#John marston oneshot

[blackenedsnow]

The saddlebag prompt is so silly! I love it! I have a fluffy child reader idea too!

The child convinces Arthur, John, and some of the others to play pretend a passenger train robbery. While they play, John surprises the child by picking them up and taking them over to the "loot bag" Arthur is holding for the game.

The child is all giggly when John puts them in it, and Arthur hops on his horse to escape with the "loot".

the loot's alive

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader, Sean MacGuire & Child! Reader, Javier Escuella & Child! Reader, Hosea Matthews & Child! Reader, Charles Smith & Child! Reader

NOTE: I'm so glad you liked the saddlebag idea! Thanks for requesting this fluffy, fun story. I hope this one brought a smile to your face!

SUMMARY: The camp is quiet until you convince Arthur and John to play a pretend train robbery.

It was a lazy afternoon at camp, the kind where even the wind seemed to have decided to take a break. You, however, had far too much energy to sit still. After spending half the morning running around, you had an idea that just couldn’t wait. You found Arthur sitting by the campfire, sharpening his knife while John cleaned his guns nearby.

“Uncle Arthur! John!” you called, running up with wide eyes and a mischievous grin.

Arthur raised his head, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “What’s goin’ on, kid?” he asked, putting the knife down.

“I wanna play! Let’s rob a train!” you announced with dramatic flair, throwing your arms up.

John grinned and glanced over at Arthur. “Well, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a criminal mastermind.”

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “A train robbery, huh? Alright, kid. Guess we’ll need a loot bag then.” He got up, grabbing an old saddlebag from his horse. “What’s the plan?”

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. “We stop the train and take all the treasure! You, Uncle Arthur, carry the loot bag, and John, you handle the passengers!”

John played along, giving a mock serious nod. “Passengers, huh? Alright, kid, you’re the boss.”

As the two of them got into position, you ran around as the "passengers," pretending to be someone very rich. “Please, sir! Don’t take my treasure!” you cried, clutching an invisible pile of jewels.

John crept toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid we gotta take everything you got.”

Just as you were about to run, John grabbed you gently, scooping you up into the air. “Look what we’ve got here! The real prize!”

You squealed with laughter as John swung you around, making you feel like you were flying. He carried you over to Arthur, who stood there holding the loot bag.

Arthur looked down at you with a smirk. “Well, well. Looks like we found ourselves some valuable loot.” He held the bag open, and John carefully placed you inside, your giggles echoing as your legs dangled out of the bag.

Arthur grinned, lifting the bag with you still inside. “Better hold on tight. I’m takin’ off with the goods.”

Before he could start his "getaway," though, Sean came strutting into camp, his wild red hair bouncing as he caught sight of the scene. “Now what in the name of all things holy is goin' on here?”

You peeked out of the bag, giggling uncontrollably. “We’re playing train robbery!”

Sean’s face split into a wide grin. “Aw, shite! I love me a good robbery! Count me in!” He ran up beside John, rubbing his hands together. “So, who’s the unlucky bastard we’re robbin’?”

John shook his head, still smiling. “Already got the best loot right here.” He pointed at you, still giggling in Arthur’s loot bag.

Sean threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, but ya gotta watch out for them sneaky lawmen, Arthur!” He made finger guns and started shooting at imaginary enemies. “Bang! Bang! The law’s comin’ for ya!”

Arthur played along, hopping onto his horse. “Better outrun ‘em then!” He spurred his horse into a slow trot around the camp, with you laughing from inside the saddlebag.

By now, Javier had wandered over, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “What’s all the noise about?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he watched the scene unfold.

“Train robbery!” you yelled from the bag, waving your arms.

Javier chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, so that’s what I’m missing.” He strummed a few chords on his guitar, playing a lively tune. “Well, no robbery’s complete without a good getaway song, right?”

As Javier’s playful melody filled the air, Charles, who had been quietly sharpening his tomahawk nearby, couldn’t help but join in on the fun. He walked over, arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You need any help making your escape, Arthur?”

Arthur snorted. “Could use some muscle to back me up.”

Charles nodded and jogged beside Arthur’s horse as he continued his slow “escape” around camp, giving you a reassuring grin as you peeked out of the bag.

But then came Hosea, who had been watching from the sidelines with a bemused expression. He sauntered over, shaking his head. “I see you’ve all lost your minds.”

John grinned. “Come on, Hosea. You know you want in.”

Hosea chuckled softly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose someone has to play the lawman. You folks are in big trouble now,” he said, raising his hands like he was ready to arrest you all.

Everyone burst out laughing, even Arthur cracking a grin as he slowed his horse and “surrendered” the loot bag. “Alright, Hosea, you caught me,” he said, carefully lifting you out of the saddlebag and setting you back on the ground.

You wobbled slightly, still giggling as you dusted yourself off. “You got us all, Hosea!”

Hosea winked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today.”

Sean came over, lifting you onto his shoulders with a playful grin. “Well, we may have lost the loot, but that was one hell of a robbery!”

They all laughed, Javier strumming his guitar as Charles, John, and Arthur looked on with soft smiles. Even Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.

“All thanks to our little mastermind,” Arthur added, tipping his hat toward you.

You grinned from your perch on Sean’s shoulders, beaming at all of them. “We should rob another train tomorrow!”

[follineo]

New year new photo with my papercraft collection!!!

There aren't many because I'm very slow in gluing, I just finished Apple Lisa 1 just before the new year (I did it half an hour before midnight maybe) and she just became the tenth one in the collection, but I'm still happy with this!

I will have to remove everything else from the top shelf of the table for the next figure, but I can't get my hands on it, but I will do it and it will be completely for my figures!!!... Well, for small figures, I plan to glue bigger ones in the future, but with my speed it won't be soon eheh

At some point I switched from ordinary paper to thicker paper, because of which you can see the white middle of the paper on some figures on the fold lines, and then I realised how I can cut the figures from the INNER side, I only realised this on the fourth figure when I was gluing Javier hehehe oops

Here we have:

Yes man, Po3, Edgar x2, AM, Hal9000 and Hal9000 on the wall by @holymaccaronii

Artur Morgan, Javier Escuella and John Marston by @snuize

Niko by @kedama-craft (I make them bc my friend played OneShot and I remembered about him everytime when I see this figure. It is weird? Yes I know but I don't care)

Apple Lisa 1 by Rocky Bergen (planning make every papercrafts from here!)

Thanks for attention! And sorry for pings creators... You have very cool papercrafts!

[synthsays]

Oh my GOSH this took forever. It is 1 in the morning T_T

The oil painting is Love's Shadow by Fredrick Sandys

I redrew it as Mary Beth (epilouge age) biting forget-me-nots (representing Kieran)

[2demondogs]

I Was Just A Girl, Then | Arthur & John

Tags: John/Abigail, past Eliza/Arthur, and referenced VanDerMatthews; (CW) teen pregnancy (Abigail), canon character death, whole lotta brotherly angst, does it count as comfort if it doesn't work?, vignettes Words: 1.5k A/N: I think a lot about the fact she was only around 18 when she gave birth to Jack. Good grief.

Abigail is too young to look at Arthur with this much— pain. Pain is what it is, and he'd like to think his hesitancy to call it that is entirely because John is his brother, and men should always think their family is innocent.

Her hair is dark and long; her face is round and soft. In the light of the campfire, she looks like a woman he once knew. Shadows cradle her, fall harsh on the side of her belly that's facing the night. Grimshaw will need to alter her dresses a second time, and soon.

"He's your brother," Abigail is saying, throat thick with emotion, and he feels so very uncomfortable. He knows he is. He holds her hands, anyways, the knuckles rosy and chapped with the chill coming over the air in the last month, rough against his palms. She's never had soft hands, none of them have.

The seasons are changing, and so did John. He's been gone for six months.

"You know him. You know the way he thinks, don't you?" She's moved on from hoping, because he's not answered any of her letters. Now, Abigail is grieving. She doesn't know what she's asking, but Arthur does. "Why did he—?" A choke cuts her off before he can.

His face feels tight, almost as tight as his chest. "I used to know him," he says.

This grief is worse than when Abigail began to show, because now it is shared.

He thinks of Eliza, and if some other man held her hands, entirely enclosed in his, while she cried because she was unwanted, because her life had been decided for her by a wanderer who hadn't had to hold up the same burdens. Condemned to what so many girls dream of playing house, but— girls should never be with child. He looks down at Abigail's hands instead of at her face, how the fire catches the tears welling up in her eyes.

She's a strong girl. She wouldn't have survived as long as she has if she weren't, and he knows she will go on for much longer, too. It feels wrong to see her cry, and to feel the shards of heart pulsing through the veins along the backs of her hands whenever he gains the consciousness to stroke a thumb over one.

He's not used to comforting people. Not women, especially, who expect so much more than a clap on the back and a companion to sit out the silence with,the way Hosea taught him was proper for a man to offer, lest he be misunderstood. Never stopped him from treating Dutch how he treats Abigail, now. It seems so much kinder than silence.

Arthur is walking over those shards, and whatever he says could crack them into more. Abigail squeezes at his fingers and he lets her.

"It ain't you, Abigail," he says.

It's John.

She misconstrues what he means, and lets out a small sob of: "I know, Arthur."

Yesterday, Arthur wished they would've hanged him with his father before he had a chance to grow up mean. Today, he told John they should've hanged him when he was still sprouting.

After giving him that nasty, black ring around his eye, of course. He supposes it'd only be fair to give him one in return, brothers in bruises. Hosea seems more sad than anything and Dutch, more or less disappointed. Arthur thinks both are unwarranted, even if they are — as far as he knows — less severe than the anger he deserves for acting out as their son. Lyle would've given him a fresh scar along his face. His chin stings at the thought.

His son is dead.

Eliza, too, but not even grief can lie to him enough to think that they would ever spend a life together. He has little to mourn besides a woman that he wronged and his own pathetic attempts to redeem himself in her eyes, which he knew wasn't possible.

She cried when she saw him at the saloon, wandering through, all those months ago. When he had recognized her and taken her into his arms, she slapped him harder than he thought a woman their age could ever hit. They had dinner. She said he ruined her life and that pregnancy was her worst fear as if it were the weather, all over weeks-old bread that he thought tasted just fine as fresh before she spoke, and started to cry again. Then, it all seemed stale.

Issac's absence hurts differently.

Only men are supposed to die. Not boys, lest they open their mouth the way John has. Mocking him. Can't even shoot a gun let alone— and he's mocking him for trying to be a man.

It hurt because Arthur told himself the same things. He had a handle on things until he didn't, and now the reins have slipped from his fists again.

Issac's fists. They were so small, even though he was growing like a weed. Another month, he would've needed new clothes that Arthur could have stolen the fabric for. He wonders, now and then, how tall Issac would have gotten.

Much worse is another voice telling him that Eliza wouldn't have missed him had he died, because John had spoken it into reality. He had drawn it from the pit of his thoughts the way he always does — how Hosea and Dutch are able to, too, because apparently sleeping in the same camp makes your dreams intertwine and writhe around one another just enough — and he had given it life.

It's the first cigarette they've shared since John returned.

Arthur said they should've hanged him, and then said it twice more in the same week. Old habits die hard. John hadn't found it quite as funny as Dutch had, and neither had Hosea.

Dutch doesn't often realize when Arthur is capable of fratricide.

He's older now, but he isn't. John's nose still has that mean crack to it, scraggly old beard at his jaw, and he looks as much like a kicked dog as ever. Always has looked defensive, and sad. Arthur doesn't like to consider that he's picked it up from him, and that he picked it up from Hosea. The chains that bind suffocate the most when he yanks at them.

John's an ugly sight against the setting sun. He misses when he could tell him as much and John would laugh instead of saying it wasn't very fair. Fair, fair, fair— that's all men care about: fairness. Life isn't fair, so maybe John really is all grown up, because he expects some kind of civility out of a world where people like them die in the streets everyday.

He dreams despite it all. Arthur does not, and that is why they aren't the same.

Surely, they cannot be the same. Eliza cried at the sight of his face, and Abigail fell to her knees. Arthur is nothing like his brother.

He misses John terribly. He misses when he could tell him he was ugly, and when he could push him into the water and feel good about calming the panic in his eyes.

Isn't that what brothers do? Torment and save, over and over? This only feels like one or the other, day after day.

John asked to bum a goddamn cigarette when he proposed a smoke, though he must have his own pack. Arthur was handing it over filter-out before he even opened his mouth. The instruments are out of sync, but the music still plays.

He misses adding onto one another's insults of Dutch's operas, when he first began listening to them. That was only two years ago, but the memory tells him they were both boys yet.

It seems warmer than this summer evening. John's hair is shifty and blue-black where once it looked like it could've been brown when he was born, merely darkened with age. The sun used to show some part of the man that the night couldn't. Anymore he's all midnight, all of the time. And when he looks at Arthur, his eyes are full of shame that he knows intimately and yet not at all.

"She's jus' happy you're home," Arthur says, before he can speak.

John grimaces. "I know."

Arthur likes to think he is not all nighttime himself. Every loathing thought dissipates when he must confront the issue of John Marston, and he finds himself a better man in every way. Beneath the jealousy, he knows he's better in no way at all.

The creek is still from where they sit. Arthur feels the anger build up, and he can hardly swallow it down enough to even his voice.

"I held her hand while she gave birth," he says. Turns to John, and lets the hatred seep into his eyes. "It should'a been you, Marston."

John looks away, and grimaces. "I know."

He could say that she screamed unlike anything he'd ever heard before; that he found very little beauty in the newborn, like Susan had, that he thought maybe he should visit his mother's grave, if he could find it, he hadn't thought of her in over ten years; that he had seen the look on Hosea's face while he wiped the cool cloth over her forehead: disappointment, and not in Abigail.

None of it would change anything.

[vanderlesbian]

daughter of a cop

arthur morgan x fem reader

now playing: daughter of a cop - tv girl

— a short fic inspired by the tv girl song! this is my first actual piece of writing on this blog so i hope you guys enjoy it <3 i think i have a ghost fic planned that ill start working on soon :) (it may or may not be based off a mitski song)

warnings: slight suggestive content/references

masterlist

saint denis was the epitomy of growing industrialization. factories, tight neighborhoods, trolleys that didn't seem to care if someone was crossing the pavement, and most importantly; police. it wasn't a place for a man like arthur morgan to be lingering around, and he knew it. he didn't enjoy the city, anyways. it was congested, and there were far too many rules for an outlaw like him to follow. the constant glares from men in blue uniforms and silly hats irritated him—this was nothing like the west he was used to.

however, within saint denis, there was a spot where the police didn't go. a small saloon hidden within a maze of an alley way, disguised by the neighborhood homes that surrounded it, making it appear as just another residence. it was a place that arthur frequented, but not for any reasons that his fellow outlaws would think. he didn't go to gather intel, nor did he go to have chats with dutch. no, he went because of one thing. or, perhaps one person.

he went because of a woman.

he would never admit it to the others, for several reasons. one, he was simply just embarrassed over it all, but two, she was a woman of higher class. a young woman who wore a new dress each time he saw her, with her manners being rather formal compared to the sloppy outlaw, yet she never found his habits strange or uncivilized.

that woman was you, and you were nothing other than the daughter of a cop.

it was obvious that you liked arthur. from the way you let your hand linger on his bicep each time he made a silly remark, to always hushing him when he began to talk bad of himself, telling him that he was handsome and kind. though, arthur refused to believe that was the case. he tried not to show his own affection and often wrote notes to himself in his journal that he would never meet up with you again, but time and time again he made his way into that saloon, eyes searching for you in the crowd of other outlaws. he would curse himself for coming again, but all of his anxieties were eased the moment he saw you push through the saloon doors.

you stuck out like a sore thumb—or, to put in nicer words as arthur thought he should, perhaps a daisy in a field of clovers? the moon on a clear night? arthur crossed out several made up metaphors in his journal. whatever the metaphor was, you were different from the outlaw men that frequented the hidden saloon. you were full of life, clean, unscathed, and rather innocent. arthur noted the way your eyes widened each time he told you a story about his many days of being what he called "a bad man", and how you would bring a hand to your mouth as it fell into an 'o' shape from pure shock and surprise.

though, you were never scared of him, and that's something that arthur also took note of. you held some level of empathy for outlaws, for ones that come from challenging backgrounds. you had met arthur because he had saved you from a couple of strange men, and immediately you knew that he was a kind man. there was something about him that intrigued you, aside from the fact that you found him to be attractive, and you had made it your goal to get to know him.

"i know a place where the cops don't go." you had told him. before he could say anything, you grabbed his wrist and led him through that maze of alleys, leading him to the saloon that became your special spot.

"how do you know this place?" he had asked you the day you first took him. you simply shrugged and held a hushing finger to your lips. he chuckled, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

eventually you had told him that you were the daughter of a police man. you expected him to get upset at that fact—and he did, but it wasn't anything serious. he furrowed his brows and questioned in a low voice if you were in on some kind of ploy to catch him, to which you sincerely told him that it was nothing of that sort. your father wasn't even aware of the fact that you were seeing this man with a five thousand dollar bounty hanging above his head. arthur didn't grow as upset as you expected him to because deep within himself, he had already trusted you. it was more of a natural instinct to grow suspicious of you, but immediately felt eased the moment you placed your hand on his knee and told him that you weren't working for your father.

so, arthur continued to visit you. he waited for your letters at his camp, and he also kept each one. the other members of the gang would raise eyebrows at the mysterious parcels, to which arthur would always bashfully shrug off with a "it ain't none of your business" before riding his horse into saint denis. what was originally one visit maybe every three weeks became one visit every week, then two, then the both of you simply began to walk into the saloon any time you felt like it in hopes of seeing the other already there.

both of you knew it was risky, yet neither of you cared. your father began to question where you were going, to which you always had an elaborate excuse. dutch would question why arthur was in saint denis so often, and he would reply with some half thought out lie that made dutch raise an eyebrow in return, but ultimately shrugged off. the two of you had even began spending time outside of the saloon, out in the open streets of saint denis. arthur was rather hesitant about it all, not wanting you to be seen with a man like himself, yet you insisted.

you took arthur to your favorite spots around saint denis; gardens and parks where you sat along the edge of a pond, and to theatres where you would watch whatever event was on that evening. accidental faint brushes of finger tips had become full blown hand holding, and each time before you would hop on the trolley to depart, you would place a kiss on the stubble growing on his cheek. it was this strange stage between the both of you, one where neither of you had admitted your feelings simply because both of you were afraid of the differences in your life, yet the feeling of his lips against yours was no longer a foreign feeling, and it simply kept growing.

perhaps it was just the both of you being eager and needy, but there were several instances where you had found yourself pressed against the wall of an alley way with arthur's large, calloused hands snaking up the skirt of your dress and running along the bare skin of your thighs. privacy hardly existed within the city which cornered you into sometimes uncomfortable spots, yet you couldn't ride out on the back of arthur's horse, especially with the increased questioning from your father. the blindness of the love you were experiencing with this outlaw had completely shrouded you from the fact that your father had begun investigating your whereabouts—not until the police had barged into that saloon that had stayed hidden for so long.

you saw your father among the uniformed men, making eye contact with his furious gaze. you were the one who had grabbed arthur and ran with him out the back door of the saloon, starting a chase that was probably much bigger than it should've been. arthur had called you insane as the two of you snuck through nooks and crannies in an attempt to make it back to his horse, but there was an obvious hint of amusement in his voice as he said it. you were a woman completely separated from the world of outlaws, yet you were a natural escape artist.

eventually making it to arthur's horse, the two of you attempted to flee the city. the adrenaline was something you had never felt before, and you could hear arthur's thumping heartbeat as your ear pressed against his back while you held onto him. the police held no guns upon your father's instructions, insisting that they capture arthur alive and keep you unharmed. though, their numbers quickly increased, and you began to see the concern growing in arthur's expression.

while guiding him through the streets, arthur suddenly took a different turn than what you had told him. the feeling of his horse coming to a sudden halt made you gasp, and you hardly had time to process as he dismounted his horse and held his arms out to help you off.

"come on." he told you, eyes glancing to the side to check for signs of the law. "you ain't coming with me."

stubbornly, you refused. it wasn't until the sounds of whistles began growing closer that you saw genuine concern in arthur's face, and you hopped off the horse into his arms without a word. however, when you peered back up at him, arthur was smiling; a smile that looked as if he were holding back a chuckle.

"you are one crazy woman." he told you in a hushed tone, lifting his worn hat from his head and placing it on yours before letting you go. "now get on out of here, you shouldn't be caught up in all this."

you immediately knew his hat was a sign from him telling you that he would see you again. it was too big for your own head and blocked your eyes from seeing his horse gallop away, but when you lifted it to look, the law was racing down a nearby street with arthur nowhere to be seen. a large smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but giggle to yourself as you disappeared into the alleys between buildings, taking a complex path back home to avoid detection.

needless to say, your father wasn't pleased when he came home to you innocently prepping tea for yourself. you didn't listen to his nagging words; something about uncivilized people, chaos and getting involved with the wrong kind. however, your interest was finally piqued when you heard that arthur had been arrested.

"it wasn't his fault." you immediately told the man, forgetting about the boiling kettle. your father scoffed, but you continued to tell him that you were the one who made arthur flee. though, he didn't budge, raising his voice as he nagged you for getting involved with such a dangerous man.

the word 'dangerous' seemed to strike something within you, because you had yelled back that arthur had saved you. that evening, those two strange men, the way arthur held your shoulders and reassured you that you were alright; there was nothing dangerous about him in your eyes. you saw your father's expression lose it's anger, and it seemed that was when he noticed arthur's hat sitting loosely upon your head.

"what's that?" he asked, pointing at the tattered leather hat.

you shrugged. "a gift from a dangerous man."

arthur had stayed in the saint denis jail for two days. what he thought was his fellow gang members coming to bust him out ended up being you, a soft smile on your lips as you wrapped your fingers around the metal bars of the jail cell. his hat still sat on your head, making arthur chuckle at the sight of you.

"did you think i was going to leave you in a cell to rot?" you giggled, allowing space for a law man to unlock arthur's cell.

"thought i was gonna have to use other means to get out of here." arthur replied in an amused tone as he stood up from the metal slab that the jail called a bed. the law man cocked an eyebrow, to which arthur raised his hands in defense. "kidding, of course."

your father waited at the jail entrance, arms crossed and a dismissive look sprawled on his face. he was the one that had told the law men to set arthur free, you explained. arthur seemed rather flustered at that information; he didn't want to thank a cop. he figured a nod of the head was enough of an acknowledgement, though it only earned a cold glare from the older man.

"how the hell did you get that bastard—" he cleared his throat. "apologies, that fine man to let me out?" arthur questioned as the two of you left the jail. you playfully hit his arm at the comment, then shrugged your shoulders.

"i was honest. told him you saved me." you answered, lifting the hat from your head and placing it back onto it's owner. you brushed a strand of arthur's long blonde hair from his face and smiled. "there ya go, cowboy."

arthur rolled his eyes, tipping his hat downwards before replying. "you know, i enjoyed that little chase of ours." he told you, holding out his arm for you to link yours with. neither of you knew where you were headed off to; you simply strolled down the street as if nothing had happened. "but don't think about doin' something that stupid again."

"i did too, actually." you then admit with a chuckle, somewhat ignoring his nagging. "it makes things fun."

after the events of that rather chaotic day, your father agreed to leave that hidden saloon alone upon your pleading requests, and it once again became your favorite spot to frequent with arthur. the two of you did earn a bit more freedom to roam saint denis and it's outskirts, allowing the two of you to enjoy some privacy, and eventually express your true feelings for one another. however, there continued to be close encounters with the law every now and then simply because of arthur's antics with his rowdy gang, but it always ended in silly laughter and breathless kisses from running so much.

arthur wrote many things about you in his journal, mindlessly sketching portraits of you next to entries about how you enjoyed sneaking around the city after dark and running errands with him whenever possible. though, at the end of his entry, there was a phrase scribbled in his neat cursive:

she was the daughter of a cop.

[ialreadymadeyouapromise]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

➝ arthur morgan

➝ sadie adler

➝ john marston

[eveomo]

wowowow!!! so many people have followed me since i uploaded chapter 3 so hi and welcome!!!

i am currently taking requests for oneshots (both sfw/nsfw) so please feel free!! also dont hesitate to ask me my thoughts on certain characters/interactions/and missions!! i love to drabble on about this silly cowboy game :’)

[multiverse--wanderer]

Under Western Stars [ENG]

[Oneshot based on the OTP between John Marston and Arthur Morgan from Red Dead Redemption ] This is a Patreon exclusive text, take a look at the different memberships and what each one can offer you!

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

——— Under Western Stars

The night was a perfect canvas, painted with the silver brushstrokes of the full moon and the tiny twinkling jewels called stars. The murmur of the waterfall at the bottom of a tree-covered valley mingled with the nighttime song of the crickets, creating a symphony that filled the air with deep calm. The heat of the fire still clung to the nearby stones, its glow fading little by little like a dream that begins to dissipate at dawn.

John shifted on the makeshift bed of furs and blankets inside the tent—one far larger than he was used to when he rode alone. Something had woken him, a subtle instinct, the absence of a warm weight at his side. His hand reached out for the empty space, confirming what his body already knew: Arthur wasn’t there. He opened his eyes, blinking to adjust to the faint light filtering through the tent’s entrance.

There he was, sitting in the doorway, his silhouette outlined against a landscape that seemed pulled from a fairy tale. Arthur Morgan, always so still and contemplative in moments like this, had his gaze lost in the reflection of the sky upon the lake. The stars danced on the water, rippling with the gentle movement of the surface, while a firefly fluttered near his shoulder, briefly illuminating the curve of his jaw.

John sat up carefully, trying not to break that fragile bubble of tranquility. The sound of his movement was enough to make Arthur turn his head slightly, though he didn’t look directly at him. There was something about his profile, in the soft curve of his lips, that spoke of nostalgia and peace, as if the man burdened with scars and shadows was, at that moment, reconciled with the world.

Without a word, John slid over to him, kneeling behind his partner. He wrapped his arms around his torso, resting his forehead against Arthur’s broad back, which smelled of leather, smoke, and earth.

—Couldn’t sleep, huh? —He murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

[hellsbells88]

Carried by God

At Clemens Point, Micah and John clash over how to raise young Jack, revealing the complexities of their own pasts. Amidst the tension, Jack glimpses the hidden depth in Micah’s tough facade, understanding more than meets the eye.

Micah’s laugh pierced the humid air at Clemens Point, contrasting sharply with the gentle rustling of leaves in the moist environment. Jack set his book down slowly, his young face scrunched in a mixture of curiosity and confusion, as he looked up.

John’s hand landed like a weight atop Jack’s head, his fingers rough against his soft hair. “The boy needs to learn how to fend for himself, Micah. Not live in these stories.”

Micah was watching him, a playful twist to his lips. His fingers artfully twirled in the air, mimicking an aristocrat to mock John. He grinned at Jack, the smile offering a certain harsh kinship. “What you got against your boy learnin’ how to read? From what Dutch tells me—you ain’t even got a daddy of your own. What makes you think you know what the hell you’re talkin’ about?”

John grit his teeth and glared. “Ain’t nothing wrong with him reading,” he shot a gaze down to Jack. His voice softened. “Your Pa's just.. just trying to prepare you for the world.”

“But.. mama likes me the way I am,” Jack's voice chimed into the conversation, eyes wide and innocent.

Micah’s laugh rippled through the air again. “I reckon she does.”

It was then that Abigail came upon them, her face flushed in the evening's dying light. “What the hell is going on here?!” Her hands were fisted at her sides.

Before Micah or John could answer, Jack piped up, “Pa says I need to be more tough like him, learn to.. be a man.”

Abigail’s anger seemed undeterred. “Enough! What in God’s name is wrong with you two!”

John opened his mouth, a retort tugging at his lips, but Micah cut in. “Just a little disagreement is all, Abigail.” He widened his grin. “I'll be leavin’ you to it.”

He sauntered away, leaving a cloud of tension in his wake. Micah pulled out a well-used cigarette and lit it, his back resting against the rough bark of a nearby tree. He chuckled to himself, a yellowed grin splitting his face. “Don’t ask a boy to be a man, John,” his voice echoed back to them, “not so soon.”

Micah’s laughter died down as he walked away, the soft glow of his lit cigarette illuminating his roughened features. He leaned onto the gnarled bark of a nearby tree and stared off into the distance, his mind threading back to another time. The dying sun brought with it memories, wrapped in twilight-hued nostalgia.

He could still see the young, chubby face of his brother Amos, wide eyes staring up at him in fear and admiration combined. Their father was a beast of a man, terrorizing the lands, dragging his sons through the dirt and gore that he sowed, crafting murderers in his own image. Amos’ hands, however, remained clean enough in comparison to the rest them, thanks in no small part to Micah’s subtle efforts at shielding his round-faced brother from their father. The name “Amos,” meaning “carried by God,” lingered persistently in Micah’s thoughts, a detail he found himself unable to shake off.

A sad smile twisted onto his face as he remembered the innocence in Amos’ laugh—a rarity heard only in their stolen moments away from their father’s grasp. Micah was three years Amos’ senior—three cruel years that had forced him to grow up too soon, cutting away at his boyhood with a ruthless precision.

“Micah..” A voice cut into his thoughts, a soft echo of the past. But it wasn’t Amos; it was Jack. The boy stood a few feet away, an inquisitive spark in his eyes. “Do I really gotta.. b-be a man?”

An eerie stillness wrapped around them as Micah loomed over Jack. His gruff voice echoed in the yellowing daylight. “Jack—we... Me, your Pa—we’re men,” he drawled, his tone gritty. “Are you a man, Jack? Hm?”

“No,” Jack squeaked, his eyes dropping to the grass under his feet.

“No, you ain’t,” Micah confirmed, his voice a harsh whisper against the wind. A wicked half-grin tugged at his lips as he looked down upon the boy. “And you best remember that. You’re still just a boy and you ain’t ready to be no man. Not yet.”

He shoved himself off the tree and turned slowly, his gaze never straying from Jack. “Go on, now, boy,” he ordered, waving a dismissive hand in the boy’s direction. The gruff timbre of his voice held uncharacteristic warmth, almost exposing the harsh exterior he’d carved over the years―an exterior that served as a cruel shield over his buried past and torment.

Jack watched Micah as he stalked away, retreating into the gathering darkness of the night. Small as he was, Jack could sense the instability beneath Micah’s icy veneer. He caught a glimpse of the messy cluster of pain, remorse, and care that the rough man kept hidden. The sight was a stark contradiction to the man who had mocked and scolded his father earlier. The man who seemed to always be simmering with cold rage.

As he turned back to fetch his book, a shy smile crept on to Jack’s face. He is indeed a boy, but he could sense the unspoken care beneath the brutish exterior. In that moment, he felt a curious sense of understanding for Micah Bell, a man few truly knew.

[roamingtigress]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde Characters: Hosea Matthews, Dutch van der Linde Additional Tags: Spring, Old Married Couple, Married Couple, Married Life, BAMF Hosea Matthews, Hosea Matthews Lives, Dutch van der Linde Has a Plan, Dutch van der Linde Lives, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, No Plot/Plotless, Affection, Belly Rubs, Bees, Butterflies, Cute, Sleepy Cuddles, Video Game: Red Dead Online (2019), Minor Character Death, Reminiscing, vandermatthews, Hosea and Dutch are an old married couple, Good Parents Hosea Matthews and Dutch van der Linde, Mentioned Arthur Morgan, Mentioned John Marston Summary:

Spring often brings new beginnings, but for one old man couple -- Hosea and Dutch -- it's another chapter in their lives. Who will spot the first bee of the season, who will see the first butterfly?

[spcewild]

Boundaries & Fandom I will write for !

Just restating games/Fandom I will write for ;

Rdr (1&2)

Re (resident evil - Leon Kennedy, Carlos, Luis Sera, etc.)

SR (Saints row - all main characters [Johnny gat, Carlos, Shaundi, etc.])

COD (Black ops, newer cod games, etc.)

Mortal Kombat (1 & 11)

Borderlands (1,2,3 + Tales From Borderlands only!)

Spiderman; across the multiverse

TKAM [To kill a mockingbird] (ADULT characters + platonic/parent like relationship w/ others)

DBH [Detriot: Become Human] (any ADULT characters and ADULT androids)

The Walking Dead [Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Shane Walsh, Maggie, Glenn, etc.] (ALL ADULT CHARACTERS)

The Punisher (All ADULT main characters)

The Outsiders (All Characters EXECPT for antagonists/Socs [NOT INCLUDING CHERRY])

Rumble Fish (Motorcycle Boy, Rusty James, Patty, etc...)

Tex (All main characters)

TMNT (Bayverse only)

《☆》

What I refuse to write for:

Character x character, minor x adult, incest, weird kinks, actors/real people including streamers/youtubers (I simply do not want to make them uncomfortable even if they consent to fics abt them..), etc etc. (Pretty much just the weird and illegal stuff <3)

Genres:

Smut, fluff, angst, etc!

Boundaries:

(What I am and am not comfortable with)

What I refuse to write for will either be because I am simply uninterested in writing it, or it makes me uncomfortable. If you are unsure if I am comfortable with writing a certain thing/idea, PLEASE ASK!! I will not be mad! :)

I AM okay with being reblogged! It is very welcome, and I appreciate it! But along with this and reposting my work (which I am also okay with), I must receive credit.

Which pretty much means don't steal my work lol

If you wish to address me in any way, you can refer to me as:

Spce, space, spcewild, and wild. Or any other nicknames you may have for me! <3 (as long as it isn't inappropriate, I do not wish to be referred to in any sexual way)

(Pronouns are listed in my bio if needed!)

I AM also okay with writing what I believe is called a match-up...? (Correct me if I'm wrong pls lmao) where you describe yourself, and oc, persona, etc. And I get to match you up with who I think you match the best with romantically or platonically!

I am ALSO okay with writing for male, female, gender neutral, intersex, trans, and any other LGBTQ+ readers!! I will also include POC readers, chubby, thin, or any body size of reader! Not only this, but if you wish for the reader to have a specific physical quality you want me to write for (and can be an insecurity) pls let me know! :)

Lastly, I am okay with writing for readers with disabilities, mental issues, etc. (Please correct me if I mistake anything when writing for specific things like this! <3)

if anyone has any questions feel free to ask <3

Requests: OPEN

[blackenedsnow]

omg I love the rdr kid fanfics and had a semi a og idea based off them. Like a child! Platonic fluff fic

What if like Arthur or John found the reader trying to steal some of the camps supplies? Idk I know it's not a great idea but thought it was neat

caught in the act

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader

NOTE: Oh my god HAHA this was too good. I know you said Arthur OR John but I wanted to do both. Hope that's okay!!

SUMMARY: When Arthur and John catch you sneaking supplies from camp, it doesn’t go quite the way you expect.

You thought you were being so sneaky. Slipping through the camp, darting from one shadow to the next, your little hands carefully reaching for a jar of beans. You weren’t sure how long the food would last, but it didn’t hurt to nab a little extra, right?

Your heart raced as you pulled the jar from its place near the wagon, looking around to make sure no one had seen you. You were so focused on your prize, you didn’t even hear the heavy footsteps approaching behind you.

“Now, what do we have here?”

You froze. Slowly, you turned to see Arthur, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between amused and disappointed. His lip twitched in that way it did when he was trying not to laugh.

“Arthur, I—uh—wasn’t…” You stuttered, cheeks flushing red. You weren’t sure what to say. You’d been caught red-handed, and there was no easy way out of it.

Arthur just raised an eyebrow, leaning down so he was eye-level with you. “You know, kid, I’m not sure stealing from the camp’s gonna win you any friends.” He sighed but then cracked a grin. “I get it, though. You’re hungry.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but Arthur stopped you with a wave of his hand. “Not that I’m encouraging it, but if you’re gonna steal, at least do it right. You could’ve gotten caught a lot worse than this.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind you again. You both turned to see John, who had clearly witnessed the whole thing.

“Arthur, you gonna let the kid get away with this?” John asked, his voice low and stern. But when he saw how you were looking up at him with wide, guilty eyes, his expression softened. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you off this time, but next time, don’t be so careless!”

Arthur chuckled, giving you a little nudge. “Looks like you’re in good company, Y/N. But you better not make a habit of this.”

The two of them watched as you slowly set the jar of beans back on the ground. You didn’t say anything, but it was obvious you felt bad for what you’d tried to do.

“Next time you’re hungry, just ask,” Arthur added with a small smile, ruffling your hair. “We’re a family here, alright?”

“Yeah,” John chimed in with a grin. “Just don’t go pilfering our food, or you’ll have to answer to both of us.”

You nodded quickly, grateful for the forgiveness and the way they looked after you, even if it was in a roundabout way. With that, you ran off.

[thececil666]

X Reader Requests Are Open

Hi I’m a little rusty on writing fanfic so I wanna do some requests with the gang to get back into it since I have a *big* fic idea I want to write eventually <3

I’ll write for pretty much anyone in the gang so long as I like the request hehe

Also I’ll write suggestive stuff but probably not all out smut sorry

I’ll probably write what you want so long as I have time <3

DON’T BE SHY ASK BOX IS OPEN HEHE

[amourlyns]

Nothing here yet...

[livingdeadmlm]

Master list Requests:Open!

Fluff🤍

Nsfw🩶

Smut 🖤

headcannon format 🕸️

Oneshot format🌾

Kinktober 2023🪨

Kinktober 2024🪻

Characters with no links have no fics as of 12/15/2024

Also this is in no way every fic I have written as I went crazy when I made this blog so most Jojo fics are lost to time (and not good)

Red Dead Redemption

Arthur Morgan

Low Honor Morgan Priest Reader 🩶🖤🪻🌾

Werewolf Morgan HCs 🕸️

John Marston

Javier Escuella

Voyeurism🩶🖤🪻🌾

Charles Smith

Dutch Van der Linde

Kieran Duffy

Sean MacGuire

Obey me!

Lucifer

Mammon

Pet Play🩶🖤🪻🌾

Tail Play🩶🖤🪨🌾

Leviathan

Diavolo

Breast Worshipping 🩶🖤🪻🌾

Solomon

Barbatos

Simeon

Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Belphegor

House MD

Gregory House

James Wilson

Robert Chase

Eric Forman

Mouthwashing

Captain Curly

Daisuke

Age Gap🩶🪻🌾

Metalocalypse

Nathan explosion

Table Sex🩶🖤🪻🌾

Pickles the drummer

Toki Wartooth

Charles offdensen

Blood Play🩶🪻🌾

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Yandere Skwisgaar 🖤🌾

Dethklok

Nudes with Dethklok🩶🖤🪻🕸️🌾

Doing their Makeup before a Show🤍🕸️

After a Long Tour🤍🕸️

Breaking Bad/Better call Saul

Saul Goodman

General Dating HCs🤍🩶🕸️

Fake Dating to Lovers🤍🩶🌾

Lingerie 🩶🖤🪻🌾

Cuddle HC's 🤍🌾

Jessie Pinkman

Nacho Varga

Lalo Salamanca

Mortal Kombat

Kung Lao

Dating HCs 🤍🩶🕸️

Face Sitting🩶🖤🌾🕸️

Johnny cage

Face Sitting🩶🖤🪻🌾

Kenshi Takahashi

Reptile/Syzoth

Radian

Liu Kang

Hellsing

Alucard

American Psycho

Patrick Bateman

Creampie 🩶🖤🪨🌾

Complimenting his beauty

Working with Patrick

Big Businessman Reader

Fight club

Jack/ The narrator

Tyler Durden

Dating HCs 🕸️🩶

Scott pilgrim vs the world/takes off

Scott Pilgrim

Wallace Wells

Lucas Lee

Todd Ingran

Nu Carnival

Eiden

Aster

Morvay

Yakumo

Edmond

Quincy

Kuya

Garu

Blade

Dante

Rei

Other

Oral Fixation Bruce Banner 🩶🪻🌾

Vampire Midas Fortnite🩶🪻🌾

Hol Horse 🌾

Mike Schmidt with an Insomniac Reader🌾

Monster Fucking with Postal Dude🩶🖤🪨🌾

Ryo Asuka with Affectionate Devilman 🤍🕸️

Clingy Reader with Gyro Zeppeli 🌾

Hugging Miles Edgeworth🕸️🤍🌾

Akira Fudo with a himbo bf

[ialreadymadeyouapromise]

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

coming soon . . .