#morston-trash

[littlestarofthewest]

your mortson post was such a breath of fresh air. it's such a non-issue made an issue in the rdr fandom and i will always applaud level headed people defending peoples right to interpretation!! im an artist and i love morston but im deathly afraid to ever draw art for them bc time and time again i've seen people viciously attacked for drawing what could even hardly be interpreted as morston :') it seemed like it was an accepted ship at first until the chronically onlines deemed it problematic. maybe the tides will turn again and i can draw art for my favorite ship who knows........ anyways keep on being cool <3

hey there! sorry for answering this like 3 months later 😅 I'm just rarely here anymore.

If I may give you some advice as a fandom grandma, please, draw and post whatever your heart desires. If people give you shit for it, block them to hell. They do not deserve to influence what you do in any way.

Once I took out the trash, my dash became nice and quiet again, and while once in a while some lonely anti shows up to remind me that they have no other purpose in life than to harass people, I would always pick posting my stuff again and again. The joy it brings me and sometimes others is well worth it.

Don't hide who you are and what you like, and be proud of the things you create. 🧡

[morston-trash]

The Last Sunrise

I honestly can’t remember if I have ever posted this on here. This is the work that I am the proudest of. It also tore me apart to write it. 

Spoiler warning to anyone that hasn’t finished the game; it contains end of game spoilers. 

Proceed with caution. 

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The gunshots faded into the distance but didn't cease altogether. The hunt was still on, just for someone else that had decided to leave while they had the chance. Whether they would actually escape or not, that was another matter. The men that were in the, once glorious Van Der Linde gang, were very persistent. The remaining men were more than likely in pursuit on horseback.

John could almost hear the whoops and hollers of the men as he fled. His heart slammed against his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. All he could do was keep running, even though his legs threatened to give out. He finally collapsed, falling against a nearby tree. There he lay, working frantically to catch his breath.

"Go to your family," Arthur struggled before starting the climb upwards.

"Arthur!" John hissed.

"Go on, get out of here and be a god damn man," Arthur wheezed.

"Y-you're my brother..." John hesitated, reluctant to leave the man.

"I know..." the older man said before climbing up.

That interaction was burned into his skull, playing over and over again in his mind. He couldn't believe that he had left him. He hated himself more than he could ever express. Arthur had always been there for him. He had always been there to help him, to bail him out of the mess he always got himself into. He had just left him there to die. Hot tears threatened to fall, but he refused to let them fall.

"Be a god damned man..." John choked back sobs.

He stood, his legs threatening to give out once again. Without thinking, he ran back in the direction in which he had left his savior. He ran as hard as he could. Just hoping and praying, for the first time in his life, that he would make it there in time. He could barely breathe but he was willing to endure it. John was determined. He was going to get back to Arthur, one way or another.

The dark-haired man approached where he had left Arthur. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Arthur. Was he still alive? He climbed up the ledge, dread rising inside of him. He didn't know if he could do this. John pushed on, he was going to do this. His eyes scanned the area, searching for the man.

"A-Arthur?" He somehow managed to call out, sounding like a scared child.

He heard an angry groan in response, it had to be him. Only Arthur could make a simple sound seem so grouchy. He followed the noise to the source. The sight that greeted him shattered what was left of his stone heart. There sat Arthur leaning against the stone wall behind him, bloody and bruised from the fight that must have occurred after he left. The older man shot him a look of pure disbelief and annoyance.

"I... I told you to get out of here... Go to your family..." The dying man muttered, barely able to take a breath.

"I can't leave you, Arthur. You're my family too..." John cried, unable to keep the tears from falling.

"Y-you're... A mess... Marston," Arthur coughed.

"Don't I know it?" John laughed in an attempt to control his tears.

Arthur struggled to sit up just a little more. These were his last moments and the pair both knew it. John wished that he could stop time, that he could save his oldest friend. But he couldn't. Instead, he just sat there beside the other man, enjoying the silence. Before this moment, he had never understood what Arthur enjoyed about it so much, but now he completely understood. He understood everything now. It was as if the other man had opened himself up without saying a word. There they sat, Artur's final moments being spent in silence as they watched the sunrise together this one last time. John was painfully aware that he could no longer hear the struggling wheezes coming from Arthur trying to catch a breath. He had passed. John couldn't bring himself to look at the shell of one he had cared for so deeply. Instead, he sat there beside him. Watching the sun climb into the morning sky.

John thought of all the times they shared, just like how Arthur wanted to spend his last moments. It hurt like hell, but it brought the man some comfort. When Arthur saved him from the wolves, drinking around the campfire, all of the many times they had ridden together, their ride to get Jack back. That reminded him of something Arthur had once said.

"We can't change what's done, we can only move on," The now dead man's voice echoed in his ears as if he was talking.

He couldn't help but smile despite the tears that ran down his scarred face. That man had truly been the most selfless person he had ever known. Beyond that rough, sarcastic, intimidating exterior he was really just another hurt soul that loved helping people. Even if it took him until the end of his life to realize it. John forced himself to get up to face reality. Arthur was gone, all that left of him was his corpse and the memories that everyone had of him. His eyes dropped to the shell of the man, his chest feeling like a bear had torn into it. His dull eyes were still open, looking at the rising sun. He brought his hands to the face of his trusted friend, closing his eyes. John dropped to his knees, unable to hold up the facade of being strong. The tears flowed freely, unable to be contained or controlled any longer. His head dropped. He stayed there, unable to move. Without any prompting from him, a pained scream came forth from his throat. He didn't care if the gang heard him, if the Pinkertons heard him, he just didn't care in that moment. He couldn't bring himself to care.

The man heard the sound of pebbles being kicked behind him, someone was coming upon him. He stumbled into a standing position before drawing his gun and turning to face the source. His vision blurry, he could barely make out the image of Charles, the man Arthur trusted most out of the gang. That was still alive anyway. He sniffled and lowered his gun, trying to compose himself. It was fitting, he was feeling and acting just like the child he was when he met the man that now sat dead beside him. Both of the men nodded in agreement, no words needed to be exchanged. They already knew what needed to be done. Charles lifted the body of his trusted friend. John followed as the dark-skinned man carried him away from the place that he took his last breath. The pair walked in silence, both feeling more comfortable that way. They had never really talked much, the only things they had in common being small bits and pieces of the past few months and Arthur. They were both sad about the other man's death, but John was taking it the hardest of the two. Charles had a more private way of mourning, as well as a more considerate way of showing appreciation for the lives of those around him.

Charles led the way, placing Arthur on the back of Taima. He grabbed the reins and started to lead the horse. John followed, reluctant to stray away from the body. They walked away, the rays of the sun chasing away the cold of the hilly region. The walk was quiet, tranquil. This morning was the calm after the storm, and yet they couldn't wait for it to be over. They arrived a short distance from where the heroic man had spent his final moments. They were on a cliff, basking in the sunlight. It was a beautiful spot.

"This spot, it's beautiful..." John mumbled.

"Arthur would have wanted to be buried somewhere like this. Facing west. So that he could look at the sun and remember everything," Charles barely more than whispered.

The pale man had hardly heard the other, but he knew what had been sad. He was right, their fallen friend would have loved a spot like this. It was a beautiful spot, surrounded by a stunning view of the landscape. Had Arthur been alive, he likely would have been taking in the jaw-dropping sight with his journal in his hands. Tears threatened to fall, but he fought the now-familiar sensation. John didn't think that he could cry anymore but he didn't want to risk it. Charles pulled out his small, collapsable shovel from his saddlebag. The darker man removed his friend from the back of his horse before placing the body in the shade of a nearby tree. John couldn't help but watch, noticing the expression of pain that crossed his face. It was unusual, he had never seen him show this much emotion. Arthur had touched all of their hearts, he had saved them. There was no greater man, in their eyes anyway. He may have been a criminal, a murderer, a thief, but he had done it all to help the entire gang. But the bastards had turned on him, on all of those that saw how crazy Dutch really was.

"You should get out of here, get back to your family. I'll take care of him," the other man motioned to the body of their lost friend.

The grieving man could only nod numbly. He didn't want to leave, but Arthur trusted Charles in life and he was sure that this would have been what the man wanted. John turned away and began to walk away reluctantly. He walked back the way they had come, each step taking him a little further from the man who had saved his life countless times. The raven-haired man just wanted to throw himself on the ground, to scream out curse after curse, but it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring Arthur back. Instead, he kept forcing himself to take step after step. Towards where Sadie had taken his family to safety. Another person that Arthur had trusted a lot, despite her having only been with them for a few months. But Arthur's judgment was not misplaced. The two had been more alike than anyone other than themselves could notice. John could see that now. It's funny, you only really start to notice and pay attention to things when they are no longer there. John cracked a sad smile at the thought. He felt so stupid, but at the same time, he felt partly to blame for Arthur's death. If he hadn't left him, maybe he would have still been alive. He could have fought off the one that killed him. They could have gotten him out of there. They could have tried to help him get better. The invasive thoughts swirled through his mind like a tornado.

"We can't change what's done, we can only move on,"

The man looked around for the source of the voice. It was like a whisper in the wind. Even beyond the grave, the man was looking out for him. Those words brought some comfort to the man, but not enough to prevent even more tears from falling. He struggled to not fall down onto his knees.

"D-damn you, Morgan. You selfless bastard..." the man sniffled.

He moved onwards despite the pull he felt to return to the corpse of the man he called brother. Each step made it harder to fight the urge. The urge to be there with Arthur. The sound of voices brought him out of his thoughts.

"We can't leave yet! They are still coming!" a woman yelled shrilly.

"We don't know that, they might have caught them." another woman reasoned.

"Momma, where's papa?" A young child asked.

"He's coming sweetie, he'll be here," the first woman soothed.

John recognized those voices, they were the voices of his family and Ms. Sadie Adler. He followed the voices out of the bushes. Sadie had her gun drawn, pointing at John. Once she recognized him, she lowered her weapon. Abigail ran towards him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He hugged her back, realizing just how much he had missed her. Jack came running over and clung to him tightly.

"Papa! Papa!" the boy yelled joyously.

"I'm here, I'm here..." He reached a hand down to grasp the boy as well as his lover.

"Where's Arthur?" Sadie asked, knowing the answer but needing confirmation.

Arthur had told her about the tuberculosis. She knew that he was going to die. Seeing John walk over wearing his hat confirmed it. But she needed to hear it.

"He, uh... He didn't make it. Charles is burying him on a ridge not too far from where he..." John swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Sadie nodded, a dull pain searing through her interior. Arthur had been one of the best men she had ever met, seconded only by her late husband. She was going to miss him dearly. She turned her attention to the reunited family. She had fulfilled her promise to the man, she had helped them get out. They could go on living their life free from all of the madness that had just ensued. Sadie, on the other hand, didn't quite know what to do. She was more of a ghost than a person.

The Marston family loaded onto the wagon that was waiting for them, to take them to their new future. One hopefully free of bounties, robbing, murder, and Pinkertons. John was in the driver's seat with Jack between him and the woman. John turned to look at her as if asking if she was to be joining them. She just shook her head, waving them off. The man nodded, before signaling for the horses to start moving. There the family went, onwards towards their new life, their second chance. All thanks to a man named Arthur Morgan.

[aislinnsulien]

11 shots later...

A well-deserved piss-up after a successful gig.

(Except that now, inhibitions are decimated and cowboys get to fondle scarves and stick thumbs behind collars.)

((The blushing is due to alcohol. And said thumbs.))

(((Sequel to this is in the making because I have no life.)))

[trippin-over-my-fandoms]

Seeing as I saw it got shared again:

This is a PSA to antis who keep reblogging that post I made in favor of morston & vandermorgan bc though they are not ships of mine I do have dear friends who do ship them-

Don’t be shy and hide your thoughts in the tags :) if you wanna call the shippers trash on my post get the balls to do it in an actual reblog hun! I can see it anyways not like you’re hiding anything lmao. Also not everybody reads tags so it just looks like you “support incest freaks” :) don’t be shy put a full reblog in you’re giving me more notes on my post anyways

[kitsuonyo]

“OmG yOuRe So RaCisT, MoRsToN tRaSH.” lmfaooooooo you really have no better comeback 🙄 You are barely fucking legal, you haven’t even lived life yet 😂 and all of your friends have been hanging out with an underaged person talking about weird shit for a hot minute. Yikes.

I’m barely legal and haven’t lived life yet I have to deal with adults like you who act like children. I don’t think anyone in our server is underaged though, so it’s all good. Also, I’m not an adult who fucks around with slurs and ships incest so I’m feeling pretty great!

[arthurmorgansgoodgirl]

soft arthur x john headcanons and/or soft sadie x mary-beth headcanons

Went with soft arthur x john cause I am morston trash. These are all over the place so bear with me.

Touching. So much touching. These two touch starved idiots need it. Knees touching when they sit by the campfire; arms brushing against each other; quick hand squeezes; a hand on the back of the other’s waist

Arthur gives John his old clothes from time to time, not just because John may or may not need them, but because he likes seeing the younger man in his clothes.

John likes that they smell like Arthur and will wear them instead of clothes that he owns.

John used to have nightmares when he was younger, and so Arthur would let him bunker down in his own tent. It was the only way John would sleep.

He may have given him shit for it, but seeing John all bloody and beaten up in the snow, Arthur was terrified. A lot of his anger was born from worry.

It’s the same when Arthur comes back half-dead from the O’Driscolls. John’s terrified and doesn’t know how to express it other than snarky anger.

Sharing cigarettes even though they both have their own

When they’re on missions in the cold weather, they put their bedrolls next to each other. “To share warmth”. In the mornings they often wake up with an arm around each other.

Eventually this is something they do regardless of the weather

Comforting each other with gentle shoulder squeezes

Arthur always picking John as his right hand man for missions.

Arthur always making sure John eats

Gentle kisses. Soft neck kisses. Hand kisses. Shoulder kisses. Forehead kisses. ‘Thank god you're not dead’ kisses

Arthur not letting anyone in the camp talk shit about John

Arthur drawing John, especially when John doesn’t know. Drawing him chopping firewood, sleeping, smoking, sitting by the campfire.

John blushing when Arthur makes him laugh.

[hatefulvirago]

Someone w the url morston trash rbed my post so a reminder [taps bio] if you don’t actively condone incest I’m going to smash you with a rock

[danielvanderlinde]

Quarantine tag. Tagged by @tahitianmangoes Thanks! ❤

Are you staying home from work/school? Yep.

If you are staying home, who is with you? My pound puppy.

Are you a homebody? Not usually, but since this COVID-19 crap kicked off…yep. I almost feel uncomfortably anxious when I’m not working. Gotta always be doing something…or other.

An event you were looking forward to that got cancelled? Um, does work count? Work got canceled for me. I look forward to work.

What movies have you watched recently? Trespass, Moana, Lawless, Law Abiding Citizen, The Hateful Eight, The Hunt for Red October, Rango, etc.

What shows are you watching? Better Call Saul (highly recommend if you liked Breaking Bad), Tacoma FD, SEAL Team, Bull, The Walking Dead, etc.

What music are you listening to? Literally everything but Polka. Disturbed, Miley Cyrus, Blake Shelton, Post Malone, Billie Eillish, Little Big Town, Breaking Benjamin, Bullet For My Valentine, Green Day, Fallout Boy, Taylor Swift, Frank Sinatra, Willie Nelson, Lynryd Skynyrd, Alan Jackson, DJ Khalid, NeverShoutNever…I could literally go on for forever.

What are you reading? Besides thirsty RDR and Witcher fanfiction…just started reading Dracula.

What are you doing for self care? Playing Red Dead, writing, reading, long bathes/showers, naps…

I tag: @morston-trash @dutchalicious @dutch-dutch-vanderlinde @lukasvdm @slutfordutch @zemxem @ellieijuuin @iridescentmemoria @the-man-with-the-plan-der-linde

(Sorry if y'all were already tagged by someone else) 😁

[littlestarofthewest]

　🧸 – cute vibes　🌸 – soft vibes　🎨 – artist vibes 🌊 – chill vibes

Thank you! 😊💓

[byeimmoving]

Just I found out a morston shipper dutch stan has me blocked and. Let me say from the bottom of my heart. This is the best achievement possible on this hellsite. I am so proud of myself I'm gonna treat me to a cake. Finally the trash is distancing itself from me and I don't need to put any effort into it

[morston-trash]

Content

This is a Morston Fanfic that I wrote in between other works. It is trash but I am happy with it and felt like I needed to post it somewhere. 

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

No smut, the most that happens is making out. Alcohol consumption.

John looked around, making sure that no one was around to witness him. Even in his drunken state, he knew this was a bad idea. Arthur would probably punch him if he found him in his room. But he, Dutch, and Hosea had gone out on a scouting trip, making sure that no lawmen had followed them this far. It was just the four males, the four outlaws. It had been that way ever since John had joined the ragtag group when he was a boy. Now, he was a young man. A drunken fool of a man perhaps, but a young man nonetheless. There were three rooms in the cabin they were holed up in for the winter. The two older men thought it was too brutal of a winter to be moving around from place to place, living in their tents. John, being the youngest, was situated on the sorry excuse for a couch that was provided in their temporary home. Artur had offered to share a room with him, but his stubborn pride forced him to refuse the offer. That's what he was going to go with. Not the fact that he was hopelessly in love with the older man. No, that wasn't possible. Even if it was, the youngest man would never admit it to anyone but himself. It was clear, no one was around to catch him in Arthur's room. He entered the dark room. Almost immediately, the intoxicating smell of the older man overtook his senses. The entire room smelt of its inhabitant, Arthur Morgan. Cheap whiskey, cigarettes, gunpowder, sweat, and horses. All things that, when combined together, made up the smell of the blonde-headed brute. It brought warmth to the younger male's insides, one that he couldn't explain. 'It's just the whiskey,' he thought to himself. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but it only made him dizzy. The entire room was spinning. He stumbled over to Arthur's cot that was situated against the middle of the back wall. He practically fell onto the uncomfortable piece of furniture. He didn't even attempt to get up, he knew that he would just fall down again. Shit, he had never been this drunk before. He didn't even remember why he had decided to down the bottle of whiskey. Just for the hell of it? To drown his sorrows? To chase away the harsh cold? All of the thinking he was doing was hurting his head, not an uncommon occurrence for the raven-haired male. As gravity held him against the cot, he felt something underneath him. John shifted just enough that he could pull it out from underneath himself. His vision was blurred from the alcohol, but he managed to make it out. It was Arthur's light leather jacket that he wore when it wasn't quite cold enough for his large, fur-lined, denim duster. He pulled it up to his face, inhaling deeply. He took in every bit of Arthur's scent. In his current state, he decided that it would be a good idea to wear the jacket. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he put it on. It swallowed him. The owner was a broad, muscular, mature man while he was a thin, scrappy, young man. The drink had a hold on him, making his eyelids feel heavier than they ever had before. He fought to keep his eyes open. But the more he struggled to stay awake, the harder it became to keep conscious. Before he had even known it, he had passed out in Arthur's room, on his cot, wearing his jacket, and smelling of booze.

"Now remember, keep your heads down. We don't need to draw any unwanted attention. That means keeping an eye on John as well, Arthur," Dutch explained. "That's right, we don't need him getting into any trouble. Just long enough for us to wait out this bitterly cold winter," Hosea chimed in. "But why me? Y'all will need help, ya ain't exactly young no more," Arthur laughed to cover up his displeasure. Sure, he and the younger man got along well. But John was hotheaded, cocky, hard to control sometimes. He didn't much like the idea of being stuck with him for the next few months. "Because he looks up to you, he'll listen to you once you get through to him. We're not as old as you would like to imagine either," Dutch said, seemingly ending the discussion and leaving Arthur with his thoughts. Hosea looked back to him sympathetically, knowing just how hard this would be for Mogan. He may be a big brute who naturally took charge, but he absolutely hated babysitting. He always felt he could b doing things that were actually of use, helpful, getting things done was what he lived for. He liked to be of use. Babysitting the younger man wasn't exactly what he considered being useful, even if Dutch thought otherwise. His word was final, so it looked like he would be stuck with John attached to his hip at all times. The ride back to the cabin was mostly quiet, the occasional sound coming from the horses or a complaint about the cold being the only noise to be heard. The snow made the ride harder on the horses, so they hadn't strayed far from their temporary home. They didn't want to overwork or injure the animals. That would be just as bad as being without. As they came upon the homestead in which they were staying, the trio made their way to the barn opposite from the cabin. They dismounted before leading the horses into the wooden structure. Arthur leads his American Paint mare into her stall before removing her tack. Dutch led his Thoroughbred stallion into the stall across from Arthur's, following suite. Hosea put his Tenessee Walker mare into the stall beside Dutch, across from where John's Andalusian stallion was kept. Once all of the horses were tended to, free of tack, and settled in, the pair left the outbuilding and made their way to the house. Arthur made it inside first, noticing almost immediately the frigid air inside of the cabin. Turning his head towards the fireplace, he noticed that the fire had gone out. Marston had let the fire go out. He sighed before making his way over to salvage the dying embers. He would have to gripe at him later. It was too cold to be forgetting to tend the fire. As he got to the fireplace, his father figures ade their way inside as well. He saw that they knew what had happened, it shone in their eyes. They chose not to say anything. Once the dirty blonde headed man had saved them from freezing to death, he scanned the room for the younger man. He was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in the building as far as he could tell. Ah, shit, he would have to go looking for the boy. He was already proving to be an annoyance. "Dutch, Hosea! Have y'all seen John?" the man yelled to the pair of older men. "No," Dutch responded from his room. "I haven't, maybe he went outside!" Hosea called from the couch. Arthur shook his head. He didn't want to go back out there, he just got back. He decided to wait, just in case, he came back. He made his way to his room, it was the first door leading from the main room. The sight that greeted him brought a flood of feelings flying to his chest. There the boy was, passed out drunk on his cot and wearing his jacket. He was almost cute like this, peaceful and calm. But he was in his spot. He made his way over to the younger man. Pressing his boot against his back, he pushed him off of the cot. "H-hey..! What the hell... Morgan? What are you doing here?" the raven headed man asked, confused. "More like what are you doing here? And why are ya wearing my jacket, Marston?" Arthur teases. He didn't actually mind, he just wanted to mess with the boy. He watched the confusion pool inside of the younger man as he looked around. It took only moments for him to figure out where he was. He was in Arthur's room. Shit, just what had he done while he was in his drunken stupor? His head throbbed, trying to remember anything that would be helpful. He drew blanks, unable to think of a valid excuse. "Oh, um... I, uh... Um, I-I..." He stuttered before giving up. He was certain that Arthur already knew. It was obvious. He wasn't even going to try to make up an excuse. He just sat down on the wooden floor, looking down. Embarrassment ran hot through him, his face flushing. He didn't know quite what to do. He wasn't one to show emotion, but he couldn't hide the look of embarrassment and pain on his face. Hot tears threatened to pool into his eyes, but he pushed them away. He wouldn't give the asshole the satisfaction. Arthur almost felt bad, he could hear John sniffling. Of course, he knew exactly why John was in here. He could smell the whiskey radiating off of the younger man. He could hear him calling his name when he had a nightmare. The boy talked in his sleep. He was easy to read, too. He shook his head slightly, John was a god damned mess. However, he couldn't say that he disliked these qualities of his. He found them to be adorable, despite the rough demeanor of the younger man. As much as he wanted to pounce on the younger man, to kiss him and so much more, he held his ground and controlled himself. He refused to take advantage of him. He was drunk and obviously not in any state for rational thinking. He sighed, shaking his head once again. This was so much trouble already. "Let's get ya up and outta here," Arthur suggested calmly. "Yeah," John mumbled, barely audible. Arthur walked to the other side of the cot. Extending his hand towards the younger man, he reached for his hand. John grabbed it, using Arthur to pull himself up. Once standing, he attempted to stumble a few steps forward. However, he failed. He fell back down onto the cabin floor. He attempted to get up by himself, but the whiskey's grip had turned his legs to jelly. He was frustrated, why did things like this always happen to him. It was just like Arthur always said, he really is a mess. He couldn't help but take comfort in those words. The older man was always there for him, to pull him out of whatever trouble he managed to stir up. He was the only one that cared enough to. As much as his father figures loved him, they'd rather just run away, flee to the next town. If it wasn't for the dirty blonde, they would have been run out of every town they had ever visited. That was just one of the many reasons he loved the older male. Arthur stood there, pity in his eyes. He knew John was embarrassed about this whole situation. Helping him would only make it worse. The boy had the stubborn pride of an angry bull. He wasn't scared even in the slightest of the other male, but he didn't feel like making this more difficult than it had to be. There had to be a way to somehow fix this. Suddenly an idea formed in his brain. The sound of the other man's boots crossing the wooden floor brought him out of his self-pitying thoughts. John raised his head to look at Arthur. There was a twinkle of mischief in his gorgeous blue-green eyes. Just what was that man up to? He gave him a confused look, hoping to get an explanation. He was not granted that pleasure. The older man loved to tease, to confuse him. Without any sort of warning, Arthur grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close. John's heart beat furiously at the sudden closeness. The older man examined the younger, scanning his face for any sort of negative reaction. As expected: he found no objections. With that taken care of, he smashed his lips against the raven-haired man. John's eyes widened in surprise. The man he loved, Arthur Morgan, was kissing him. Without thinking, he kissed back. 'Good boy,' Arthur thought to himself. He would have said it out loud had his lips not been busy devouring the taste of John's. He quickly slid his arms under Marston, not giving him a chance to complain. Their lips didn't part, instead, the kiss deepened. Arthur ran his tongue across John's bottom lip, asking for permission. He obliged, eagerly parting his lips for his superior. This was wrong, taking advantage of the still tipsy man, but he wasn't going to do anything extreme. He would never allow himself to do that. He would keep himself reigned in, despite how badly he wanted the younger man. He carried the pair of them to his cot, sitting down before placing John down beside him. He broke the kiss, separating so that they could catch their breath. John was a blushing mess, a sight that Arthur quite enjoyed. He couldn't hide his smirk. He felt like a wolf preying on a lamb, not an incorrect comparison. He lay down before pulling John to his chest. The cot was just barely big enough for the pair. John's smaller body was pressed snuggly against Arthur's more muscular frame. "Sleep it off, ya drunken idiot," Arthur teased. "W-whatever, Morgan," John growled playfully. The younger male rested his head against his superior's shoulder. He was so comfortable, so content, so damn happy. Could it get any better? Probably not. He had been waiting for this for so long, and here it was. He was over the moon with excitement and joy. He couldn't sleep. He was in too good of a mood to rest. The kiss had chased away the remainder of his drunkenness. He wouldn't let Morgan know that of course. But he was content for once in his life and you could bet that he was going to enjoy this.

[morston-trash]

No one tagged me in this but I saw it and wanted to participate haha

Name: Cameron

Nickname: Cam

Star sign: Cancer

Gender: Agender

Height: 5′9″-ish

Sexual orientation: Androsexual

Favorite Color(s): Blue and purple

Time Right Now: 4:45 PM

Current location: Southern USA

Average hours of sleep: At a time; like 2 hours. Total; 7-9 hours

Lucky Number: 3

Last thing I googled: Google’s calculator 

Number of blankets I sleep with: 1 blanket usually but if it’s gonna be cold I’ll put one underneath so I don’t freeze to death

Favorite fictional Characters: RDR2/Story Mode wise it’s Arthur, John, Jack, Sean, and Hosea. RDR Online wise it’s my boy Mr. Cameron B. Blair and Mr. Cripps. 

Favorite bands/artists: Skillet, Blood on the Dance Floor, Andy Black, Three Days Grace, Carrie Underwood, Luke Combs, Lady Antebellum, etc. 

Dream Job: A farmer, no doubt.

Random Fact: I have a cat named Mouse and a goat named Donkey.

Do you have any other blogs?: Nope. 

When did your blog reach its peak?: My blog’s never been really active so I don’t think there was a peak in activity in any point. I consider it’s peak when 2 bigger blogs sent me a chainmail ask thing. I still have them in my inbox because it was a big moment for me tbh.

What made you decide to get Tumblr?: I’d been on and off for years because of running into some really rude and nasty people. I’d just made yet another account and decided to see if Tumblr had a RDR community because I’d just started the game. Spoiler alert; it did and I’ve been here ever since <3

Do you get asks on a daily basis?: No, I pretty much never get any asks. 

Why did you choose your url?: When I joined, I was REALLY into morston. Like obsessed with it. Then for the second half, I’m just trash in general so I thought it fit.