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yanderes-galore · 2 months

Note

Can I request general hc for Arthur from RDR 2?

I can try, sure! I apologize if any information is wrong, I tried to research as best as I could ^^; Not proofread, may have mistakes.

Yandere! Arthur Morgan Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Murder mention, Blood, Stalking, Threats, Kidnapping, Fear of loss, Angst, Actually sad near the end, Forced companionship/relationship.

An important thing to know about Arthur is this; He knows he's a bad man.

There are times he's kind, polite, and playful.

But overall he knows he's hurt people, will hurt people, and that he isn't the most likable person to most.

Which means, while he may be very caring and protective of you, he can do some downright diabolical things to have you.

Arthur is a very complex and emotional character, I hope in this concept I can respect that aspect about him.

He may be a better yandere on his high honor path, but he still is capable of some bad things.

He's even worse on his low honor path.

It's funny how an outlaw and criminal like him can treat you with such care despite the amount of blood on his hands.

Arthur is quick to resort to violence, murder, and intimidation... but still doesn't do unnecessary revenge or killing.

He is fully aware of the blood on his hands... but treats you with respect.

Arthur treats you as though you're innocent, even if you are in the gang.

He could be like a close friend to you... a mentor... or even a lover.

Regardless of his intentions he is very intent on meeting your needs.

I imagine when Arthur first meets you he tries not to be attached.

With his line of work, anything could happen.

You or him could be shot in any sort of altercation, so he tries to put up walls.

Although, soon he's attached to you, acting playful and concerned about you.

Arthur is definitely someone in denial about his obsession for a long while.

But eventually he caves, craving the comfort you give him.

Arthur doesn't blame you if you're scared of him.

Your fear is deserved, after all.

But your fear does not change how much he cares for you.

Arthur is a man who threatens, steals, murders, etc.

He really doesn't care too much about what he does due to being raised by Dutch.

He sometimes has remorse... but if he does something to protect you, he prioritizes that.

Arthur is at first not very affectionate.

Yet as he gets attached he ends up hugging you, perhaps going further if that's his intentions.

Arthur is scared of his own death, but he's also scared of yours.

When it comes to you he tries to think things through, he thinks of ways to protect you and care for you.

If you're in the gang then he thinks of ways to get you out of it.

He wants you safe, he feels you shouldn't live a life such as this.

If he can... he wants to join you.

Arthur and John are similar yanderes, or at least RDR1 John is.

They'd have their clothes soaked in blood, all so they can make sure you live another day happy.

Gunpowder may coat their hands but they feel they have protected you.

Arthur knows he is a "bad" man... but he wants to be better with you.

Arthur will protect you from everything, including unwanted flirting.

Another member flirts with you?

Somehow Arthur knows about it and threatens them.

You'd swear he was stalking you (whose to say he isn't?).

Arthur may even force you to stay put in certain "safe areas" while he heads out.

Soon he isn't sure if he can trust Dutch with you.

Especially when the man falls into his own insanity.

Maybe by the peak of Arthur's obsession, his own sanity, he tries to get you and him in a home together.

I also feel his obsession gets worse when he learns of his sickness.

Arthur knows the tuberculosis will claim him soon.

It may even drive him insane with ideas.

As a result, imagine him taking you away to a cabin with him.

He locks the doors and keeps you beside him.

He is fully aware that he's scaring you, he knows this is wrong...

But in the final months of his life, he wants to be beside you.

So he traps you with him... away from everything you know...

Everything except him.

He can't bear to lose you... so he plans on keeping you with him for the rest of his life... all because he loves you... even if you hate this.

#yandere red dead redemption 2 #yandere rdr2 #yandere arthur morgan

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untitled-writer-013 · 11 months

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i’m writing for RDR2, so please send in requests!

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falling-heights · 1 year

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☆ Arthur Morgan ☆ - I gave you all

[pt. 1]

Summary: You meet a ghost from your past several years after splitting ways. Only, he isn’t as kind as you remembered him being. And perhaps, it’s been too long for him to still forgive you.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: violence, gun use, graphic scenery, injury, blood

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“Y o u c a l l i t h o p e-- t h a t f i r e o f f i r e!

I t i s b u t a g o n y o f d e s i r e.”

Trees rushed past in a blur of green and brown. Small patches of wildflowers added a splash of color every now and then. The sun was setting.

It'd been at least 9 hours since you'd entered this train car, and your fatigue was beginning to form a pulsing headache. The idea of sleeping now greatly outweighed your initial excitement.

It wouldn't be long now, you thought, perhaps only a few more hours before you arrived at Blackwater. How long had it been since you'd stepped foot in that town? It would never seem to be long enough. The last image you had of it was stained an ugly red, and you along with it.

But still, through Blackwater, you had a one-way ticket to a new life, to leave this god-forsaken country behind, to shed your wolf-skin and live amongst the fold again.

With one last glance towards the dimly-lit horizon, you watched the last few golden streaks retreat behind the mountains before sinking into the red velvet seating and resting your head against the glass. Feeling the chill of the oncoming night breathing through the window and fogging up the glass, you let the gentle shaking of the train lull you to a peaceful haze; Your last thoughts were of what the coming times might bring.

But that's silly, isn't it? To always be certain of the future-- or better, to think that anyone can change the rolling tides once they've already reached the shore.

It was dark when the train lurched to a shaky halt. The brightest source of light came from the lanterns hanging on the exterior of the train. Thinking that you may have arrived, you glanced through the window, only to be met with a wall of trees and thick foliage. The train was still a ways off from civilization-- at least a couple dozen miles from what you had to guess, and from the nervous whispering of your fellow passengers, it was clear that something was off. They fidgeted with their watches and sleeves, trying to catch light of why the engine died so far from it's intended destination. It didn't seem this stop was scheduled.

Sitting up, your mind flashed with a number of possibilities. Maybe the train had broken down, maybe a stowaway was just being thrown off, maybe something had fallen onto the tracks just up ahead.

But then the rear-facing door swung open, and a guard crept down the aisle. The man was dressed in plainclothes of a brown suit and matching pants-- not policemen. This was the type you would hire to protect cargo from thieves, not to commune with passengers, or by any means to help them. He held a well-worn rifle in one hand, and with the other, he loaded bullets. On his belt hung a singular revolver, visibly in worse condition than the rifle. You only heard three bullets being loaded.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, there's no gentle way to explain our situation," He was sweating, never sparing a glance towards anyone. His eyes remained trained on the clearing of the other cars ahead, flashing at each and everything that moved. He sounded beside himself, yet still attempting to keep everyone else calm. "We are facing a robbery, it seems."

The whispering quickly evolved into panic, elicited even more so when an array of gunfire went off just up ahead. The guard raised his arms, commanding silence from the travelers.

"I know this might be a very alarming situation for all of you, but please, try to stay calm," He was hardly calm himself. The grip on his gun was tight and trembling. And with only three bullets, he must have already known what his terms were. "The best thing you can do is stay quiet and comply. I don't wish that anyone here suffers to something like this, but if I am unable to keep you all safe, then it's a better bargain for you to lose your valuables than to lose your lives."

A familiar feeling sunk in-- despair. As though a past life was coming back to haunt you. You hadn’t felt such harsh degrees of terror like this in years. As panic set in, painful memories clawed their way from your head. Of the money you'd burned. Of the scars left beneath your garments. Of the guns left buried in Rhodes. Of anything, leaving those guns behind hurt the most. They had been a gift after all, from someone once special. But times like those were far gone in the past, left behind by what you'd sought to bury and destroy.

The guard opened the side door toward the front of the car. Visibility was finite through the pitch-black air. What light the exterior lanterns did provide was meager and a garish orange. He took a final breath and stepped forward.

His head ended up hitting the ground faster than his feet could.

A bang.

A splat.

And then a thud.

The gun misfired as it landed, startling you from your seat. All within three seconds.

His body collapsed in the mud, and the entire side of the train car's windows was mottled with blood. Someone behind you screamed. A woman. A few more followed her. Someone started to cry, clutching their pearl-lined purses, and silver coated rings. Yet, you had nothing to hold, nothing to give. Nothing to pray you don’t lose. You had nothing left except the ticket in your hands and your life.

Had this man really been the last one left? Nothing but a hired escort? And yet, knowing this, instead of playing the docile part that could have saved his life, he stepped into death's hand.

What man could ever be such a fool?

Now standing, an arrangement of ideas rushed through your head, with one message shared among them: 'Get out. Leave.' Your feet carried you, eyes guiding each step. The rear-facing door was still swung open. It could very well be your only chance.

Quietly backing away from the front, ignoring the pitying pleas of others as you passed through them. How scared they seemed-- how helpless to their unfortunate circumstances. You wanted nothing to do with their situation, however, a small sight instilled a small pause in your movements-- a little girl, saddled in the lap of her mother, who tried in these moments to comfort her child. A fleeting thought went to her, perhaps of a sort of sympathetic appeal, and then you continued to move. Perhaps if you did not already know how things would end, you might have offered to help. But you would not make the same mistake as the guard. You were no fool.

Small dapples of light began to spread from the front of the train, quickly approaching. Time was against you. A hand went to your hair, tacitly removing the hair pin keeping several strands pinned up. A knife would have been preferable, perhaps even a gun, but a thin needle would have to do. The pointed end barely stuck out much farther than your palm as you held it closely.

Just a few more steps now.

You let out a breath once you felt your free hand hit the handle to the wooden framing. Turning, you were just about to make it when--

The barrel of a gun stared you down. Behind it, a masked man. It seems you weren't quick enough. They had gone around the side, closing any exits.

"Going somewhere, little lady?" You didn't recognize the voice, but there was a snideness in his tone, thinking he'd just caught a little bird trying to escape. He stepped forward, onto the car, and you mirrored by taking a step back. "I suggest you turn back around."

The gun's hammer was cocked, a death sentence if you chose to disobey. You would have to wait a moment more. Sitting in the closest empty seat, his eyes gleamed in satisfaction. He made his first mistake in moving the gun away from you. The second mistake was taking steps past you, leaving himself open from behind. And thus, the moment had arrived.

Suddenly lunging back up, your arm swung down, piercing the skin of his neck. Digging it further, you kept pushing until all that was left of the hairpin was the decorative gold head.

"Fucking bitch!" He hollered, his hand defensively starting to swat at his neck. Giving him no chance to rebut, you turned heel and ran back to the door, giving it a singular, hearty shove, and jumping down to the muddy ground. The gun fired, lodging itself into the wooden frame of the train, but its damage was dealt. Four men, all armed, one with a lantern, immediately became aware of your presence on the opposite end of the car.

The lantern was of a kind you had seen only used by watch-men and hunters, except for the few times that you had used one during your more active hours. The kind that blocked most of its light, except through a small glass sight, allowing for handlers to focus a solid beam in any direction. Right now, that light was focused on you, a quivering form, half-crouching on the muddy tracks.

Behind you, an open meadow sat, its own invitation laced with bad omen. The only hope of getting through such an exposed field would be to run, and though the grass may be tall, hiding would never be an option. Ahead of you, the trees loomed, almost screaming at you to break from your spot and find solitude in its foliage. Through the trees, you would at least have the chance to lose them.

So, truly, what were your choices? To hide, or to run?

Hiding surely. You doubted your body could outrun 4 grown men, none of which seemed to be any less athletic than men in their prime. Their were a few eerily moments of silence. Everyone was deciding what to do next, including you.

With an unstable breath, you quickly gathered the ruffled layers of your dress, hoisted the heavy fabric, and took off towards your only chance at freedom. There would only be a minute head start before they would the chase. Every moment counted. Every second decided how this would end.

Your shoes were not made for running, evidently, as the heels dug further into the mud with every step, causing a shot balance and a slow start. Some indistinct yelling sounded from behind. Three of the four men followed in pursuit of you, the other likely told to continue operations with the other passengers. Six pairs of feet quickly crept up on you, pounding into the ground heavily, the forest floor was practically quaking beneath you. You were correct in choosing the forest over the meadow. These men were apt, keeping a steady pace on you, like bloodhounds hunting down fresh game.

The ground was uneven, hardly visible. You would find yourself falling for brief moments with sudden dips in the ground, and crawling when it rose again just as swift. The farther you went, the more you prayed that the moon would continue to guide your eyes. But, the forest grew thicker with every step. And soon, the canopy overhead of Elms and Alpines would completely consume what little help you had left.

The sounds of footfall faded, first six, then 4, and then just 2, until ceasing altogether, and for a moment, you were hopeful that they'd given up. Taking a quick glance, you almost froze in place, still slowing down significantly. They had indeed stopped their chase, however it wasn't from a lack of interest. From the small glance, only one had managed to stay on your trail, however, though he longer chased, the outline of a well-worn rifle was clear. He was watching your form retreating. It was obvious their intentions weren't to let you live, and instead of wasting their energy, they must have decided a quick and steady aim would be more efficient.

He missed the first shot. The bullet struck the ground just by your ankles. It would take him about 4 seconds to reload the gun. There was doubt he would miss again. Running wouldn't do you any good anymore either. Your energy was on reserve, and the heavy dress dragged your body down. But what could you do in just 4 seconds? There wasn't time to think, no time to escape the scope of range.

The tree's trunks were thin and narrow, but it was all you had. Running to the closest stump, your back slammed into the bark, skin pulsing with adrenaline. Bracing for the sound of another misfire, but the trigger wasn't pulled. For precious seconds, you waited, catching your breath, eyes flying wildly around for any sign of movement, but your panic was met with silence.

And then you realized, he was waiting for you. Why should he waste another bullet? You would eventually need to leave your spot, and he would wait until you did. Better make it count, then.

Around, you could barely see. Various pillars of other trees and bushes was about all you could make out. But just ahead, was what looked like a large divot in the forest floor. Perhaps a ditch or a small creek. You couldn't hear any running water, but the blood hammering in your ear-drums would surely deafen a small creek. Still, it was likely your best shot at survival. If you could just make it into that trench, you might be able to avoid any further gunfire, and you could follow the channel out of the area. If you could just make it from this tree to that ditch.

Funny, you thought for a moment, that despite how much you tried to bury it, you still ended up on the end of a gun. Perhaps, not the end you would have preferred. There was nothing left to do. Death would meet you regardless of what you did now. Stay, and he would eventually lose patience. Move, and likely be shot before you could make more than a few feet. But only one option had any chance. With a deep breath, you stepped out.

You thought to your mother then. Of her, you really couldn't remember much, but her words have lasted far longer than any other memories. In this moment, as your foot met the ground, digging in to the cold mud an old warning of hers slowly drifted to your cerebral thoughts.

"Such a little dreamer, such big ideas.... . Some day, you will need to face the world, for how it works, and not for how you wish it to.”

Your other foot foot kissed the ground, Of your mother, and her words, one thing you knew was certain about life. Death would one day meet you. Of course, this was inevitable, but to think that it would have come so soon.

Your third step was your final. Finally, the bullet's target was found. It lodged itself snugly in your upper calf, ripping through muscle and tendon, completely eviscerating the lower half of your leg. A strange sort of yelp, like an injured dog left your lips. Your body turned parallel to the mud, half falling, half diving into the sticky muck. The rough impact caused your neck to snap down, snagging your upper lip on a root, and many more dug into your skin roughly. The taste of blood was strong, but the pain was almost numb compared your shredded leg, which now felt like it had been caught in a meat grinder. You didn't need to look to tell that you were losing blood. There were little droplets of blood spattered along fallen leaves, mixing into the brown sludge. The warm, sticky liquid could be felt leaking down your leg.

Wheezing, trying to lift yourself up, your body was crying itself along the ground. Unwilling any mobility, your blown leg shook involuntarily, muscles trying to constrict despite no longer being connected to each other. The feeling of shock was starting to creep up the rest of your leg, spreading through waves of heated chills. But still, despite the inability to stand, you tried dragging yourself. By now, from the pain, and the exhaustion that you felt growing, your breath sounded more like shrill, desperate wails. Frustration and despair ebbing with every exhale. The tears couldn't be restrained any longer. Letting out a sob, your head pressed against your outstretched arm, fingers clawing against the mud, filling the underside of your nails with mud.

Footsteps quickly approached.

A string of blood infested saliva hung from your lips, stretching thickly to the ground. The man towered over you, the lantern hanging from his hand, a poorly-taken care of rifle supported by his shoulder.

"Thought we'd let a pretty little bird like you get away, did'ya?" Your wheezing suddenly broke. Familiarity. The Irishman set the lantern down, letting the light bleed into the proximate area. "Let's see what good of a catch you are."

A gloved hand, reeking of gun oil and tobacco, snatched your cheeks, squeezing your face, forcibly making your lips pucker. He raised your head sharply upwards, causing you to grimace in discomfort. Clearly, despite the tears and sweat that clouded your eyes, Sean's face was unmistakable. But despite the pain, and the misery, you glared defiantly.

"Are my eyes deceiving me...?" For a rare moment in his life, Sean sounded faint, equally shocked at the possibility at such a reunion. But, it was brief, for after a moment of quiet, he began chuckling to himself. "Been awhile, hasn't it, Sweets? Thought'd we'd see the last of each other after what happened. I almost can't believe this."

Choosing to remain silent, Sean hummed and allowed your face to fall.

"Can't say I haven't missed you, though. Can't say I'm the only one either..." His voice changed again, seeming a bit more dull, as though the thought of your absence all these years held genuine weight. "Oh, I'm forgettin' my manners... A lot's changed, y'know."

"Sean, please listen to me..." He circled around you, kicked back the ends of the dress that covered your leg.

"Agh! I really did a number, didn't I? " Sean knelt, gently grasping the lower half of your leg, turning it from one side to the other to discern the damage he'd dealt. "Sorry 'bout that there. But, well, uh, I guess thank god it wasn't some poor innocent girl, right?"

"Sean, I need your help." It was pathetic, begging to someone who was once a friend. Someone who knew many secrets, and shared even more. He stood up, circling back around to face you. The other two grunts finally caught up, though neither spoke up.

"Oh, do you now? Here, I wanna see your face all proper." He smiled to himself, rustling through his coat pockets before presenting a small handkerchief that was partly matted with dried sweat. He offered it to you, and hesitantly, you accepted. "Well, I don't know. Seems like you were just fine with leaving all us so suddenly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say's you might just be trying to appeal to my soft side. But not you, right?"

"This isn't funny, Sean." Using the rag to clean your mouth and face. "I don't want to be any part of this."

"So, we ought to just leave you here then, that's your solution? Poor little thing bleeding out? Hand me another rag, pal." After being given a small rolled bandage by one of the other men, Sean dropped to the ground next to you, and began to lowly unwind the roll. "That just don't sit right with me. You can't even stand at this point. But that's not really what's so concerning. You caused a bit of a mess behind you. Don't you want to see the rest of the group? One last 'fare-thee-well'?"

He wasn't being genuine, it should have been clear from the start that trying to barter with him would be a waste of time. The last few words dug especially deep, almost as though he was finding your helplessness a tad too funny. You fell silent, opting to guess how this would go. Sean said a few words, none of which you really listened to, until he picked the lantern back up, conclusively.

"Tie her up. I'm off to get tha' Big Boy." They complied, Sean flashed a wide smile. When they finished their binds, Sean flashed another look that screamed with excitement, "Don't run off now, we're all in for a real treat."

Bitterly, you waited for his return, expecting perhaps Dutch to be in tow. However, when the light of the lantern pierced through the tree line once more, it was evident that Dutch was not the man returning with Sean. Another figure sat broadly on a black shire.

You thought you'd seen a ghost.

Perhaps you had.

The one tiring you couldn't bury, the sole reason that you tried to leave. Upon you, the sight of an early grave closed in. you felt hollow through your chest, like your soul was trying to leave you then, but both body and soul were trapped, unable to flee from this horrid sight The man you once thought had the prettiest eyes, and such a gentle face.

All of that was gone now. It had been long before either of you had last seen each other. Trees whispered to each other, gossiping with the wind. All wondering what would happen next. Upon his horse, he descended, Adjusting a pair of riding gloves as he did. A dirtied facecloth hung from his face, masking his current emotions from the outside world. Silence lay, as though the forest itself lay uneasy with such solemn presence.

"Leave us."

{The gif provided is actually the Arthur from my own save file}

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

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obsessivelullabies · 2 months

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hii!! I love youre writing sm and I was wondering if I could request a yandere/obsessive Arthur Morgan or John Marston (you decide!) with a fem reader who is like the doctor of the gang? she's always responsible for taking care of injuries, and stocking up on herbs and tonics for the camp. Maybe she's a little quiet and keeps to herself anytime they have a party or just in general but is super sweet and calm once you get to know her? Thank you so much and have a great rest of your day <33.

due to the time period, arthur always thought you were interesting. a woman doctor was rare. it made sense why you joined with the gang.

when arthur had gotten a rather minor injury on his arm, he decided to ask you about it. he almost interrogated you about yourself as you patched him up.

when he asked why you chose your career, your answer stuck out. “i just like to help people.” at first, he didn’t believe you. when he talked to you more, he knew it was true.

arthur felt an overwhelming urge to protect you and your sweet nature. it was a rough world, he knew that. he knew, or assumed, you couldn’t survive on your own.

the more he learned about you, the more fixated he became. he’d take the tiniest injury as an excuse to come visit you. he felt so warm and fuzzy, like he was a boy whenever your soft hands patched him up.

you two become close friends with how much time he spends in your ‘office’. he’s always asking if you have any troubles, whatever it is, he can handle it.

no other man in the gang should dare to be rude or make snide comments to you. arthur would immediately defend you, whether is be verbally or physically. he wouldn’t let anyone even roll their eyes at you.

it gets to a point where he’d constantly follow you. or strange coincidences where you two end up in the same place.

arthur just wants to help you, the way you help him. he’ll escort you anywhere, help you grind herbs, help you get tonics, anything for you.

expect constant gifts from him. if he sees or finds anything he thinks you’d like, he’ll come back with it.

he actively discourages the other men from going to you. he’ll look at their wound and scoff, “it ain’t that bad. don’t waste ‘er time.”. he wants to be the only one you take care of.

arthur just wants to protect you. one day, he wants to take care of you without anyone else bugging you two. he adores you. you’re the perfect woman for him.

i don’t know much about john yet!! i only just started rdr2, so hopefully i know more of him soon

masterlist! | comments and reblogs appreciated. | unedited.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #female reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader

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komotionlessqueenmm · 2 years

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Imagine # 1,022

Gifs NOT mine.

If either gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - @reddead-confession & @drvigsgf (Unless told otherwise)

Year posted - 2022

*This concept came to me while I was driving home from work, and I both love and hate it. Feel free to expand upon this idea, but please tag me if you do, I'd love to read what you come up with.

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i-cant-sing · 2 years

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Okay so I'm gonna finish Tokyo Revengers by tomorrow (or maybe today, like 5 episodes are left I think) and yall know I ugly cried at Mikey's brother's death. So, obviously 1 main yandere plot immediately comes to mind:

Y/n is Mikey's younger sister, and after his older brother's death, he obviously became super protective of her, which means Draken and everyone in the gang is also platonic yandere for Y/n. And here me out, Kisaki joins the gang and falls in love with reader, and when he's grown up and like yknow, murdering everybody, he makes a point to kidnap reader. Except, Mikey won't let anyone near you. He's too paranoid, especially since he's begun losing everyone he cares about.

Besides this, I don't think a lot of yandere stands out. I mean, I'm just laughing half the time because why is middle school so intense for them???why are these kids dying??? Children are getting stabbed, wtf.

I think I'm gonna watch another anime after this to get more yandere content. Or actually, I've been meaning to watch RDR2 gameplay again because I think there's a lot of yabdere potential from the gang in that, like Arthur Morgan or John Masterson or Dutch as yanderes🤌🤌🤌

Besides this, yall can send asks for Tokyo revengers of you want.

#yandere tokyo revengers

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redcoralpot · 1 year

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Rules + Introduction (Redone)

Introduction:

Hello! My name is Red, and my pronouns are he/him. I like to read, write, draw, and analyze characters I’m interested in. English is not my first language, so please be patient! <33

Rules:

I only write for male (ftm included) or gender neutral readers.

I write fluff, angst, and smut, but smut may come a bit slower and shorter than the rest.

I only write x male or non-binary characters from the media I write fanfiction for.

When requesting smut, know that I will not accept piss/shit kinks, non-con, zoophilia, pedophilia, yandere, dub-con, daddy/mommy, etc.

When requesting smut, know that I will only write top + dom reader.

I will not write x Shane (TWD) or The Governor (TWD).

Typical fic length is around 1K-2K words.

Media I’ll Write For:

The Walking Dead (TWD)

Sally Face (Sal Fisher and Travis Phelps only)

The Amazing Spider-Man 1-2 (Peter Parker only)

Mo Dao Zu Shi (MDZS)

Read Dead Redemption 2 (RDR2)

Five Nights at Freddy's (FNAF)

SCREAM (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher)

Will be edited in the future! 😵‍💫

Want to become part of the taglist?

Google Forms Link!!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

#x male reader #male reader #the walking dead #twd #lgbtq #rick grimes #daryl dixon #negan smith #sally face #mo dao zu shi #marble hornets #spiderman #spiderverse #peter parker #sal fisher #wei wuxian

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ofallthingsnasty · 12 days

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Nasty do you have certain pet names that you like yanderes calling their darling? :3c It’d probably be different for each one but what are some of your faves?

I love anything that has “my” before it. It can either be really degrading or really sweet, but regardless it is subtly possessive. Or “little _____” that can either be condescending or sweetly condescending, especially if the yandere likes to infantilize you 😔

And this applies to non-yandere stuff as well, but I take 1000 psychic damage when the reader is called “good girl” or “princess” 👀 (the burnt out gifted kid/over achiever to praise kink enjoyer pipeline is REAL)

I loooooove the basic stuff like 'darling' or 'sweetheart' or 'honey' and it's definitely because English isn't my first language haha - it's so sweet and domestic to me and that's even more fucked up in a yandere context. Other than that, rdr2 gave me Micah Bell's 'sugarpie/honeypie' and while I hate that man. That pet name SLAPS. And when it comes to my one and only wife Blue Diamond... I'd strangle a man with my own bare hands to be called 'little one' just once in my life 🥺

Those are mine!! And a really well placed 'good girl/boy/slut/etc'... That gets most of us, doesn't it? 🥴 Now I wonder what your faves are matched to your faves 👀 I, for example, can't see Crocodile using anything else other than super basic ones like 'darling'. The most 'darling' man I ever did see...

#ask #anon #tw.yandere

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giddyabsurdismsilliness · 1 year

Text

♢ REQUESTS ♢

Masterlist

»--•--«

I'M PRETTY MUCH OPEN FOR ANY SORT OF RDR2 REQUESTS. WILL MOST LIKELY TAKE MORE DUTCH, ARTHUR, AND CHARLES ONES. (I FEEL MOST CONFIDENT WRITING FOR THOSE THREE, BUT I'M NOT OPPOSED TO ANY OTHERS. ASK AWAY, LOL.)

ERRRMM OKAY

»--•--«

WHAT I WILL WRITE:

FTM, GENDER NEUTRAL, AND MALE READERS

ONESHOTS, DRABBLES, AND HEADCANONS

CHARACTER x CHARACTER (MAYBE LOL)

FLUFF AND ANGST, BIG FAN OF HURT/COMFORT SO DEFINITELY THAT AS WELL.

PLATONIC CHARACTER X CHARACTER/READER

WHAT I WON'T WRITE:

ANYTHING PEDOPHILIC, NON-CON, INCESTUOUS, BEASTIALITY RELATED, ETC.

SMUT. I'LL EVENTUALLY GET AROUND TO POSTING SOME BUT TAKING REQUESTS FOR SMUT IS IFFY FOR ME.

MULTIPLE PARTS TO A FANFIC (NOT GONNA GET THAT DEDICATED LOL.)

FEM READERS (OBVIOUSLY)

YANDERE

»--•--«

#i feel so stupid doing any of this #dont know why ive just never shown my writing ever nor have i written anything serious in a damn long time #had no idea what to put for the do and dont write i just wanted to tell people requests r open #people as in the 4 followers i have #requests r open btw #requests open

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

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General hc for John Marston thanknyou

Here's my general idea on his behavior, I apologize if things are OOC... I'm new to Red Dead Redemption (This is a general look combining RDR and RDR2 personalities). This evolved into you replacing Abigail in an AU and being romantic instead of romantic/platonic... oops?

Yandere! John Marston Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Violence, Murder, Apathy, Stalking, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Overprotective behavior, Forced/Dubious marriage mention, Blood, Forced relationship.

I actually feel John may be worse than Arthur at times.

He feels more... apathetic and morally grey than Arthur in his wiki?

He was raised by Dutch to steal, rob, and kill due to being an orphan.

The typical life of an outlaw in the Wild West.

He was actually heavily manipulated in the gang.

He even tried his best to put his past behind him, no longer wanting to be part of a life of crime.

Yet he was eventually dragged back into it.

This concept isn't going to have much of a plot, it's mostly me bouncing around ideas.

John is described as serious, apathetic, slightly impatient, and cynical man...

However, John is also polite and loyal to his family.

As a result I feel John would be very dedicated to his obsession.

A personal idea I have is an AU where John has a family with you instead of Abigail.

He knows his past and hates talking about it... but wants to do whatever he can to provide for/make you happy.

Maybe like Abigail he meets you in the gang and his obsession starts there.

He is a man who is sometimes apathetic to morals and isn't afraid to show violence or pull a gun on another man.

But he never hurts or insults you.

John is loyal and respectable to you.

He is protective of you due to what he's seen.

Since he was 11 he's shot men down for the gang.

He doesn't want to have you live in the gang and eventually tries to marry you and move you to a farm.

Despite him being a horrible man at times... he'd bleed for you.

He wants you to trust him enough to have your hand in marriage... to leave the gang before things get too hectic.

Towards you he's oddly soft when trying to coax you away... like weeks before he wasn't shooting people down for looking at you wrong.

His kisses with you are bittersweet and his hold feels strange.

He seems like he's trying to change, to be a better man for you.

Yet you can tell deep down he's still rugged, still a man who has killed for you and wants to keep you for himself.

You can't tell if he's lying to you... or is genuine.

Before you can figure out the difference he's proposing to you, he's marrying you, he's dragging you off to the farm he made for you.

You think you're flattered.

Yet when you look at John you worry.

He wants to change... you can tell.

But can he ever change that possessive glint in his eyes?

Can he ever truly wash the blood off his hands?

He says he's better.

But when he comes home you smell gunpowder and blood....

He preaches about how he can't wait to have a family with you.

He refuses to let you talk about the gang.

It's just him... all you have is him now.

He only allows him to be near you.

No friends... no other men...

Just him... your beloved husband... who would do anything for you.

Just don't look too far behind the scenes... if you ignore it... you can pretend he's truly a changed man...

If you just focus on him... you can ignore all the murder he does for you... you can even see the tight grip he has as comforting.

#yandere red dead redemption #yandere rdr #yandere rdr2 #yandere red dead redemption 2 #yandere john marston

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untitled-writer-013 · 10 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you write for the rdr2 ladies too? Thanks!

Absolutely!! I write for both RDR2 men and women!

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falling-heights · 10 months

Text

☆ Arthur Morgan ☆ - I gave you all

Pt. 2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“E v e r y t h i n g, i n t i m e--

a l w a y s d y i n g, n e v e r d e a d”

“Leave us," Arthur removed the sweat-stained rag, allowing it to hang from his neck. The vision of a once angelic face, now burdened with sun-aged skin was revealed. As Sean passed him by, he grabbed his arm. He whispered a slew of words, too faint to understand.

"What do you plan on doing?" Arthur only released his grip, and began to unfasten the buttons of his gloves. "Come on, Arthur. I at least deserve to know what you're gonna do with her."

"Just resolving unfinished business," From his coat pocket, he retrieved a cigarette and a lone match. He struck the head against his belt, and you watched the fire illuminate his face.

His eyes had finally gone cold. The little body of fire reflected in his hollowed eyes, surrounding the orange glow with a halo of lurid blue. Hands idly lighting the cigarette and shielding the flame from wind, he stared into you with that sickening gaze.

Sean obeyed without contest. He waited, staring off into the tree line as his men retreated. You watched the Irishman's shadows slowly disappear. And then, just two remained in the forest. The woods, you realized, would be your only witness to what would happen now.

He dragged a long breath from his chest. Embers burned along the end of the cigarette, illuminating his face dimly in the stark night air. He thought for a moment, taking his eyes off of you, until, after taking another drag of his cigarette, he snickered at some strange thought. You always hated when he smoked.

"Not how you expected your night to go, is it, Junebug?" Eventually, once ridden down to a nub, he finished his smoke and crushed it underneath his boots. Once the embers had died and gone dim, his attention shot to you again.

You couldn't say it didn't hurt. Seeing him now, the lack of warmth in his eyes, a sight you still missed despite having such a soiled history.

"Shit, I almost feel bad for you," His ungloved hand reached out, first to run through loose strands of hair that hung over your face. There was something strange about his touch. It was something you'd heard once, that the body can only remember another person's touch for about a year before it forgets the feeling. But this man, it was like the way he felt would remain seared in your mind for lifetimes beyond your own. He was strangely gentle as he cleared away your face. Uncertain and profoundly confused, you did nothing in the moment to stop him, though you couldn't understand his motives.

One hand drifted to your chin, lifting your head just enough to be constraining. You found yourself struggling to calm your breath. Years of distress began to resurface, bubbling in your chest and causing a meek display of terror-induced tears that ran down your face in quick and silent, hot streams. There was some quiet sort of rage, the rekindling of some deep buried emotions that were beginning to resurface in his eyes. The softness of his touch was spoiled by the violence that was written in his gaze.

Nothing could nave truly been worse than this. not only to be at your knees in front of this man, but being so helpless to the sense of grief that consumed you now. How weak you must have looked now, how strange for such a creature as you. A murderer, and thief, and now, in this man's eyes, a traitor. But it was helplessness that left you sniveling at the feet of your enemy.

"But seeing you like this, well..." He dropped your head, his actions vacant of all the gentility that was used just moments before. Another laugh left him, this time pointed directly at you. "It'd be sad if it weren't so fitting."

Nothing was more unnerving than what ideas might be concocting in his head. What would he do, then?

Arthur decidedly pulled out a white, pearl-lined revolver. You knew it well. It had been a gift, after all. And it seemed fitting. That something given should be the same to take. He stared at it for a while. The weapon must have been something of a sentimental token once. Perhaps, it still was. After all, he’s kept it all these years.

"Sometimes, I get to thinking, nights when I can't sleep and nobody's around to hear my thoughts..." He counted bullets within the gun's wheel, then rolled it back into place. His thumb rested on the gun's hammer, but he waited, allowing the sight to settle in your mind. "About seeing you again, some day. A few months after, when your absence was still fresh in everyone's mind, I almost thought about going out to find you myself. For… a long while, nothing seemed better to me than the idea of putting a bullet right here."

Lightly, the barrel of the gun pressed itself in the middle of your head. It seemed, that such a violent fantasy still lingered along his fingertips. They twitched with excitement. He held it there, something toying with his mind. He stared placidly. Though his face bore a numb manner, you knew the sadistic visions that played feverishly in his head. His mind was like a rabid dog in a cage. It was like watching the approach of a hurricane through a large glass window, waiting for the illusion of safety to break.

"But, since you’re here now, you know that didn't happen." He raised the revolver away, however it remained held with a stressed hold. "But things just work like that, I guess. Makes all those years of hiding and running pointless, doesn't it?"

"And now, you're here, just wasting my time," He waved the gun in your direction, and he stepped away for a moment. His voice was shaken, tense, filled with a rage he must have been suppressing for years, waiting for the day that it could finally be let out. He spoke his next words lowly, in a gruff, sort of apathetic tone. "What do you think will happen now?"

"I suppose you'll kill me." The fear for your life was instinctual. Really, you should have died long ago. You, for longer than you'd known, resembled something more of a walking corpse. Something that thought, by lying to itself about what it was, could convince itself it was something else.

"What I do doesn't really make a difference anymore, does it?" He was right. The growing concern of blood loss was leaving you vulnerable. It was apparent now that if you were left untreated for more than a few hours, the possibilities would narrow to one singular decision. "Now, I could just wait. Let time will finish the job for me."

"Why didn't you?" He sat against a nearby trunk and removed his hat. His hair was deeply disheveled, matted to his head from a day's worth of sweat. It was just as easily rejuvenated when he ran a hand through it a few times, revealing thick layers of hair. The gun was set to the ground beside his thigh.

"How do you mean?"

"You could have found me easily. So, why not?" A small, patient smile graced his lips.

"I don't know, Junebug." Hearing that name, though it hurt the first time, hurt worse the second. Knowing how sentimental it had been once, and then hearing it now. Such a stark contrast. "I just kept thinking karma might deal with you on my behalf. Or, maybe a little speck of something thought that maybe I'd see you again. Not like this, but-- well, doesn't matter now, anyways."

"So, what are you waiting on now?"

Sitting there, his eyes never left you. His expression never changed; his grimace remained steady. It was almost as though he hadn’t heard you, but you knew he was thinking.

"A reason, maybe.”

“For why I left?” You. The answer was obvious, but he seemed inept to it.

He opted to remain silent, staring expectantly at you. Of course.

With eyes idly looking downward to the side, your mind lulled to memories you had not wished to relive. A grimace of a dull ire echoed behind your gaze, and haunted your visage.

It was clear he was opting to buy himself more time, a longer chance to consider what he would do now. Perhaps, in his mind, he imagined that he was being merciful. To him, this was your chance to convince him not to kill you.

And if you had any of the slightest intentions to survive this night, you would have to play along.

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