#about john marston's insecurities

[sentanixiv]

@amorgansgal was a delight to work with for the RDR Mini Bang! What a beautiful source story to work with. I tried my utmost to do the fic justice, because it really hit a chord with me. <3

That Fool Marston - Writing by @amorgansgal, screencaps by @sentanixiv  [Tumblr | AO3]

Summary: John finally reads Arthur’s journal, only to find out that the man wanted to marry Abigail. John struggles with feelings of jealousy and inadequacy, even though Arthur is long since dead and gone. It might take some stern words from Abigail for him to see sense.

Excerpt John’s initial reaction was to shut Arthur’s journal with a sharp snap. He drew in a shaky breath and tried to calm the furious beating of his heart. His stomach was twisted into knots. It felt like someone had punched him low in his gut. John cautiously opened the journal once more until the faded words were facing him. The discomfort and pain were inescapable and he forced himself to read what Arthur had said about his wife: ‘Took young Jack out fishing as a favour to Abigail. Many years ago, before she fell so hard for that fool Marston, perhaps I should’ve married her. I think part of me has always thought that…’ Keep Reading

[cowboyfromh3ll]

gonna keep the shy reader hcs party going and kindly request how arthur, john, and charles (and any other characters you might have added) would tease her once they’ve been together for a little while. who likes flustering her the most and who would get away with it the longest before she realizes he’s doing it on purpose 👀 as for the smutty part, what’s their favorite ways to rile her up before taking pity and giving her what she wants (i imagine some would be nicer than others lol)

Shy!Reader HC Ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith (Smut)

Y'all love your shy reader hcs

Warnings: smut

Arthur Morgan

I feel like Arthur wouldn't be too big of a tease but when he is, they're very non consequential things

You fell off your horse? You were hunting together and missed the shot by a lot? You hurt yourself trying to do something daring on a job? He'd be like omg come over here lemme fix it for you baby

His goal is never to make you feel less than or somehow incompetent with his teasing

But oh you got syrup all over your face and hands? You buttoned your shirt incorrectly? You snort when you laugh? He's gonna keep going until you're blushing and giggling at him to stop

Even if there's nothing wrong with your outfit he'll go over to you and find SOMETHING to fix

Will spend an unnecessary amount of time fixing your collar or scarf

It'd probably be pretty easy to tell what he's trying to do, not very slick

Would compliment you to try and make you blush but he just ends up making himself blush

If you're insecure over something he'll make sure to compliment that aspect of you over and over again

Flirts with the idea of marriage and kids one day and that'll have you SWOONING

Sometimes he'll rub your belly when you talk about it and it'll make you CRUMBLE

NSFW

Oh he's gonna be such a big tease, and he'll do it perfectly

Does it in a way that can be passed off as accidentally and goes unnoticed by anyone else but you

Rubs his crotch on you while making his way past behind you

Subtly brushes your thigh or ass with his hand

Kisses up your neck until you're all hot and bothered and pulls away before saying he's gotta do something

If y'all are sitting around a table in a group setting he'll have you on his lap so you can feel him harden. Keeps playing poker like nothing

If you're sitting next to him he'll place his hand on your inner thigh but never moving it close enough to where you want it

His favorite way to rile you up is to touch you all over during make outs then never going past that

Takes pity on you when he sees you get genuinely frustrated, thinks it's hilarious though

Charles Smith

He's so subtle with it that you wouldn't even catch it until a few seconds later

You gotta think about it before you truly get it

You could complain about how hot it is and he'll recommend you take off your clothes

Oh you say your backs hurting? Charles recommended course of action is visiting him at his tent tonight so he can fix it wink wink

You'll actually show up and he'll actually be surprised you haven't gotten it yet

Will give you a massage nonetheless

Would take you a while to pick up on it and that's the beauty of it to Charles

Would do things without the intention of making you blush but if he notices something does he'll keep at it

You like it when he plays with your hair? Then he'll braid it and put flowers in it and rave about how beautiful it is

Hands you flowers and tells you it reminded him of you

Makes you little trinkets and objects and says the most flowery things about how he tried to make it a fraction of how beautiful you are

NSFW

Like his aforementioned forms of teasing, he'll do just that

In fact, in times where you do catch on, he'll pretend like he never meant it that way and you're the one who's trying to get something going

Will give you THAT LOOK when you're together in public and you BOTH know you won't be able to do anything for hours

During make outs he'll rub your inner thighs or ass or sides but never touching you where you need it.

His hands are very light, his touches never heavy handed

He'd give in real easy to you. Just pout or give him puppy eyes and he'll give in

Even being bold enough to tell him what you want will have him in a trance

He's a giver so he can never deny you for too long for his own satisfaction

John Marston

Oh my God his teasing definitely goes too far

I don't mean that in a cute way I mean he probably ends up hurting your feelings because he does not know when to stop

Sucks at flirting

Your shy nature just makes it more awkward

But once you get used to his failed attempts at being coquettish you'll be able to recognize when he's trying to flirt

Is probably super obvious when he's trying and when he's successful he'll actually make you blush

His successful attempts are probably unintentional. Says something he won't think will land but is surprised when it works

Excuses himself for a moment and celebrates a few feet away before turning like normal

He has like a time to cool down on successful flirting. Only successful once every three days or something like that

Tries to compliment you but it comes out awkwardly and stiff

If you say something back slightly flirty he's gonna blank and not know how to continue from there

As soon as he approaches you and says "uhh.. hey" you already know what he's trying to do

Opposite of Arthur so he WILL tease you for falling off your horse

Awkwardly hugs you and pats your shoulder if you cry while apologizing profusely

NSFW

Can't rile you up for too long without exciting himself

Keeps his arm on your lower back and dips his fingers inside your waist band

Type to pull on your overalls (if you wear em) and lets them snap back into you

Will come up behind you and rub his stubble into your neck before whispering filthy things into your ear

Likes it when you put up a little playful resistence

If y'all are sitting down somewhere together he'll put his hand on your ankle before running it up under your skirt

Ends up giving in mostly because HE can't take it anymore and is too excited

[anithesunshineoutlaw]

Insecurities The Van der Linde guys would adore in their significant other:

Dutch Van der Linde - Freckles and Such /Most definitely canon, almost all the women he has shown interest in have feckless or other skin features on their faces. Of course, he would adore yours as well./

Arthur Morgan - Stretch Marks / He doesn't care. If it's you or on you, he loves it whatever it is. He loves every part of you. End of story./

John Marston - Eyes /Whether you're insecure about their color, shape, or ability. He doesn't care. Your eyes are fine, why worry about them? You wear glasses? Fine by him. Dark eyes? Beautiful as ever. Unnatural attributes? Why would he care? Look at him, he's not natural himself. He loves you just the same, pretty eyes or not./

Javier Escuella - Uneven Teeth /He finds them cute, they're part of your charm and uniqueness. Plus it makes your smile all the more beautiful and gets him to smile himself all the brighter. Adorable, truly./

Lenny Summers - Large Nose /He actually finds it pretty. Gives you a more defined and recognizable look. To him, it looks incredibly majestic on you, like looking at a Queen straight out of a storybook. And he gets to look at that face every day? What luck!/

[amrass]

Fanfiction updates and excerpts 08.31.24

Hello! There is only one day until autumn arrives, and 61 days until Halloween!!! 🧟‍♀️🧟🧟‍♂️ I'm already going into celebration mode, and if anyone has any horror films they recommend, the more obscure the better, please feel free to send me a message.

My updating schedule is somewhat set until December. I'll be focusing on finishing my RDR request fill fic Barbwired Tumbleweed, and my deepest darkest love (and the deadest dove) Slug. Excerpts under the cut, which as always, contain disturbing NSFW stuff.

Main projects: 

Barbwired Tumbleweed part 4-8. Dark. Excerpt is from part 4, which is undead!Abigail Roberts Marston/soon to be undead!John Marston

The porch was dark, and she was sitting on the steps with her back towards him, looking at the animals outside.

"Abi?" he called through the door, feeling strangely uncertain. 

Suddenly her face filled the peephole. He flinched at the speed, maybe he had blinked for too long a moment? Her skin was pale, almost a greenish gray, and her eye makeup seemed darker as if she'd been crying. But she was grinning, slowly, her new red lipstick - ? - smudged. She looked intimidating, and very attractive. 

"John," she said, and her voice was raspy. "Open the door, John." Her tilt darkened. "Like a good boy."

Slug part 2-5. O'Driscoll Gang/Micah Bell. AU of my Van der Linde biker gang AU. DARK. Noncon warning for the whole story.

"Look at me!" Angel growls.

Micah ignores him because Colm has noticed him. If this is hell, then Colm's gaze is the wind of the hellscape, blowing through Micah's soul. It is so cold, so dry, so inhuman, that if a lack of empathy has a scent, then Colm reeks of it. And yet Micah holds his eyes to try to find some sort of door into the only one in the room truly capable of stopping this. Stop this. You have to. You just ... you have to. At what Micah manages to convey with his expression, Colm raises a brow.

Then there are fingers in his hair, dragging his head to the side.

And then, agony.

Micah can't help making what sounds like a death rattle, all his breath - his self - being forced out of his body. Head, falling back to the wet plastic, as Angel shoves himself in, far bigger than the toy.

Side projects:

The Six Horsemen of the Apocalypse part 3: The Dark House, previously known as The Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Crack. Undead Nightmare AU. Undead!teen!Jack keeps losing his new horse, and undead!Micah gets curious when he hears about the odd black steed seemingly attracted to dishonor, and helps him out.

"My name is not Jack, Karen, it's The Dark Prince of Breacher's Hope."

Karen nodded, drank, and then vomited into a nearby barrel. For a few moments, she stared into the barrel as if she was confronted with the endlessness of death. "Whoopsie," she said, and stumbled away, opening another bottle.

Jack scowled. But Karen was far too young for his tastes anyway. He needed a mature woman, one who didn’t laugh quite as hard as Miss Grimshaw (slapping her knee, beating her chest, drinking a glass of wine only to spit it out) when Jack called her a MILF. 

A noise from the barrel interrupted Jack's thoughts. It sounded like something was splashing down there. He hoped it wasn't Uncle "forgetting" a limb in there to sneak out of housework. But no, the splashing was too sinister to belong to Uncle.

"Is someone having impure thoughtsss?" a nasal drawl came from the vomit-filled barrel, only for Micah to come swirling up from it, before leaning his elbows on the edge with a sleazy, rotten smile. 

The Day of Night part 2. Daan & Pocketcat. Pre-canon horror story.

He got to his feet. Due to his shorts, blood caked his bare skin, congealed enough to let the red remain on his knees like a rash from an inherited skin disease. He liked thinking about diseased things when insecure in who he was, considering himself one such thing.

A drop of an unknown, lukewarm liquid dropped to his forehead. He tilted his chin up, but not further. It had to be a piece of humidity in the ceiling. It couldn't be anything else.

A second drop landed a little to the left of the first one, but close enough to merge the two of them. It must've come from a hole in the ceiling. Yes. A hole large enough to appear drooling.

A third drop, fatter than the previous ones, made the liquid pool into the lashes of Daan's left eye. Before he could imagine some rational explanation, there was a hiss from above him, rising in volume. 

Finally giving in and looking up, Daan stared into a bloody maw. It was as large as his head, but the opening in the throat was oddly big, like a fleshy burlap sack that could swallow Daan whole.

Potential projects:

Untitled Vanderbell fic. 1-5 parts, I think. Micah Bell/Dutch van der Linde. Meant to be canon compliant, and a character study of Dutch as seen through Micah's eyes, from their meeting in Crenshaw Hills and potentially until the bitter end.

Braindead Redemption. Oneshot. Crack. Undead Nightmare AU. I just want to write something silly inspired by Peter Jackson's Braindead, with John trying to be a good father by bringing a zombie Jack to the park. Once there, he spots an undead Molly with a child of her own, and tries to copy her superior parenthood skills.

Guard Duty. 1-3 parts, potentially. Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan, set in the Van der Linde biker gang AU, as their relationship grows. Arthur walks in on Micah sucking off Dutch, and is horrified. Micah wrongly deduces that this means Arthur has a step daddy kink, and acts accordingly during their time on nightly guard duty together.

Might also be a few random stories appearing! We'll see. Usually autumn is the season that's the kindest to my health and creativity. Hope it will be as kind do you too, who took the time to read all this!

🖤🧟🖤

[sednonamoris]

5 or 9 with john marston ? 🙈

hehehe i’ll do both 👀

in terms of fear i am a ‘john makes things worse on purpose bc he’s scared of them being better’ truther. especially in his early rdr2 interactions with abigail, he goes out of his way to say things he knows will set her off and hit her insecurities bc he’s scared of letting her close and letting things get better and being a father bc what if he ends up like his dad? what if he’s worse?? much better (by his logic) to make himself the bad guy now and push everyone away.

as far as childhood goes i’m sure you noticed in ghost story that john’s father would come home drunk from the bars and try to drown him in water troughs and that’s why he never learned to swim/is afraid of water. his relationship with his father is soooo interesting to me and i really have taken to heart what john said about his father loving scotland more than he loved john even though he never lived there. in his better moods i think his father would hum or sing the skye boat song as a nod to the motherland, and i think that as an adult, subconsciously, when john is humming or whistling ‘tunelessly’ it always inevitably morphs into the skye boat song as well. he always gets this wistful, hollow feeling inside when he notices.

[thececil666]

john x f!reader kn the topic of like...scars and gently caring for wounds...silly little funnies like that make me want to SCREAM AND CRY :3 a bit of suggestiveness would also make me giggle...

YESSSSSSSS

John Marston X F!Reader

A/N: Okay so this is a bit rusty/short since I'm still reteaching myself to write these kinds of things, but I hope you enjoy! <3 Also this is just John Marston flirting for the most part hehe

Edit: Totally forgot about the fluff here and just made it suggestive, I'm crying in the club

Scars

It was a day like any other at Horseshoe Overlook. Most of the members were outside the camp doing god knows what so that just left yourself, the ladies, Dutch, and more importantly John Marston. He was still not fully recovered from his incident in the mountains, but he would never admit it. You were always sweet on John, and until today you had no reason to believe he felt the same.

You were sitting at the camp’s main fire pit taking a small break from your chores when you saw from the corner of your eye someone sit down on the crate adjacent to you. Looking up from the fire you saw John looking at you, like really looking at you. He looked like he was deep in thought.

“Is there something on my face?” You asked puzzled.

“No. Wish I could say the same for myself though.” You hear him say the last part in a sigh.

You never took John to be someone with any kind of insecurity so when he said this you were kind of at a loss for words.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Well, not nothing. I just mean that even after these cuts heal I’ll always have a scar right across my big dumb face. Not like you though. Pretty face like yours almost makes me jealous.” 

You were so taken aback by his self depreciation that you almost didn’t hear his compliment. Once you did your face felt warm from ear to ear. You did everything in your power to not seem nervous but couldn’t help but blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

“Don’t say that, scars will only make you more handsome.” You immediately covered your mouth with both hands. Did you just tell John Marston he was handsome??? And that he’s only gonna get more handsome??? Not only were you internally freaking out, you were pretty sure you were also very much externally freaking out.

You felt him shift closer to you, and could hear a hearty chuckle from him. He started leaning closer until his face was by your ear.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind a cute thing like you telling me I’m handsome more often.” He said grabbing one of your hands and holding it in his own.

“If it’s scars you like then I got plenty more I can show you.” You couldn’t speak, and you 

bet if someone looked at you they would see how much you were actually enjoying this. Not that you knew how to respond anyways.

He took his hand away to wrap it around your waist and bring you even closer to him. Your heart was pounding. He was leaning closer, and oh god this was it wasn’t it? 

“Marston!” There was a shrill voice behind you that made you both jump and back away from each other as if it never happened. 

“What is it now Grimshaw?” He said, disappointment clearly written across his features. 

“You’re taking one of my best workers away from her chores when there’s still so much to be done!” She whined. You could tell this was gonna take awhile. You got up from your spot at the fire and slowly started backing away as John tried to defend himself against the irate woman. You smiled at him 

[madamsarrat]

Decided to give my gunslinger a backstory and a name. Take this as an AU since we don't know what's going to happen after the last episode (crossing my fingers we get another season).

She's Josephine 'Jo' Marston (I'm so original). He's the daughter of the gunslinger who's body was possesed by Edred in the previous cycle (Let's call him Abe).

Abe had 4 daughters and no sons. Living in the wild west, he taught his daughters how to shoot, hunt animals and trade, as he didn't want them depending of men for their survival. Even though he was the best bounty hunter and had a privileged aim, he feared that someday he'd get shot while hunting down outlaws, so he needed to assure his daughters were as skilled as him.

Jo is 18 and the middle child. She showed to potentially have an aim as privileged as Abe's, but she felt insecure about it. He would often take her hunting for food so she could grow her confidence.

One day, during a long day hunting, they where camping in the desert near some rocks. A metal being appeared before them and suddenly a pink light attacked Abe. Jo screamed and started to shoot to the metal being, begging to stop whatever the hell it was doing to her father. One of the bullets ricocheted off and injured her arm.

She just stayed there with tears in her eyes as his father transformed in a blue being with long white hair and pointy ears. She tried talking to him, but the being ignored her and flew away in the middle of the night with that metal thing.

Her sisters didn't believe her when she returned home and blame her for her father's disappearance... Until the evil attacked the town. She didn't quite grasp what happened that day in the desert but sure understood it had something to do with that.

When the evil was defeated once more, her father returned back home exhausted. He fell ill to the point she had to sell her hair to afford medicine. After a few excruciating months, he finally passed.

She understood her father was chosen for something bigger than them. Still, she resented the unicorn. She believed he got ill because of the strain the task put on his body.

As the timelines were altered and present and past exist at the same time, Jo now exists to see another cycle. She helps them once they cross paths.

Jo can't help but feel sorry for the new hosts, specially Edred as she believes he will die as soon as they defeat evil. She disliked Emmalinda at first as she remembers the dark witch from the previous cycle kissing her father, but grew fond of her after realizing she had nothing to do with that and now is her bigger advocate. They're besties.

She was supposed to be my self insert but since I dyed my hair red and got glasses for the first time in my life, I can't relate to her design anymore. So I gave her a backstory and a name. It's silly, but also complicated how my hair and glasses made me change my perspective on this.

The only thing Jo and I have in common is the daddy issues.

Also, yeah, Jo Marston like John Marston. I love Red Dead Redemption and I love the wild west cycle of the warriors because of it. I need more of that.

Feel free to ask me whatever you want about her or Katerina Mystique (my other OC).

[pookiecowpoke]

Hi!

I don’t usually request anything, but I’m super curious! Could you write something for Bonnie Macfarlane and Arthur Morgan? They are one of my favorite pairings from Red Dead. I also have a couple of others that are pretty rare; Bonnie/Algernon Wasp and Micah/Mary-Beth.

I’d be excited to see any of those :)

Flowers by the Shoreline

Pairing: Micah Bell/Mary-Beth Gaskill

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption II

Rating: Mature

Word count: Just over 2000

Tags: Warnings: Sexism, racism, animal abuse (this is micah we are talking about, but that doesn’t make it okay), gift-giving, acts of affection, insecurities

Comments: After a very long break I’m back to writing requests! All other peeps are on the way I promise! 

So, I’ve been playing Red Dead Redemption lately and I have to say I can’t stand Bonnie. I’m sorry, I know she’s supposed to be this head strong independent woman, and I support that but I can’t stand her voice anytime I’m doing a mission for her. Why is she screaming at me, why is she insulting John so much, please Bonnie calm down QAQ. And I like the idea of Micah and Mary-Beth ever since watching Micah get rejected by Mary-Beth in Chapter 3 (was it chapter 3? idek it was so long ago). I may have went a little overboard focusing on Micah’s insecurities and emotions, and may have turned it into a character study, but it’s okay XD. I hope you enjoy this! 

Micah Bell the third only ever had 2 things on his mind: money and women. Money was easy. He had always had a knack for landing a score, whether that was through violence or his cunning mind. Money turned him on almost as much as women did, but women were a much more difficult thing for Micah to conquer. 

They were a mystery that usually just frustrated him more than it was worth to touch their soft flesh and feel their warm bodies. Even whores stayed clear of him. It was humiliating. The women at camp only glared and gave fake smiles at best when he was around. 

But oh, when Arthur fuckin’ Morgan was around all the women flocked to him. What did Arthur have that he didn’t? He drank just as much booze as he did, sure Morgan was maybe a better shot then Micah, but they still did about the same amount of chores at the camp. Well… when Charles or that O’Driscoll cunt didn’t already have them done…

Yet, all the women, even Abigail who was techincally John’s, would go to him for every one of their needs or wants. Morgan was gone most days and they still gathered around him when he returned and asked after him every waking second of the day. It disgusted Micah that they blantantly held favortism. 

He would never approach Tilly, even if she had the most beautiful dark skin and wore that yellow dress that made her look like a little sunflower. He wouldn’t stoop that low. 

Karen had nice tits and wasn’t afraid to drink, but she was loud. God awful loud, like a bird choking on a fish. Plus, Micah was sure Sean would throw a fit if he ever tried to make a move on Karen. Sean’s annoying Irish whine was almost worse than Karen’s drunken squawking.

Abigail, oh she was pretty. He cursed the day John went and got her pregnant, officially ending her whoring days five years ago. She even had a cute snorting laugh, but only Morgan and Hosea seemed to get her to let it out. Her kid, whatever his name was, was a pest that would run around without a care in the world. Not to mention if Micah was messing around with her, he’d have Marston, Morgan and the Old man gunning for him. Blegh, no thank you. 

Miss Grimshaw was too old for Micah’s standards. She acted like there was a stick up her ass, and maybe there was. She used to be Dutch’s bitch all those years ago, making it a bit of a taboo to even attempt to approach her. Same went for Molly, as pretty as she was. Those two were off limits, as far as Micah could tell. 

Mrs. Adler was just about as wild as she was attractive, and she would probably cut his pecker off if he approached her. She was sobbing most the time anyway.

That just left Mary-Beth, the hopeless romantic. Micah genuinely liked Mary-Beth and her low cut dress. Sure, he didn’t really understand some of her rambling wants about some fantasy guy who oftentimes sounded a lot like Morgan, but her freckles and the way she smiled when talking about her book always made his heart thump a little faster. 

He had tried being nice to her before Blackwater. Greetings here and there, tips of his hat, that sort of bullshit. The damn freeze of Colter happened and everyone was in a piss-poor mood before they traveled down to New Hanover. Then he got imprisoned in Strawberry and was away from camp for nie on two weeks. 

But now that they were at Clemens point and things were quiet, Micah planned to make his move. He had been in the Rhodes General store buying cigarettes when he saw a leather bound jounral on the shelf. He wasn’t one for journaling, it was a waste of time to write down his own thoughts, but Mary-Beth liked writing those silly little romances. 

He approached the counter with the pack of cigarettes and the journal, laying them down in a huff. His heart was jerking uncomfortably in his chest, and his back was sweating through his shirt. The clerk tried to make small talk with him, but he just shot him a glare from under the brim of hat and went on his way. 

Baylock greeted him with a snort and a stomp of his hoof. The tempermental nag even had the balls to sidestep when Micah went to mount him after putting the journal safely in his saddle bags. 

“I will cut those damn balls off, boy, test me again.” Micah hissed through his bristly moustache. 

The cobalt steed calmed and allowed Micah to swing himself into his saddle. On the way back to Clemens Point, Micah made it a point to stab his spurs into Baylock’s flanks as punishment for his transgressions. Baylock pinned his ears and wheezed as they galloped through the thick woodland that kept Clemens Point hidden from prying eyes. 

Williamson on guard duty could hardly ask who was there before Micah flew by and cantered to the designated horse area. The O’Driscoll looked up from the detailing of a saddle when Baylock nickered and came to a sliding halt. 

“Hey, O’Driscoll, unsaddle my horse.” Micah shouted while sliding off Baylock and searching through his saddle bag for the newly bought journal. 

“M-mister I ain-”

“I don’t think I asked, O’Driscoll. Are we gonna have a problem?” The O’Driscoll shook his head, bowing to hide under his ridiculous straw hat. “Good, now be a good boy and do what I asked.”

Micah didn’t turn around to see if he followed through with his orders, his mind more set on the beautiful Gaskill sitting at the center table. Her hair was done up with half of it up and the other cascading in curled locks down her back. Clad in a maroon skirt, white low cut shirt and dark pink waistcoat, she looked radiant with the way the bright sun caught on her necklace made her breasts pop. 

The only problem was that damn Morgan was talking to her at the table. He couldn’t just go up and give her the journal without an explanation, especially with Morgan right there. He’d be made a laughing stock. With a growl, Micah made a beeline for his tent. He would wait until that night, corner Mary-Beth to give her the journal and express himself to her. Yes, that was a good plan. 

Micah sighed softly as he sat on his bedroll and looked down at the leather, flipping through the pages. They were good quality, or he thought they were. Surely, Mary-Beth would appreciate the gift. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut, something he only felt when something went wrong. He wasn’t a nervous human, but the thought of courting Mary-Beth made his stomach twist up and heart skip a beat. Maybe this was a bad idea? No, any idea he came up with was never a bad one, just needed some improvising if it went wrong. 

In the heat of the Lemoyne sun, Micah laid out on his bed roll and tipped his hat down to hide his face, hands cupped under his head. His hair felt greasy and tangled, maybe he should go to the Flat Iron and wash up a bit before approaching Mary-Beth? His shirt also felt damp and rough against his skin. 

With a snarl of frustration, Micah sat up and trampled around his tent to grab a sliver of soap and a ragged wash cloth. A clean dark grey button up lay at the bottom of his chest, he hadn’t worn it since… he didn’t know when. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the shirt and left his tent with a flourish. The things he did for women. 

No one spared him a glance as he walked to the lakeshore, following it until he found a partly hidden cove. He stripped down and waded into the water, scrubbing at his skin with the soap wrapped in the cloth until the blonde hairs on his chest were suddy and the faint smell of cedar filled his nostrals. He spent more time on washing his hair, dunking his head under the water and latehring it with soap. 

Scratching at his moustache made him think maybe he should shave too, but the stubborn part of his mind told him he was already doing too much to impress Mary-Beth. He shook his head like a dog and wrung out the long strands before exiting the cove and using his old shirt to pat himself dry. Before leaving the cove he saw a flower nestled in a patch of bulrush. Its petals were white that bled to a dark pink. It reminded Micah of that marooon getup Mary-Beth was wearing at the domino table earlier.

He picked the flower without a second thought and hid it in the folds of his red shirt.

He returned to camp dressed in the grey shirt and his dusty white pants, hat low on his head. He knew people were looking at him now, freshly bathed and in a new shirt. It made his skin prickle unpleasantly, but snapping at that scrawny mutt that wandered into camp made him gain some control back of the situation. 

After storing the soap and his dirty shirt back in his chest, Micah flopped on his bedroll, the flower stem pinched between his fingers. He wondered briefly what kind of flower it was, but he was sure Mary-Beth wouldn’t care. His mouth felt dry and his heart did that stupid pitter patter in his ribcage. A sip or two of whiskey calmed his nerves before he gathered the journal and flower in his hands. 

The sun was just starting to bathe the sky in a mellow orange color, and most people were off doing whatever after dinner. Marston, Uncle, and Javier were sitting around the main fire, and Morgan’s horse was gone. 

Slicking back his still damp hair, Micah slinked around the tents toward the girls’ tent. He got lucky enough that Karen and Tilly weren’t anywhere nearby, but Mary-Beth was curled up on the ground scribbling away in a journal. 

Micah stopped a few feet off to the side of her tent, working his jaw and trying to figure out the right words to say. Morgan would know what to say without a problem, prolly something flirty or a greeting-

“Uhm… good evening, Mr. Bell…?” Mary-Beth’s quiet voice broke him from his thoughts and pushed him to action. 

“Good evenin’, Ms. Gaskill-” Micah awkwardly shuffled closer to the bedrolls before playing with the leather of the journal in his hands, “I uh, I came to- Shit. Here.” With a severe lack of flattery, Micah held the book out to Mary-Beth. 

Mary-Beth tilted her head and confusion flashed on her face as she slowly set down her pencil and journal. “What’s this for?”

“I uh- saw ya like to write, and I saw this at the general store.” Micah said dumbly before remembering the flower he was worrying in his calloused hands. “And uh saw this at the shore line, thought ya might like it.” 

Micah could have imagined the light blush that colored Mary-Beth’s cheeks in the evening lighting, but she took the flower, their fingers brushing. “Oh, why… I’m sorry, Mr. Bell this is all very… odd.” She twisted the flower stem in her grasp, not meeting his eyes as she chewed on her lip. 

Micah turned away, teeth gritting together as anger surged up through his body. Of course she would reject him just like every other whore-

“Thank you, though. It’s a very lovely gift, and the journal too. Mine is on it’s last few pages…” Mary-Beth took one of the curled locks of her hair and tugged on it bashfully. 

Micah blinked, the anger draining from his body like a long needed piss. “Oh, uh, you’re welcome, Ms. Gaskill. I-I’ll leave ya to your writin’ now.” As Micah swiftly walked away he heard Mary-Beth’s muffled giggle. It wasn’t born of ill-humor, but it sounded like it was a flustered one. 

He could get used to hearing that more often.

[arthurmorganwateringhole]

There is nothing that makes my blood boil more than RDR fans that claim that they know everything about these two games.

I recently saw on tiktok many posts how John Marston is a bEtTEr gUnSlIngEr thAn ArtHur MorGaN. "John solos" "Arthur solos". Like can they just shut the fuck up? I don't like comparing these characters, but when it comes to dealing with ppl like this I'm literally raging. Their only arguments are that " John is smarter than Arthur, John was taught by Landon Ricketts, he has better deadeye or he's faster and better at gunslinging". The only thing they are forgetting that they literally play those characters and they CONTROL THEM.

And if someone dares to disagree with them, they say that this person never played rdr1 and their opinion isn't valid.

Like I'm just tired of these ppl every time comparing them. Whatcha thinking about this? 🤣

Oh wow! Um... lol, first of all as an RDR1 player, deadeye in rdr2 is more sophisticated. I would say it's improved, but I know some people think it's a downgrade because rdr1's deadeye has a lock-on. Also I don't understand the shooting speed. Arthur can fan a revolver too? I think this might come from their perception of dead eye in both games. The shooting happens in real time once targets are tagged in rdr1, so it appears faster, whereas a fully upgraded deadeye in RDR2 can remain within the slowed time. BUT ANYWAY there are just things about this where like deadeye is actually a non-diegetic feature of red dead (i.e., it's not actually something that characters within the universe of red dead are aware exists). It's completely there for the player, so basing character superiority on a non-diegetic mechanic feels very like... idk weird and childish? lol

I also don't understand the need to pit them against each other. Like lore wise, all that is just... wrong lol. John isn't smarter than Arthur (though Arthur might've felt insecure about John's closeness to Dutch at one point, sarcastically calling him the favorite/golden child; but I think they BOTH had that insecurity as they joke in Chapter 6 that they used to wonder who was Dutch's favorite).

TLDR I think it's nonsense. TBH I've been very lowkey and inactive on here, because it was getting unhealthy to be in this fandom and seeing very bad opinions or takes. I love this game still, but at a certain point I need to distance myself from arguments like the one you cited. They're weird, pointless, and flat-out wrong. I'm really sorry you were subjected to all that!

[something-in-the-seas]

I think the biggest problem I have with Booker is just how much heinous shit he's done. I mean, I'm fine with protagonists with morally dark pasts, just look at John Marston or Arthur Morgan. But Booker's got Wounded Knee, the Pinkertons and selling his child. One of those is bad enough, (Although, Wounded Knee is a whole other level compared to the other two.) but all three makes you step back and wonder why I should be rooting for this guy.

I think it’s also because Elizabeth never really has a moment where she sits back and is like “wow Booker’s an irredeemable monster and him being kind to me doesn’t erase a lifetime of pain he’s inflicted onto others.” Booker was stated by Slate to be one of the most violent soldiers at Wounded Knee, which already saw soldiers chasing and mass executing unarmed, fleeing men, women, and children before dumping them in a mass grave. Booker canonly burned alive indigenous men, women, and children in their homes and then scalped them for trophies.

Booker was also fired from the Pinkertons for being “too violent.” To be fired from the Pinkertons for being too violent makes you wonder what he did to go too far for the Pinkertons. The Pinkertons. none of the scenarios are good. But, yes, the happy ending is to let the known violent, desperate child killer keep his baby. Surely, nothing could go wrong.

I like to use Arthur Morgan a lot when discussing Booker because he shows what Booker can be like if he was well-written and likable. Arthur has redeeming qualities: he’s loyal, sensitive, artistic, and also has insecurities. He loves his gang, who he considers to be his family, and for a lot of the game he is very lighthearted when interacting with them. He has meaningful relationships with strangers such as Albert Mason and Charlotte, who manage to reveal he’s soft underneath that gruff.

He’s still also a giant piece of shit and nothing will undo the suffering he’s caused onto others throughout his life, but unlike Booker, you see that he genuinely tries to make amends to the ones he’s hurt. He’s genuinely sorry. Unlike Booker, Arthur is human. He shows very realistic fear about what will happen to him as he succumbs to a terminal disease and uses the last of his strength to selflessly save John’s family. His family.

I don’t think Booker is sorry, or at least genuinely sorry for the hurt he’s caused to anyone but Anna/Elizabeth. He says he feels bad about the Pinkertons, but he shows no real care towards the impoverished in Finkton and then dismisses the Vox entirely saying they’re just as bad as Comstock. Even the universe that has Booker die for the Vox has him not give a shit and both sides it.

Booker is a lot like Comstock. Instead of using religion to not confront what he’s done, he uses apathy and nihilism. The world sucks, life is horrible, you’ll never change anything and everyone is a piece of shit. Arthur Morgan may be a thief and a killer, but he’d never take part in a genocide and burn alive children. There are lines you don’t cross and Ken made Booker sprint across all of them.

[softrozene]

Reacting to their crush/future significant other who has scars

I hope I have Katakuri’s character down! It is my first time writing for him officially, so I am excited! As for this whole request? You got me excited the second you mentioned John Marston’s scar. I got too pumped up for this that I ended up doing these as scenarios with bonus headcanons! I really hope you like this Lovely and apologies for it taking so long to get to!

Charlotte Katakuri, Trafalgar Law x Reader (Gender Neutral/Non-Binary)

Warnings: Slight angst, Fluff, hints of past violence/trauma from battles, scars

Words: 1758

Charlotte Katakuri-

*Uh this bro is so tall so um pretend you are the same height, he’s hunching down, or you are on a ladder or something lol

-

Katakuri glances around the room feeling a slight annoyance. His betrothed is late. Though thinking of them does make him feel emotionally calmer it does not excuse that they are late. Especially since he wanted to speak with them about something important.

Just then, the door to his room flies open and his betrothed comes in panting from an obvious rush. You look a bit flustered from being late, but you quickly compose yourself. It is something Katakuri admires since you are similar to him. Calm and levelheaded most of the time but upon getting this arranged marriage- Both of you have become accustomed to different fluttery feelings when with each other.

Katakuri has no idea how to feel about it (and is not aware that he is crushing) but he concludes it to be a good thing since he enjoys your company.

“Sorry I am late Katakuri. Perospero and I were having tea and he wanted me to start calling him Brother Peros from now on then on the way here I ran into Compote who wanted to have a serious talk about my family’s new alliance with Big Mom. I assured her that I am with you guys all the way and that they will follow her. Anyway, enough excuses, what did you wish to talk about?” You ask trying to stop your fingers from fidgeting.

Since you walked in all he has done is stare you down and usually, it would not bother you, but you honestly felt bad for being late. You wanted to be the perfect partner for him since all he has done is shown you kindness since the announcement of your engagement.

“I wanted to finally speak-“ He pauses as he hesitates.

This is something he does a bit often with you- Use his Observation Haki to foresee into the future is something he often does but he does more so with you when you have talked so he does not misstep. He quickly continues after you are about to ask him what is wrong.

“I apologize for that. I just was about to get straight to the point, but I feel like I need to emphasize something before I do. We are getting married soon. The date is coming up fast and I wanted to show you something but just now I saw you crying. Before I do, I need to let you know that I see you as my equal and I am proud to have you as my betrothed. I have never seen my siblings actually want to get to know an in-law as much as they do you so thank you for wanting to genuinely be apart of our family,” Katakuri states.

His words make your heart beat fast, but you nod for him to continue. “I wanted to show you my mouth. I do not like others seeing it, but we will soon be married, and you will have the right to see all of me as I do you,” He continues.

He pauses once more to make sure that he did change the future even if it was just a little bit. The amount of trust he places in you does make you want to cry but instead, you feel like you want to meet him on the trust to. You decide you will finally show him your other scars.

After he deems you okay, he takes off his mouth covering and stares at you waiting for any response. He knows that you would never make fun of him but that amount of insecurity he has to tell him otherwise. So, he is surprised when he feels your warm hand cup his scarred face.

You give him a gentle smile and say, “We do not nearly match but I do think we are the perfect match for each other.”

His heart melts at this and he is quick to cup your own scarred cheek. His thumb rubs against them and then your eyes downcast. You back up from his touch and he grows irritated momentarily from no longer touching you when you turn around and begin to take off your shirt. His eyes scan what he sees immediately. More scars litter your back.

You let him view it a moment longer before fixing your shirt.

“I think we are good now. We both have seen more of each other,” You say a bit worried he may not find you attractive anymore.

He returns to touching your cheek and with the mouth covering no longer on him, he gives you a genuine smile that washes away your doubts. “Yes, we have. I can’t wait until you officially become my spouse.”

Bonus Headcanons:

His initial reaction is neutral

He does not exactly care until he has an emotional connection then he will wonder

I think Katakuri would love his significant other with or without scars- He would want to know the story behind them, but he won’t straight up ask either

He loves to trace them when he gets sleepy and it becomes one of his favorite things to do when it is just you two alone

He will only tell you once, but he also likes when you trace his facial scars or pepper his mouth with kisses

Since he is very serious (even more so) with family members and you become his spouse he will definitely be putting lotion on your scars- He believes in taking care of them since they tell a story about you

Trafalgar Law-

“Hey Cap, (Name) fell asleep on Bepo again,” Penguin states coming into Law’s office/infirmary.

Law stares and waits for more words because there is just no way his crew is bothering him over this. Sachi who peeks in continues thankfully. “And their shirt lifted up- I think you should come see this,” Shachi murmurs.

The serious nature of the two surprises Law and he almost thinks they are sick. He says nothing, as he gets up and wordlessly, follows them- Sleep very much wanting to cloud his mind after being up all night. They lead Law to Bepo who has not moved a muscle since you fell asleep on him. Nothing so far out of the normal until Law’s observant eyes look for the part of the shirt that is lifted up and indeed-

His eyes widen and he sighs.

“Let them sleep longer. Then send them to my room,” Law orders.

He is careful as he quickly fixes their shirt and leaves. His thoughts are immediate. Something bad happened to you in the past, that much is clear, and it honestly explains a lot. How you are so slow with opening up and he honestly can’t blame you. That is why he likes you and the little moments when you do open up to him.

They mean something to him and those scars on your back are from stories you are not ready to tell. He will tell you of this mishap, but he will not push you- He would not even dream of it because he cares about you so much it hurts. He knows what this feeling is, and he wants to chase it but you both are holding back with your pasts latching onto you. That is why he has not really said anything about his feelings despite him wanting to.

They are nothing like the ones on your face either. The ones are on your face are just two/three long scars across your face- Almost like an animal attack, the ones on your back must be from previous battles or something equally terrifying if they have you closed off.

With a sigh, Law goes to his room and waits until you are up.

When Law opens his eyes, he realizes that he has taken a brief nap but immediately sees you come in and close the door behind you. Your expression tells him that someone said something. He groans and quickly says something to reverse the damage.

“Penguin and Shachi saw them and told me. You do not need to explain yourself in any way. I am not surprised, to be frank, because you are incredibly strong and have proven to be a valuable asset to my crew,” He states.

He watches your expression for a moment until you turn around and without any hesitation pull off your shirt. Law is surprised and a bit guilty for feeling his heart flutter at the bold action. Quickly pulling his mind from the gutter he takes small steps to you.

“I do not want to explain yet, but you are the person I trust most Law. I want you to at least look at what I have been hiding since I know you are the least to pity me for them,” You state.

The air feels like it turns intimate the second Law puts a finger on your back, but it remains full of trust as he casually traces each large and long battle scar. When he finishes you put your shirt back on and turn to look at him.

“I will tell you everything soon. I- Thank you for being a trustworthy and… an attractive captain,” You say with a wink.

Ah, it appears it was not just law feeling the connection. His cheeks feel warm and he smirks. He is happy to know that the attraction is mutual.

Bonus headcanons:

Law’s initial reaction is concern- Only because you are a member of his crew, when feelings get involved his concern worsens but, of course, he will not voice it unless this doctor decides to play therapist too

He will not voice it until you two are actually dating and involved with each other

Then he will be happy to know everything about you and may hint towards it, but he would never push for it

If the face scars make you feel bad about yourself he will definitely be like “oh hell no you are perfect” and obliterate anyone who says otherwise

As for the back scars, if it is a lot and from battles, you do not wish to remember he will hint towards getting a tattoo

And let’s face it

Law would definitely have matching tattoos with his significant other

Much like Katakur- Law would love to trace your scars and does so when he is sleepy

He also melts when you trace his tattoos

[hello-imasalesman]

i find Bill as a character so…. I don’t know the right word for it. He was such a jackass in rdr1 (lmao weren’t him and Javier both) but even in the first you get this feeling this guy is cripplingly insecure about accurate character flaws. i wrote about that before, how bill knows he’s stupid and how fucked up he is. (And honestly he’s fucked up in one of those like. lmao kind of fun to write ways. R* is so good at writing classically fucked up middle aged men. they’ve got all of them, all the different types and varieties, not just your run of the mill ones)

while I would personally fuck bill williamson up given the chance, and have previously written him and arthur butting heads over Kieran, they generally get along semi-okay in canon, the way you do with a friend of a friend in a group setting where you’ve known them too long but don’t like them much anymore past familiarity. (And let’s be real, arthur both knows and mentions the gang isn’t real family, but also in actions holds them up to family levels of forgiveness and loyalty.) there are aspects of Williamson’s character and how he’s treated you’d feel bad about if he were a better person; but that’s kind of the crux of trauma, is it not? you can be hurt but to hurt, in turn, makes you also a monster. he doesn’t get any sort of redemption, fittingly, i suppose. i think irl its important almost everyone has chances of redemption, but narratively, this way works best. john marston runs him down in Mexico, after javier himself gives him up, after the colonel betrays him. I’m sure he was happy running his own gang, but john popping up like a ghost, i know his last few weeks were hell.

ive never been interested in bill/ kieran mostly because there’s nothing new or interesting there. to play it straight, it would be kind of a by the book abusive relationship where someone runs you down so bad and you fear for your safety so you just say yes because Stockholm is better than being dead. you could go the classique uguu tsundere route but that’s boring and I’ve been over that canon and character butchering dynamic since LJ was bought by the russians. and i think to give bill anything he truly wants (respect, love, a relationship with a man) would destroy him and the point of his character. i mean, could you? yeah, i think the most accurate way, bill could get what he wanted from kieran out of duress, or out of survival. you change kieran completely even entertaining he finds bill palatable. but he could have him out of duress, near the end, and i dont know if anyone would even notice the way they didn’t notice him slipping out of camp after jack’s party. but like i said, that’s not new or interesting. yeah, accurately kieran would shack up with bill for his own survival, but i think it’s a much more interesting thread to take the pieces of him speaking up, of being strong, than to explore the alternative.

that is, to say, I’m excited about chapter 5 because bill, in canon, he’s one of the only ones in the gang to really get choked up about kieran. what absolute madlads over at R*! to make the abuser weep over the death of his obsession, and you truly get the feeling that it isn’t fake, that he’s truly gutted about it! and not in that oh, i wish i killed him instead way, which always feels a bit over the top villainous, a caricature of what Bad People Feel, and i feel like you very rarely actually see that. Disney villains aren’t truly that scary. no, those aren’t crocodile tears. gives me chills. the vision of him, the kieran in bill’s mind, who is that man. It’s not kieran, obviously. But he was entirely real to Bill, and Bill is the only one remaining of the two, and that’s the horror of it.

[meowdymista]

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

[littlestarofthewest]

Hello! I've discovered your Tumblr and I'm in love with the content. <3 I've been wanting to see some HC about an Arthur x Fem!John. I would love to see your characterization of a female Marston in a relationship with a Arthur. Some fluff and smut maybe? Sorry to bother! Love all your work, I hope you're having a fantastic day! ❤️

Hey! Thank you so much for the lovely message! ❤ I'm glad you like my stuff 😄

I think genderbending/switching can be really interesting in fandom, so I was really intrigued by this prompt. I though about it for a while now, though, and I'm not sure I can do it.

The more I thought about it, the more I felt like I wouldn't be able to write anything different, even if it's fem!John. I guess it would be more like gn!John.

John would be smart, but act dumb. They probably wouldn't be too much into their looks and a little bit of a slob (and I don't mean that in a bad way). They'd be loyal, great to hang out with, funny, often in a very dark and sarcastic way. They'd mean well, but sometimes struggle to express it until hard pressed to do so.

I think they'd have a deep bond with Arthur. Mutual respect and love, but the two of them would also drive each other crazy. I think they'd both express their love physically and with actions rather than with words, except maybe writing to each other.

They'd have their own language that others don't quite get. They can insult each other affectionately.

They're both insecure at times, but they have unique ways to build each other up. They clash often and hard, in good and bad ways, but there are rare moments when they're fully at peace with each other. That's when they recharge and grow closer.

Once they fully commit, there's no way you could break them apart. Cheating on the other is out of the question, although they might tease each other with flirting with someone else.

Just as with mind and soul, they go from hard and rough to sweet and tender with sex, depending on the mood. They'd experiment a lot, but maybe find that they don't need much more than each other to be satisfied.

Imagine them growing old together, all grumpy but sweet, both stubborn. They'd have so many inside jokes and silent conversations and arguments just with looks. And once in a while, they'd wonder if the other one made the right choice being with them since they're both insecure idiots.

As you can see, all of this fits no matter the gender. I couldn't quite think of anything that would change for fem!John. Even clothes wouldn't be an issue as Sadie shows for example. That only leaves actual anatomy, but I didn't quite feel like going into smutty details right now. Sorry 😅 I hope it's still a little something to enjoy.

[redeadepression]

John Marston/F!Reader | Trying for Baby Headcanons | NSFT

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Ayeeee I love this idea. For funsies I’ve also posted a set of Headcanons about how John tells reader he’s clucky AF. Read it here!

I actually wrote this a few months ago (when I got this ask) and it’s been in my drafts ever since because I was worried Anon wouldn’t like the direction I took it. There was originally going to be a whole sex scene because I felt that was what the ask was truly about but I was struggling. I figured that was a good place to end it and I’m just going to post because it’s been months since I posted any writing. I hope you guys like it. Sorry if it’s not what you wanted Anon. :(

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John wasn’t really sure where you stood on the whole baby subject

He’d only brought it up once and you hadn’t mentioned it again after

He’d started to think you’d forgotten about it

It made him sad 

But he understood

Fatherin’ wasn’t nothing he knew about

You could probably find someone better to reproduce with

Someone that lives a better life

Is more stable

Physically, emotionally and financially

In fact the more he thought about it, the more he sided with you

Started to talk himself out of it

Although the clucky feeling never truly left him entirely

It did start to die down, thank Christ

It had been a couple of months now and although he yearned inwardly for another child he had begun to accept that might not be his path

Imagine his surprise when you leaned down right into his ear while he was buried deep inside you

Let loose a breathy moan and whispered

“Put a baby in me cowboy.”

He came instantly

Releasing himself deep inside you instead of on your stomach like usual

Something he was still relatively embarrassed about days later

You had chuckled at his enthusiasm 

Assuring him it was alright and you could go again after he had taken a moment to compose himself

He hadn’t asked that night if you were serious

But when he’d whispered he was close on your second go around and you had clenched your thighs around his ass to stop him from pulling out

He had, had to stop moving completely to stop himself from coming undone again

You hadn’t really talked about it since

You were surprised by his lack of drive in the coming days

You started to wonder if maybe he had realized he didn’t want this after-all

It had been about 3 days since he’d cum inside you

Since you’d officially ‘started trying’ and he hadn’t said a word

You pulled him aside when you couldn’t stand it anymore

Dragging him to the tent you now shared the second he returned from his job and asking him what was up

He was nervous and shifty

Your suspicions confirmed, you told him he was an idiot

Getting your hopes up like that and dashing them

You hoped you weren’t already pregnant

You would probably enlist Abigail’s help to castrate him if you were

John seemed confused by your statement

Had you changed your mind?

Had he misread the signals?

He gingerly admits he was excited

Asks why you changed your mind

You say only because he did first

You stare at one another for a while before John tells you he never changed his mind

Frustrated you ask why the hell he’s being so cagey then?

He goes quiet once more and you wonder if this goes deeper 

“I think I need a drink.” He mumbles

Searching through his pack and pulling out a bottle of whiskey

He takes a swig

Makes a face

But seems to relax all the same

You reach for the bottle

You could do with some alcohol to calm your nerves

John pulls it to his chest protectively and you call him a greedy bastard

He reminds you that you might be pregnant 

Staring at you with lusty eyes for a moment before he pounces

You don’t have much time to react

He’s kissing and licking a trail down your neck

His whiskey breath clouding around your ear as he comes back up and kisses along your cheek

His hands are in your hair

The bottle forgotten

He breathes heavily between kisses

Pulling you flush against him

You’re surprised to feel his length throbbing against your thigh

He’s so hard

“Jesus.” You breathe, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you at how turned on he is

John pulls away

Looking deeply into your eyes before averting them somewhat

Cheeks flushing

“I feel.... Weird.” He admitted

Still not looking at you

You pressed a hand against his cheek and forced him to meet your gaze

Questioning him without words

“When you asked me to put a baby in you.” He started

Shivering at the memory

“That was so fucking hot.” He mumbled

Kissing you hard to allow himself to break eye contact

“It shouldn’t be that hot.” He whispered as he broke the kiss

Pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes against your judgement

He opened them again when it didn’t come

Looking at your curiously as you smiled at his innocence

“I like it too.” you admitted after a while

His eyes widening

“Being able to fuck with abandon because the thought of being pregnant isn’t scary.”

John licked his lips as you spoke

Swallowing hard as you leaned towards him

“In fact I think.... It might be hard to keep myself quiet.” You teased

Pressing your body harder against his 

“But you always find it hard to be quiet, don’t you John?”

Hand sliding around the back of his neck and fisting in his hair

He gasped as you pulled it lightly

A breathy moan leaving him as you watched his eyes glaze over

Relief filling his chest as you eased his insecurities

“You have to be quiet though. We both do.” You said seductively

Yanking him towards you and crashing your lips against his

“Wouldn’t want the others to know we’re in here making a baby.” You murmured

Feeling his cock twitch against you

“Fuck.” he gasped

Large hands cupping your ass 

He lifted you with ease

Encouraging you to wrap your legs around him

You did as he wished

Letting him carry you the few steps to the cot and bracing to be thrown down on it

John placed you down gently

Pulling a surprised smile from your lips as he climbed on top of you

Careful not to put any weight on your stomach as he held himself above you

He kissed you softly

Tenderly

Before moving down your neck and chest

He unbuttoned your blouse

Kissing and nipping at each inch of skin as it was revealed to him

He stopped at your stomach

Placing his hands on it gently 

He rested them there for a second

Before leaning down and kissing it lightly

You smiled to yourself at his candor

He blushed furiously

The thought that you might already being carrying his child was exciting

But if he was being honest

He was looking forward to the fun you were going to have the next few months if you weren’t

[eveenstar]

Hiya! Could you write some John Marston headcanons with a short s/o? Maybe how he helps you in your day-to-day life... or cuddles if you want to write that. 😗

Hi!! Sure! Hope you like it!

John Marston

First of all, he's gonna tease you. At the beginning not so much, he's quite insecure, but after you two are in a relationship...Expect a lot of "You're too small to fight." and holding things too high for you to get 'em

If he finds you alone, John's gonna pick you up and take you someplace else, or sit you somewhere high! That means you're gonna have to ask him for help to get down :)

Marston will help you whenever you need with chored and all that tho. But please don't expect him to be serious about it, because he won't. He'll place his arm on top of your head or say "Darlin', you're too small, I can't hear ya"

"How's life down there?"

"Y'all seen (Y/N)? I can't find 'em."

Yes, John WILL say that even if you are standing next to him. Just so you can see how much of a bastard the man is.

Marston likes to sit you on his lap while hugging you, he prefers to do it more if there's nobody around. He doesn't want to hear the tease and jokes.

Sometimes John actually loses you in a crowd. He fears something happened to you every single time. turns out you were just a few feet away from him, the man is blind okay

If you go to missions with the boys, John thinks you can't handle it bc of you're size. But then again, Javier isn't that tall either so you'll probably be fine. He'll still protect you tho!