#wulvur

   || @wulvur​ asked . . .

                                   “if we're together, i got nothing to fear.”                                                                               sniffles.. for jack

   || seven deadly sins starters. || accepting.

     he almost suppresses the frown.

                                                      almost.

     but he bites back the harsh remark, fortunately - and that’s really what matters, isn’t it? his father is trying, the reminder from his mother ringing in his ears. john marston had torn his family apart far more times than his boy had ever kept count, his escapades leaving them homeless at best and unable to show their faces in entire counties at worst.

     he should hate him, jack feels sometimes. turn all that rage against him in an outburst of anger and god, he doesn’t know, perhaps make john feel a fraction of the pain he’s been exposed to being dragged around the whole country over the last decade of his life. the only true certainty he’s had in life is his mother and his books, and half the time he can’t even spare the time to pack them all before he leaves. the only solid ground the boy’s had beneath his feet his entire life is the creaking wood of the family wagon, if the boards didn’t break. ( again. ) on the nights he stays up too late reflecting far too much, he finds himself kept warm in his bed by a fire of anger and hatred for the man who sleeps just across the house, snoring away unaware of the burn that’s contained just in the other room.

                      but by morning, all that’s ever left are embers.

     because despite all the furies jack can work himself up into, that anger is never any match for the cooling memories of his father’s gentle tone, his strangely unending patience, his annoying ability to actually bring comfort in the times when there’s not enough air around him, when the world spins and he has to drop to his knees to avoid falling completely. he’s watched his father race across the farm, faster even than rufus bounding at his heels, all so that jack would never be alone when he needed someone the most. ( strange, how much one truly needs the other. )

     “  you should probably fear at least wild cats.  ” the sarcastic comment is out before he can reflect too much, get too emotional, force it all away like a manly man does. but it’s playful, teasing, a soft, crooked grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he tugs at the cinch of his saddle. “  i read once where they can smell blood up to a whole mile away.

                                                       or maybe that’s sharks. y’know, in the ocean.  ”

To say that Soma was tired was an understatement. The young man was downright exhausted as he pulled himself off the barely visible trail and towards a nice-looking tree he could slump against. He’d been walking for ages and his throat was absolutely parched. He had no idea where the hell he was, but at least the view was good. At least it was quiet.

Or, it was quiet until he heard clopping, a strange snorting sound, and the sensation that some of his hair was being grabbed. Looking up, Soma came face to face with the lips of a brown horse roving over his head.

@wulvur​ - “oh, but i'm gonna take care of them. i have a plan.” john but he's mocking dutch

don’t starve rtgame & callmekevin starters

He allowed a laugh at the impersonation though was acutely aware of the location of the man at the center of the mirth. It had seemed that as time was passing, Dutch was less keen on good humor and more quick to strike at the nearest sign of doubt. It was increasingly concerning for the magician: Dutch knew a fair amount about him. Not as much as Arthur had learned, but still too much for Josiah to be quite comfortable making enemies. 

There was always the chance that this... off-behavior in their leader was caused by something rather mundane. Perhaps even uncomfortable or embarrassing. He remembered when he ate some bad oysters... he was quite convinced the world was out to get him as well. A part of him dearly hoped that Dutch’s problems were the result of something temporary, and he would return to the man he once was - or at least presented himself as. 

Though it probably would not be enough to keep things from crumbling even if they were to get back the Dutch Josiah had known for so long. And John here seemed to have his own thoughts on the matter. Thoughts that Josiah could hardly blame him for. With dear Jack and sweet Abigail... Well. Having a family in this life was far from ideal. Josiah’s own wife and sons present in his mind when he saw this small family living among rogues. Jack’s wellbeing especially concerning. 

Not that he doubted Abigail’s abilities to care for a child, but there were weapons, medicine, fires, explosives, all sorts of things a curious young boy could get a hold of if left unsupervised. That was not to mention the people at the camp. He would rather bite his arm off than allow his sons to associate with Mr. Bell or even Mr. Williamson. 

“You just have to keep the faith, Mr. Marston,” he said with a raised brow, allowing for his own slight mocking of Mr. Van der Linde. He had his own thoughts on Dutch, though he understood how John’s might differ. With a more serious air he spoke, “Seems that faith is getting a little bit thin,” he again ensured that no one would be able to listen should certain things be said. “How are you doing, John? With this ‘faith?’”

Times change. Things change. Their world had been no different, not unmarred by consequence and failed gambles. Josiah had watched it, straddling that line between observer and participant. He had been able to escape the fall of the Van der Linde gang with only a sorrowful heart for those he missed. He had heard Arthur had passed - honestly the man had all but told him directly that he was not going to survive. And he had heard of the fate of Miss Grimshaw. And more. 

His family had questioned his demeanor. How it had changed when he returned, normally jovial and happy to be home now somber. Perhaps it was the moment he felt loneliest: when he realized there was none to turn to for the sorrows. Lord knew he didn’t want his wife learning he had been running with the Van der Linde gang, though she perhaps had suspicions around his... honesty. 

The sorrows had been buried for years - his boys now grown. And he had heard rumors of a Mr. Jim Milton. And then of another JM. Discussing with strangers in bars allowed him to piece together enough to come to a satisfied conclusion that at least for a while, John, Jack, and Abigail had been okay. But time had passed since then too.

Now knowing that, and seeing a friend’s face are two different things. John had grown, matured. Those scars still there but it did nothing to detract from those same piercing eyes. Josiah had no doubt the man would be just as fearsome in a fight, perhaps more so nowadays. Not that he hoped to ever be facing down the barrel of his gun. 

He would concur with John that he also believed New Austin might be a bit unfriendly for his type - if the dust on his fine jacket told him anything. He had heard of some of the old guard were holed up around here, their fearsome reputations preceded them. It would be foolish to seek them out. “Dying can make just about any creature lash out dangerously and without caution. I fear for whatever gets caught in the fury. Or for whomever,” he glanced at John. He didn’t doubt John’s skill, but despite their long absence from each other he still valued the other’s life. West Dickens definitely rang a bell, and Trelawny certainly had a number of opinions - most of which could be considered the pot calling the kettle black. 

Word Prompts Compilation: no longer accepting. give: john pulls cường onto his horse.

   @wulvur​ asked . . .

                                                                   [ guard ] for jack..

|| nonverbal prompts. || accepting.

     perhaps, in some world, in some universe, across the vast sea of all that is and ever was, there is a universe in which jack does not hold some amount of hate in his heart for his father.

     unfortunately, a world such as this is not that world, and there has been and currently is and possibly always will be a small ember of rage within jack marston held for his father’s failings, which both jack and his mother have suffered for. of course, the young marston didn’t understand the intricacies of abandoning one’s previous self in favor of building an entirely new person from the ground up - and the trial and error that comes with adapting to a modern society that has progressed far past the need for people like john. progress, in that way, is a finicky thing to understand - and even more difficult to explain.

     but it was this misunderstanding, this rage, that bubbled to the surface this crisp autumn night, the lashing out of a teenage boy confronted by the complexities of life and ultimately trying to reject that not quite everything can be as black and white as the stories he reads in his books, which caused both books and words to fly across the house, as if demanding pain as a penance could give jack anything more than more rage and guilt. indeed, regret settled in during nearly the same moment the book struck, causing the boy to scurry and flee and attempt an escape of the consequences of his actions through the door to the yard.

     but what young jack forgot as he flew out and into the night was that marston blood is particularly delectable to wolves.

     so there he lays, in the dirt just beyond the boundaries of the yard, fear in his eyes, pain in the ankle he’s rolled trying to get back to the safety of the house or even just the yard, history repeating itself as canine fangs glint in the moonlight, distant now but closing in and he scrambles backwards, desperate, ignoring the sharp rocks that dig and prick and wound as he searches for some distance between him and what feels like certain death. there’s a stunned cry as he hits the fence, back slamming into unforgiving wood, and something akin to a sob escapes him. so this is how it ends - in a flash of teeth and red and sorrow.

     and then there’s a barrier between them, of solid flesh and bone and it takes jack just a few moments to realize that his father has sought him out amongst the darkness - and arrived just in time. the moon’s light may glint off the dripping, hungry teeth stalking nearer and nearer, but it shines just as brightly off of the well-used metal of his father’s sawed off shotgun, and perhaps with just a tad more brilliance, not entirely unlike . . .

                 a knight’s sword, perhaps.

                         heroes from strange origins, indeed.