johnmarstonskittenwiggle

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Red Dead be like:

“How will they know that they’re a big bad gunslinger in a gang?”

“Meh… slap a scar somewhere visible… there. Job’s done”

[johnmarstonskittenwiggle]

I want to write another one because I want to get back into writing. Plus, I love writing young Arthur and John stories 🥺

Potata Soup (An RDR short story)

Arthur Morgan sighed as he looked at the young boy, cold, probably afraid and confused as he sat, curled up, in the tent at the camp. “Goddamit,” the young man muttered as he stood up and grabbed a bowl off the makeshift table outside his own tent and walked to the small, ragged tent located in the corner of the camp.

“Hey, there, kid.” Arthur knelt down at the opening.

“Leave me alone,” the boy muttered meekly, his knees tucked up to his chest as he hugged them tightly. He looked small, skinny— too skinny, to be frank.

“Thought you might be hungry. Brought ya some potata soup.” He held the bowl in his hand, extending it toward him. “Ain’t nothin’ special but it’ll fill your belly.”

“I ain’t hungry. You best go on and git or you’ll be real sorry, mister,” the boy uttered with a slight tremble to his tone.

Arthur let out a huff and sat with his legs crossed at the tent’s opening and set the bowl down in front of him, nudging it toward the child.

“I said I ain’t hungry.” The child looked back at him.

“Alright. I get it, you wanna be stubborn. That’s fine but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit here and watch you starve, boy.” With that, Arthur stood up and walked back toward his own tent, glancing back to see a pair of hands reach out and grab the bowl, pulling it toward him.

He smiled softly as the boy picked up the small wooden spoon and slowly lifted it to his chapped lips, taking a small taste of the broth before slurping down a few bites. “Woah, slow down there, kid. You’ll get a stomachache,” Arthur blurted out uncontrollably as he walked back toward the tent the boy was in. “Hardy eatin’ for a lad that ain’t hungry.” He chuckled as the child wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt while Arthur once again knelt down.

“Shut up, will ya?” The kid muttered as he finished the soup, slurping the remains from the bowl.

“Feisty one,” Arthur muttered. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“J- John,” the boy looked at him. “John Marston.”

“Nice to meet you, John.” Arthur smiled in satisfaction, extending a hand out. “Name’s Arthur Morgan.”

“This don’t mean nothin’, Mister Morgan. I’ll be gone come mornin’.” John laid the bowl off to his side.

“Hate to hear that, son. Tough kid like you will do just fine surviving these harsh lands.” Arthur looked at him sincerely.

“I’ll be jus’ fine.” John looked at the ground and then at his hands, which laid lazily in his lap as Arthur stood back up to retire back to his tent. “Hey, Arthur?” John quipped out.

“Yeah, John?” Arthur looked down at him as John stood up.

“Before you turn in for the night, mind gettin’ me some more of that soup? I’m famished.” John looked up at him with an innocent gaze.

“Sure thing, kid.” Arthur smiled warmly and walked to the caldron which held the potato soup.

(Disclaimer: Obviously none of this is canon. Just a cute little image I had of how Arthur welcomes John to camp/the gang.)

[johnmarstonskittenwiggle]

Arthur: *coughs horrendously, like hacking up a fucking lung*

John: Damn, Arthur, you got TB or something?

Arthur: TB? *holds up hand* It’s pronounced THC

(I was inspired by a convo between my boss— who sounds like Arthur— and my supervisor— who sounds like John. I’M NOT EVEN JOKING)

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Arthur: *losing argument with John* Well… uhhhhhh… you can’t swim. So… HA!

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How I imagine John and Abigail meeting:

Abigail *eying Arthur across camp*

Arthur *smiles at her*

John *says something quietly to Arthur*

Arthur *smirks and nods while looking at Abigail*

Abigail *blushes*

Arthur *across camp*: MY BROTHER THINKS YOU’RE PRETTY!

[johnmarstonskittenwiggle]

I don’t know how to explain this but Micah Bell looks like if the worst texture known to existence was a person

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i love how every red dead fan mutually agrees that john was rabid as a child, we didn’t even need to talk to each other, the greasy hair and loser personality told us everything we needed to know

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Arthur: So help me God, we will tear apart anyone that messes with us

The gang: YEAH!

Sean: Yeah! Come Helen Highwater, whoever the lass is!

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Arthur: We’re outlaws, of course we ain’t bothered when you say the phrase “save a horse ride a cowboy”

John: I’m an outlaw, of course I’m going to choke you out if spit on my boots

Arthur: Goddammit, John! Why do you have to result to violence?

Javier: Did you not threaten to break his arm if he touched your journal, amigo?

Arthur: …That ain’t how this works

[johnmarstonskittenwiggle]

Mr. Arthur Morgan would definitely be the type of older brother to tell John that he was found in a dumpster

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Abigail: Ready for your haircut?

John: Who gets a haircut at a saloon? Silly girl.

Abigail: John… I said salon.

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The moles…

On their cheeks…

The moles!

On their cheeks!

Hold on…

:)

[johnmarstonskittenwiggle]

Potata Soup (An RDR short story)

Arthur Morgan sighed as he looked at the young boy, cold, probably afraid and confused as he sat, curled up, in the tent at the camp. “Goddamit,” the young man muttered as he stood up and grabbed a bowl off the makeshift table outside his own tent and walked to the small, ragged tent located in the corner of the camp.

“Hey, there, kid.” Arthur knelt down at the opening.

“Leave me alone,” the boy muttered meekly, his knees tucked up to his chest as he hugged them tightly. He looked small, skinny— too skinny, to be frank.

“Thought you might be hungry. Brought ya some potata soup.” He held the bowl in his hand, extending it toward him. “Ain’t nothin’ special but it’ll fill your belly.”

“I ain’t hungry. You best go on and git or you’ll be real sorry, mister,” the boy uttered with a slight tremble to his tone.

Arthur let out a huff and sat with his legs crossed at the tent’s opening and set the bowl down in front of him, nudging it toward the child.

“I said I ain’t hungry.” The child looked back at him.

“Alright. I get it, you wanna be stubborn. That’s fine but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit here and watch you starve, boy.” With that, Arthur stood up and walked back toward his own tent, glancing back to see a pair of hands reach out and grab the bowl, pulling it toward him.

He smiled softly as the boy picked up the small wooden spoon and slowly lifted it to his chapped lips, taking a small taste of the broth before slurping down a few bites. “Woah, slow down there, kid. You’ll get a stomachache,” Arthur blurted out uncontrollably as he walked back toward the tent the boy was in. “Hardy eatin’ for a lad that ain’t hungry.” He chuckled as the child wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt while Arthur once again knelt down.

“Shut up, will ya?” The kid muttered as he finished the soup, slurping the remains from the bowl.

“Feisty one,” Arthur muttered. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“J- John,” the boy looked at him. “John Marston.”

“Nice to meet you, John.” Arthur smiled in satisfaction, extending a hand out. “Name’s Arthur Morgan.”

“This don’t mean nothin’, Mister Morgan. I’ll be gone come mornin’.” John laid the bowl off to his side.

“Hate to hear that, son. Tough kid like you will do just fine surviving these harsh lands.” Arthur looked at him sincerely.

“I’ll be jus’ fine.” John looked at the ground and then at his hands, which laid lazily in his lap as Arthur stood back up to retire back to his tent. “Hey, Arthur?” John quipped out.

“Yeah, John?” Arthur looked down at him as John stood up.

“Before you turn in for the night, mind gettin’ me some more of that soup? I’m famished.” John looked up at him with an innocent gaze.

“Sure thing, kid.” Arthur smiled warmly and walked to the caldron which held the potato soup.

(Disclaimer: Obviously none of this is canon. Just a cute little image I had of how Arthur welcomes John to camp/the gang.)

[johnmarstonskittenwiggle]

I love hyper-fixating on a comforting movie/tv show/game and then turning it off one night to go to bed and forgetting to turn it back on, like, ever again

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I can’t stop imagining about how 12 year oldJohn would’ve been introduced to the gang… like,

Dutch: Hey, kids, come here! I got you a present!

Arthur: Dutch… that’s a child

Dutch: He’s your brother! :)

Arthur: YOU STOLE A CHILD

Meanwhile, John is like one of those nervous chihuahuas that just stand there and shake

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John: I’m not sure if I want to ride to Armadillo, Saint-Denis, full speed off a cliff, or Blackwater.

Arthur: John, no

John: Saint-Denis is nice around this time of year

[johnmarstonskittenwiggle]

I remember being like 8 and hating when my cousin would play RDR Undead Nightmare because “The main character had scary eyebrows”

ZOMBIES WERE EATING PEOPLE AND I WAS AFRAID OF JOHN MARSTON’S EYEBROWS