#marstonsxboy

That guy looked like trouble somehow. Like he shouldn’t be trouble, but definitely was.

And there was a bounty on his head. Some nice sum. By some angry looking old fella and a widow that was in hysterics. First that had looked like the typical outlaw gunning down some lawman for past ‘inconveniences’, but the more Wheaty watched this guy, the less he was sure about it.

That Phillip Ross had somehow had a weird vibe about him anyway.

And now seeing this one working away on this ranch in the middle of fuck nowhere behind Blackwater…

Letting his horse stop at the gate of the ranch, Wheaty waited till the man had focused on him fully and started walking towards him. No doubt he had seen him coming anyway, but the stopping raised flags, of course.

He could take both of them. At least try it. Or come back later with a few other Whitetails to claim the bounty. But this didn’t feel right.

Wheaty didn’t grab any gun or rifle, he just pulled out a piece of paper, holding it outwards for the man to read.

Below the cut are 105 icons of Jack O’Connoll as Roy Goode in Godless. All are resized to 100x100 and from episode 3 “Wisdom of the Horse”.

@marstonsxboy​

   ❛  𝒘𝒉𝒚  𝒂𝒓𝒆  𝒚𝒐𝒖  𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒔𝒐  𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕 ? ❜   voice  pitched  and  strains,   she  wants  to  yell  but  knows  better.   it  hardly  works  on  a  man,   so  why  would  it  work  for  a  boy ?    ❛  i  ain’t  leavin’  until  you  talk  to  me,    and  stop  actin’  like  a  child ! ❜   she  crossed  her  arms  but  her  face  wore  thin.   anger  seldom  filled  her  chest  these  days  ---   just  a  mother’s  grief.  

“ain’t my fault you’re the clumsiest sonuvabitch this side of the san luis river.”

issac watched the whole thing go down, jack fumbling every step of the way, and he’d caught up slow as he liked. jenny grey was snorting, the appaloosa nibbling at jack’s hair. there’s an amused sort of glance offered as he regards the other man. leaning forward in his saddle, he gives a nod toward the quickly vanishing outlaw riding away fast as he could on jack’s horse.

“reckon you make a temptin’ offer.” a pause and issac pulls his rifle from its saddlebag, turning and leaning just a bit, there’s a quiet moment before a shot rings out followed quick by the man falling out of the saddle cussing loudly and holding his shoulder. a quiet hum is given, his gun is stowed away again and he offers a hand down to the other man.

Wheaty was trying. He honestly was. Standing at the porch, leaning against the rail as he spotted Jack walking towards him, the boy tried to look as relaxed as he could. Grabbing his gun, hooking a finger in it and twirling it around just to put it back into his holster.

At least that was the plan. Wheaty only failed halfway through it, with the gun slipping from his hand and hitting the porch, clattering and sliding a few feet away.

Looking up just in time, Wheaty caught Jack rolling his eyes as he moved to walk past him.

Wheaty pressed his lips to a thin line, quickly picking up his gun and following Marston.

“You gotta show me your tricks, really! It’s not fair, man! I saw you fucking doin’ that while you shot others! It gets the job done and it looks damn heroic! Imagine all the fame and ladies I could get with that – come on, don’t be a cowpoke. I already did all the shit you told me to do around your ranch! Started early – there is nothing left to do right now… we got time!”

Nonverbal starters:

[ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger

It was strange in a way; the place they’d spent so long runnin’ from had become their home in the end. Blackwater was the town she ventured into maybe once a week with a wagon full of produce and money to spend in the stores.

Spend earned money. Not fleece the town for whatever money she could. Smile at the boy down by the docks while Hosea cheated some old dears outta their jewels.

But the town was gettin’ bigger and rowdier. Pushing open the doors of the saloon, she looked around for any sign of Sadie; she’d said she’d drop by town soon in her last letter, and Abigail had missed her old friend. She didn’t have too many of them left. Uncle was gone, her John too. So any sign of Sadie or Charles was something Abigail held onto with both hands.

But there was no sign of missus Adler in the saloon, so she turned and made to walk out, only for some feller to grab her arm. Some drunker feller who could hardly slur his words in her direction. ‘Yer that widow from B-beecher’s hope … gettin’ lonely out there?’

Before she could even think about whether to smash his beer bottle in his face or yank her arm back, there was a familiar taller frame between her and this feller. Familiar because it seemed with every passin’ day her little Jack became more and more like his pa.

The kid was getting too good at picking out faulty behavior. That books were teaching him too much, definitely. Not that John would complain about that - he wouldn’t want his life for the boy. Jack could have a brighter future, ver much so. 

That was if the kid managed to get that old by avoiding pissing off others. And John definitely wasn’t in the best mood. They were on the run, again. Abigail hated it. Jack wasn’t the little kid anymore that could just be hauled around, he was unhappy, too. John could tell. And it hurt. But the boy’s commentary just pointed out John’s shortcomings in being a father even more - and he definitely didn’t like that.

“Listen, Jack, at my age, you’ll understand that a glass of whiskey before noon somedays is the only thing that’ll keep you sane.”