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ashs-cardboard-box · 7 days

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Heartbroken doodles

~ Arthur Morgan/Older Brother!Male!Reader

~ Familial

~ 3k words

Request :3

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For as long as you’ve known the boy, Arthur has been head over heels for this ‘Mary’ woman. Days on days again, he was as giddy as a child in a candy store after coming home from spending the day with her. As home as home can get, that is. You were an older brother of sorts to both Arthur, at twenty-three, and the new boy, John, at only thirteen.

You were the first kid Dutch and Hosea had picked up to join the gang. No surprise, you were orphaned just as Arthur and John had been. You got along better with Arthur due to being closer in age than the two of you to John, having a decade between yourselves and the teen.

Yet, lately, you’ve noticed how Arthur has just been…off. Abnormally lazy, sure, but other things to accompany. Isolation, constantly stuck in his own head, less of the mouthy ass you’ve known him to be. You try not to impede on whatever stink he’s found himself in, assuming it would pass just like his rambunctious teen phase had many years ago.

Unsurprisingly, John had been unrelenting in his teasing towards Arthur, as usual. Yelling and being a general nuisance on why “he has to work while Arthur doesn’t”, as if John isn’t still learning not to shoot his own fingers off.

Any time it’s brought up, either you or Hosea would scold him. “Leave him alone, John. He’s prolly goin’ through somethin’.” Like a pattern at this point. Often finding yourself wandering around camp with Dutch, not only to check on the things Miss Grimshaw couldn’t due to her hands being full, or to just watch Arthur.

He doesn’t do much. You can’t remember a time in the past few weeks he looked up at anyone aside from the worms in the dirt. His shoulders slumped forward and his posture curved in unspoken disappointment. Aimlessly wandering around camp, keeping to himself at all hours of the day.

That was, however, until he didn’t get up one morning. With your worry for your younger brother mounting, you take it upon yourself to head to Arthur’s tent just to check on him– also to make sure he’s still breathing.

Sighing to yourself as you stare at the closed flaps of his tent, your jaw set firmly and your brows pinched together in concern. Raising your hand and gently pushing one of the flaps open with a small “Arthur?”

You don’t get a response aside from a hint of a sniffle. His back facing you as he lays on his cot silently, staring at the tent wall as if it’s the most captivating thing in the world. It pains you to see your younger brother like this. Not to mention, you hadn’t the slightest clue on what’s been going on with him.

“Arthur?” you call again, softening your voice slightly. Once again, nothing. Not even an over-the-shoulder glance. Sighing, you step into Arthur’s tent completely. Slowly making your way towards his cot and taking a seat on the edge of it, near the bend of his legs.

“Talk to me, kid..” You nearly whisper. Leaning back slightly to be able to properly see Arthur’s face. His lips pulled into a frown as his eyes hold nothing better than utter distraught. Arthur sighs heavily with a brief glance over towards you, before he looks back at the wall.

The only other time you’ve seen him like this was after Eliza and Isaac passed. Having left camp for a good reason, long before John joined, for the sake of family. You were so proud of the man he was becoming– until he showed up again. Left an utter mess after it all. After that, he was a different man. Calmer. More mature. Hardened by the cruelty of life.

Usually, he was trying to copy Dutch’s way of acting as a means of looking up to his father figure, much to Dutch’s ire. Your chest feels tight as the long drone of silence washes over both of you. The moment Arthur’s lips part to try and say something–

“Arthurrr… Get uppp..” John groans dramatically as he pushes open the tent without hesitation, his eyes widening upon finding you sitting with Arthur. “Don’t tell me- Arthur’s cryin’, ain’t he?” He taunts, causing Arthur to grumble quietly to himself. Lifting one of his arms and resting it over top his head, curling his fist behind the base of his skull. His bicep resting against the side of his face and ear.

“Get outta here, John. You eat yet?” you shake your head dismissively, slowly standing up from Arthur’s cot. Crossing his tent again and standing in front of John, folding your arms over your chest as you stare down at him in silent irritation. Despite feeling frustrated with John, you still cared for him. The last thing you wanted was for your youngest brother to go hungry.

“Yeah. Miss Grimshaw made stew.” John informs, yet making his tone as snarky as possible. Crossing his arms over his chest just as you had in an attempt to mock you and be as annoying as possible. “But ‘sea said Arthur gotta quit bein’ a woman ‘n cryin’ so much.”

“Hosea said no such thing, ya little brat. Now go on, get.. Before I actually get Hosea ‘n tell him you’re botherin’ Arthur again after he told you not to. Or tell Dutch you plan on skippin’ his lessons today.” That seemed to shut him up, for a little while, at least.

John groans dramatically and drops his arms down to his sides. “You’re no fun..” He grumbles and marches out of Arthur’s tent with a childish huff. Sighing heavily, you look over towards Arthur, who hadn’t moved the slightest bit aside from the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes. That’s a plus, you suppose. Sad but still breathing.

“Alright, Arthur. You get up too. We’re goin’ out.” You make your way back over to him, nudging his shoulder with the back of your hand. Arthur grumbles in protest, silently telling you to leave him alone, but you don’t. Continuously nudging him until Arthur gets annoyed enough to snap his head up towards you, removing his arm and dropping it to his front.

“Don’t you gotta go help Marston or somethin’? I’ll be fine.. leave me be.” Arthur cavils, shrugging off your hand as he lays his head back down. Much to his dismay, you continue to pester him. Going right back to nudging his shoulder with the tips of your fingers. “Either you get up on your own, or I drag your ass outta this tent myself. It’s your call.” You threaten lightheartedly, ignoring Arthur’s protests, causing him to sigh.

Glaring at you, Arthur turns over and pushes himself to sit up on his cot. Swinging his legs over the edge and placing them on the floor of his tent. “The hell you want?” He mutters in annoyance as he runs a calloused hand down his face. You take a few steps away from Arthur and back towards the entrance to his tent, watching him to make sure he actually gets up.

“You’ll see.” You respond vaguely with a grin, to which Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff. Reluctantly, he gets up and makes his way over to you. Shoving right past you, with a few incoherent swears, and out of his tent.

You follow after Arthur and silently guide him over towards your horses. You steal a quick look around camp for anyone nearby, spotting Grimshaw nearby, you beckon her closer. "Y'all headin' out?" She asks curiously. Her eyes flicking over towards a sulking Arthur mounting his horse before they return back up to you.

"Yeah.. uh- prolly just down to the river for a while. Tell Hosea for me, will ya? I'll bring the boy back in one piece, I swear." You joke and take a step away from Grimshaw. She gives a curt nod and turns on her heel to go relay the message to the older man, whom you three boys called a father figure.

Despite the age difference being quite large between all of you, you still acted more like brothers than most you’d ever met in your life. Arguments, rough housing, endless teasing..mostly from John. You were as much of a family as orphans could get. You took it upon yourself to watch over the younger boys when Hosea and Dutch weren’t in your line of sight, despite Arthur entering his twenties and John being a rowdy teenager.

“You comin’ or not?” Arthur calls gruffly, causing you to look back over your shoulder towards Arthur sitting atop his saddle. “Yeah, yeah.. Hold your horses.” You wave a hand dismissively and approach your own horse. Muttering a breathless praise towards the animal as you stick your boot into the stirrup and hoist your body weight up to straddle your saddle comfortably.

With a silent nod in another direction, you take off. Leading Arthur on horseback out of camp, no faster than a trot. The only thing interrupting the long silence shared between the two of you are the rhythmic thumps of the horses’ hooves against the ground below. Your body rocking with the gait of your horse.

“Talk to me, kid.” You break the silence with nothing short of a polite demand. Arthur, however, merely gives a short snort and doesn’t say anything as he follows after you. “You ain’t gonna be able to hide it forever.” You coax, with little success.

“What’s it matter to you?” He grumbles, glaring at the back of your head before his eyes flick ahead once again. His brows pinched in faux irritation, when all he feels is a heavy weight on his chest and an all too familiar lump in his throat. His heart felt like it had been run over by a stampede of every animal in the vicinity, followed by a nice mauling by a gator.

“You’re my brother ‘n somethin’s got your panties all wadded up.” You respond bluntly, no use sugarcoating it. Arthur’s been out of commission for weeks now and your worry only continues to grow. While Arthur wasn’t your blood relative, he might as well have been. You care for him like a pestering, older brother would.

Arthur goes silent for a long, long time. The only thing you can hear from him are subtle sniffles, followed by the ruffling of cloth as he wipes his nose on his sleeve. With each glance over your shoulder towards him, his emotions are only plastered on his face; anger, hurt, bitterness…just plain heartbreak. You can’t help but to feel bad for him.

“She–” Arthur starts, his voice breaking as he fights against the emotions threatening to expel from his throat. “She left me..” He sighs shakily. You gently tug up on your reins to get your horse to slow, wanting to be able to ride next to Arthur. You don’t say anything in hopes he’ll say more.

But he doesn’t. He shuts himself off yet again. With a dismissive shake of his head and a bitter chuckle, wiping his eyes with the pads of his index finger and thumb on his right hand. “Mary did?” You asks quietly, to which he nods in confirmation.

“Oh, Arthur..” you mutter quietly with a small sigh. Your eyebrows knit together in concern as you idly chew on the skin of your bottom lip, occasionally glancing at your little brother to check up on how he’s holding up.

It all makes sense now. You knew Mary’s father never cared for Arthur, as evident by Arthur’s many, many rants about it mere months prior. You never could’ve expected the two to part, especially not after seeing how in love the pair were.

“Listen, kid..” you swallow what saliva pools in your mouth. You didn’t even know what to say. How do you help a broken man? You sigh and tug up on your reins again, getting your horse to slow fully to a stop. Arthur looks over towards you in confusion, but does the same.

Not another word is shared is the two of you dismount your horses and guide them to the nearest tree, tying a slip knot with the reins and securing your horses to a sturdy branch for a minute. You give a vague gesture with your hand further through what little trees surround the riverbank. Dead leaves crunch underneath your boots as you follow an uncertain Arthur, constantly looking over his shoulder for reassurance that he’s going in the right direction.

Just past the trees, the two of you make your way down to the riverbed, covered with rocks and stones alike, maybe an arm if you tried to look far enough into the water. “Things ain’t always gonna work out like you had hoped.” you finally speak, causing Arthur to exhale a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He looks over at you as you take a seat right in the grass, holding your knees to your chest and resting your forearms atop your knees. Your eyes scanning over the river in front of you, as Arthur stares at you, dumbfounded. The sun blinding you as it glistens along the surface, barely able to see the way natural debris is swept away by the current.

“I know for a fact Miss Linton loved you with all her heart. It ain’t like she hated you, Arthur. She ain’t got much a choice with that daddy of hers.” Arthur sighs, sitting down next to you with a huff. The stones are far from comfortable to sit on, but who could complain? Save for John, that boy has a mouth like no other.

“I know..” He mumbles with a sniffle, his gaze falling to his hands, idly collecting pebbles and putting them in arbitrary piles. You glance over towards him silently before your hands move back behind you to your satchel. It’s not much effort to pull out the worn journal from the pouch. A graphite pencil hidden in the spine between the pages for safekeeping.

“Still hurts.” Arthur adds with a huff, pushing over his small pile with the back of his hand, causing the pebbles to topple and a few to roll down into the river. He leans forward and pulls his legs into himself, sitting cross legged and resting his elbow atop the inner side of his knee.

“I know it does.” You murmur as you pull open your journal. Grabbing ahold of your pencil and beginning to sketch the sight in front of you. The rushing, deep blue waters hidden snuggly between two parts of the land. On one side, a field with muddy roads leading into Blackwater. Just behind you, trees, foliage, and the occasional rabbit..good for hunting, you assume. Less visible roads leading right back to your camp. The place all of you call home for a little while. Rocks barely visible beneath the shallow waters, certainly no place for any sort of fish. “And it will for a while. That’s just the way things work.”

“But you gotta understand, there ain’t much y’all can do– not ‘til that sour old bastard changes his mind on his daughter. You jus’ gotta focus on yourself for a while, you hear? I don't wanna see you balled up in that tent of yours again tomorrow.” Your voice drops a bit softer as you speak, your gaze flicking between the beautiful environment, and the journal in your lap.

Arthur nods slowly, looking over towards you upon hearing the scratching of your pencil on paper. Sitting up and leaning over slightly to get a good look at what it is you’re doing. His eyes widen slightly as he looks between your drawing, then the river, and back again.

“How the hell’d you do that?” He points to your journal, the tip of his fingernail just barely grazing the leather exterior. You grin bashfully with a hint of a chuckle, removing your pencil from the page and opening up the leather bound book further, offering it to Arthur.

“It ain’t much at all. Just- figured it’d be nice to commit to memory I s’pose.” You shrug, Arthur eagerly snatches the journal from your hand and begins flipping through some of the pages in awe. He and John were far from similar, but in that moment, you could really see a resemblance with the stars in his eyes. His eyebrows raised up to his hairline and his lips slightly parted.

“You gotta teach me how to do this.” It was more of a command than a request, but you could hardly gripe. Chuckling as you shift to sit a bit closer to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Calm down, kid.. It takes a lotta time to do this.”

Arthur pouts and tears his gaze away from the journal to look at you, silently begging you to cave and teach him anyway. He extends his right hand out, palm facing up, to accept your pencil, as if not giving you a choice in the matter.

With a heavy sigh of mock irritation, you place the pencil in Arthur’s hand, causing him to immediately grin. “You’re just as much a pest as John is..” you tease, yet Arthur ignores you completely. Too busy ruffling through the pages until he finds a clean one to draw on.

It was hard to deny his excitement, especially after all that he’s been through. Slowly, you begin to guide him through the ins and outs of creation. Sappy shit about “letting the pencil guide you” and “use that head of yours, Morgan.”

His first drawing wasn’t great, if you had to be honest, yet there was a genuine spark in his eye to say he was proud of himself and wanted to keep going. You make a mental note to buy him his own journal, so he doesn’t tear yours to pieces even further. It was far from perfect at an artists’ standpoint but as a brother? It was the greatest thing you’d ever seen.

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I hope you like it !!! :3

#rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x reader

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ashs-cardboard-box · 7 days

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I love your content, i started praying rdr2 not too long ago and i fell in love with it, and then i find out that the there's hardly any x male reader content, so thank you for writing these amazing fics. I also requested some fics and i just wanted to say that you are amazing!! :)

Aw !!! Thank you sm !!!! <333 I'm really glad you like them :3

I have so many ideas right now that I'm working on + 2 requests (one should be posted later today >:3)

#ash responds

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ashs-cardboard-box · 10 days

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Midnight movies

COMMISSION FOR @the-spookington

~ Liam De Lioncourt/Genderfluid OC (Quinn)

~ Romantic

~ 1.4k words

CW; Use of 'queer' in a satirical, hypocritical way (He's a homosexual man and kisses a man after its used). Mention of drug use.

Art also drawn by @the-spookington

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“Nightmare on Elm Street? Seriously, Quinn? So mainstream..” Liam mutters quietly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle and ring fingers. His yellow eyes flick over towards Quinn as if expecting him to change her mind on the movie. Steepling his fingers and resting his hands over top of his knee– his legs crossed over one another. His back against the worn leather couch. Occasionally staring at the claw marks and scratches, left by Scott, before sighing in disapproval as he looks back towards Quinn.

“It’s the only thing that’s on..” Quinn explains in a wobbly tone, clearing their throat in an attempt to settle their nerves, though it does very little. The heel of his foot tapping rhythmically against the rug laid halfway underneath the couch, to spare the hardwood living room floor from scratches. Their socks only collecting mounds of Scott’s fur. Her muscles rigid as their heart races in their chest, his cheeks tinged a subtle shade of pink.

“Hm.. I suppose that could be a metaphor for the way society dictates one another’s choices; I could've said that only a bit better myself, Quinn.” Liam smirks confidently as he leans slightly on the couch, lifting his hip to be able to properly tug his phone out of the front pocket of his pants. He looks down towards the cushion in between himself and Quinn. Heavily debating on if it would be cliche to try and get a bit closer, only to be rudely interrupted by a howl from upstairs.

Quinn quickly looks over her shoulder towards the stairs, only to have Liam follow their gaze. Sitting there are Scott and Polly, talking loudly between themselves. Exchanging Scott Snacks and a comically large plastic bag filled with a nondescript white powder. Scott’s tail is wagging extremely quickly, only flinging his fur everywhere. If the house wasn’t already covered in his fur, it would be now.

“I won't be surprised if the two of you are unaware, but your distribution of drugs is only harming the ecological system around us.” Liam says pointedly, causing the pair to look over towards Liam and Quinn in confusion. “Riigghhttt..” Polly drawls out, her eyes narrowing in confusion, earning a sigh from Liam. No doubt she’s high off her ass.

“But Bro..! How else will we bet on you two kissing?!” Scott exclaims with a whine, his tail slowing to a stop. Quinn’s eyes widen and he’s quick to clasp a hand over his mouth to conceal the crimson warmth spreading across her face.

“We aren’t going to kiss, Scott.” She defends with a small huff, dropping their hand back into their lap. Liam nods in agreement, turning his gaze down to his phone, monitoring the replies on his latest post of Quinn’s oh-so-inspirational metaphor, before he looks back towards a pouting Scott and a deadpanned Polly– clearly not buying it.

“Quinn’s right, for once. I would never kiss someone unless to mock the hollow phonies without a concept of irony thinking a proper place to kiss would be watching a movie in the dead of night.” Liam advised bluntly, earning an sarcastic eyeroll from Polly at his blatant hypocrisy.

“Alright Scott-” She starts, pulling the werewolf’s attention back to her. Scott’s head cocks to the side curiously. “Two bags of cocaine and two packages of Scott Snacks to say they kiss before one.” Scott’s tail immediately starts wagging again as a toothy grin splits across his face. “That’s like… MORE than one, bro!!” He exclaims with an affirmative nod from Polly.

Liam and Quinn look back towards each other to see how they other is reacting to the ‘Prank Masterz’ rather inappropriate bet, only to make eye contact. Like a cliche in a movie, they’re quick to look away and face the TV again as their cheeks burn, much to Liam’s dismay.

Scott and Polly sit not-so quietly as they stare directly at the pair. Whispering amongst themselves every so often as if they’re commentating over a live event needing immense focus. Quinn’s body feels warm with embarrassment at the feeling of their eyes boring holes into his skin. Liam, although trying to hide it by folding his hands over one another in his lap, can’t deny the uncharacteristic, stereotypical, clamminess of his palms.

Quinn continues to shake her leg nervously as he stares directly at the TV– not at all paying attention. They can just barely feel the warmth radiating off of Liam’s body due to being sat on opposite sides of the three-cushion couch; They purposefully avoid the middle cushion due to the stuffing leaking out of a large claw mark, left by Scott after he and Ash discovered lasers.

“I could create a better costume than that. You can practically see the glue holding the mask together.” Liam critiques with a sigh, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes locked on the screen, watching the movie over the rims of his glasses. His elbow just barely brushes against Quinn’s arm, sending a shock up her spine as he mentally scolds himself for having such a reaction.

“I kinda like it.. I mean- it- could use a bit of work with you- but its not bad!” They grin, looking over towards a deadpanned Liam. He quirks an eyebrow as his gaze flicks across Quinn’s features. From their eyes, to their nose, lips, ears, and merely their pale complexion. Clearing his throat, he turns away again. A faded rose hue managing to slip across his cheeks.

“It’s..not bad…” he muses, adjusting his position on the couch to lean forward. His elbows resting atop his knees as he supports his chin on the palm of his hand. His slender, lavender fingers gently curling inwards, the first knuckles resting against his lips. Staring at the screen as if entirely enamored by the movie, when he couldn’t care less for it. “But I could do it better, of course. Use less glue and materials, more personality.”

Quinn didn’t have the slightest clue on what that meant, but who was he to disagree? Catching herself staring at Liam for a bit too long, their gaze falls to the floor. Noticing how their multicolored socks stand in contrast to the dark clumps of Scott’s fur interweaved through the fibers.

He considers making a stupid joke about creating another white substance with the vampire next to him, just to ease the crushing tension that’s so painfully obvious to Polly, less so to Scott, across the room, but she decides against it upon hearing the front door open.

Three out of four occupants inside the home turn their attention from the awkward scene in the living room over towards the new individual, leaving Liam staring at the TV with disinterest. Ash groans as he sloppily kicks off his boots, appearing two inches shorter without them. He looks over towards Quinn and Liam, staring blankly without saying a single word.

“Queers.” He mutters quietly, earning a half offended scoff from Quinn. “I’m not gay!!” Quinn protests with a squeal, earning a dismissive wave from Ash as he makes his way to the stairs. Bending down to place a kiss onto Scott’s hair before heading upstairs without another word, as usual. Scott beams as his tail wags quickly, beating against the wall and the railing rhythmically. Polly watches Ash closely, then looks back over towards Liam. Mentally questioning just how much hypocrisy can happen in one night.

Quinn sighs and flops back against the couch, causing Liam to look over towards him curiously. “Why don’t we prove how gay we aren’t? Go against the agenda for the sake of irony and “kiss.” Liam proposes confidently. Silence rings throughout the room for a long moment as Quinn and Liam stare at one another. Without even thinking, both of them lean forward and seal their lips with a kiss.

It’s strange and laced with inexperienced, yet unspoken affection is passed with each second. Liam’s hand moves up to cup the back of Quinn’s head, tangling in her dark hair with white streaks. Using the other on the back of the couch to support his weight. Quinn’s hands cup Liam’s cheeks gently, feeling their heart soar.

After a long moment, the two part, breathless. Nearly jumping out of their skin as the chime of the clock on the wall sounds– one a.m. “HA! I called it!” Polly cheers as she wins their bet, her excitement causing Scott to howl.

Liam groans, pulling away from Quinn and adjusting his glasses. Quinn reluctantly pulls his hands off of him, their cheeks flushed beyond belief. “Yet another cliche..” He mutters disapprovingly with a shake of his head. Safe to say, their agreement was just more hypocrisy and denial..despite Liam drowning in it.

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I'm working on my other requests but commissions take priority!! Thank you, Spooki !!! :33

#liam de lioncourt #liam de lioncourt x reader #liam de lioncourt x oc #monster prom #monster prom x reader #monster prom x oc

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ashs-cardboard-box · 13 days

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Would you consider writing for rdr2 x male reader from the future? The typical reader ends up in the past and meets Arthur and the gang, reader having the typical gen z humor, mannerism and language. The gang obviously thinks he's carzy/weird but ultimately let him join because he give great advice and seems to have knowledge about medicine and herbs (Hosea loves him). The reader probably is a teen because the gang loves to adopt small to medium people

Ooh that's creative !! I love that !!

I'll add it to the list ! Thank you sm !! :33

#ash responds

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ashs-cardboard-box · 14 days

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First meetings

~ Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Teen!Male!Reader

~ Familial (found family)

~ 1.5k words

CW; Mentions of hanging

Request :3

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You fucked up– big time. Committing crimes in a rapidly developing town like Blackwater was stupid, you knew that, yet what other choice did you have? Tears welled up in your eyes as you peer down at the crowd from atop the podium, noose placed over your head and lying across your collarbones. Thirteen and sentenced to death by hanging for repeated crimes of thievery, robbery, and assault. Unfortunately, the law had caught you.

You tried your hardest to get away from the lawmen after you, but they swarmed you like flies on shit. Your hands were bound behind your back with some excess rope, just to prevent you from struggling. Humiliating and terrifying were an understatement. As soon as you felt a boot in your back propelling you off the wood, you were convinced this was how it would end for you.

That was, however, until you heard a gunshot, then hit the ground with a painful thud. Disoriented and confused, you used it to your advantage. Clambering up to your feet and running in the first direction your legs would carry you. The voices calling after you were drowned out by the loudness of your heart in your ears.

Your arm and shoulder ached terribly. The soles of your feet were scraped up due to the roughness of the stones lining the Blackwater streets. Your muscles were burning with exertion as you continued to run as fast as you possibly could– panting like a madman.

Coming across the lesser developed Southside, you only stopped running to take cover in an old alleyway. Your legs felt incredibly shaky as you stood and tried to catch your breath. You’ve never felt more focused on your surroundings in your entire life. Yet there was a question that burned in your mind. Who saved you?

Sliding down the brick wall until your bottom rests on the dirtied ground below, feeling your hands start to go numb at the awkward angle of tension. Your eyes darted around swiftly in search of something you could use to help you get free. Spotting an old shard of glass, you shuffle over towards it.

Slowly standing back up, only to step through the loop your arms have created, putting your bound hands in front of you. Bending back down to pick up the glass and getting to work. Sawing and stabbing at the rope awkwardly, making slow progress. All the while keeping your surroundings at the forefront of your mind like a cornered animal.

You only manage to make it a fourth of the way through until you hear people calling out for someone. Shooting a brief glance over your shoulder to make sure they aren’t looking for you, only to meet their eye through the entrance of the alley.

You’re quick to lift your hands and point your shard of glass in their direction in an attempt to ward them off, though they only chuckle.

“Easy now, son. We aren’t gonna hurt you..” The first man speaks calmly, lifting his hands up in surrender. His eyes darted over your frame just as yours did his. His short, blonde hair sat neatly atop his head, combed down professionally. A blue blazer topped his white, collared shirt, tucked into faded blue jeans. His boots scuffed against the ground as he approached you like an animal prone to attack.

“Just put the…glass- down, kid.” The second man speaks up, just a bit behind the first with his hands resting on his belt. His black hair was slicked back out of his face, though a few strands flew out of place after chasing you down. He seemed just as tidy as the first gentleman. Wearing a red button down shirt underneath a rather expensive looking dark gray vest. Just barely reaching the waistline of his pinstripe pants.

“Stia indietro, signore! Non si avvicini!*” you shout with a slight crack in your voice. Pushing yourself back away from the slowly approaching men, brandishing your glass shard towards them. Your words cause them to halt in their step. Looking towards one another in a mixture of confusion and amusement before they look right back to you. (*”Stand back, sir! Don't come any closer!”)

“Uh-” The second starts, clearing his throat with a brief glance off towards the entrance of the alley before he looks right back to you. “What is that? Italian?” He questions, causing the first man to look over at him with a shrug, then returning to you with a single step in your direction, causing you to wave your glass as a threatening reminder.

“Do you- uh.. Hable.. English?” The second presses with uncertainty. Your eyes rapidly flicking between the two of them warily, nodding slowly at the man’s poorly managed question. The first sighs and slowly lowers his hand down to his side. His movements are slow and deliberate as he moves towards a sheath resting on his hip.

“Do you want that rope offa you?” He asks hesitantly. You did, desperately. It was rubbing your wrists raw with all of your struggling and sawing. But you refused to ask for help from these two. So, you just scowl at them defensively. That doesn’t seem to deter them however.

While the first man approaches you carefully, the second stands back with his arms folded over his chest, staring down at you. “What’s your name, boy?” the raven haired man inquires, but your eyes remain on the man with the knife. You don’t respond to his question. The grip on your glass tightens ever so slightly as the blonde kneels down in front of you.

The second man sighs and leans slightly to be able to watch if you’re going to cut the other man. To his surprise, you don’t. You’re far from compliant, still pointing the shard at the first man, but you don’t cut him. You sit still as his knife cuts through the ropes.

“That there is my good friend Hosea.” the man continues with a nod towards the man kneeling in front of you. You shoot a brief glance over towards the second man before you look back towards Hosea. He’s being extra careful not to cut you as he tucks the sharp edge of his knife underneath each layer of the rope binding your wrists together.

“Had it not been for him, you would’a been another hangin’ body.” Those words catch you off guard. What did these men want with you? Were they the ones who shot the rope? “Shut up, Dutch.. You’re the one who pulled the trigger.” Hosea chuckles with a small grunt, cutting through the last of the rope around your wrists, causing it to fall into your lap. Looking down at your wrists, you can see the indent marks from the twisted twine pressed into the surface of your skin. It stings from the amount of friction put on the area.

“Was still your idea.” The man, Dutch, continues with a small shrug. The two of them look at you with sympathy. Their eyebrows pinched together and a frown creeping across their lips. “You alright, kid?” Hosea asks as he slides his knife back into its sheath.

You look back up towards Hosea, then to Dutch, then back to Hosea. Your confusion and wary evident on your face. “Y/N.” you mutter quietly, slowly putting your glass down on the ground behind you. “Hurts..” you whisper as you gently rub your sore wrists. You knew Dutch was right. Had they not saved you, you would’ve been dead.

“Yeah.. it will for a bit.” Hosea confirms with a curt nod. Putting his palms on his knees and slowly rising back to his feet with a small groan. He glaces over to Dutch, giving a directional nod towards you with a quirked eyebrow. The pair are almost speaking telepathically with one another. Dutch sighs and steps closer to you, staring down at you.

“Look.. Y/N.. we have a gang. It’s- well..” Dutch pauses, watching as you push yourself to your feet and dust your palms on your thighs over your pants. “You’d be the first person to join, aside from us two, of course. We’ll keep ya fed and clothed..if ya want. You ain’t got a family, do you?”

You slowly shake your head, but don’t say anything. You couldn’t lie and say that didn’t sound good. You weren’t sure the last time you had something to eat that wasn’t from the trash or out of peoples’ hands.

“Then it’d be a plus for you. Think of it like an.. Unconventional family.” Hosea chimes in with a small shrug, hooking his thumbs on the pockets of his pants. They seemed to tower over you as they stare down at you.

It was probably yet another stupid idea on your behalf, but what did you have to lose? You owed it to the men, of course. Just to humor them for a little while. With a sigh, you nod. They seem pleased with your response.

Dutch uncrosses his arms and places a hand on your shoulder as Hosea steps out of your way. The two of them leading you out of the rotten alley and back through the streets of Blackwater, protecting you entirely from any sort of lawmen out looking for you. Maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t be so bad.

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Your request was a bit too similar to a story I had previously written so I had to change it a bit- still hope you like it !! :3

Please don't kill me for the Italian </33 I don't speak it whatsoever

#rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader #dutch van der linde x male reader #hosea matthews x male reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfiction

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ashs-cardboard-box · 15 days

Text

In sync

~ Trans masc!Arthur Morgan/Trans masc!Reader

~ Romantic

~ 1k words

CW; periods, dysphoria, time appropriate trans/homophobia/racism/misogyny, mention of lynching

Oddly really fluffy (I have cavities from just writing it)

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Being both transgender and homosexual men was as good enough a reason as any for lynching. You and Arthur were no different. As secretive as you tried to be, somehow, someway, it always managed to get out around whatever town you found yourself in. It didn’t help that the pair of you were always surrounded by other minorities like Charles, Lenny, Tilly, Abigail, Sadie, Susan or otherwise.

Ever since you had joined the gang all those years ago, surprisingly, most of them have been supportive of you. Albeit, not without questions, of course. Micah, however, was always an exception to this. He was a sour man and refused to accept anyone that wasn’t himself nor Dutch.

Despite this, you and Arthur had been largely accepted throughout the gang. Seen as nothing less than another brother in the family. Your bodies were different than a typical males, yet that didn’t stop either of you from properly completing your tasks on time.

That is, until, the dreadful month always rears its ugly head again. You had a particular disdain for those damn sanitary belts. They chafed like no other and were all in all uncomfortable. Arthur, however, powered through the discomfort. You almost envied him at times.

The two of you lie on your cot together in your tent, just in your union suits. Your chests bound with that familiar, overly tight fabric that seemed to crush the organs underneath. Not a word his shared for quite a long time. Only the occasional whimper or groan as another wave of cramps hit either of you.

Arthur’s head rests comfortably on your chest, his hand resting just above where your uterus would be. Stroking the wool of your union suit in an attempt to relieve your discomfort, despite feeling his own. Your hand combs through his hair and down the back of his skull repetitively until your hand goes numb.

“This sucks..” you grumble, complaining about it just like you do every month. Arthur chuckles in agreement, rumbling low in his chest. “Wish I were a man, y’know?” you continue with a short sigh. Your muscles tensing as a cramp constricts your inside. You’d rather get stabbed than deal with this.

“Hey.” Arthur chides, looking up towards you with his brows furrowed, causing his forehead to wrinkle. “I don’t wanna hear you talk like that.” “It’s the truth..” you try to protest, but Arthur isn’t having any of it. He lifts his head from your chest and props himself up on his elbow to look down towards you on your back.

“What? You sayin’ you actually like it?” you tease, a grin splitting across your face as he rolls his eyes. Before you can even register what he’s doing, Arthur is straddling your thighs and peering down at you, raising an eyebrow sternly. Leaning down, he begins to place several kisses across your face without a word of explanation.

“Arthur-” you start, only to get cut off by a gruff “admit it.” You were confused and starting to feel flustered. Your cheeks flushing a light tinge of pink. Your hands moving down to Arthur’s hips, your thumbs caressing over his union suit, feeling the sanitary belt underneath. Annoyingly, your cycles had synced with almost every womans’ in camp.

“Admit what?” you retort with a giggle as he continues to kiss your face. Your forehead, cheeks, bridge, nose, lips, chin..not an inch of skin is missed. Your hands move up to Arthur’s chest, placing your hands on his breasts and gently pushing on them to try and get him to quit. Knowing he’s as sensitive as you are, you don’t push hard. Trying to avoid unfastening his chest wrap.

“Admit you are one. You’re my handsome man. Most handsome man I ever met.” He murmurs against your skin, only stopping to look into your eyes. His elbows digging into the cot just above your shoulders. Both of you can feel the other’s breath hitting your faces– breathing slightly heavier due to your hearts racing.

“Sure as hell don’t feel like it..” you mumble, to which Arthur sighs in mock exasperation. Diving back down and trailing kisses across your cheeks and jawline, slowly making his way down your neck. His body tensing atop yours with a small grunt of pain as a particularly painful cramp twists in his gut. You remove one of your hands from his chest and place it on his abdomen in between your bodies, rubbing small circles like he had done for you.

As Arthur gets to a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, you squirm as a ticklish feeling overtakes you. Raising your shoulder and tilting your head to try and squeeze Arthur out of such an area. Laughing and struggling underneath him at his relentless attack.

“O-Okay! Okay! I give! I’m a man; your handsome man-” you cave in between breaths. Arthur sits back up with a satisfied smirk. Even if he hadn’t managed to rid your dysphoria completely, he sure as hell made you distracted enough to feel a bit better. “You’re a prick.” you chuckle with a shake of your head, trailing your hands down his body appreciatively and resting on his thighs.

“You know you love me.” Arthur retorts teasingly, leaning down to place one last kiss onto your forehead before he slides off of you, going back to laying next to you. He lazily lays one of his arms over your midsection, encouraging you closer.

“Unfortunately..” you groan in faux irritation, complying with his request and shifting closer to him. Laying your head on his bound chest as he wraps his arm around your back, rubbing it up and down soothingly. Your own hand returns to rub his sore abdomen, feeling the waistband of the sanitary belt underneath his red union suit. “If I’m your handsome man, then you’re mine.”

Arthur chuckles quietly and buries his nose into your hair, followed by a deep sigh. “‘M happy with that..” he mumbles. Even if it wasn’t an easy time for either of you, having each other’s support and love always made it easier to handle.

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some t4t cause I can !!! >:3

#rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x male reader

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ashs-cardboard-box · 15 days

Text

Doubt

~ Charles Smith/Male!Reader

~ Romantic

~ 1.2k words

Request :3

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It was generally well accepted around camp, save for Micah, that Charles was one of the most honest, respectable men around. You couldn’t disagree. However, what a lot of them didn’t quite know, Charles himself, held a lot of doubt with himself. Struggling to find a place he’s truly wanted and cared for.

With a black father and a Native American mother, two sides of the minority spectrum weren’t exactly welcomed much anywhere. He figured he, along with many of the others around camp, would never find love. Until the two of you started dating.

While he didn’t show it outwardly to anyone, he would defend you to the ends of the Earth. You were one of the things he felt he could understand in a world where he was unwelcome. He felt unworthy of your affection, but that didn’t mean he was ungrateful. Far from it.

“Charles?” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he’s quick to raise his gaze from the arrow he was putting together. The rest laying at his feet, somewhat buried in the grass. Seems he’s been working on them all day.

“You alright?” you inquire, looking him up and down closely. His shoulders were practically up to his ears and he seemed more stiff than normal. You carefully step around the arrows to be able to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Charles’ eyes follow your movements closely, seeming almost captivated by you. He sighs at your question with a slow shake of his head, going back to tying off the fiber of the dull point, connecting the insert into the shaft of the arrow.

Silence passes over the two of you for a long minute. You slowly move your hand up from Charles’s shoulder and onto the top of his head, affectionately stroking his hair down the back of his skull. The tension in his shoulders seems to all but vanish with your touch.

“Y’know you’re louder than you think.” you note, cocking your head as you look down at him sitting on an old crate. Charles looks up towards you through his eyelashes. The corners of his mouth turning upwards into a hint of a grin, before it falls flat as usual. You could read the man like an open book; something was on his mind. He might as well have been screaming to the high heavens.

“I just..” he sighs. His eyebrows creasing in the middle as his jaw clenched tightly. He’s never been one to hold his tongue on what he thinks, yet for some reasons, the words feel stuck on his tongue. He was always so humble on both his blessings and his shortcomings, yet in this moment, he couldn’t help but envy you. The way you spoke with ease, as if the burden you carry were as light as feathers.

“I was too young to remember my mother’s tribe.. And now that it’s gone..” he trails off once again. His fists balling around the incomplete arrow in hand, not yet sharp enough to cut his fingers should they accidentally glide over the head. “I don’t.. mean to complain.” Charles shakes his head dismissively and looks back down towards the arrow in his grasp. You frown at his reaction. You admire how needlessly selfless he is, yet sometimes you wish he would be selfish for once. To do something for himself instead of providing for either you or the gang, despite his loyalty to all of you.

“I can’t say I get it, ‘cause I don't.. but you’ll always have a place, ya hear?” you murmur, bending down slightly to place a kiss onto the crown of his head, only to kneel down next to him to be at eye level. Charles looks over towards you curiously, his expression unreadable. Eyeing you closely as if he’s expecting you to walk away at any given moment to wallow in his doubt, but you don’t. Catching him off guard when you trail your hand down his back and rest it on his knee.

“Yeah? You think so?” He muses with a dry chuckle. He looks at you for a moment, his stoic facade cracking slightly and giving way. Exposing the softer layer of a man hardened by the years on the run. Then his eyes divert right back to the arrow, going right back to tying it off. Bringing it to his mouth and tearing through the twine with ease, spitting out the stray fibers in the opposite direction of you.

You shift your position to sit in front of him, kneeling just before the pile of arrows bunched at his feet. Your hands sliding down his forearms, to his wrists, before reaching his hands. Gently coaxing them apart and slotting yourself in between them, putting yourself in his line of sight. Your knees digging into the grass below; the denim of your jeans only collecting grass stains.

“I know so, sweetheart.” you murmur. Your tone laced with absolute conviction. He feels silly, having you sit here and explain these things to him, yet you aren’t the slightest bit bothered. One of your hands moves from Charles’ hand and up towards his cheek, cupping it affectionately. The pad of your thumb caressing over his strong cheekbone, causing him to give a relatively shaky sigh.

Your touch was the one thing he could never trade for the world. The warmth of your skin on his own filled him with a sense of hope. An idea that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay in the end. His deep brown eyes lock onto your own. To anyone else, he would’ve seemed annoyed with your touch. You, however, can see past that. You can see the expansion in his pupils. The way his muscles relax and his heart quickens. The softer side to the quiet brute.

“You’ll always have a place in my heart. Always. There ain’t a person, place, or thing that could even compare to that.” Charles knew you loved him. What he didn’t know, however, was how much. The amount of love emitting from a single caress felt overwhelming.

“Seems you picked up Hosea’s wit; you always know what to say. One of the smartest men i know.” Charles mutters quietly. His hand drops the arrow into the grass next to you, only to rest his calloused hands on both sides of your neck, just underneath your jaw.

He wasn’t much for affection, but he would always make an effort for you. Leaning forward on his crate and capturing your lips in his own with a chaste kiss. You kiss back without hesitation, embracing it with open arms and an open heart. He can taste beer on your lips. A bitter, citrus-y taste, yet a welcome one nonetheless.

The two of you part after a few seconds with individual sighs of contentment, only for you to giggle like a giddy schoolgirl. “I just say what’s on my mind.” you shrug, pulling your hands into your lap and slowly rising back to your feet, causing Charles’ hands to move away from you.

He watches you closely as you check his supplies pile for his arrows. Noting his lack of, you promise to bring him more with a gentle kiss on the forehead before stepping away from him. Despite all of the doubts and uncertainty in the world, the one thing he could always be sure of was your love for him. You were the best man he’s ever met among camp, if not in his life.

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i had to rewrite this entire thing because my file got corrupted </33 I hope you like it :3

#rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader #charles smith #Charles Smith x male reader #Charles Smith x reader

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ashs-cardboard-box · 17 days

Note

I have a question, so i saw your post about commissions and all that, and i totally agree, but at the end yoi said that "requests are still welcome" and i don't understand what that means. I'm confused does that mean we can still request something without paying or am i misunderstanding something

Thank you for asking !!

So basically, I'm still taking requests, of course, but if someone would like something personal, like something written about an OC/Self insert for example, they can commission me for it. Otherwise, the request will be written as normal !! :3

So, yes, to put it simply. You can still make requests without paying.

(I hope that makes sense...)

#ash responds

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ashs-cardboard-box · 18 days

Text

Writing Commissions !!

You know that oddly specific thing you've wanted just to soothe the itch in the back of your brain that you're not sure anyone would write? I got you!

All RULES still apply.

SFW until further notice (suggestive themes are fine).

Half up front is REQUIRED. CashApp will be given upon commission receival and details are arranged.

Up to you if it gets posted to my Tumblr or if you want it private.

----------------------------------------------

Headcanons; 5¢ per headcanon

Drabbles; 10¢ per drabble/hc expansion (UNDER 100 WORDS)

500; $5

1000; $10

1500; $15

2000; $20...etc

+$1 per hundred (1200 words - $10 + 2)

Personalized OC (name included); +$3

~ References in the form of an image or description, as detailed as possible, will be immensely useful and appreciated.

Canon/Canon; +$15

~ Poly/love triangle relationships (Character/Reader/Character) do NOT count !!

Specific fandom i don't write for ; +$10

~ Check RULES for my current fandoms. List will be updated accordingly.

Excess gore/character death; +$2

--------------------------------------------

Requests are STILL welcomed pertaining to the request status !! They will continue to get completed as sent when I am available. Your patience and understanding is more than appreciated. <3

#ash comms #writing commissions #fanfiction #x reader

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ashs-cardboard-box · 21 days

Text

Longing

~ Van Der Linde gang/Male!Reader

~ Platonic

~ 2.1k words

Request :3

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Two thousand, three hundred fifty-seven days. Six whole years since you’ve started working with the Braithwaites. Six years since your friends– your family, left you behind. You were nothing more than a grifter now. Picking up odd job after odd job for money; working at every beck and call at the hand of Catherine Braithwaite.

In a sense, you owed her. All those years ago, you had gone on a heist with the Van Der Linde gang. You were in charge of planning everything out. From the positions of everyone in the gang, to the escapes, to the successes, and the probable failures. Unfortunately, somehow, there was an outcome you never even considered.

They knew you were coming. To try and help your family make it out alive, you had to play the hero. Take the downfall and let them all escape with the promise of following them immediately after.

Unfortunately, you were caught. You hadn’t the slightest clue on how long had passed of nothing but hell. Beaten, stabbed, cut, shot, kicked, bitten, starved… all until the Braithwaites found you after you barely managed to escape– your life hanging on by a thread.

They took you in for a price. They would watch over you until you were stable again as well as provide you a stable income if you worked for them. They were the equivalent to Satan’s hemorrhoid covered in burning moonshine embodied, but you didn’t have much of a choice. Adapt or die.

Day after day. Night after night; you were the property of the Braithwaite family. You had fallen from bad to worse. You knew some of the names of the family you had loved so dearly, but their faces escaped you. That was devastating to you. You weren’t even sure where to consider searching for them. You weren’t sure if your sacrifice had meant nothing and they all died anyway. Often spending your days drinking to be able to focus on the task at hand.

To your dismay, one of the devils that had crawled out of Catherine’s rotten womb had come to find you again. You had never cared to remember their names. They were the scum of the Earth and not worth remembering– though, they thought the same of you.

Dragging you back into that wretched manor by the scruff of your neck and, thankfully, you didn’t have to head inside too far. Catherine was sitting on her wrinkled ass in the front room as she watched her sons pace and ramble at one another. Her gaze is drawn to you as soon as you’re shoved inside by her third son.

“Ah, you’re back… good.” She mutters, though her tone is hardly friendly. “Yeah, yeah.. What’d you want?” you grumble in response. Glaring at her son briefly as you adjust the collar of your shirt before folding your arms over your chest, looking back towards Catherine.

“I thought I told you to watch that tone of yours, boy. Bartholomew here would have no problem sending you right back the way you came all that time ago.” You roll your eyes with a frustrated sigh, but you don’t argue nor call her bluff.

“Now then. Couple ‘a vermin took some of my shine. I want you to go hunt ‘em down and get it back.” Catherine all but demands before waving you off like some mutt, but you don’t leave quite yet. “How the hell am I s’posed to find ‘em?”

She stares at you like you’re the stupidest man she’s ever met before she sighs in annoyance. “Saw ‘em heading out of town.” one of her sons chime in, once again poking into a conversation where they aren’t wanted. You glance over towards him, considering your options for a moment, before looking back towards Catherine, staring down the bridge of her nose at you.

You grumble an acceptance to the task under your breath and turn on your heel to leave the room. Pulling your sidearm out of its holster and checking how many bullets you have in the chamber, not bothering to look up as you head outside. The Braithwaites’ doormen doing their jobs and holding things open for you.

Stuffing your gun back into its holster, you walk down the steps and over towards one of Catherine’s horses. She hates you borrowing them, but you don’t have much of a choice. Your own horse is still remaining near the parlour house you were dragged from.

Gently extending your hand open palm towards the horse so as to not scare it and allowing it to smell your hand. Your other hand working to untie the reins from the hitch rail. You weren’t the most knowledgeable on horses, but you knew enough to get around and manage them properly.

Guiding your hand over the horse’s mane as you stick your boot into one of the stirrups. Bringing your body weight over the saddle and tucking your other boot into the stirrup on the other side. With a pat to the horse’s neck in praise for not bucking you off, you command the horse into a trot and controlling where it heads with both hands on the reins. Your body rocking with the steady gait of the horse.

Assuming this was just another case with the Lemoyne Raiders, you had your guard up more than usual. You’ve had to deal with them more times than you can count. Mostly on the behalf of the Braithwaites, but dealt with nonetheless.

As you ride through town, you’re sure to take your sweet ass time. While the Braithwaites pay you, it’s not nearly enough to ensure a quality job gets done. She’ll be lucky if it gets done in the next few days.

Just as you’re about to head into a clearing just outside of Rhodes, you’re stopped by a rugged looking man pointing his gun at you. Taking quick notice of his attire, your eyes fall onto the deputy badge he’s wearing before looking him in the eye again. “What can I help you with, friend?”

“The hell’re you doin’ out here, friend? You ain’t got no business here” The man responds gruffly, though he seems slightly confused by your appearance. You glance away from him briefly towards the clearing before making eye contact with him. His voice seems familiar, but you can’t quite pinpoint it.

“Out looking for a couple gentlemen who robbed the Braithwaites. Don’t imagine you’ve seen ‘em, sheriff?” You respond calmly, to which he grunts. His eyes seem to be picking you apart like a vulture on a carcass as if he could see to your very soul. His stare unwavering as he slowly puts his gun back in its holster.

“What’s your name?” The man asks warily, though it’s not quite a question. More so a demand before he kills you where you stand and steals your horse from underneath you. “L/N. Y/N L/N.” you answer without a fuss, but the man seems put off by your name.

“Y/N..” he echoes, as if testing your name on his tongue. A look of recognition crosses his face as he looks up towards you. Beckoning you down from your horse with a wave of his hand, to which you follow his instruction. Slinging your body weight to one side of your horse before stepping down onto the ground. Keeping one hand clasped around the reins at all times.

As the man steps closer, you step back cautiously, yet there’s only so much space you’re given before you run into the horse, peacefully grazing on the grass. He seems completely dumbfounded by you. Staring at you doe-eyed as a grin slowly spreads across his lips.

“You don’t recognize me, do ya?” He asks. You make a point to look the man up and down as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You can’t shake the feeling of familiarity he radiates. So similar yet far different than your memories. “Am I supposed to?”

He chuckles and reaches up to push the brim of his black hat up, exposing a bit more of his face. The dopey grin on his face is contagious, causing you to smile slightly, despite your confusion. “Morgan ring a bell?” you practically feel your heart drop into your stomach at the realization. He made it out alive. Thank the Gods.

Without even thinking, you step closer to him and pull Arthur into a tight hug, causing him to laugh and hug you back just as tightly. “I thought we lost you, kid. The hell happened to you all these years?” his voice is slightly muffled by your shoulder, but you understand him perfectly.

It takes you a bit longer to answer. You never thought you’d see your old gang again. Seeing Arthur feels like a damn miracle. “Long story..” you mutter simply. He looks more weathered than you remember, though you’re sure he barely recognized you too. Your face littered in scars from being held captive for so long. “The hell are you doing working with the law?”

Arthur gives a hearty laugh and pats your back before letting go of you, causing you to do the same. You’re not at all concerned on where the horse ran off to. To hell with Catherine. Someone gets a free horse today.

“Dutch ‘n Micah got a plan to steal from the Braithwaites and the Grays for a bit of gold.. It’s a whole deal.” He waves dismissively before resting his hands on his gun belt. “Well now I know who I’m s’posed to be lookin’ for” you joke with a chuckle. Scratching the back of your neck as you look down the road in the direction of the cursed manor you’ve just come from.

“Is.. y’know- everyone else fine?” you asks hesitantly as you look back towards Arthur. You’re not sure if you want to know the answer. Arthur sighs heavily, his expression turning slightly solemn.

“Yeah. A couple of us made it out here. It’s been hell without you, I’ll say that much.” He chuckles bitterly as he glances over your shoulder before suddenly getting an idea. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to see ya again.” he invites.

Feeling your heart begin to race, you nod a bit quicker than you meant. Arthur nods towards a direction behind you as he steps past you, silently telling you to follow. You feel like a lost child as you follow after Arthur. Awkwardly stuffing your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. Your eyes darting across the clearing you intended to go into in the first place.

You can just barely hear chatter among several people. Upon seeing the camp set up, you can feel all sorts of forgotten memories coming back to you. Remembering the drunken nights you’ve shared with your family. The petty arguments. The excitement of inviting new members into the gang. Since you parted, there’s a lot of new faces you don’t quite remember.

Arthur leads you right up to Dutch’s tent, clearing his throat to draw his attention, causing Dutch to look up from the book– of which you can only imagine is Evelyn Miller. “You remember Y/N, don’t’cha?” Arthur asks quietly as he puts a hand on your shoulder, nudging you further into Dutch’s tent.

The man himself is almost silent. Slowly closing his book and setting it down on his cot before getting up and approaching you as if you’re a dangerous animal. For a moment, you swear you see a hint of a tear in Dutch’s eye.

Before you even register what he’s doing, he pulls you into a tight hug. Surprisingly tighter than Arthur’s own. Catching both of you off guard by the sudden action. “It’s good to see you again, son.” Dutch says quietly

“It- It’s good to see you too, Dutch” you respond as you slowly wrap your arms around Dutch’s back and giving him a short pat. It takes him a moment, but he finally pats you back and lets go, putting his hands on your shoulders and looking you in the eye. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him smile..if ever.

A long moment of silence is shared between the three of you before Dutch pulls his hands back down to his sides, gently tugging on the ends of his vest as he awkwardly clears his throat, looking away from you.

“I s’pose I should show you ‘round camp. Introduce ya to everyone you missed.” Arthur mutters behind you, causing you to turn around with a small nod. There’s an undeniable fear and excitement that comes with seeing everyone again. You can’t wait to meet the rest of your family after all these years.

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its finally done </3 I hope you like it !!

#rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang

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