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Im just saying... Jack would definitely have to learn how to swim at some point, don't you think? Whether he has to teach himself or someone, maybe an S/O, teaches him.
I feel like he would be scared of water after not touching it for probably his entire life. If he is, learning would probably be really nerve wracking for him.
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Idk why but I can see him looking at the ring he got you CONSTANTLY, just hoping and praying that you love it 😭🥰🥺
Fic or HCs where Adult!Jack proposes to a long term partner of his because its what he deserves
ahhhh i got carried away with these headcanons!!!! here's some gn!Reader for you :0)
Jack's been thinking about this for a long time. His first thoughts were "I'll never be able to get married, nobody is dumb enough to marry me." And then you came along and his thoughts changed to "I've gotta marry them. I have to. I need to before somebody else does."
He's spent countless hours picking out a ring for you, flicking through catalogs, traveling from town to town to see what the stores have. He wants to find the perfect one.
Abigail once told him how John proposed to her, taking her into town then rowing her out into the lake. Jack's inspired by that but wants to do things a little differently.
He's never really been east before, but he's always been fond of the way Saint Denis looks in the distance from the Blackwater docks. You've mentioned before that it would be nice to go over there, to see what a real big city is like.
So, Jack surprises you one day.
"We're going into town! Well, not exactly town... but you'll see," he says as he hurries you to pack your bags. "Don't pack too much, sweetheart. I'm sure you'll be bringing plenty back."
The usual ferry that goes over to Saint Denis is waiting at the docks, a familiar sight for you, but you start to question what Jack's up to when he's leading you onto the boat.
He refuses to tell you what he's got planned. "My lips are sealed, darlin'. You ain't getting a peep out of me!"
Most of your time on the ferry is spent looking out at the landscape; the mountains in the distance of West Elizabeth, the beautiful hills of the Heartlands, the thick swamps of Lemoyne.
The closer you get to Saint Denis, the more you realize what's going on. Jack has finally taken you over to the big city. He's got such a smug look on his face when the ferry comes into the docks, and an even smugger look when he's checking the two of you into the hotel.
"We've got a week here, sweetheart. We can do whatever you fancy." And he means that, he's happy to do anything you want for the week.
You're a few days in when you wake up one night to find that Jack isn't beside you. As you sit up, you notice him through the balcony doors. He's stood on the balcony, his forearms resting on the railing as he looks out over the city.
He keeps dipping his head down, almost as if he's looking at something in his hands. Maybe he has his sketchbook out? It doesn't quite look like it, but you leave him to it and go back to sleep.
Jack gets a bit carried away with buying himself some new clothes; a load of very fine looking suits. You know he's going to be showing those outfits off when he's back in the Blackwater Saloon playing poker.
On the last night there, you go for an evening walk with Jack. He told you to dress up, because "why not? it's our last night here. Let's try and blend in with the locals."
You watch the sunset on the pier with him after going for dinner together. He's stood with his arm around your waist overlooking the water, and you've noticed the way he's nervously fiddling with your clothing, and how clammy his hands seem as he keeps wiping them off on his blazer.
He's unbelievably nervous. He knew he'd get nervous, but this is waaaaay more than he was expecting. The last time he felt like this was during that short walk he took along the river before finding Ross, but that was a different kind of nervous.
Jack's thought time and time again about how to say it. Should he be mushy and begin telling you how much he loves you? Should he ask to tie your shoelace and pull the ring out then? He just can't settle on one.
Something catches Jacks eye as he's looking out at the water and an idea springs to mind.
"Is that a dolphin?" Jack asks as he points out at the water. You say "where?!" excitingly, and Jack continues to vaguely point out whilst urging you forward.
"What do you mean you can't see it? It's right there!" he tells you, gently laughing (though it's a nervous laugh.)
Your hands rest on the railing, squinting as you look out at the water for that damn dolphin. You've paid no attention to the fact that Jacks hand has disappeared from your waist, or the fact that he's taken a step back from you.
"You must be playing tricks on me-" you begin to tut as you turn back to him, ready to tell him off for playing another joke on you.
He's settling on one knee, the ring between his fingers as his other hand reaches forward to gently take yours. He tells you all the mushy stuff, about how much he adores you, how much you mean to him, etcetc.
Yes, Jack is sobbing as he puts the ring on your finger, and you can taste his tears on his lips as he stands to give you a kiss.
Maybe you'll get married in Saint Denis on your next visit, or maybe you'll travel around the areas in between and pick a place along the way, the places that Jack barely remembers from when he was a child.
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Anyone else have to blare music that fits the specific emotion you’re trying to convey when writing? If I don’t cry while writing angst, it doesn’t feel genuine to me. Lmao maybe I’m just weird
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I'm finally getting the game again 😭 it's been so long since I've played I'm so excited 🥰
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When I saw this for the first time I was like JSNVJFOEOCKVKD HE SMILED 😭🥰😍❤️
the littlest smirky smile in the world
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"Dost thou want to engage in a duel, my good bitch?" SENT ME
Modern!Reader But It’s Beecher’s Hope
~~
Abigail & John:
Reader, mockingly: Oh, look at us, we’re all happy and in love and not dead inside!
Abigail & John:
Reader: Get fucked, both of you.
—
John, sitting in the couch with Abigail:
Y/N’s getting into trouble
Abigail: How do you know?
John: I can sense it.
*In Blackwater*
Reader, driving a flaming wagon while getting chased by cops: HIGHWAAY TO THE DANGERZONEE~
—
Reader: If I see a bug, I simply leave the room elegantly and require someone else do something about it.
Reader: If no one fulfills my wish, I simply never go back in there.
Uncle: Y/N, it’s a barn. There’s going to be spiders in a barn.
Reader: Unacceptable.
—
Reader: When I first met you, I did not like you.
John: I'm aware of that.
Reader: But then you and I had some time together...
John: Uh-huh?
Reader: It did not get better.
—
Reader: Do you know a turtles only weakness?
Abigail: No... well, their slowness.
Reader: Their weaknesss is they can't roll over when they are on their backs.
Reader: Now I have a pla-
John: We don’t say that word!
Reader: I have an idea.
Reader: If I duct tape two turtles together, they'll be unstoppable.
—
John: What the FUCK did you do?!?
Reader, sitting down, surrounded by corpses: I won Mafia, that’s what.
—
Abigail: Jack got into a fight.
John: What?! Why??
Reader: Did he win?
—
Reader, to John: FIGHT ME, YOU NERD ASS SLUT!
Charles: Could you at least tryto sound slightly more sophisticated when you threaten someone?
Reader: Oh, I’m sorry.
Reader: Dost thou want to engage in a duel, my good bitch?
Charles: Somehow that's worse.
—
John: *Sitting on the bed, holding Arthur’s hat*
Reader, standing in the doorway: Abigail said it’s my turn on the depression.
—
Reader: We have a problem.
John: Am I sober enough to deal with it?
Reader: Probably not.
—
Abigail, talking about John’s taxidermy squirrel: Y/N, get that hidious thing out of the living room, would you?
Reader: John, Abigail wants you to get out of the house.
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(not my picture!!)
POV: A strange man approaches you and Jack.
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Them rolled up sleeves got me feelin some type of way 🥵
i fucking love him
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Saving for later ✨
Red Dead - A Call to Arms
A new drabble about Jack Marston, where Jack avoids the draft for World War One.
He watches them through his binoculars. Some dozy prick of an official and a military man wandering around Beecher’s Hope. Even from this distance he can see the official is sweating, it’s a surprisingly hot day in September and the man frequently wipes his brow with a damp looking handkerchief, before hammering his fist on the front door. Jack would laugh, but this is getting annoying.
***
He got his draft papers a while ago, from some other little jumped up official. Jack had held it between forefinger and thumb, as though it were a disgusting cockroach rather than a summons to die for his goddamn country.
‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘Your service papers, Mr Marston. Our country needs every able-bodied man it can get to defend it.’
‘From what?’ Jack gazed around the yard, making a show of looking for enemies, but having found none fixing the man with a contemptuous glare.
‘From the Hun, Mr Marston. You surely must have heard about the Great War or read the newspapers.’
‘I don’t read the news or trouble myself with petty gossip,’ Jack snarled.
The official looked affronted and Jack had done everything in his power not to spit at the man’s feet. Well, was this sad, pathetic excuse of a man going to pack his bags and head off to war like a good little boy? Probably not given the man’s belly and the glasses that wobbled precariously on his nose.
‘Be that as it may,’ the man replied coolly, ‘Please make your way to Blackwater Station at eleven o’clock on Saturday, where you’ll be taken to your training camp.’
Jack had forced a cold smile and gave the man a nod, as though he couldn’t think of anything better. ‘Sure,’ he replied, then closed the door in the man’s face.
He walked through the hall and into the kitchen, where he had been disturbed from making his supper, opened the hatch on the stove and tossed the papers inside. Like hell he’ll join the US Government’s army, like hell he’ll be sent across the ocean and ordered to kill men he doesn’t know. He’s not going to rob children of their fathers.
He stops by the kitchen table, placing his hands on it, clenching them into fists when he feels hot, angry tears. He closes his eyes and stops himself. Opens them once more when he’s back in control, when his jaw is tight, when the pain and grief has blossomed into anger and rage. Anger he can deal with, tears he cannot.
He had finished his supper. He hadn’t been so foolish to think that the US Army will be watching him, they just know him as Jack Marston, a man who means little and nothing to them. All too ready to forget how they gunned down his father, after John Marston had done everything they asked of him. Jack swallows back his whiskey and finishes his paltry supper of hard bread, cheese, cold ham and a sour apple that would have been better for cider.
He had begun his work. Nailing down the shutters, hammering wooden planks across them. He gathers the more valuable possessions he has from his parents and places them inside a wooden chest. He gazed at his mother’s wedding ring for a moment, the ruby glinting in the light. He misses her. Misses her sharp tongue, misses her scolding him for not studying harder, misses her soft words when she tucked him into bed, her kiss on his forehead, the way she would tickle him and then cuddle him close to her when he tried to escape.
Later that night he buried the chest in the barn, in one of the stalls. Once the dirt had been packed in and the straw replaced, you would never know anything had been hidden there. Percival had given him an odd look, but Jack had spoken to him soothingly, reassuring the horse that he knew what he was doing.
He slung the saddle bags and blanket over the horse’s rear. He had enough supplies to last a good long time and it wasn’t like this was his first time in doing this. He led his horse out from the barn, then once the barn doors were locked and sealed close, he mounted up. Under the moonlight they made their escape, travelling over the Great Plains, up by Macfarlane Ranch and then onwards until he camped for the night just outside Armadillo.
***
The military man looks bored, the official seems to have given up and is hacking up half a lung by his car. Jack’s no fool, he doesn’t stay in towns for long, he gives false names, tells them a different story as to why he’s there. The slacker raids ain’t going well for these government officials and Jack’s quite happy to have them chase him from state to state, not that they bother a great deal. He’s one man amongst many. The government doesn’t care to look for outlaws anymore.
By the end of their investigation, the official looks frustrated and annoyed, he is doing one more march around the yard like a pompous goose. The military man looks uninterested and is lighting up a cigarette by the car. Finally, the official gets into the car and Jack can hear the slam of the door from where he’s sitting. The military man takes his time, finishing his cigarette, then gets into the driver’s seat, starts the car and they drive off.
He waits until later in the afternoon to sneak down and gather some provisions he had stored in the barn. He’s mostly there to repair a broken stirrup, but it doesn’t hurt to have a bit more food in his supplies. He’s there until the early evening, smoking a cigarette between his teeth and concentrating on fixing the leather. Once that’s done, he gives a final look at his home, before mounting Percival and galloping off into the night.
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Saving this for when I want to sob again ✨
I always wished that Uncle had gotten a more peaceful and somewhat happy ending so here it is, in a perfect world, in an alternate universe, whatever you want to call it. I belted this one out at 1 am and definitely did it through tears so take it as it is or not at all, tbh.
"Old man," The gentle hand on his shoulder woke him up. "You going to sleep here tonight, or?" He'd fallen asleep in his chair by the fire. It must have been midnight or later judging by the sky and the sleep in Abigail's eyes. She usually went to bed earlier than this- she must have stayed up knitting and came to check on him.
He stood up and fought back a lament about how much his back was hurting: it always started to ache badly as the sun set. Made it tough to sleep. Finding trouble sleeping wouldn't be an issue tonight, Uncle thought. He was feeling sleepy already when he sat by the fire and sung some songs with Jack and Abi but he hadn't realized how tired he was until the warmth and the crackle lulled him.
John was standing on the porch finishing up a cigarette when Uncle started to make his way inside. "Sleep well, you old bastard," he said, with his classic smile.
"You too," Uncle chuckled, "You know, you're getting old too. If I keeled over right now I'm not so sure you could keep this farm running without me."
Abigail came and stood by John and placed her arm around him and laughed breathily. "I don't know what we'd do without you." She sounded only slightly sarcastic and so was Uncle's reply.
"Probably die yourselves."
Passing through the door and the hallway, he could see into Jack's room with the door slightly ajar. Sometimes the boy liked to sleep with the door open as he had nightmares and it made it easier for them to check in on him. Tonight, it appeared, he wasn't asleep yet.
"Goodnight, Jackie boy," Uncle grunted. "You better get some sleep. You've got big shoes to fill, John keeps buying shoes a few sizes too big and your momma's gonna kill him for keeping you up so late letting you read those stories."
Jack was reading a book in the dim light and Uncle could just imagine his mother nagging about him hurting his eyes and his father nagging about him ruining his brain with stories. On that note, he decided to head to bed faster before he could witness it.
"G'night, Uncle," Jack looked up at him with the same sleep in his eyes that his mother had. They're too alike. Uncle knew the boy would stay up at least two hours more reading that dang book which he has certainly read many times already. "Maybe tomorrow you can finally tell me about your days as the One Shot Kid."
Uncle had to laugh at that one. "Maybe I won't, Jack, that story will definitely rot your brain." He stepped away and walked slowly to his room in the attic, admiring the home that he called his now and for the last couple of years. It was a shitshow and everything else terrible but he loved it.
As he laid in his bed, he thought about all of the times that he had no bed to lie in. He thought about all of the times that he hadn't eaten in days and he fell asleep to the sound of his stomach rumbling, trains passing, and men fighting. He thought about the times he was woken from sleep in the dark of night or the earliest of mornings to screaming, to blood, to unimaginable violence and pain that he was so, so incredibly glad to be away from now. Instead of crying for the past, Uncle smiled as he fell into sleep. He had a home now, a family. A bed, food. He had everything he had needed in life and more. Arthur and many others died to give him this and he was very grateful.
He woke once more as the sun began to gently shine through the windows and he smiled again sleepily, thinking of his loved ones also sleeping in the house below him. He watched a light beam roll across his raggedy rope on the wall as he thought that John would be waking soon to tend to the animals and Abigail to begin her cleaning and cooking. He fell back into sleep imagining what kind of stew she'd make today, and what kind of insults John would lovingly throw his way.
He dreamed of the plains and wild horses, he dreamed of his parents, he dreamed of Arthur kicking him awake with a laugh, he dreamed of singing a song with his old friends late at night by a warm fire, and then he dreamed of nothing.
He did not wake again. John found him after Abigail started to wonder about him- usually he got up and around about noon or so and it was getting past that. "Get up, Uncle. It's time to do some work-"
John's eyes focused on Uncle's unmoving chest and the peaceful look on his face. The slight smile. His eyes were still closed- it could not have been very long ago. He sighed. He sat on the bed next to his Uncle and he began to cry. "I'm so sorry." It was all he could say.
He sat there for a long time before he started down the ladder to the kitchen where Abigail was standing with a worried look on her face and Jack was entering with a confused look. "What is it, Pa?"
John shook his head. Abigail silently walked into the living room and sat down on the couch and… and then she laughed. "He did say we'd bury him here." Jack quickly looked at John with tears in his eyes.
"Uncle is dead, Pa? When? Why?" he started to walk towards the kitchen like he wanted to go up the ladder towards the attic. John gently stopped him and pulled him into a hug and held him with the love only a father can.
"He's gone, son, and I don't want you to see him yet." John had stopped crying before he came down to them but now he felt more tears dripping down his face. "I've got to get him down here and get him ready to be buried. We'll have a hell of a time breaking soil to get him buried in this weather but we have to get it done."
Jack let out a horrible noise and sobbed into John's chest and in that moment a million words were said. John remembered finding Jack tickling Uncle's nose with a feather while he slept. He remembered reprimanding Uncle for asking Jack to get him some booze. He remembered finding Jack and Uncle both asleep at separate ends of the living room couch, and he remembered wondering how they could possibly fall asleep in such uncomfortable positions. He knew that he needed to be strong in this moment for his son.
Abigail came and stood by him and asked him what she could do to help. "Grab me a shovel and find me a couple of pieces of scrap wood for his marker, sweetheart. Jack, stay here for now, we'll come get you in a while. I want to put him under one of the trees he liked to sleep under."
"You big softie," Abigail chuckled through tears. She left to do what she needed to do and so did John. He walked up the ladder again and he laid eyes on Uncle again. Life and death and everything in between happens so incredibly fast, and John couldn't help but find anger in his heart at all of it. But, he shook away the negativity as he looked again at his beloved friend. He found joy in the fact that Uncle had died here in the safety of a house rather than in many of the places he once could have. He found joy in the fact that he could be and do that for him.
He struggled to do so, physically and so very much emotionally, but he carried him down through the kitchen and the back door and met Abigail up the hill near a large tree. She was crying but she always looked so beautiful and he spoke a silent thank you to the late Uncle for bringing her into his life. For reminding him constantly to be good to his wife. For helping him rebuild his life and bring her back into it.
He laid Uncle down on the ground and began to dig. His body racked with sobs with every motion and Abigail stood and watched and said a few things about how she met Uncle in the worst time of her life and she could never repay him for what he did for her. He agreed, and he agreed, and he agreed, and he dug, and he dug, and he dug. And finally the hole was deep enough, and the hole in his heart was greater. He had lost so much. He knew Uncle had too, and he again found joy in the fact that Uncle was finally free from that pain. All of the pain.
He had gotten to die at home like every old man deserves. Humbly, at peace, in a mostly warm bed in a mostly clean and happy house with a… somewhat normal family. "I'll go get Jack now. I'm afraid I'll need his help lowering him down there gently. I want him to be able to say something as well, and he needs to see this part of life, Abigail."
"Go," she turned her head and looked to the sky. When they returned, she had picked some wildflowers from nearby and was tucking them into Uncle's shirt pockets.
Jack looked upon Uncle and wiped his face and tried to look brave. He had seen dead people before despite his parents every efforts to keep him from seeing it, but Uncle looked different. There was no blood. He did not look afraid. He looked happy and like he was sleeping. "Did Uncle die while he was sleeping, Pa? Why didn't he wake up and tell us he was sick?"
"That just isn't how it works, son," John said and held his boy. "I'm sorry you have to see him like this."
"I'm not. He looks happy."
They all stood there under the sun which was now just beginning to set. They stood there for longer than John had sat by Uncle's side, they stood for long enough that the sun nearly left the sky completely. They talked about all of their memories with Uncle, the good and the bad, too. "Help me lower him down, boy," John's face hurt from crying and Jack came and stood by Uncle and looked at his father for more instruction.
"Just… Just grab his feet and I'll carry most of his weight. He's heavy, son, and I'm not making a mean joke. This is the truth of life and death."
"I know, Pa, I understand. I've got him." They lowered Uncle into the cold ground and they began to cover his body with the earth. John almost wished he had chose to give him some kind of warrior's send-off, with fire and a ceremony and everything: Uncle had been a fighter. He fought hard. And John was so sorry that he hadn't given him more credit.
"Goodbye, Uncle. We love you." Abigail's body moved violently with sobs, no tears came at this point but the sobbing did not stop. She walked into the house. John and Jack stood there for a few moments more and then John sent his son inside too.
He set up the marker for Uncle. A simple cross with simple engravings. For a simple man. One of the simplest and one of the best. He would never forget him until the day he died himself. He cried and he cried and he sat by his Uncle's grave until he fell asleep.
A rush of wind came and John felt a tickle on his ear, like a feather. It woke him up. He thought he heard Uncle's laugh in the wind, which smelled slightly of booze.
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Do you think if you could cross the river in Red Dead 1, and go to Strawberry in 1911/1914, would it be a ghost town? Would it be a little bigger than it was in 1899?
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