#johnxarthur

good lord I really hope my roommate never walks in on me when I'm taking pictures of these two because that's gonna be a hard one to explain.

Him: Red Dead Redemption Dolls?

Me: 1/6 Scale Figures, yes.

Him: And you're on the floor taking pictures of them in the cat bed together?

So, I'm getting into figure collecting, and my first professionally made figure was Limtoys Gunslinger, also known as our beloved Mr. Morgan.

But being a Morston fanboy, I can't just leave Arthur alone with Bojack (the horse. He's custom painted, forgive the scratches, he needs some more work done.)

So I got to work on designing my own John as I'm too impatient to wait for one to be made. Plus, I figured it would be a chance to do a young John, a John that will be specifically mine. A pretty boy John if you will, because I'm a shameless fucking fanboy.

I got to work on the head annnnd...

Little disclaimer, I used a pre-made face and basically just built upon it with baking clay to get his features. Finished it up with makeup, paint, etc. Hair piece is entirely custom and hand-made.

I know he doesn't look as sharp as Arthur, but I loved him regardless, was super proud of myself and SO FUCKING READY for his body to come in the mail so I could put him all together.

There's just one issue.

The head I used as a base for John? It was an Emma Watson face sculpt.

So, the head was intended for a female body.

I did not take this into consideration at any point until-

Sigh.

So he looks like Adam Driver fucked a Giraffe, but I can fix it, right?

Well, I don't think I can. I have to start over. I've tried everything to get it to look right on that body and it just won't (not to mention he's beefy as hell and that ALONE is making me struggle to view this figure as John, but I don't think it's that bad. Under clothes you won't be able to tell.)

So yeah. I'm starting over. From scratch, with not pre-made face sculpt to go off of.

He's currently at that Five Nights at Freddy's bare animatronic flavor of terrifying, but hey, I did it once, right? Maybe I can do it again...

Maybe, I can finally bring little John to life.

I am honestly so proud of this one so posting it here too! Click link for chapter 2.

Curiosity

A Morston Fic

He knew better than to snoop around Arthur’s things.

Yeah, he knew better; didn’t do better, but at least he knew what he shouldn’t be doing before he went ahead and did it anyways. 

The way Arthur stormed off after reading what he assumed was a letter, he couldn’t help his curiosity getting the better of him. Surprisingly, he left the note there on his cot, folded in half, beckoning John to come take a look.

He looked around the camp for a moment, nobody had eyes on him and everyone within view was busy doing their own thing, far too busy to tell John to knock it off and stop being nosy. He reached for the letter, caught sight of the signature at the bottom before taking a peak at the contents.

“Tramp.” He said under his breath, his eyes scanning the crisp paper after receiving confirmation that Arthur’s past lover had beckoned him. He thought Arthur was done with her. He thought she had moved on with someone new long ago. He thought finally Arthur could go forward with his life, maybe even find a lover who would accept him for who he was, maybe even someone in the same life, someone who could love him unconditionally because they were just as fucked up and unworthy as he was.

Someone like John, if that was even possible.

He put the note back where it was, bit at his lip as anxiety seeped through his veins and into his throat, the desire to go after him and stop him from bothering with that woman railed around his mind like a boomerang, no matter how many times he told himself he wouldn’t do it, he still looked down and found his feet heading towards his horse, his legs forcing him to satisfy the urge that kept coming back to him.

He took one last look at camp as he saddled up on Old Boy, gave him a few pats as he contemplated ignoring his feelings and going back to what he was doing before Arthur stormed off.

Fuck it, he thought to himself, he needs to realize he’s making a mistake.

He kicked his steady steed into a trot, increasing to a gallop once he was out of the woods and into the clear, heading for the spot in Valentine where Mary said she would be. He was sure if he rode fast enough he could still catch Arthur on the road, pull him away before he could even reach the woman, convince him of what a bad idea this was, that nothing was worth getting tied up with that woman again and if her husband or arrogant father were worth the shit that she put him through on their behalf, they would help her with whatever problem it was she needed him for.

But Arthur’s horse was fast, and that combined with the fervency in which he left, not to mention the head start, guaranteed that he’d reach Mary before John did. Still, he kept his eyes out in the distance for the little white mare Arthur sat on top of, his heart slamming against his chest every time a horse with even a light cream coat crossed his path.

There, in the distance, pulling up to the little house in the fenced in yard, was the snowy tinted Arabian he had been hoping to see all along.

“Damn it.” He was too late to stop him, he was already on his way to her. But maybe he could change his mind regardless.

He kicked his heels in and forced Old Boy to his limit, trying to catch up before the door would open and Arthur could fall in love with her all over again. Further and further he went, and each moment passed by in slow motion as he watched every movement Arthur made, each step up the stairs onto the porch, his hand reaching out to knock against the sturdy painted wood, time growing slower as he grew closer. 

He realized that he was coming up on his destination too fast to stop gracefully, so he pulled Old Boy to jump over the fence, knocking over a potted plant and startling Arthur to whip around and catch sight of the moron who just flew into his line of sight.

“Arthur! Stop!” John pulled his loyal steed back, unintentionally making the horse rear and whinny at his owner’s irresponsible riding. He slid off the side and ran up to Arthur, stopping in his tracks as an old woman opened the door, a rifle in hand as she stared them both down with daggers in her eyes.

“What in the hell is going on out here?!”

Arthur turned to her, heart racing from more than just John scaring the shit out of him. “Ma’am, I’m here to see a Mrs. Mary Linton?”

“We don’t take kindly to troublemakers here.” She went to close the door, and Arthur quickly moved a hand to stop it as non-threateningly as he could.

“Please, ignore my friend over there, he’s…” Arthur turned to see John standing behind him, his horse in the background pawing his hoof at the pot he had dropped, spilling the contents of dirt onto the ground as it rolled, “... he’s a bit of a dumbass.”

The woman looked them both up and down for a moment, huffing a bit as she finally decided neither were much of a threat for the time being. “I’ll tell her you’re here.” She said as she slammed the door, locking it twice from behind to ensure the visitors wouldn’t attempt anything funny.

Arthur turned to his unwelcome partner with a scowl on his face. “John, why the hell are you here?!”

He hid a nervous hand behind his head, looking over his shoulder for a moment as he physically searched for an answer, “I can’t let you do this, I knew you were comin’ to see Mary. I had to stop you.”

He slapped him not-too-lightly on the shoulder in response. “And why is that any’ve yer goddamn business to begin with?!”

“Maybe ‘cause I actually give a damn about you unlike that heartless tra-”

The door opens suddenly, and John finds his finger pointed directly at the reason why they’re both here.

The woman enters the light outside shyly, her eyes locking with Arthur’s and bringing a slight smile to her face, before turning to John with surprise.

“Arthur, it’s good to see you. You too, John.” She nodded, and he lowered his hand, nodding in return.

“Yeah, didn’t mean to bring him along but, he’s kinda like a puppy, pathetic and needy,” He reached a hand to mess with the younger man’s hair roughly as he let out a chuckle, “but too cute to kick away.” He releases his hair with a shove, the younger one stumbling to the side.

“Well, as much as I’d love to catch up, I need your help, Arthur.”

“Ain’t that a surprise.” John let out, and Arthur returned another smack on the shoulder in exchange for the comment.

Mary attempted to ignore the interaction. “Arthur, it’s Jamie. He’s holed up with this, this cult,” she locked eyes with him, continued to explain the situation, begging Arthur with every language of her body that she knew, looking innocent and needy and, to John, completely pathetic.

He crossed his arms, kept the bad attitude on his face and watched as she reached for Arthur’s hand, using his dusty old lust against him, reinvigorating that fiery phoenix of affection with a single touch. 

Arthur sighed. “I’ll get ‘im back for you, Mary.”

John raised an eyebrow, leaned into Arthur’s ear and covered his mouth from Mary’s view, as though that would keep her from knowing what he was saying as he whispered, “you really gonna help her?”

Arthur shoved him away, said at full force, “go home, John!”

“John, I know you don’t like me, but please,” she turned her attention to him, almost reaching out her hands to grasp his as well in a forgiveness plea, “please help Arthur get Jamie back to me.”

He pulled away before she could touch him. “The boy is grown, he can make his own decisions can’t he?”

“He’s been brainwashed, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” She held her hands together and pulled back towards the door.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout this one, Mary, I’ll getchyer boah back.” Arthur began walking away, surprised to turn and see John still standing on the porch, having a staring contest with Mary.

He ignored the scene, continued on towards his horse, figured John would follow soon enough and if not, he’d be out of his hair.

“You’re really asking Arthur, of all people in the world?”

“He’s the only one I could ask, John.”

“What about your husband? The one that’s so much greater than Arthur was for ya?”

Mary furrowed her brow. “He’s passed away.”

Arthur turned to realize John was still antagonizing her, he whistled as though calling for his unruly dog and shouted, “Marston, getchyer ass on yer horse and leave that woman alone!”

John’s eyes didn’t leave Mary, but as he began to walk away, he let out a half-hearted “sorry.”

He climbed up on Old Boy, followed Arthur and his filly out onto the trail, the little white mare nearly dwarfed by John’s Hungarian.

“You don’t really have a way with words when it comes to women, do ya John?”

“Don’t see why I have to.”

“You coulda least been nice, or somewhat cordial.”

“That woman broke your heart!”

“Broke my heart, not yours .” He turned to John, the man wasn’t even looking at him. “And b’fore you go on about that, keep in mind that you broke my heart too.”

John’s cheeks went unmistakably red at that. “When did I break your fuckin’ heart, old man?”

“When you left me! For a year!”

“I left everyone!”

“That includes me, dumbass. All b’cause you wanted to avoid responsibility for knockin’ up a woman.” He took time to sigh, rubbed at his neck, gave his words some time to soak in. The younger one didn’t respond, barely looked like he registered a word. 

His tone lowered, sweet like honey being rubbed on John’s wounds. “That hurt, John. I get bein’ nervous about bein’ a dad, I even get it if you don’t wanna be with Abigail, but, we’re ‘spose to stick together.”

“I just needed time to myself.”

“And you couldn’t have time to yourself while still tellin’ me where you’re goin’?”

“You woulda told Dutch. I didn’t want anyone comin’ after me.”

“I was worried sick about you, for a year. I thought you was dead. I mourned you.” There was a change in Arthur’s tone and John could tell he was serious. A sense of guilt overtook him, which he quickly pushed down with anger.

“I had no fucking choice, Arthur! It was either hang around and be miserable and end up killin’ someone, or take some time to figure out what the hell I actually want from this world.”

“You’re an outlaw, John! You don’t get to figure out what you want! You shoulda stayed and that’s the last of it!”

“Why do you get to decide what’s good for me?!”

“Because I love you!” He turned to him, baby blues squinted and teary, brow knit together as the words flowed through him. “You’re my goddamn brother and I love you! I’d be lost without you, that what you wanna hear, asshole?!”

John’s angry expression turned a bit softer, he turned away as his cheeks flushed even redder than they were before. He didn’t say anything, just muttered an “mhm.”

“I don’t have a woman, or a kid, or a family of blood. I don’t have someone to sleep next to at night, have dreams with. All I’ve got is the gang and you. We lose people all the time and that’s part of the life, but you,” he turned his head to the side, eyes on the ground as the world passed by, “I need you safe.”

John stayed silent for the most part, riding along and following Arthur and trying not to look at the pained expression on his face. 

When he finally did break the silence, it felt warranted. “Didn’t know you felt that way about men.”

If he was in arms reach, Arthur would have hit him with all the might he had. But he stayed calm, took a deep breath and reminded himself that the boy was just looking for a reaction. “You know very well what I’m sayin’ has nothin’ to do with any of that.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry, the smirk on his face could have only been wider if Arthur’s reaction had been more extreme. “I didn’t think I mattered that much. To anybody.”

“You matter to that boy you abandoned. You matter to Abigail, that woman is head over heels for ya for some reason. And yeah, you matter to me. A lot.”

The admission felt weird to hear, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was taking it the wrong way. “Jesus, shut up about it already.”

Arthur just shook his head, didn’t let himself get provoked by the rude remark. “Pour out my heart to ya, I get this. Ungrateful bastard.”

“Let’s just find Jamie and get on with the day.”

“I can get Jamie just fine on my own, no need for you to stick around.”

John didn’t know what to respond with, felt stuck. He could be snarky, “fine, I’m goin’ back to camp,” but then that means sticking to his word to prove the point, and he was kind of enjoying his time with Arthur right now.

For once, John was thinking before doing. Something he actually did do a lot, he just usually went with the worst option.

“Speechless?” Arthur calls him out, he shrugs.

“I don’t need to stick around neither.”

“Then don’t.”

“Well,” he shrugs again, “maybe I want to.”

Arthur chuckles. “You just wanna hang around so you can keep Mary away from me.”

John doesn’t say anything, pretends to be enamored by the scenery, his horse trotting along beside Arthur’s white filly, the soft clip-clop of hooves against dirt, gravel and rock filling in the gap of the conversation.

“Usually I can’t get you to shut up, you thinkin’ extra hard or somethin’?”

“You still love her, don’t you?” John looks at him and now Arthur is the quiet one, taking a moment to take a peak at the conditions of his heart, dusting off the dirt and minding the wounds as he cracks it open and witnesses it first hand; a sliver of love for the woman he once called his own, glowing brightly with renewed interest, a hope growing that maybe they could be one again.

“Yeah.” He responds, simple and matter-of-fact but shrouded with pain and heartbreak. John’s heart aches at it, one simple word and it brings him to a huff, and before he knows it he feels that fiery heat engulfing his head and he can’t think straight.

“What’d that woman ever do for you?”

“And what’d you ever do for your woman b’side’s put her through the same damn heartache Mary did me? Why don’tcha fix up your own love life before comin’ after mine, boah.”

John pulled Old Boy up ahead of Arthur, cut him off, towering over him thanks to his gelding’s stature. “I never did Abigail the way Mary did you!”

“Oh let’s see, runnin’ off with a hooker for three nights when you found out she was pregnant, not liftin’ a goddamn finger to help her through it. Cheatin', lyin'. Hell, the day Jack was born I had to go find you and drag your drunk ass back to her!”

“Jack ain’t even mine.”

“Once upon a time I might’a believed ya, it’s pretty clear now you’re just a boah who’s terrified of being responsible for anything! ”

“Go fuck yourself, Arthur.” He pulls away, begins walking his steed in the opposite direction, his fun time with Arthur not feeling so enjoyable anymore, not that he even understood why he was enjoying himself in the first place.

“Let me guess, gonna go get shitfaced at a saloon, spend all your cash on a cheap whore, then piss your britches and pass out in the street. Just like last time.”

“You wanna fight me, old man?”

Arthur laughed, his confidence in holding his own far exceeding what would be needed to put John in his place. “Looks like you’d rather spend your afternoon gettin’ patched up than drinkin’ or fuckin’.” He smiled, dismounted his filly and met the ground with a crunch to his boots. He beckoned John with a finger and a grin, planning to shoot him a single punch to the jaw and drag him home before continuing on with his day.

John mirrors him, rolls his hips to dismount and steps just shy of gracefully off his steed. He moves quickly to Arthur, a fist preparing to be thrown as he steps closer, moves one more stride towards him, and Arthur doesn’t even need to try to catch the hand as it’s tossed, wrapping his fingers around the fist before moving quickly in retaliation and socking him in the gut, pushing him backwards into the dirt, turning John into little more than a writhing mess before him.

He doesn’t stay down long, grits his teeth and lunges at Arthur’s legs, catching him off guard and tackling him to the ground, struggling to keep the upper hand as the older man reacts and wraps a leg around the back of John’s thighs, flips him with his hands and lands another punch to the younger’s face.

John winces, puts his hands up to cover any more punches. Arthur holds back the third one, one fist in the air while his opposite hand clutches John’s neck like a collar. He grunts, lowers his fist, softly removes his fingers from the tender skin around his neck.

“I ain’t gonna hurt’cha.” He moves a hand to John’s quivering arms, makes an attempt to move them away from his face only to be met with resistence. “I said I ain’t gonna hurt’cha, come on.”

John turns away, shifts as much as he can away from the big man, but ultimately still finds himself stuck, his figure dwarfed by Arthur’s as much as Old Boy overshadows the other man’s little white lady.

He whines as he writhes in place, his arms coming down to his sides to reveal stuttered tears rimming his eyes, his face red with frustration as he struggles under Arthur.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“You invite yourself on a trip to Mary’s, antagonize the woman right in front of me, pick a fight on the road and you got the audacity to demand anything of me?”

The younger one goes to throw a punch, thinking he’d catch him off guard, but the position he was in only made it easier for Arthur to grab his fist again and shove it into the dirt, scratching the back of his palm, the bigger man leaning down and looking him eye to eye.

“What’s gotten into you, boah?” His voice is soft and low and it takes everything John has not to kiss him right then and there. Wish you’d get into me, he wanted to say, god he wanted to say it, because it was rimmed with the same snarkiness Arthur always spouted, and the older fellow would probably chuckle at it right before socking him again in the face for admitting he wanted to fuck him.

John couldn’t quite help the autonomous reactions his body endured in response to Arthur’s sultry tone though, within seconds he felt the familiar tightness in his groin, causing the man on top of him to shift uncomfortably as he realized what it was moving underneath him.

He shook his head, couldn’t help but smile. “You sick fuckin' dog.” He removes himself from on top and sits beside him, dwells on the embarrassment he can read so easily on John’s face.

The younger one pulls himself up, obstructs his excitement from view with a raised leg. “Don’t mean nothin’.”

“Don’t mean nothin’? So you could be brawlin’ out here with a bear and get goin’ just like that?”

“You gonna keep bein’ an asshole about this?”

“Well, that’s the plan. N’less you got a better idea.”

John can’t help but grin a bit. “What’re you implyin’?”

“I’m implyin’ that if you got, yanno, a thing for men,” Arthur shrugs, “may as well do that thing with a guy who ain’t gonna hurt’chu.”

John wasn’t sure if he was following, and Arthur wasn’t being too blunt. “You mean fuckin’?”

“Christ, John.” He shakes his head, raises up to his feet and reaches a hand down to the younger. “Yes, I mean fuckin’.”

John is red as a roasted ham, his eyes look around at anything but Arthur as he’s pulled up to his feet alongside him.

“But, why?”

“Wasn’t you listenin’ at all? I don’t need you goin’ ‘n actin’ on this shit in public and gettin’ yourself killed. We’ll take care of yer little forbidden desires in private.”

John held his left arm, complete disbelief washing over him. Was Arthur really this easy? Had he been with men before? Was it not as big of a deal as he had assumed?

“Just fuckin’, then?”

“Just fuckin’.” It hurt, but it was a start. He could actually have Arthur, live out his fantasies with him, it was more than he ever thought he would have. He couldn’t have his heart, but he could have his body, his lips, his hands, his cock . It was more than he could even ask for, he’d be satisfied with it.

“When, then?”

“Idunno. Tonight?”

“In camp?”

“No, dumbass.” Arthur shook his head and walked away, nearing his snowy filly once again. “This stays between us. Last thing I need is Sean n’ Micah raggin’ on me. We’ll do it tonight, set up camp, maybe get some whiskey.”

John’s heart was soaring, he still couldn’t believe he was planning a fuck with Arthur. His mouth went dry as he gently heaved, heavy breaths shaking as his heart threatened to explode from the excitement, the anticipation of pure euphoria that surely lied ahead.

“You gonna get on your horse or you afraid of breakin’ your dick gettin’ up there?”

“A little bit, probably.” He nodded, still shocked, caught sight of Arthur’s face and felt a smile pulling at his lips.

tips for my past self

-rain is a pain in the ass

-trying to make rain look realistic on figure photography is a pain in the ass

-there is likely an easier way of doing this that I didn't bother looking up