtray, picking up the letterhead and glancing it over. “Was the price good?”
“Couldn’t be beat, Mister Cornwall,” Spence replies, cooly.
The train car lurched, and all three men look toward the window. Green forests had given way to the brown waters of the Kamassa Delta, the engine slowing down as it passed over the bridges over the bayous. Smokestacks of Saint Denis approached rapidly as Jameson pulled on his silk tie that was quickly collecting humidity against his neck.
Cornwall grimaces, tapping the ash from the tip of his cigar into the dish on the table. “Can you believe that the city put up a statue of that pompous ass McKnight?” He points out the window with the cigar, as the slowing train car passes next to a brick warehouse emblazoned with MCKNIGHT & CO in blue and white paint.
Jameson glances out the window, taking note of the warehouse. Gone unspoken were the plethora of other warehouses with Cornwall’s name on them - but Jameson knows not to mention that. He knows the rumors of Leviticus’ temper, and having spent the last few days in his presence, he isn’t itching to find out the veracity of those tales.
Spence takes a drink of whiskey from his tumbler. It seems he knows not to prod the raging bull.
Cornwall continues, “I guess Saint Denis was so desperate after the war she whored herself out to the first man with money to come in. Not as if he was the only financier to come in after this city was flattened."
Jameson and Spence catch each other’s eyes quickly in the silence. The message was clear. Both men knew Cornwall came sweeping into the destroyed Southern city as well, to take advantage of cheap land, labor, and lax reconstruction laws after the war. McKnight was just the one flashy enough to get a statue out of it, but it was Cornwall with his name on every train, every trolley, half of the warehouse district.
The train lurches to a stop, its whistle pierces the tepid afternoon air. As the noise of the engine dies down, the hustle and bustle of the city outside replaces the metallic clanking and steam boiling. Horses and bells, the cries of seagulls on the docks, the comings and goings of thousands of people. A saxophone trills in the distance.
Cornwall stands, downing his whiskey, and extends his arm toward the door of the car. “After you, gentlemen.”
Jameson grabs his top hat from the butler who reappeared in the car. Spence gathers his paperwork, shutting it in his briefcase as he clicks it shut before following Jameson out.
The mine owner grimaces as he steps down from the car, the humidity and heat of Saint Denis hitting him like a furnace. He would never get used to it down here, especially after spending so much time north in Annesburg, and east in New York and Chicago.
Spence and Cornwall follow suit, Cornwall stepping ahead with conviction toward the station building.
VICTORY STREET TROLLEY STATION
CORNWALL CITY RAILWAY
Spence opens the door to the station, holding it for Cornwall and Jameson. Jameson grabs it from him, bowing his head to a woman who had followed the trio in. Inside the ornately decorated station, people sat on the numerous benches, waiting on trains, trolleys, and stagecoaches. Cornwall blazes past them all, cutting across the waiting room to open the door to the street.
A carriage is waiting out front. The driver, who was leaning against the coach, nods to Cornwall and climbs the carriage, pulling on the reins of the horses.
Leviticus Cornwall stops, turning back to the two men accompanying him.
“It certainly has been a pleasure, Mister Jameson. I will be sure to take you up on that offer to head up to Annesburg soon.” Cornwall thrust his hand out, Jameson grasps it.
“Absolutely, Leviticus. I look forward to working with you.” Jameson took his top hat and placed it on his head. “Mister Spence, it was nice to meet you.” He says, turning to Spence, "Gentlemen.”
Archibald Jameson smooths his mustache down as he paces down Victory Street, heading toward the waiting trolley car that people are boarding. He boards, ignoring the hustle of people boarding behind him as he slides into a seat. He reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a worn piece of paper with an address on it, before refolding it and tucking it back in his jacket.
“Milyonne Avenue, Milyonne Avenue!” The conductor calls over his shoulder. Archibald brushes dust off the sleeve of his coat, straightening in his seat. The trolley lurches to a stop, and he moves to stand up, pacing toward the front of the car. He steps off, glancing at the street corner. Mansions line the street’s north side, with perfectly manicured lawns and black wrought iron gates.
The well-dressed businessman crosses the divided street after the trolley jerks forward, its bell tolling in the afternoon sun, which gives no respite to overheated men in woolen coats. Dust in the air is choking, for even with the oppressive humidity, it has not rained in Lemoyne in god-knows how long. He reaches the sidewalk, following it for a block before coming to a tailor’s shop. He strode past the shop’s door to a second one, an ornate mahogany polished to perfection.
He knocks on the door, waiting several moments until the door swings open. A woman clad in black dress answers, nodding with recognition when she encounters the guest. “Mister Jameson… you’re expected upstairs. Please, come with me.”
Jameson follows her inside the door, following her up the staircase to the second floor. The staircase opens to a large parlor room, hazy with smoke.
“Archibald - what an honor for you to stop by and see your younger brother while in town. God only knows Annesburg keeps you busy.”
“Heston.”
Heston Jameson reclines in a leather chair, smoking out of a pipe. His black uniform top hung open, the silver buttons glinting down his chest. He reaches to the coffee table in front of him, picking up a cigar and offering it up to Archibald.
The older brother takes the cigar, moving around the table to the matching leather chair, taking a seat while pulling a matchbook from his pocket.
“Henrietta - pour a glass for my brother, will you?”
“Yes, Mister Jameson.” The woman who had answered the door nodded, curtseying slightly, before exiting the room.
“So, brother, what brings you to Saint Denis? ” Heston reclines back again, taking another draw from his pipe.
“Meeting with Cornwall, the new stakeholder in the mine” Archibald strikes a match, lighting his cigar with a retort.
“Ah,” Heston replies, “Charming, isn’t he? I do know he has been involved with Colonel Fussar in Guarma, trying to put down those pesky rebellions,” He takes a puff, quirking his eyebrow, “Practicing for Annesburg?”
Archibald gives his brother a withering glare as he draws on his cigar. “I have been sending several of the troublemakers from the mine your way. Are your reforms working?”
Heston smirks. “Law and order always prevails, brother. It may take more forceful tactics at times, but it will always prevail over savagery and brutality.”
“Well, for propriety’s sake, I can’t jail all of the striking miners and send them to you. That’s a little too on the nose.”
“Misters Jameson…” The woman, Henrietta, comes back to the parlor with a silver tray, two glass tumblers of whiskey upon it. She hands the first glass to Heston, moving around the table to Archibald with the second. Archibald nods his thanks.
“I thought you weren’t going to be living here, Heston.”
“I’m not - I only obtained this apartment for when I stay. I can’t spend all of my time on Sisika, the one place worse than Annesburg.” He replies, taking a sip from the glass.
“Or when a poker tournament is announced?”
Heston chuckles. “I will admit I have my vices.”
Archibald sips at the whiskey, rubbing at his temple. “Cornwall is quite the beast to deal with. No wonder he owns everything in the west.”
“Did he take the mine?” Heston asks, quirking his eyebrow, “Because if he did, you can come work at the Penitentiary. I’m sure I could find you a position.”
Archibald glares. “No, dear brother, he did not take the mine. I still am the majority shareholder.”
“Bah, shareholders. I run Sisika exactly how I want to run it. There are no shareholders I have to answer to.” Heston enunciates the noun with an air of disgust.
“Alas, I can’t run the mine like your kingdom.”
“Shame, you’d probably get a lot more done.”
Archibald downs the rest of his glass, and wonders to himself why he is agreeing with his younger brother.
—
Cornwall’s carriage pulls into the yard, past the open gate, waved in by armed men. After it clears the wrought iron, the gate is pulled shut again. The driver pulls on the reins, and the two horses whinny and come to a stop. The carriage door bursts open, and an impatient Cornwall disembarks before it has even come to a complete stop. Spence follows him out.
Cornwall paces toward the door to the warehouse’s office. Bursting through the door, he paces forward to the wall, which is adorned with a large map of the states of New Hanover, Ambarino, and West Elizabeth. Large swathes of the map are shaded in the Heartlands.
Leviticus Cornwall takes a drag from his cigar, leaning back and blowing the smoke straight up into the air. “Business, what an institution.” He remarks, wistfully.
“Speaking of which…’ Spence notes, fingering through several pieces of paper, “There is still the business of Limpany. Shaw has outright refused all offers. He has been most difficult to deal with.”
The older man frowned, his mood souring immediately. His eyes dart to the side of the map, where the Dakota River cleaves West Elizabeth from New Hanover. At a meander of the river, an area buffeted by cliffs is circled in red ink.
Spence continues, “I have been more than generous with monetary offers - but the man has been stonewalling everything.”
Cornwall turns to the desk in the office and smashes his cigar into the ashtray slowly, his aggravation rising.
“Take care of it. I don’t care for your excuses, Cameron.”
Spence bristles slightly. “Leviticus, this is not going to be as easy as a single oil derrick in the hills. Varley was alone, you’re talking about a town.”
“Sir, business doesn’t give a damn about some four-building town nor suffer the fools who impede,” Cornwall states icily.
The younger man pursed his lips, looking down at the paperwork on the table. He started to gather it together.
Cornwall glares at him.
“Spence, I trust you will take care of this to my satisfaction.”
“Yes, Mister Cornwall.”
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Biblical References in Both RDR games.
I love biblical references so much. When it comes to literature, it's probably my favorite type of symbolism. Like I genuinely get so happy when I connect things to the Bible which is what I'm going to do right now 😊😊 I also like the way that religion is incorporated into RDR as a whole, including the main characters' reaction to it.
So yup, here are just a few references or connections that I was able to make in no particular order.
Also, some of these are complete reaches and I'm aware of that, but fuck it, it's my blog and I do what I want 💪🏼
- The character and tragedy of Issac. In the Bible, Issac is the child of Abraham who is asked to be sacrificed by God by his father as a test of faith. God eventually intervenes to save Issac because he only wanted to test Abraham's faith. Dutch is shown as a God-like figure to the gang, as their devotion is to him. Arthur, indirectly, sacrifices Issac by not being there and by following what Dutch wanted. Arthur, Issac, and Dutch are parallels to Abraham, Issac, and God.
- Leviticus is the book that comes after the book of Exodus. After the gang's escape or exodus from Blackwater after the Blackwater massacre, they are met by Leviticus Cornwall, who becomes the next obstacle for the gang. After the gang's exodus, they get in trouble with Leviticus.
- The image of the deer and a mountain. Psalm 18:32-34 in the Bible says, "It is God who arms me with strength, and makes my way blameless? He makes my feet like deers' feet, and sets me upon my high places." In Arthur's condemnation of Dutch, Micah, and their evil, he becomes steady in his identity and beliefs, like a deer's feet on a mountain, which is where he dies in the end. W symbolism.
- The mission "Sodom? Back to Gomorrah." In the Bible, Sodom and Gomorrah were two cities that were so morally depraved and evil that God decided to destroy the both of them, saying that if there was even one good person in those cities, he'd spare them, but there weren't. In those missions, you also do two evil acts, going from one and then BACK to the other. You rob the bank and then go BACK to collect the debt from Edith Downes. So you finish one evil deed and to straight to the next. This can also show how morally bankrupt Arthur's apathy made him at this point in the game.
- Micah's guns say "Vengeance is hereby mine." This could be a reference to Roman's 12:19 "vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord." Micah's violent nature makes him take his anger out on the world.
- "Your father is seduced by him with the forked tongue. It's no use hoping." The blind prophet to Arthur. Pretty straight forward symbolism, it's a nod to the snake that seduced Eve, just like how Micah manipulates Dutch.
- Dutch walking away from Arthur when he dies and though he realizes his wrong doing and feels shame, his pride forbids him from apologizing or saying he was wrong. This can be a parallel to how Adam and Eve run away from God when they feel shame over believing in the snake, but their pride won't allow them to apologize to God, hence damning them like how Micah damned Dutch.
- There were twelve ACTIVE gang members before the Blackwater massacre. When I mean active, I mean gang members who are canonically consistent (so not uncle, Swanson, Strauss, or the girls) on going on jobs for the gang. Micah, Bill, Javier, John, Hosea, Arthur, Charles, Sean, Lenny, Josiah, Mac and Davey Callender. Christ had 12 disciples and Dutch is portrayed as a savior to the gang, or a Christ like figure. And would you look at that, there is a traitor in both groups of twelve (Micah and Judas).
- Both John and Arthur's graves have scripture from Jesus's sermon on the mountain (Matthew 5:1-12). John's is blessed are the peacemakers and Arthur's is blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
- The go back for the money ending. If you go back for the money and have low honor, you'll see that the camp is engulfed in flames as you try to get the money. The fight with Micah is brutal and you die faced down in the dark. This death is an allegory for going to either hell and purgatory as you choose a final evil act of leaving your brother to possibly die just so you can get money as an act of revenge. If you have high honor, you are still surrounded by flames, but you still have a chance at heaven given that you die facing up seeing the light one final time.
- The help John ending has similar connotations. If you have low honor, you die by gunshot and are shrouded in darkness, which can symbolize the absence of God's light and how Arthur's final act couldn't absolve the lack of guilt he feels for the rest of the actions that he KNOWS are evil (click here for a my interpretation of Arthur's morality). In high honor, though, you get to crawl to the mountain side and see the rising sun, symbolizing heaven, warmth, and a new purity.
- In low honor, the coyote goes down to a dark cave, representing damnation and the rejection of holy light. In high honor, the deer steps into a heavenly field of light. Love that so much to be honest.
- Just the very Catholic vibe of Arthur's redemption. Doing good deeds, feeling guilt, all that.
- John's new life is basically this: "Let him who stole steal no longer, but rather let him labor, working with his hands what is good, that he may have something to give him who has need." -Ephesians 4:28. John gives up his old life to be an honest laborer, a rancher, and a proper man.
- The Strange Man in RDR rides on a donkey, which is pretty interesting because Jesus Christ also made his grand entry on a donkey.
- Just the Strange Man in general to be honest. Some say he's God, others say he's the Devil, and others say he's Cain from the Bible, which is my personal favorite theory but whatever.
- Dutch's horse could be a reference to Revelations 6:8- "And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And its rider's name was Death, and Hades followed him." Dutch's rash actions caused the death of the gang and RDR's incarnate of Hades or Hell was Micah, following him. Dutch is the only one, canonically, to have a pale horse.
- "Am I prepared for eternal damnation? Am I passed any kind of saving? Or is that just fairy tales?" Arthur in his journal. I love this line so much because of its very agnostic nature whilst still showing the Christian mindset of 1899 America. This line also shows that Arthur is canonically agnostic which is a yippee from me because it's like the only thing me and this man have in common lmao 😭
- "Bad news awaits you, sir. Sadly, sooner than you think. But beyond the news, paradise awaits. Paradise.." Blind Man Cassidy to Arthur. Sorry but I just love that. High honor Arthur lived such an awful life but he still has a chance at paradise and heaven? Love that so much.
- God (pun intended), I love biblical symbolism. Couldn't you tell?
#even if you aren't religious#so like me#I'd still recommend reading the bible at least once if you're a fan of western story telling#biblical references are literally EVERYWHERE#and getting them makes me feel like an english professer#and that's a pretty dope feeling#will also recommend reading a more queer affirming version of the bible if you're queer like me#anyways#fucking love biblical symbolism#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#character analysis#bible verse#bible scripture#biblical references#story analysis#christianity
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I know it's quite the topic of debate, but I thought I'd share my thoughts on Strauss getting kicked out of camp anyways.
Just to be clear, Strauss having a place in the gang proves that Dutch doesn't follow his own code unless it benefits him in some way. It's true that Strauss brings in money, but the fact that Dutch said himself that robbing banks is more dignified than usury - loaning money with insane interest to the poor - says an awful lot. He knows exactly what Strauss does to lure in the poor to take up his offers and still allows him to do it.
In a way, Strauss and Dutch are similar in how they lure in the poor and destitute to work for them. That's likely why Dutch has no strong feelings towards Strauss and his work, because they aren't too different from one another.
Common criticisms I see for Arthur kicking out Strauss is how unfair it is since "Strauss is as bad as the rest of the gang". While I would usually agree to an extent, but Strauss is a unique case.
Robbing banks, rich folk in trains, shops and killing lawmen are still big crimes that cannot be downplayed, but compared to deliberately prying on the poor - and offering them loans they will never be able to pay off - is sick work on its own. Especially when Strauss is so nonchalant about it, calling it simply "legal work" with physical abuse involved.
Strauss stayed in the gang because they protected him and he was able to use Arthur as means for guaranteeing payment. It's worth noting how much Arthur despised the work too, he loathed it entirely and his resentment for Strauss built up until he finally took action.
To highlight, majority of Strauss' "clients" were working themselves (and their families) to death even if they were already sick themselves. Families with children, the elderly, the ill, destitute, starving and working themselves ragged to pay off an impossible debt.
And Strauss knows this, that's why he still did it because he knew these poor families had no choice.
Compare that to robbing a train full of rich folk.
Almost laughable, right? The rich can afford to replace their stolen goods, Leviticus Cornwall can afford another train, the city can afford to reimburse the banks. The rich, however, cared very little for the poor. These destitute families had nobody to help them and these loans seemed like answered prayers until they needed to be paid off.
And they were beaten for not being able to pay.
The gang never targeted the poor for just monetary gain, apart from Strauss.
Strauss is a vulture, going for the easy pickings in his work. I believe he deserved to be kicked out and I agree with Arthur that it was long overdue.
#strauss makes my blood boil#its understandable why he was kept around but it doesn't make it any less disgusting than it is#but thats just my thoughts#let me know what you guys think <3#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#mick squeaks#arthur morgan#dutch van der linde#leopold strauss#red dead redemption 2 spoilers#mick rants
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A tumblr exclusive!!
short Micah imagine under cut, something I've been thinking about for quite some time now...
words: roughly 1k
You've groaned in sync about seventy times now, taking a small smoke break from chopping the wood Dutch ordered you both to do—among the other leftover four of God-knows how many chores in camp the two of you are punished with doing, all because you robbed and killed a few people and... may have accidentally almost brought law right to the camp.
You take a seat on the small hitching post, sighing in relief for this small break as Micah hands you a cigarette from his pack. "Thanks." You place it between your lips and take your matches out while Micah loosens his neckerchief and undoes the first few buttons of his red undershirt, letting it hang open just enough to let some cool air hit him.
You light your cigarette and wait for Micah to place a second one in his mouth before putting the fire to the tip of his own, Micah's cheeks hollowing to suck in a cloud of smoke which he holds in a moment, before exhaling out into the sky. "Still can't believe it.." Micah grumbles under his breath and you sigh with a small nod in agreement.
"Tell me about it," You continue, pausing to take a small puff of your cigarette before continuing on. "and we still have to feed the chickens after this. Knowing Dutch—he'll have some stupid goddamn leftover task for us after all this, too."
Micah gives a small, agreeing chuckle, taking a drag of his own himself. "That's on us, now, ain't it? Us and our big eyes, smaller brains, girl." You laugh at his statement, which is true; you saw a coach riding down the street, alone—and it had none other than 'Cornwall Kerosene' written on the side, Mr. Leviticus' dear company meaning a huge payday, maybe. You robbed that coach as soon as you'd have seen it, unaware of a backup a few feet back that just followed the wheel tracks of the stolen stagecoach all up to camp. Thank God that you parked it outside camp, otherwise they'd have ridden in and seen many.. unfortunate faces that they would have recognised instantly.
The two of you got a very long lecture on safety around camp, on your recklessness, your carelessness for the gang's safety... you could go on. However, this talking-to ended with a punishment; overtaking all chores in camp for a week to 'learn to appreciate it'.
Bull. Shit.
Your jaws went slack at the news, and you've been giving Dutch the silent treatment all morning. Were you at fault for it? Yes. Was this punishment a total overkill? Yes!
It was insanity! You had no time to go find leads or do jobs with others—or alone—and were stuck in camp all day; washing dishes, sewing, doing laundry, tending to the horses, and much more. This felt damn cruel by now.
You slip off the post and sink down to lean against it, sighing as you seat yourself on the ground and puff on your cigarette. Micah follows suit, taking a seat next to you and leaning back with a small groan, the two of you enjoying your cigarettes silently—per usual.
As time passes, Micah takes his final blow of the smoke and tosses the cigarette, when he feels your weight next to him shift—on him. Your head rests partially against the post and his shoulder, hands which are in your lap stilling completely, your eyes gently shut. He looks over and contemplates shoving you off, waking you to get back to work—or leaving you to rest a bit.
He was aware of how much this exhausted you, seeing how your energy mostly focused on shootouts and robberies, not doing chores. These things had you dead by the end of the day, and you so-and-so had trouble sleeping, some nights going fully without it.
So in the end, he goes for the last option of the three. He leans you in more comfortably against himself and, seeing how your eyes shut and face scrunches slightly from the sun, which hits you directly in the eyes, he slips his hat off and covers your face with it. He thought about leaving you alone there, but had a feeling you'd slip off the post without a support, so he stayed.
Surprisingly enough, he leaned into you as well, moving his head to your hair and laying his head against yours; you've always had a nice, floral and nature-like scent, which he could really smell when he brushed his nose against your hair.
And who'd have deemed it possible; Micah feel asleep.
It wasn't until a man shook you both out of your deep slumber that the two of you woke up and looked at the source of the disturbance.
"I don't think sleeping will get any of these chores done quicker," Dutch looks between both of your tired states with a small 'hm?'. Well, that ends your break.
He leaves and the two of you get up, brushing your trousers of dirt before walking back to the wood-chopping station.
You place a log down; Micah swings the axe; the two of you share a small chuckle at the situation.
You hadn't noticed, or chose not to notice, the hat still present on your head—but Micah didn't mind it much.
#rdr2#micah bell#red dead redemption 2#red dead 2#red dead redemption two#rdr#rdr2 micah#red dead#rdr1#rdr2 community#micah bell iii#micah bell rdr2#rdr micah#micah bell x reader#micah rdr2#micah rdr#micah#micah bell fic#red dead redemption micah#micah bell propaganda#rdr2 imagines#imagine#short#short fic#short ficlet#quick fic#08melancholie
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