this is my first writing blog, bare with me as i write this half-ass introduction
i am always accepting requests, never worry about flooding my inbox with them (or other asks) send me one, send me five, send me a hundred – i love reading them!! i answer them oldest to newest, though if i am stuck on a request i will let in simmer a little bit longer in my inbox until i’m confident i can write a decent fic <3
currently writing for rdr2, feel free to request any character and i will do my best.
i write almost everything: fluff, angst, platonic, romantic, male!reader, female!reader, gender-neutral!reader, multiple characters, drop me an ask if you have any questions
i do not accept request for: anything sexual, smut, modern au, rdr1, ocs, pregnancy
comments and reblogs are always welcome and very much appreciated :D english is not my first language, please correct any mistakes kindly
here is my masterlist – doing my best to keep it up to date
also! i try my best to interact with the rdr2 community, so don’t be afraid of reaching out: my dms are open (and inbox if you’d prefer that) :) i don’t mind being tagged in stuff either – i’ll take a look, ofc i'll take a look <3
i think that is all for now, this might be updated again later, i am still quite new to this whole thing
There are only 2 rules when it comes to writing fanfics:
Write whatever you want.
Have fun doing it.
That’s literally it. There is no “show and don’t tell”. There is no “make it realistic”. There is no “fit in with the trends”. And of course, there is no “write as fast as possible to keep up engagement and please others”.
No.
Most fanfiction writers are not professional writers. This isn’t a job, we’re literally writing for shits and giggles. We don’t have a team of editors behind us to make our story perfect. Fanfiction isn’t about creating the most perfect plot with the most perfect prose and the most perfect pacing.
Fanfiction writing is for you first. To make your heart happy. Other people just get the benefit to also enjoy it if they wish.
That’s it.
Write whatever makes you happy, with whatever writing style you want, whenever you want.
friendly reminder that my inbox and ask are always open!! i got a couple neat request brewing, however, it might still take me a bit to get back into a “schedule”
feel free to drop asks, random throughs, fic recommendations or whatnot in my dms/ask box! i love interacting with the community, don’t be scared to reach out!! <3
somewhere out there, a writer is looking at the anguished keysmash and string of emojis you left on their fics and smiling. somewhere out there, somebody's shitty day has been made a teensy bit brighter because of you said you want them to update their writing. somebody who's feeling insecure about their story is sitting down to write a few more paragraphs because you said you loved their style.
you may have left a detailed paragraph about the structure of their sentences and their usage of extended metaphors. you may have also left a "COMPLETE PERFECTION. PLEASE WRITE MORE I NEED IT". we love you and need your validation more than oxygen nonetheless. 🫵 go comment on somebody's fic
hosea lowkey treating outlaw! reader like a stray dog leading them to safety with a trail of food...
like arthur and hosea stay in a town for a few day so they could scope out some fools for a scam and tend to stick to the same places when they camp and the reader just so happens to be "caught" trying to find another meal out of their supply
i lowkey think after about the third time it happens hosea just stops bothering to put his supplies away cause he has the mom sense that one of his kids (unoffically) is gonna be hungry later
and then when the time finally comes when they know they'll need to leave the town before local enforcement comes knocking, hosea just drags the reader along with them
As an apology for the cliffhanger I left you on, accept this pumpkin chocolate chip cookie recipe???? The link to the original recipe is here. The template I used is available on Canva! Cheers!
Summary;; You decide a fishing trip is the best way to decompress with your boyfriend.
C/w;; Fluff, mostly waffling, established relationship, implied autistic reader
A/n;; This fic is purely made because of how beautifully rdr2 captured nature and our coexistence with it. Just wanted to appreciate it, and Arthur.
Idk if this even makes sense but first serious post here i have no idea how to use tumblr but i hope im doing alr
Word count;; 636
A fishing trip heals the soul as they say, the patience and anticipation of a bite on the hook, the lake waves crashing against the rocky and sandy shores of Flat Iron Lake where the gang decided to settle in— for now.
"th's is nice." You spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. The boat rocks as wind travels through the surface of the small lake.
"It is." Between the changing tides and their lives all the same, chaos seems to be a constant, and they almost forget to appreciate what they're fighting for. A family, a people, the nature that sorrounds them, human and natural. The mountains that call for them, the forests that protect them.
It's written in their way of living, in the harmony with the wild but sometimes the toiling nature of being an outlaw could bury their enjoyment of what is, always looking for whats next.
Silly as it sounds, fishing is one of few things that forces you to focus on what is. The sun beats on their sun burnt skin. Their rounded rimmed hats did their trick to shield the sun from blinding them. A slight breeze rushing through, rustling their torn and mended together clothes— it's good not to abandon your garments when they still serve their purpose after a quick fix.
Something about the atmosphere draws good conversation about... anything really. "Tell me, why'd you want to fish wit' me today?" Arthur asks as he reels in his next catch, a decently sized steelhead trout. He unhooks it and drops it into the bucket, hooking on more lake bait.
"Wanted to spend time with you." You confess, watching your bobber moves as a fish nibbles on the bait. It subjects you to more waiting with its disinterest.
"That's awfully sweet of you. Why fishin'? Why not a dinner or a night at the saloon?"
"Pierson's been piercing in my ears about going out and hunting food, short on money, short on this that blah blah." He has a point but that old man's voice is gritting in your ears. Every time you pass by him it's always something. "Plus we're away from anyone else, just us, fish under us and birds over us."
"I suppose the noise can be overwhelming. Especially for someone like you." He nudges your shoulder. You follow with an eye roll and a nudge back.
"I manage myself just fine. I like it here, ya know? Got everything i need here."
"Me."
"Especially you. And my pocket knife." You snicker at your joke.
"Harhar." His amusement is clear, however when his lips press into a smile, a gleam in his eyes. Gosh, the way the light reflects on the water onto his face is angelic. Just as you stare at the mountains in the distance, the trees so packed together, you take a moment to admire your love.
His stubble is patchy, no doubt from the nicks and cuts that stains his face— no, no. Staining would imply it bad. You find beauty in it, battle scars, reminders of what survives, everything that happened in that battle in Arthur's life no matter large or small had led to this moment. Like fallen trees and rock falls sustaining refuge animals and plants, melting snow turning into streams and waterfalls and rivers that turns into the very lake they fish on, lastly ushering into a large ocean, connecting everything and everyone.
Nature tells a story when you take a moment to take it in, and so does Arthur. The very moment you met him, you knew he was a man of many stories. Give you a few moments of admiring and you've got him figured out, Arthur still surprises you in a lot of instances but you've gotten to know him like the palm of your hand.
Wrote a little short comfort/fluff about being sick with the cold/flu, sadie x reader. I usually write fem reader, but I think this one is gn. Proofread by a sick, delirious author lol. Reader is a bit worried about inconveniencing Sadie. Cheers to feeling better soon lmao.
You tossed and turned for the millionth time that night, the first rays of dawn now peaking through the curtains. You reached for your handkerchief, cringing as you blew your nose, trying not to wake up Sadie’s sleeping, or once sleeping, figure beside you.
Panic rushed through your weary body as Sadie rolled over to face you. She gave you a sleepy smile, though her brows were knit with worry.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Sadie asked, her tone soft and affectionate, not the least hint of annoyance.
“I’m sorry, been trying to keep quiet… Just don’t feel very good…,” you trailed off, covering your face with your hands as you dropped the handkerchief back on your nightstand.
“Shhh, shhh, hey. Ain’t your fault you aren’t feelin’ so well,” Sadie reassured, sitting up to readjust the pillows behind her before pulling you into her lap. “Let me know if this is too warm.”
“S’perfect,” you whispered, crumpling into her. You stayed a while like this, your breaths syncing with hers, her warm chest rising and falling against your back. Sadie drew lazy circles up and down your arms, behind your neck, and through your scalp, parting your hair to massage all the places you loved most.
“I hate being sick,” you whimpered, still feeling absolutely miserable, though Sadie’s presence and touch surely helped.
“I hate seein’ you sick. But you’ll get better. You’ll stay in bed tomorrow and I’ll make you a nice soup with that deer I brought home yesterday. Still got some carrots I can throw in, too,” Sadie asserted, already pondering what else she might throw in as if it were no matter at all. And you knew it really wouldn’t be to her, but you still felt guilty regardless.
“But what about the ch-”
“You,” Sadie drove a light finger to the center of your chest, “are not leavin’ this bed. Don’t worry ‘bout them chores. I got you.”
“But I could probably wash-”
Sadie sat up further, leaning forward enough to meet your eyes. Her expression meant business, eyebrows raised in a way you knew left no room for debate. You would stay in bed tomorrow. Today. Whatever it was now. Christ Almighty you hoped you would get some sleep.
“Now I’m gonna get you some cough syrup, and then you’re gonna try to get some sleep,” Sadie declared, gently removing herself from behind you and setting you back onto the bed, kissing you on the forehead before walking out into the kitchen.
She returned a few moments later, spooning the medicine into your mouth and setting it down. “There. Should start feelin’ a lot better soon. Now, want me to read you more of Mary-Beth’s book? We were just gettin’ to the best part.”
You smiled. Though there hadn’t been enough time for the medicine to kick in, you already felt better seeing Sadie take such good care of you. “Sure, just stop once you see I fall asleep. Don’t wanna miss anything,” you laughed lightly.
And that she did. As soon as your breathing slowed, lips parted, the ghost of a snore escaping your nose every few breaths, she stopped. Setting the book aside, she tucked you all the way in, giving you one more kiss before she began her morning rounds.
I am a writer. Not a content-producing machine.
I am a writer. Not a content-producing machine.
I am a writer. Not a content-producing machine.
It’s okay if I don’t have time to write.
It’s okay if a chapter is delayed.
It’s okay if my words come out messy.
It’s okay if I need to take a break.
It’s okay if I don’t update every week, every month, or even every year.
My value as a writer is not measured by how fast I post.
My worth is not defined by kudos, bookmarks, or comments.
I am allowed to be slow.
I am allowed to rest.
I am allowed to write for joy, not for an algorithm.
may i request some arthur and john (separate) with a gn!reader? they somehow discover that the reader randomly disappears from camp to go float or sit in some random body of water…they just HAVE to take a break from being their usual sanguine self to be gloomy and pensive and dramatic or else they can’t survive!!!!!! 💔💔💔 maybe with some friends to lovers vibes if that’s possible…can be headcanons or anything, angsty, silly, etc. it’s up to you!! ty in advance YAY<33333
lake of sorrows
arthur morgan || john marston x gender-neutral!reader
synopsis: you flee from camp to visit the lake, arthur or john follows you
note: AHHH REQUEST, don’t question my poetry, thanks <3 i was so tempted to write merman arthur and john… anyway, enjoy <3
night carries you fast, delivering you swiftly to the lake: water greets you curiously – wondering what sorrows you will share tonight. it eats your optimism, allowing you to shed layers of your sanguine self – allowing you to be gloomy and pensive, allowing you survival. sorrow lives within you, and the water gladly listens. your soul – draped in grief– sobs wildly, adding the endless pond.
you sink deeper, water cradles you – it listens patiently as you tell of tricks and traitors, wit and weakness, blood and bones. your clothes cling to you – soft and scarce – the water hugging you. how wonderful it was to be understood, to be heard: for something to offer solitude and stability.
the world's a beast of burden, you have been carrying it for so long – you wear your sorrow like crown of gold – heavy on your head, on your soul, yet you never falter under the weight – ruler of sorrow. you need this sorrow to stay within you, need to feel it – need to let it feed and fester inside you, so you can keep your facade. in the lake sorrow is the only emotion you allow yourself, for while it is tremendous and treacherous; it is familiar. aches and anguish mean nothing when you are cradled by something you know – something that will not falter when you break.
moonlight illuminates your path ahead, you sink deeper into the water, howling with the wind, truth clawing it’s way out of you – laughing and crying, it’s everything you need. you let it all go, and you can finally breathe. with your head underwater the world is muted, the only sound being the overflow – the night lingers soft on your fingertips as you draw patterns through the water, your mind travels to somewhere else – somewhere peaceful.
staring into the blackness of the water, the thrill of knowing how alone you are, how unknown you are – to the world and yourself, and yet this is the truest you have ever been. your heart sing, and the water hum along – melodies merging and twining together: it is witnessing you.
then, ever so faintly, an unfamiliar heartbeat wafts through the water, echoing helplessly and wholeheartedly. it doesn’t belong to you – ripples from the shore crack the reflection of moonlight, crack the illusion of peace. breaking surface you're facing the source of the disruption: it is…
arthur morgan – awkward as always, few steps into the lake watching you. he's hesitating, sensing he might have intruded, curiosity denies him the escape of turning tails. you smile, welcoming him – arthur removes his hat, leaves it at the shore, like this lake is somehow sacred.
"ye was not in camp" he mumbled, gaze fixed on you as he wanders thought the water – he floats easily, so gracefully – like he has done this before, perhaps he has. arthur might not admit it but he is a man of wonder, you have seen it in his journal – he'll find softness in everything and add it to his pages, to his soul. water swirls around you, neither of you fight it: face to face, stripped of your masks. arthur allows himself to feel your sorrow, to understand.
you did need to explain yourself to him, for he understood. his hand found yours, giving it a squeeze.
"we will be alright" he promised you both, his words rang true and honest, making you smile. such a foolish man making promises he cannot keep, but it’s a wonderful dream – a dream you will believe tonight.
"we will" you confirm, thumb running over his cheek, wiping away his tears. he presses against your palm, giving you his tears, his longing. It’s soft, and you are both crying, the water lovingly drinking it all in.
john marston – knee-deep into the lake, striding towards you, water splashing as he moves – clumsily. how far would he go for you? the water around him pulses with nervous energy, he’s fighting it – terrified he keeps going. you stand, steady, tilting your head curiously – what a strange man.
"martson" you wonder, and he visibly relaxes: determination melts from his face, replaced with embarrassment – flustered cheeks and red ears. he must’ve thought you were drowning, must’ve meant to save you – it’s a sweetness you can’t really describe. it makes you giggle, and he looks away, realising what he has done – soon you are both laughing.
"ye was drownin'" he muttered, explaining himself, making you smile wider – and when you laugh again, so does he, nodding along as you coo over him, a teasing banter floats between you. the water humms, giggling at you two, swirling around in a playful manner.
you do not need saving, but he is so willing to offer it – to be by your side.
though his fear makes him hesitate, when reality reaches him, it’s your turn to save him: taking his hand, you guide him into the water, teaching him to trust it, teaching him to swim – hands intertwined, future slowly stitching together – he knows this is what he wants.
