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margowritesthings · 2 years

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What’s Mine Is Mine

pairing: lh!Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1159

warnings: possessive Arthur, spit kink, low honour Arthur, shameless filth, very suggestive, mentions of sex

moodboard

a/n: i simply Cannot Write Drabbles... thank you so much @elifsukirdaghehe for the spit kink request and anon for the low honour Arthur request! I hope this lives up to your expectations! This is very heavily inspired by this bc its one of the hottest things ive ever seen lol

also click the link at the end for a wonderful surprise and say thank you to @cowboydisaster

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj

“I do believe these belong to me…” Arthur quips, a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulls the pile of chips towards him. A relatively old guy with a fantastically twisted handlebar moustache throws his cards down, cursing as he walks away from the table empty handed. A low chuckle reaches your ears when you squeeze Arthur’s shoulder, proudly standing behind him while his winning streak continues.

“Baby, we’re in the money!” He smugly exclaims, completely ignoring the grumbles of his fellow players. You roll your eyes playfully, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. The action gives your outlaw a pretty fantastic view of your chest, if only for a brief moment, but of course he catches it. The envious eyes of every other man at the table follow you back up to a standing position.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want a whiskey?”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

You catch the coin that is expertly flipped through the air, winking a silent thanks to Arthur and swaying your hips just a little more than usual when you strut to the bar. You know all eyes are on you, as does Arthur, and you know how crazy and possessive that drives him, usually culminating in mind-blowing sex that sends you dumb to everything but screaming his name. He loves knowing how much everyone wants you, knowing that he’s the only one who will ever have you.

It’s only a few strides to the bar, the next hand in Arthur’s game already being dealt by the time you lean one hip against the wood.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ with a dog like that, huh?”

The unpleasant feeling settles in your stomach almost instantly as the worst kind of booze breath reaches your senses. Rolling your eyes, your gaze falls to the origin: a man, probably in his 30’s, with a clean shaven face and a suit that didn’t quite fit right. He isn’t completely unfortunate looking, you’d have to give him that, but the invisible layer of slime coating him from head to toe is enough to send women running for miles. That, you’re sure of.

Glancing back to the table, you see Arthur engrossed in the game. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, or the promise of the kind of fucking that can only be fuelled by the fiercest jealousy, but you subconsciously decide what simply has to be done. The buzz of four drink and the electricity in the air only found in a packed saloon of an evening spurs you on, dragging your fluttering eyes back to the stranger and plastering a sickly sweet grin to your plump lips.

“Why, you reckon you could show me a better time, cowboy?” Your drawl is sickening, but it does the job as a flash of false hope ignites the man’s features.

You place your elbow on the cool bar, sliding down to place some of your weight on it. Naturally, your chest never rises and falls so dramatically with each seductive breath, but you can smell a free drink a mile away, and this one is much closer than that.

“Oh, don’t you know it, baby, I-I could show you the time of your life.” He’s nervous, clearly not used to making it this far without having a drink thrown over him.

What’s more, Arthur has noticed, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds with the most delicious frown on his face. You can practically hear the territorial growls being ripped from the depths of his throat, low and gravely and vibrating your very being.

The bartender finally arrives, glancing awkwardly between yourself and the other man, not knowing who was there first and who to serve. Luckily for him, and for your grand plan, your slimy admirer speaks up.

“I’ll have a beer. And whatever the lady likes.” He gestures to you, all bravado and ego as he places two coins onto the countertop.

“Whiskey, please. Neat.”

The bartender nods and turns to get the drinks, leaving you alone to be gawked at.

“Oh, I love a woman who can handle her drink.”

“Really? Do you know something, mister, that is just fascinating.”

Every nerve ending in your body is set aflame as you feel a hand snake around your shoulder, resting just above the hem of your low collar. Arthur’s sarcastic drawl has dropped about three octaves. He’s mad.

“And who might our new friend be, sweetheart?” His theatrics boom around the room, earning a few sideways glances from curious patrons, most certainly hoping for a bit of evening entertainment. One wrong word from your ‘friend’ might just make their dreams come true.

Standing beside Arthur, the once-hopeful devotee is realising just how large the outlaw is, how his strong arms fill out the sleeves of his duster coat and how one of those sleeves is hemmed with a bloodstain you just couldn’t seem to get out.

You’re saved from having to introduce your pawn to your king when the bartender places two drinks between the three of you, one beer, one whiskey.

“Aw, for us? Y’shouldn’t have.” The arm draped over your shoulder wraps tighter, twisting around so that Arthur’s thick fingers cup your jaw and squeeze your cheeks. You’re tucked so close into him that the movement forces your neck to crane up to look right at Arthur. You’re putty in his hands, his dominating stance moulding you to his whim. The action is enough to brand you as completely and utterly his, but it’s Arthur and that just isn’t enough.

He tips his own head back, throwing the whiskey into his mouth in one swift movement. A firmer squeeze on your jaw opens your mouth and you lock eyes with Arthur as the fiery liquid is spat from his mouth into yours. It burns your lips and warms your throat. You feel it all the way from your head to your toes, and you’re not talking about the drink. It takes you a second to catch your breath after you swallow, Arthur’s thumb wiping a little droplet of the spirit off your chin and popping it back into your mouth. You suckle on his thumb, just for a second, letting the rest of the busy saloon melt away. In that moment, it is just the two of you, your plan falling oh so cleverly into place. You’re gazing lovingly, seductively at each other, which Arthur only breaks to turn to the man kind enough to pay for the drink he’d just spat into you.

“Hey, cheers, pal. Real nice of ya’ to treat the lady.” He pats the man just a little too hard on the shoulder, sending him stumbling a few steps. You don’t notice, too entranced by your possessive cowboy to notice anything else.

“Let’s get you home, missy. Seems I gotta teach you some manners about talkin’ to strangers, huh?”

God, yes.

#arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan red dead #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redepmtion 2 #arthur morgan fanfic #Arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #low honour arthur #low honour arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #what's mine is mine #MargoFiore

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micahsrippedblouse · 2 months

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I am going to give him the biggest smooch ever <3

#hes so pretty #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 photomode #rdr2 posting #red dead redemption #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #arthur rdr2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #Arthur Morgan red dead

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yorshie · 1 year

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Ghastly Serenade

Red Dead Redemption 2

Arthur Morgan x GN Reader

Warnings/Summary: SFW, Who you gonna call when you're stuck out in Roanoke Ridge in the middle of the night with only Arthur to cuddle? That's right, no one, cuz you got Arthur

(old work from A03, just adding to Tumblr)

Roanoke Ridge was never a pleasant place to be, even more so at night. The eery forest, prone to fog and and mist thanks to the river and waterfall, was filled with strange noises and lights, whispers and weird unidentifiable animal noises. The locals were imbred and delusional, if mostly harmless to the occasional outsider, but the gang that roamed these haunted hills were the very epitome of vindictiveness and viciousness. Hell, They were the main reason the forest and ridge were haunted in the first place.

Needless to say, it was the last place you wanted to be stuck in, forced to camp under the trees north of Annesburg because the road flooded south of town. The campfire, though roaring, did little to dispel the gloom that pressed up against the edge of the light, as if the forest was biding its time until it could swallow the source of comfort whole and blot it out.

You shivered, scooted closer to the fire, and tried not flinch at every scrape and snuffle behind you, praying each sound was just a trick of the night.

“You cold?”

You glanced through the fire at Arthur, meeting his eyes before dropping your gaze back to the fire. “No.” You rubbed your palms up and down your bare forearms, trying vainly to get the fine hair there to lay flat.

A deep sigh, a shake of the head, and a huff of amusement were the answer to your claim. Your eyes snapped back up at the shuffle of feet.

Arthur had unbuckled his thick traveling cloak, revealing the thick bear fur lining the inside, and gestured with a jerk of his chin while holding it away from his body. You barely hesitated before scooting around the fire, pausing when you got near to eye him up and down, uncertain of what he wanted.

“I ain’t gonna bite, get in here.” His gruff voice, usually barking orders and delivering scathing rebukes, had softened to a rumble. His chin raised, far arm raising to balance his elbow on his knee while holding the edge of the coat. He waited, a little impatiently.

His movements had created a tiny cave of body and coat, and with one more quick glance to his face to gage his mood, you shifted closer and turned to give him your back, a tad disbelieving that Arthur Morgan would offer to share body heat with the newest member of the gang, someone he had barely spoken a handful of words to before Dutch had put them on this mission.

He was a big man, radiated warmth, but you still jumped when his arm reached out and pulled you further into his space, forcing you practically flushed against him as he wrapped the coat back around you two. While there was still a small opening at the front, it was almost stifling warm and the bear pelt sinfully soft, and you relaxed, burrowing your cheek against the thicker ridge of fur at the edge of the coat.

Arthur huffed behind you, waited a moment, then: “Didn’t think you’d be so jumpy.”

You told yourself it was the pop of a log breaking in the fire that made you start slightly, not the hot breath that curled around the nape of your neck or the deep voice in your ear. You felt completely surrounded by him, his barrel chest brushing against your shoulders with every breath, his thighs a line of warmth on either side of your hips. It didn’t help at all that he was probably the most attractive man you had ever met, even if his handsomeness was a little unconventional.

“I don’t like this forest.” Was all you said, head twisting around to check that the trees hadn’t moved while you let your guard down.

“It ain’t that bad.” A crack caused both your heads to turn to the right, and you pushed back into Arthur, suddenly needing just a little more assurance that Murphy Brood weren’t going to jump out from behind a tree and murder you to death.

Silence for a moment, and then Arthur shifted behind you, and you realized belatedly that his hand had dropped down to his gun. It rose back up to rest on his leg again, and you found a small chuckle stuck in your throat. You tried to beat it down, but it finally escaped in a hiccuping snort.

You felt Arthur lean forward a bit, saw his chin out of the corner of your eye. “Somethin funny?” His tone wasn’t hard, you had heard it utter those same words in a much deadlier tone, but you still hurried to explain.

“You, reachin for your gun to fight off ghosts.” You managed not to chuckle again, and brought your knees up close to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. The tips of your shoes still stuck out the safety of the coat, but if you shuffled any further backwards you’d be in Arthur’s lap.

Now it was his turn to snort. “I’ve seen a bunch of strange things, but I ain’t ever seen a ghost.” Another crack in the forest, and you both tensed. After a moment, Arthur grunted again, hand coming up to ruffle your hair and push you against his arm.

“Try and get some sleep, I’ll take first watch.”

Your muffled reply was lost in the bear pelt, but you closed your eyes and tried to relax, surprised at how easy it was to find sleep in the arms of a man you barely knew.

Everything about Arthur was a conundrum. When you had joined the gang four months ago, he had been the distant, angry sounding bear of a man that arrived early in the morning and departed at odd hours; scouting, hunting, robbing killing, anything that needed doing. You had stayed out of his way, jumped when you turned and found him too near, had always vacated the sitting area when he would plop down just a little too close.

While he had never said a mean word even in passing to you, you had seen him tear into Bill, Uncle, hell even John. The wit hidden in his tongue during these exchanges always struck you as odd given his portrayal of the big, bad, stupid enforcer he showed the outside world.

But then slowly, you started to see the kindness in him as well.

Whenever he approached the women of the camp, you heard his soft words and laughter, and their easy banter. Little Jack went out of his way to greet him when he was in camp, running up for a hug or to show him something interesting. The horses all raised their heads and nickered at his approach, ears pricked forward as though expecting a treat. It was those times that you saw under the hard exterior, to the softness he hid, and it was the only time you would admit he was handsome.

Though you no longer fled in his presence, you didn’t seek him out or purposefully put yourself in his way either. He was still too big of a man, too strong and too angry, even if he was handsome under all that gruff. He set you on edge, and though it was no longer in fear, old habits died hard.

Now though, wrapped up in his coat with his deep, even breaths behind you, you realized your defenses were crashing down, and there would be no avoiding him after this.

You woke, startled, some time later, breath heaving out of your chest at some unknown terror. The horses were stomping in fear, Arthur’s warhorse practically tearing out the stake that his master had driven into the ground to keep them on a line when they set up camp. The thick coat still hung from your shoulders, but Arthur’s heat was no longer pressed against your back. Instead you felt hard earth under your puddle of limbs in the too big coat. Your head popped up, alarmed at the apparent abandonment, and swallowed painfully as you looked for him.

The fire had sunken down a little, but enough light still glowed to show Arthur standing at the edge, turned slightly away from you to stare into the woods. His eyes flickered back when you shifted, and he held up a hand, face still and mouth pressed into a thin line. You realized with a start that he had drawn his revolver, the harsh click of the hammer loud in the still dark.

A whisper, your heart bounded up in your throat at the soft sound. Arthur shifted to face the direction it came from, hips and shoulders moving so he presented a smaller target, gun hanging easy at the side of his hip.

An answering whisper, this time almost a soft sigh, coming from the other direction, had you twisting in the coat to face it, vainly trying to scoot away. Arthur tensed, but stayed facing the first threat, though he clicked his tongue softly to get your attention. When you glanced at him, he jerked his chin at the coat, and you quickly patted down the pockets, not really surprised to find the thick leather sheath of an extra hunting knife stashed within.

The cold blued blade brought you a little comfort, but you still stayed low instead of standing to face the unknown, not wanting to get in Arthur’s line of fire.

You both waited in the silence, your nerves rising with every little noise while Arthur’s shoulders stayed loose and calm, and distantly you wondered at all the ‘weird stuff’ he had seen, that whispers in the woods barely fazed him.

Whispered sigh and a hiccuped sob, definitely a feminine sound, came from the direction Arthur was facing.

The blood drained from your face when no one stepped out from the trees, and even Arthur took two steps back, moving closer to where you were now crouched with the knife unsheathed.

Seconds, then minutes passed, and you let out a little breath, hands readjusting their clammy grip on the knife. The dirt scuffed under Arthur’s boots as he turned slowly to check their surroundings, eyes flickering in the firelight.

Without warning the whisper sounded again, soft sighs changing to clear words just beyond the edge of the campfire light.

“What’s that terrible noise?”

Arthur let out a surprised grunt, and you flew to your feet, coming up to stand beside him. He threw out an arm and corralled you further behind him, as if he could offer a barrier.

The other whisper had you both spinning in place, Arthur’s hand keeping you from spilling in the dirt when the heavy coat tripped you up.

“Must be a sick calf, lookin for its momma,” the male answer slowly moved around you, as if the speaker was circling the campsite. “They’ve been known to bawl like that.” The southern drawl, loose and liquid on vowels and long on the end of words, dissipated into laughter that got closer to where you stood, kicking up a breeze that blew in your face.

You were pressed against Arthur now, the knife held out threateningly in front of you as if to ward off an attack. Arthur suddenly scoffed, limbs shaking out like a bull swatting flies before he shoved you behind him again, angrily taking a step forward.

“Whoever that is, you got three seconds to come out.” To be fair, that deadly rumbled crack of anger in his voice would have sent anyone sane scurrying away, not stepping out into the light. All it served, however, was a honed location for the whispers to converge.

The next words came from directly in front of Arthur, and you tugged on the back of his shirt, trying vainly to back him away from the sinister sound. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” the feminine whisper sounded fondly irritated at the two of you, but the male whisper only laughed again, this time from behind where you stood, causing you to quickly step forward into Arthur.

He started as your face mashed against his shoulder blades, and you felt the material dampen slightly under your lips as you breathed out harshly, certain at any moment spectral hands would reach out and grab you.

“I need to get back home.” There was the woman again, sounding close to tears, right in your ear. You made an aborted strangled noise of pure fear, clamping onto Arthur with a death grip that had him cursing.

His gun raised abruptly, and you peered under his arm, mouth going dry. There was a shadow at the edge of the light, just barely swaying behind a tree.

“I need to get back home,” you tore your eyes from the shadow, watching as the firelight flickered, the flames leaping for one second and then sputtering out, leaving you both to the gloom of the forest.

“Arthur,” your whisper was soft, a bare thread of sound, but he still heard, his free hand coming around to grab your arm, solid and warm.

“please, help me.” When you looked again, the shadow was gone, and the fire crackled into life once more. The warm light seemed to spring at the shadows, driving their long trendies back into the forest to wait for the next unwary travelers.

Arthur waited a moment, then holstered his revolver, long legs quickly moving to the horses to calm them both. He stomped on the stake to drive it back into the ground, and only then turned to look at you, eyes wide.

It almost looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped several times. Finally, you opened your arms, a poor parody of the comfort he had offered earlier in the night.

He took it though, curled up behind you again, shuffled forward until there was no space between you. You shivered at the cold still clinging to his clothes, but turned halfway and forced your head into the dip of his collarbone, uncaring that it was too forward for someone you barely knew.

“I hate this goddamn forest,” was all he said.

#red dead 2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan red dead #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic

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pryce0 · 1 year

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For Once In Life (Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader)

WARNING; This fic contains the topic of self harm, including the descriptions of self harm urges and scars.

gif by; prairiemule (no tag due to the nature of this fic.)

word count; 1,245

summary; Even after recovery, urges can surface.

———————————

It’s an odd concept to most people in these times; self-harm, that is. Most people do not understand why someone would purposely harm themselves, even with an explanation they are often left not understanding.

Which is why [name] often gets questioned or stared at when it’s summer time and her sleeves are rolled up to avoid a heatstroke. She makes a point to keep herself covered around the gang, especially around little Jack. Sure, he’s seen some things but he would question the scattered, straight white scars across [name]’s skin and ask why some of them are pink.

How would she even explain that to a small child? [name] already has a hard enough time explaining it to most adults, and even then half the time they don’t understand themselves.

[Name] sighs as she comes back to her senses from dozing off slightly, the crackling of the fire in front of her coming back into her ears, as well as the chatter from the gang nearby. She takes a glance around, seeing everyone else is doing God knows what; drinking, talking, singing or pissing, just away from her. [Name] turns back to the fire, unbuttoning her sleeve cuffs and rolling them up for the first time in hours. The relief is almost immediate; although the air dry and hot for a summer night, it’s better than no breeze at all. She pulls her legs closer, sitting criss cross. [name]’s eyes drift to the scars littering her skin accompanied by beauty marks and bruises from the toughness of her outlaw life in the gang. She lets out a shaky breath as she runs her fingers across some deeper, yet healed scars. [name] starts to tune out the fire and the gang once more, not noticing the sound fading. Her eyes unfocus as she begins to feel a light burning sensation near her arm which makes her heart skip a beat; is it really happening now, of all nights? Tonight should be a night of celebration, drinking and laughing. Not sitting against a tree trying to distract herself from the urges.

“You alright?” He questions curiously, tapping her head lightly. [name] jolts, letting out a little swear as she pulls down her sleeves quickly. “Jesus Christ, you scared the ever living shit out of me, Mister Morgan..!” She laughs nervously, unable to stop the slight wobble to her tone. She glances up at the man who is standing behind her with his hat in his hand. “You don’t hafta call me that, ‘member?” He says slowly. “‘Was wonderin’ if you were alright, that’s all. You’re.. sittin’ here all by your lonesome while everyone else is having a good time.”

The woman sighs quickly and looks back at the fire for a moment. “Yeah, just needed to get my bearings. No need to worry about me, Arthur, I’m doing just fine. Today was just long, that’s all,” She responded quickly, looking up at the man. She wasn’t wrong, today was long; robbing a store and nearly getting shot down was not fun. Arthur’s eyebrows furrow as she responds, he holding onto his belt with one hand. “Hm… Whatever you say, [name]. Make sure you get some water tonight, you’re lookin’ bit pale, there.”

[name] nods automatically as her response, and then she hears his boots crinkle the glass beneath it. She rises from her position once she knows he’s gone and takes a look around; as like it was before, everyone is busy. [name] quickly makes her way into the dark woods surrounding Horseshoe Overlook, rolling up her sleeves. She finds a good, nice tree to lay against and takes out her hunting knife, staring at the blade.

“I know I shouldn’t.” She mutters quietly, turning the knife slightly in the moonlight, making the blade shine. The feeling of heavy sorrow begins to fill her gut, accompanied by guilt.

It’s not like she could talk out her feelings with anyone, either. Not many take time to understand why people turn to self harm, nor can they understand it at all. [name] has thought about telling people; multiple, in fact. John, Dutch, Hosea, Charles, Arthur… But the fear and guilt is too much. John and Dutch likely wouldn’t understand, the guilt would be too much from Hosea’s likely reaction, Charles…

“Charles is a nice man.” She whispers, gripping the handle of her knife tighter. She feels her arm burst with the feeling of fire, causing her to jolt slightly. “Fuck..!” She accidentally says a bit loud.

And the last one.. Arthur. Sweet, empty headed arthur. It seems [name] has tried to find any and all excuses to especially not tell Arthur, almost an amusing checklist. In reality, there’s not many reasons she wouldn’t tell him, it’s mainly the fear of him thinking less of her.

The two aren’t the closest, but it’s getting there and hell with it all if [name] ruins the one good thing she has going right now.

The way Arthur holds himself so confidently yet cautious, the way he tilts his head when something slightly confuses him, his subtle smirks when someone tells a humorous joke, the way he grips his holster with such caution.. There’s a list of things [name] adores about that man that she could never admit to anyone. She’s a closed off gal, although more open than Arthur. He always takes first place with that sort of thing.

“What’re you doin’?” Arthur asks suddenly, causing [name] to jolt. She didn’t even hear him approach, never heard his boots crunching the leaves below him. [name] feels a drop of sweat go down her temple, cold panic running through her veins. The cold blade of the knife is pressed up against her skin, she didn’t even notice. She doesn’t answer but she lets out a quiet whimper which prompts the cowboy to walk over and bend down, carefully removing the knife from her calloused hand. “There we go, gimme the knife, woman..” He murmurs, shoving the sharpened blade into his holster for safe keeping’s.

“I’m sorry,” She says, barely above a whisper. Arthur says nothing, taking his place beside her and hesitantly pulls her close to him; it’s not often he comforts someone out right like this and she will take any chance she can get. There’s just something different about Arthur that makes her feel better, and forget about everything.

“You don’t hafta say anythin’ if you don’t want. I.. I might not understand, but I sure as hell won’t let you do it.” Arthur mutters as she turns and digs her face into the crook of his neck.

[Name] sniffles, carefully wrapping her arms around the cowboy. She absentmindedly notes he smells like sweat and gunpowder, and a bit of pomade, It’s comforting.

“Arthur..” She whispers. In response, he carefully wraps his arms around her, holding her securely. “It’s… it’s hard to explain…”

“That’s alright,” He says softly and quietly, his gruff accent making her relax. “They don’t seem any fresh, m’just glad I found ya.”

[name] can’t help the sob at the warm feeling replacing the cold panic; for once in her life, she doesn’t have to explain herself, and for once in her life, she has someone who won’t question her.

#tw #potentially triggering #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan red dead #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #angst #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan rdr #comfort

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bonitanightmxres · 1 year

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that “i’m afraid” part in rdr2 leaves the kinda wound that won’t heal

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead #red dead 2 #red dead redemption community #red dead fandom #red dead community #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan red dead #send help

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ladysantos · 3 months

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save a horse ride a cowgirl

#back with my bullshit 🤠#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #my art

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jeanivere · 5 months

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arthur morgan tiddies and tummy thats all im gonna say

#my art #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #man i have so many feelings about him #thinking a lot of thoughts #like that happy trail im currently staring at #no im not i gotta go guys bye

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mirrorhouse · 5 months

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∞ RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2edit #gamingedit #*#rdr2*#what's he reading....

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drizzledrawings · 13 days

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There’s a good man within you Arthur, but he is wrestling with a giant

#he’s gritty and an asshole but not much different than his high honour counterpart #the cutscenes are pretty much the same #but it gives me a different perspective on him and the game #idk I love him #red dead redemption 2 #low honor arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanart #rdr2 #high honor arthur morgan #red dead redemption fanart #red dead redemption two #I love low honour Arthur

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tomiyeee · 7 months

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#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #javier escuella #john marston #my art #phone scribbles #doodles #i usually have separate tags for my art and my memes/shitposts/other posts for a fandom #but i think my red dead art is so shitty i don't need the distiction

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margowritesthings · 1 year

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The Greatest Gift A Cowboy Could Ask For

a @rdrevents winter gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x pregnant!f!reader word count: 3215 words warnings: teeth-rotting fluff, pregnant reader, labour, birth a/n: Bea! i cannot BELIEVE i got you for my winter exchange but i was SO HAPPY when the email came through! I tried to combine all three of your prompts and then proceeded to lie to you for a month about what i was writing for gift exchange whoops

anyway, merry christmas my love! this year i met you and im so glad i did! you're such a lovely soul and such a talented writer and i hope you enjoy this!! <3

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @reaveries @elifsukirdaghehe @musicallisto

It’s the smell that wakes you up, that sweet aroma you instantly recognise as drinking chocolate. For a moment, it disorients you, because Pearson never has drinking chocolate in, but your eyelashes soon flutter open and your mind registers that you’re right where you should be: yours and Arthur’s shared tent. You’re alone, the bed beside you cold enough to know that Arthur has been up for a while, so you reach over to the gold pocket watch you stole from that poker player with the shifty eyes in Blackwater all those months back, finding the time to be 37 minutes past 9.

“Shit…” You’ve slept in. Normally, you’d lurch up, throwing on your boots and clothes and rushing out to catch up on chores, but you physically can’t anymore. Your swollen belly restricts any and all quick movements, that usual ache waking up and settling right in your spine. It’ll stay there all day, it always does nowadays.

It’ll be worth it, you reassure yourself, imagining Arthur holding his child, the one you made with him, in those big strong arms, loving it unconditionally, and the ache somehow doesn’t seem so bad, after all. There’s a weird feeling that remains that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you can ignore it enough to get on with your day, you think.

Slowly, you sit up, wrapping a woollen blanket around your shoulders to protect you from the chill of the December air. When Ms. Grimshaw found out you were pregnant, she hounded Dutch until he set you and Arthur a proper tent up, which your eyes scan over now. The cup of chocolate is still steaming and when you wrap your hands around it, the heat radiates through your hands and settles in your core when you sip. It tastes so good, the rarity of such a treat only making it better. You smile to yourself, picturing Arthur leaving it there for you to wake up with and sneaking around as to not wake you, the big old brute.

It takes you far too long to get ready nowadays, but in time you do, pulling three pairs of socks over your swollen ankles to protect your feet from the cold. Your boots are tricky to get on thanks to your 8 month bump, but you eventually manage to do it and stand up all by yourself. What a morning of achievement. And all before 10AM… just about.

═══════☆═══════

The snow crunches under your feet as you pull your coat tighter around you and step outside onto Horseshoe Overlook. Your breath dances in the air whenever you exhale while surveying the camp and your brows knit together when you don’t spot Arthur. You can see his horse by the hitching posts, munching from the trough, but Diesel, your own steed, is nowhere to be seen. You’re not concerned, Arthur has started alternating between Diesel and his mare since you became too pregnant to ride him yourself, but that doesn’t stop you from missing the both of them.

“Auntie y/n!” As usual, you hear Jack before you see him and you just about jump out of your skin when you feel his little arms hug around your leg. You have no idea how he manages to sneak up on you every damn time, and by god does it make you nervous for when your own child can crawl out of sight, but you laugh nonetheless, ruffling his hair like you so often do when you see him.

“Y’alright there, Jack?” You look down to the boy, actually having to peer over your belly to see him beaming up at you.

“Yep! Santa’s coming tomorrow and mama said if I’m good and I put one of my socks outside tonight I’ll get presents.” He’s so excited he can hardly stay still, releasing his hold on you to shuffle from foot to foot restlessly. Looking at Jack, you can see your future. You see Arthur reading Christmas stories to your own son or daughter before bed and bribing them with presents every time they misbehave in the entire month of December. The magic of Christmas is alight in Jack’s innocent little eyes, unburdened by any of the shit the adult members of the Van der Linde gang have to worry about. And you just can’t wait to share that magic with your own little family.

“Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly at Jack, crossing your arms and resting them on your belly gently,

“Uh huh! She said we have to leave room at the hitchin’ post for his reindeer, too. I told Uncle Arthur so he leaves space when he gets back with Diesel.” Now he’s stepped back, you can see just how red the tip of Jack’s nose is, despite the four scarves Abigail seems to have wrapped him in.

“You saw Uncle Arthur this mornin’?” Your curiosity piques at the mention of your husband and his curious ongoings. Jack nods, but looks off to the side, much less eager to talk about this subject.

“Uh huh. But he made me promise not to tell you where he went.” He can’t seem to fight off the smile pulling at his near-blue lips and it's goddamn adorable, but it doesn’t stop you from at least attempting to corrupt this child’s promise, planting your hands on your hips.

“Oh, yeah? What about if I had a word with Santa for you, huh? Ask if he can bring ya’ an extra chocolate bar?”

So this is what it’s come to, huh?

Bribing a 10 year old…

Forshame, Mrs. Morgan.

═══════☆═══════

It’s another hour before you find out where Arthur is. Jack doesn’t break under interrogation and you make a mental note to let his Uncle Dutch know what an asset he is to the gang. Pearson makes you bacon and eggs even though you missed breakfast on orders from both Arthur and Grimshaw to never let you go hungry in your condition. The strange feeling from when you woke up doesn’t seem to budge even with a full stomach, but that thought is pushed out of your head when you see a dog, covered in snow, burst past Charles keeping watch and come barreling towards you. You don’t have time to react or figure out what the hell is going on before there are wet paws on your lap and a fluffy, panting smile only inches away from your face.

“MOOSE! Get back here, Moose!” Arthur’s voice bellows through the camp and you can hear Diesel's gallop, but you can’t seem to see anything but dog as the hound in front of you grabs the last piece of bacon from your plate and begins licking your face.

Somehow, Arthur runs over to you and grabs who you assume to be Moose, picking him up with an ease that only his strong arms could take. You seem to be frozen in shock, your mind working triple speed to catch up with your surroundings.

Okay, what can you feel?

My face is wet.

What can you see?

My husband, holding a 50lb dog like it’s a baby.

What about smell?

Not sure, but it definitely isn’t my last piece of bacon.

“God, darlin’, are you alright? Did he hurt’cha?” Arthur’s concern is evident, wrinkling his forehead with worry as he puts the dog back on the floor, who has considerably calmed now that there is no more bacon. Arthur takes a few strides before he’s in front of you, kneeling beside you to take your face in his huge gloved hands and wildly scan his eyes over your features.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. The only casualty was my breakfast.” At 8 months pregnant, it’s hard not to find that completely and utterly tragic, but at least your baby is safe.

“That damn dog… I should’a listened when the guy told me he’s got a mind of his own.” Satisfied of a lack of wounds to your person, Arthur stands, holding out both hands to help you up too. You fall into his embrace perfectly, finally feeling the relief of the first contact with your beloved for the day. It makes everything feel that much better, that much safer in his arms that you hum contentedly.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers into your hair, placing a kiss right atop your head, “Good morning…” you sigh out, basking in the bubble that’s forming around the two of you, as if you’re the only ones in the world. “Thanks for the chocolate this morning.”

“My pleasure.”

You both stay there for a while, swaying in your embrace, until you eye what’s going on around you and have to break the moment.

“...Arthur?” “Yeah?” “Why is there a dog eatin’ one of Dutch’s books?” “Ah shit… Moose! NO.” Arthur all but barks, his arms slipping from your waist to retrieve Moose. He slips a rope around Moose’s collar, which seems to calm him quite a bit, enough to be able to lead him back over to you. Now the excitement has died down, Moose sits beside Arthur, doting up at you with the epitome of ‘puppy dog eyes’.

Alright… it’s pretty damn cute.

And when Arthur sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, you know he’s yours. You can read your husband like a book.

“I, uh… The other month y��said you’ve always wanted a dog, and I figured it'd be easier to get a dog then a baby rather than the other way around and… and well you’re giving me so much this year, more than I can ever repay and… well, merry christmas, Mrs. Morgan.” His nervous ramblings that only you seem to have the ability to enable are a pleasure to watch. They grow your grin by the second, as does the goofiest dog you’ve ever seen smiling up at you. You’re so happy you could burst, though you certainly wouldn’t want to in your state. You’re completely speechless for a second.

“You’re… you’re not mad, are ya?” “I mean, I ain’t never heard’a somethin’ so bold as gettin’ a new dog a month before givin’ birth, but no. I… I love him. Thank you, Arthur.” You reach onto your tiptoes to throw your arms around his neck as best you can with a baby between you, kissing Arthur with enough force for him to drop the makeshift leash in complete distraction. Moose feels his release happen and runs off again, this time finding and chasing Jack around in circles while he laughs madly. Arthur snakes an arm around your waist and you feel your head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck while you watch the chaos.

“How’re y’feelin’ today? Still achin’?” “Uh huh… But I’m okay. Feel a little weird, but I think that’s normal at this stage.” You reply honestly, feeling the smallest bit of relief from the thumb circling your lower back.

“Well, take it easy, alright? I’ve done chores enough for the both of us.”

“Alright… Thank you.” You sigh, actually rather missing the hustle. You’re a ranch girl at heart who isn’t used to just sitting around, your decreasing list of things you can actually do nowadays getting more frustrating by the day.

“Not long to go now till we meet her now, angel.” “We don’t know for sure it’s a girl, cowpoke.”

“I know… I just gotta feelin’.”

═══════☆═══════

Later that evening, everyone in camp is sitting around the fire breathing like dragons as they sing christmas carols to Javier’s guitar and you’re tucked under Arthur’s arm, cuddling into him to keep warm. You’re pretty sure Moose hasn’t left Jack’s side all day. Not since he slipped him an entire bowl of stew at dinner, at least.

The strange feeling of pressure that has been building in your abdomen all day hasn’t yet relented, but you haven’t yet found good enough cause to worry anyone about it. You’re 8 months along, surely you’re supposed to feel weird?

You’re the only one close enough to Arthur to know that he has absolutely no idea what the words to this song are. He’s mumbling along to the general tune, sounding a lot like Uncle’s slurs after a few too many whiskies. It takes everything in you to not snicker at his poor attempt to guess how many of which kind of bird or performer or… maid(?) this songwriter got for Christmas, especially when you’re pretty sure you hear the words ‘seven fish-a-shittin’ leave his lips.

Everything is one fat man in a red suit away from being the perfect picturesque Christmas Eve, which you’re about to point out to Arthur when the sharpest stabbing pain rips a strangled cry from deep within your throat. Your hands shoot to your belly helplessly, wanting to grip at it to ease the pain but knowing you can’t. The carols are too loud for anyone but Arthur to notice, who instantly crouches in front of you.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He’s panicked, grasping at your arms and attempting to capture your attention away from the considerable pain you’re clearly in. Your face is scrunched up, teeth clenched down in some poor attempt to brace the pain.

“I… I don’t know. It hurts. Feels like pressure.. Right- argh!”

This time, your cry is loud enough to gain the attention of those around the fire. Javier stops playing and most everybody looks over at you. Ms. Grimshaw and Dutch both stand, concern evidently written in their expression.

“Is she alright?” Dutch asks,

“What’s happenin’, honey?” Grimshaw kneels beside Arthur in front of you. You try to breathe through the smallest hole your lips can make, focusing on the sensation as much as you can rather than whatever is happening to you. You’re trying your hardest not to worry about the baby, but it’s hard, especially with so many people now worrying about you out loud.

“I… dunno. Hurts.” You manage to get out, finding Arthur’s hand and gripping on it with a downright bruising force.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside and out of the cold, alright?” You nod, feeling Arthur holding onto one arm and who you assume is Dutch on the other helping you to your feet. You lean on them as much as possible and somehow you make it into your tent. You’re laid down on your cot just as the pain begins to subside and your lungs feel like they can open back up again. When your eyelids soften again, you see Arthur’s worried face right beside you, Grimshaw pottering around with towels and Dutch waiting by the entrance to the tent with Dr. Strauss.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” The sheer intensity of the panic in his voice is almost more than you can bear and you know he’s being plagued by the same nightmare you are right now, just hoping to god or whoever the hell might be listening that your baby is okay.

“Mhm. S’easing now… It just came on real quick, that’s all…” Your breaths are struggled but ever so slightly more stable than before. Arthur’s thumb runs over your knuckles soothingly.

Over by the entrance to the tent, you see Dutch and Strauss in a hushed conversation that frays your nerves something awful. “What’s happening, Arthur?”

“I… I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Enter Dr. Strauss, carrying his medical bag. Arthur stays right by your side as the Doctor sits in front of your cot, mumbling his apologies as he lifts up your skirts and pulls a blanket over your legs.

You’re panicking, not knowing how you know exactly, but knowing that the pressure is going to come back soon. An awful anticipation clamps your hand onto Arthur’s tighter, but Strauss’ head pops up from under the blanket before it happens. Arthur’s head whips around.

“What’s happening, doc? Is she okay? Is… is the baby gonna be okay?”

The second between Arthur’s question and Strauss’ answer lasts a lifetime. It’s an agony worse than anything this pregnancy has thrown at you in all its 8 months in existence.

“I believe you’re in labour, Mrs. Morgan.”

═══════☆═══════

It’s a long, hard labour but Arthur never leaves your side once. Not when your waters break, or when he can barely keep his eyes open. Not even when you almost break his hand the first time you try to push. He stays with you.

He’s right beside you when you start to panic between contractions, tears falling down your reddened cheeks. “It can’t be here yet- we just got a dog and it’s only been eight months and I-I don’t know if I’m ready…”

But he knows just what to say. Of course he does. He even brings Moose in to say hello and prove he has relaxed a lot since his first arrival.

He’s with you when you break, sobbing that you can’t push anymore, your forehead falling against his in pure exhaustion. “Shut up, stupid.” He scolds gently, earning a confused look from you. “You know damn well you’re the strongest woman alive and you can do goddamn anything. It’s one of the many reasons I fell for ya’. Now push, before I name this baby Hoagy after it’s Godfather.”

He’s there when she’s born, such a tiny little thing, a month early but just as healthy as if she were overdue. He’s got that smug look on his face when Strauss announces her arrival, the loudest silent ‘I told you so’ you’ve ever seen.

Arthur holds his daughter in his arms for the first time on Christmas Day, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.

“She’s… She’s perfect. She’s so perfect…”

Your energy is depleted, truly, after so many hours of labour, but you manage to sit up against the makeshift crate headboard to watch your husband and daughter meet each other.

Her tiny hands reach out for Arthur, holding onto his cheek and if you could freeze time forever and live in this moment, you would.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Arthur whispers, shifting to kiss her palm, “Isn’t she?”

“I mean… she is, but I was talkin’ to you.” He looks up at you and you decide not to mention the tear tracks you spot on his skin.

“Oh, hush…” There’s an attempt to wave him off, but your shaky limbs don’t quite manage.

“No, I mean it. You… You’ve given me everything. I never knew I wanted to be a dad, but now she’s here and I’m holdin’ her I…” He’s choking up in a way you’ve never seen before. The great outlaw Arthur Morgan, who has killed and robbed and beaten, breaking in front of you in the most beautiful, vulnerable way imaginable. “It’s everything. I can never thank you enough. This is the best gift I could ever get, my beautiful, amazing wife.”

His words radiate through you, relaxing your spine and calming each ache bringing life to the world has given you. You can feel your eyelids get heavier by the second and it gets harder and harder to fight the sleep you so desperately need.

“Arthur?” You’re barely audible, but Arthur is sat close enough to hear you,

“Uh huh?”

“We don’t have to name her Hoagy, do we?”

“We’ll talk about it later, angel.”

#rdrSecretWinterExchange #margos christmas spectacular #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x y/n #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan rdr #rdr2 #rdr #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan red dead #red dead redemption

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jagalart · 1 month

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Yarrow and Feverfew

Art trade with the incredible @liscepu, I'm so grateful for the chance! Thank you for fueling my love for the game again <3

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption #rdr2 #rdr fanart #flowers #portrait #illustration #Also #since gathering and crafting from plants is one of my fav things in open world games I've been really enjoying drawing game characters with #like I've done with Geralt or Pathologic before - I will be definitely doing that more in the future! <3 #This also reminded me I still need to return to platinum-ing RDR2...#...These damn 70 golden medals tho #I have no idea how I'll do it 💀

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moved2fshfish · 9 days

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sleepin cowboy

#art #fanart #my art #artist #artwork #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanart #arthur morgan #cowboy #horse

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pryce0 · 1 year

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A Modern Stranger - Chapter 2

gif by; @cowboydin

word count; 1,308

Masterlist: Here

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Here

————

We don’t ride for long, maybe a few minutes at most. I held my eyes closed in fear of falling off the strong horse below us. I feel us slow to a stop, a quiet whine coming from the horse and the man’s low voice soothes his horse. I open my eyes and look around. “We can chat here, I guess.” He murmurs, glancing over his shoulder to me. I make eye contact before I look over at the ground below us. “Do I just.. hop off? Slide off?” I question, and it’s pretty damn obvious I don’t want to break my arm or somethin’ from gettin’ off this horse.

“Since you’re not in the saddle and don’t have your feet in the stirrups, you can slip off.”

I let go of the sides of the man’s vest and grab onto the back of the saddle with one hand, the other hand is planted on the rear of the horse. I take a deep breath and slide off of the back of the horse, stumbling slightly as my feet slam into the ground. I use my arms to balance myself before I fall, but I still feel mighty embarrassed so I look at the mysterious man as my cheeks turn pink. He looks away, but for a split second he seemed amused which just worsens my feelings of embarrassment. The man takes his sweet time dismounting his horse and grabbing some items out of his horse’s satchel. “Where are you from, anyway?” He finally speaks, taking out this metal thing and matches. The metal thing looks like you could cook something on top of it. “You are wearin’ some funny clothes, especially for a lady.”

I scrunch my face up from his words instinctively. “Weird? Weird how?”

He makes a face himself and looks at me, using his hand to gesture to my body and outfit. “Well, err.. We don’t see too many ladies wearin’ pants. As well as the style, never seen it before. The hooded shirt, sure. But everything else is..” He trails off and sighs. “I don’t have an issue with it, if you are catchin’ some other drift.” He finishes, looking back to his horse as he ransacks the satchel. “I’m from Silverstone City, it’s right outside of Valentine. Thanks for bringing me out of there.” I murmur. The man pauses and looks at me all confused like. “Silverstone City? Never heard of it.”

I freeze up as my heart skips a beat. Are you kidding me? Is everyone trying to joke with me today??

“You haven’t? It’s a mile or so outside of Valentine, you could see it from here. It should be over..” I trail off as I turn in the direction of where my city should be, but there’s only open land. There isn’t any bars or local shops such as the spirituality store or the local grocery store that’s run by Marcus. There’s nothing. Nothing at all.

I feel my feet turn panicked, numb and cold. I feel the feeling trail up my legs as my heart begins to pound. “Wha..” I whisper, looking over every inch of land in my sights. I feel my fingers begin to feel numb, and before I realize it, my throat is closing up as I take harsh and painful breaths. I put a hand on my chest, feeling it constrict with every breath.

Where is my home? My life, my work? Penny, is she okay? My sweet little girl at the bar.. Is Proctor okay? Isaac?? My coworkers, Ruby and Paris? Stanley?

What happened to the city I know and love so dearly? The homeless man on the corner right by my work, who I always give him our extra food?

I feel absolute dread fill every inch of my gut, my skin, my bones. From my hair follicles to my toenails, I cannot feel anything else other than panic, dread and anguish. My chest aches, it’s hurting so incredibly bad and I don’t know if I can come back from this.

Wait a minute, am I really buying into this 1899 bullshit?

….What other choice do I have?

I feel large, warm hands grab my shoulders and spin me around and I’m greeted by the stone cold, yet concerned voice of the man who saved me by the side of the road. I realize I can’t hear anything he’s saying. His lips are moving, but all I can hear is static. Then, out of nowhere, it’s like a thundercloud slap happened right in my ears. I suddenly hear the wind, the trees waving in the wind, and how the man shouts for my attention. “Miss! Are you alright?”

I cough and I’m hyperaware of the way of his hands on my shoulders, before he quickly lets go. “Yeah..” I whisper before clearing my throat. I wipe my face before looking away. “Yes, yes, I.. I’m fine,” I say louder. “Carry on with whatever you were doin’, sir.”

———

The fire crackles and burns in front of me as I wrap my arms around myself. I stare into the flames and the ember. It’s been an hour since my little.. panic attack and I’m feelin’ better, but I have no idea how to tell this man that I’m not from here. Well.. I am from here, but.. Not from this time. 2022 to 1899, is a, what, a 123 year old jump? And that’s a fucking huge jump. From smartphone to letters, from pants to fancy petticoats. Cars to carriages and horses..

Wait.. I haven’t even asked this man his name. I glance over at him, and he’s currently setting up his tent. Which makes sense, it seems like it’ll be gettin’ dark soon..

“Sir,” I begin. I lick my lips. “What’s your name?”

The man glances over at me before spreading out his bedroll. “Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur. Arthur Morgan. That rolls of the tongue quite nicely. “I’m [First Name] [Last Name].” I respond although he didn’t ask. “Look.. I know we aren’t.. acquainted like that, but I need to tell you something. It’s the reason why I dress funny, act funny to you.”

The man- no, Arthur, turns his head to look at me. He doesn’t seem the least bit interested in what I have to say, but he doesn’t stop me. “..It don’t make any sense to me neither but, I think.. I time traveled.” I say. Arthur immediately rolls his eyes which makes my cheeks burn bright, even though it’s the only solution. “I’m completely serious! I’m from this place, but it has to be from a different time! Valentine here is all.. old west, from where I am? The sheriff's office stands there, but it’s an entire regular police station that’s 3 stories high. The saloon? It’s still a saloon, technically, but it’s completely designed differently. The stables aren’t there anymore, I..” I trail off, my heart racing with every single word. “Silverstone City is real, it’s just made later in the future. 1930s, I think.”

Arthur scoffs. “You’re bullshittin’ me, no such thing as time travel.” He stands up and grabs some money from his satchel and holds it out. “Here, go stay in the hotel in Valentine and get your head on straight.”

I freeze up before I slowly take the money and turn to where I see Valentine. I huff and march my way over to Valentine, looking around for a hotel of some sorts. I take a moment, but I figure out that rooms only cost a dollar. That’s so cheap!

I take myself up the stairs and use the key the receptionist gave me. I enter the room and lock the door behind me. I let out a shaky sigh as I sit on the bed. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

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