#;;musing: jack

[malusrecord]

@magioffire

what a fascinating person. can I run you over

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] drawn for fun, he doesn't know how to hold that thing wwwwww

[home-of-renn]

AU where Danny never tells Sam and Tucker about the portal accident but they eventually put together the pieces after Danny starts acting hella weird. Especially around his parents.

They eventually figure it out but can't seem to decide whether their friend is actually dead or if there's something else going on. They inadvertently become ghost experts while playing detective, while also simultaneously trying their best to help Danny from the shadows without him finding out that they found out.

Bonus points if they have to fend off Jazz with a stick cause she knows something's up and she knows that Sam and Tucker know but Sam and Tucker keep covering their tracks and doing their best to throw her off the scent.

Bonus, bonus points if Jazz knows that there's something very messed up going on and desperately wants to know what happened to her brother but Sam and Tucker think she's on her parent's side and are convinced that she'll just report back to them if she ever finds out.

Bonus, bonus, bonus points! if Jazz just has this deep, gut-wrenching feeling that she can't tell her parents about her suspicions and that there's something increasingly disturbing about both her parents and Danny's behaviour as well as how the three of them interact after the portal got turned on. She does her best to keep her parent's attention off of Danny, which kinda helps but also inadvertently gets in the way of Sam and Tucker's helping.

Bonus, bonus, bonus, bonus points!!!!! if Maddie and Jack have acquired some very mild ecto contamination from being in such close proximity with the portal on a daily basis and their continued exposure is making them slowly exhibit Obsession-like behaviours about their work and research, which consequentially results in their attitudes/behaviours becoming increasingly more disturbing and concerning from an outside perspective.

[fukutomichi]

The Rings of Power | Season 2 | Aug 29 - Oct 3, 2024 "You truly are the Great Deceiver. You can deceive even yourself." - Celebrimbor

[marstonsboy]

i can’t think about jack marston without nearly crying over just how sorry i feel for him. like, i’m sorry you were only four years old when the admittedly unstable support system you had fell apart. i’m sorry you didn’t have a real, permanent home until you were twelve, and i’m sorry you only got four years before that too was ripped away from you. i’m sorry you felt that you had to prove yourself otherwise your father would leave again like he’s done multiple times before. i’m sorry you felt so inferior you were unable to believe that your parents loved you so much and would have done anything for you. i’m sorry you had to pick up a gun and shoot at people at sixteen and kill a man for the first time at nineteen. i’m sorry you watched uncle die then watched your mother lose herself to grief over your father’s corpse, riddled with bullets in front of your home. i’m sorry you had to bury your mother only three years later. i’m sorry you lost your family and yourself and willingly threw your life away so young in the name of revenge no one wanted you to seek. i’m sorry you ended up all alone and grew up to be exactly the man your family did everything to save you from becoming. i’m so sorry jack marston.

[gofuschia]

based on this gunnar hansen pic:

[oscquinn]

Jack and [ injury ] a careful kiss on a partner's wound to make it all better but it’s his shoulder

get well soon jack we miss u ☹️

[ injury ] a careful kiss on a partner's wound to make it all better from these kiss prompts. part of my mini writing event, now closed!

jack hughes x f!reader, rated g. shoulder injury mentions, soft jack <33

jack looks adorably small, all cozy on the couch in one of your pink hoodies and a pair of black boxers. you can't help but smile at him, his sling placed neatly on the table and his arm tucked to his chest.

"jack," you scold with a teasing lilt, "you're supposed to be wearing that."

jack looks up, flashes you a sheepish smile, and replies, "i know, i know. but it was getting all sweaty. and i'm holding my arm like i'm supposed to, see?"

you nod, noticing the way he's moved the loose neck of your oversized hoodie aside from his healing surgery scar. he'd been complaining that it itched all morning, and you figured it was a for the relief.

wary of his injured arm, you slide next to jack on the couch. "what're you watching?" you ask softly.

"project runway. my mom loved it when i was little," he admits.

you ruffle his hair softly, "you're so cute, y'know that?" you ask him, leaning in to kiss his blushing cheek. jack likes to pretend that he's immune to your sweet words. but he cant hide his reddening face, or the little smile that blooms on his lips.

"quit that," he says, all bark and no bite. "at least call me handsome or something."

all you do is smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on his shoulder. "love you," you murmur.

jack huffs, pretending to be annoyed, but he turns to kiss your forehead. lips pressed against you he answers, "love you too, sweetheart."

© oscquinn, 2025. click here for my inbox.

[superhoeva]

if there’s one thing about jack abbot, it’s that he’s going to mock you during sex… though never done out of cruelty or with any malicious intent. if fact, the two of you don’t even think of it as such—mocking.

his words are more of a… provocative ribbing that he knows will flood your mind with a haze. a haze you’re comfortable with floating in, that fills you full, right into a world-bending breaking point.

you’re both on your sides, facing and pressing against each other. substituting oxygen with your panting huffs, jack inhales your moans with sloppy, spit-slick kisses. he feels you shiver in his arms when he slips himself back inside, resettling your leg over his hip to push as far into your pussy as you’ll let him.

jack smirks to himself, his palm moving to splay against the cheek of your ass and yank you closer. he grunts through a sudden exhale at the new angle, commencing a roll of his waist that causes a gasp to burn your lungs.

“fuck, jack,” your mewl, voice weak and wobbly. “ah—ah, ‘s so deep…”

“is it? s’it nice and deep, baby?” he mumbles at your lips, copying your desperate nod and small yeahs with an expression of pity you can tell is fake. “wonder ‘f i can get any deeper...”

you aren’t given a chance to wonder the same before jack is gripping your ass with a stronger squeeze. his tender thrusts adjust into a sharp, sturdy pounding that jerks his balls back and forth against your pussy.

leaking around his thickness, you hand reaches behind to clench the sheet beneath you. it’s the only thing you can manage, the rest of your mind a sweet mush.

“t-too much.” you can barley talk, air escaping your body faster than you can replace it. “it’s too much, feels too good.”

jack doesn’t let up, cock throbbing and pumping hard into your heat. his bottom lip pokes out, just barely, matching your blissed out expression.

“oh, ‘too much, it’s too much’,” he recites, drawing out the words in a teasing tone you wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. “i don’t think so, baby. shit, you’re doing so good. takin’ my cock all nice and pretty.”

you crumble against jack but he holds you steady. lips smushed into his neck, you smear it messy with the spit drooling from slurred, open-mouthed mumbles. 

“you’re so big,” you stammer, vision going blurry at the wet squelch that sounds whenever he rears out of you, and subsequent groan that jumps from jack when he slicks back inside your creaming hole. 

“ooh, i‘m so big?” jack keeps his pace steady through the witty responses, and you can’t yourself from meeting his thrusts with your own grind. you don’t have to see him to feel the grin quirking the corners of his mouth. “hm? maybe i should pull out, give you a break—”

“no. no,” you whine over the rocking of the bed, clutching his as if he’s truly considering slipping his cock out and leaving you empty and cold. “no, don’t stop. gonna come again…”

the words flip a switch in jacks brain and he fucks you the hardest he has all night. foot planting into the bed, he sounds with deep coos at your uncontrollable cries he forces out of you.

it’s disgusting, the way you’ve coated his member in a velvety mixture of your juices. dripping down, it even collects against his sack, glossing him and making his eyes roll.

“gimme that cum, baby. just like last time, squirt it all out for me.”

you body goes numb yet feels like it’s imploding all at once. jack watches the way you shiver in his grasp, clenching around his swollen cock as you gush messily. he fucks you through it, the liquid spurting to wet his stomach and balls.

“that’s it,” he chokes out, inching dangerously close to his own finish. it only takes a few more pulses of your peak to finally clutch his own, plunging feverishly until he’s balls deep inside you. “f-fuck, yeah, right there.”

jack breaks. groaning into the side of your face and latching onto you while comes, the inescapable bliss makes his entire body twitch with harsh trembles.

“holy fuck, i’m still goin,” jack almost growls, air caught in his throat at the continuous ropes of cum he spills into you. the both of you are still heaving and coming as he leaks out of you. your lips puffy and swollen, and a sticky mess. it goes on for so long that jack ends up laughing through his moans, stomach sore from all the clenching.

it takes a few more minutes for your bodies to finally melt into tangled piles of limbs, the warm residue of your climax swimming nicely in your belly.

“you still with me, gorgeous?”

the only response you can muster is a sleepy mm-mm, and he gives you an equally-exhausted laugh. you only find the strength to peel open your eyes when a soft hand cradles your chin to tilt your head.

eyelids fluttering, you stare at him in a lost, fuzzy daze. thumb stroking your cheek, jack blinks sleepily at you before planting a soft kiss on the corner of your lips.

“i’m right here,” he promises, words certain but still far away when they reach your ears. “right here, baby. need you to come back for me, okay?”

a whine seeps from your lips. it’s not a defiance but you’re not obliging him either. you’re just… still in orbit, where you are the sun and jack’s the earth just before a dawn; as usual, he’ll push past the incoming fatigue, and wait for the otherworldly, ingrained tug that will eventually pull you back to him.

“right here…”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[whimzycle]

you wanna know the fun thing that I noticed about Jack when I was rewatching rotg?

On both instances that Pitch was about to attack him, he froze up.

[st-just]

Eidolon is honestly one of my favorite incredibly tragic tertiary characters in worm. Clearly raised his whole life getting the message that your life only has any value whatsoever if you're useful (and that he equally clearly did not meet the bar), to the point that when Cauldron found him he was about to kill himself after getting rejected by the army.

And then absolutely never outgrew that bone-deep belief, just now he has enough power to be useful - the most useful, even! And the idea of that slipping away as the booster shots grow less effective is driving him to the brink even before he learns just how far his power had gone to make him essential.

[h-a-unted]

[bertoltblecht]

I think 100% of the dynamic with Walsh and Abbot is that they’re both vets but they’re different branches. He’s like an army medic and she’s like a navy surgeon.

They have built-in respect but also pre-existing beef and completely different approaches to medicine.

[lovings4turn]

the clock is ticking down and you’re dizzy on cheap champagne , the bubbles working their way up into the arteries of your heart as they fizz and pop .

you feel light , nearly high despite the lack of substances you’ve consumed , and the party around you is thrumming . all of your friends have coupled off , of course , having boyfriends and girlfriends to ring in the new year with . and you don’t mind , really ! being single for yet another year is fine .

there’s a minute til midnight , and suddenly , a familiar arm is slung around your shoulder , the impish grin of your best friend jack staring back at you . his cheeks are flushed , rosy , his light hair a little damp with sweat yet hanging around his face like a halo .

“you found anyone?” he shouts , and your face scrunches up in confusion .

“what?”

“new years,” he clarifies , as though it’s obvious . “gotta have a kiss to ring in the new year.”

as he speaks , his eyes drop to your lips , as though it’s nothing . just tradition , obviously . and maybe it’s the alcohol , the cheap buzz clouding your mind , but your eyes drop down , too .

because really , what’s a kiss between friends ?

the silent conversation seems to last , as before you know it , the crowd around you begins to chant .

ten!

jack’s eyes are on your lips .

nine!

your eyes meet his .

eight!

an arm snakes tentatively around your waist , fingers dancing over your hip .

seven!

a furrow of brows , quick enough to be a silent question , a confirmation of what you suspect to be happening .

six!

a nod , barely there , a confirmation .

five!

a head , dropped to your height , a cheesy smile across lips that barely brush your own .

four!

you melt into jack’s hold , shaking your head in amusement at his actions , because only he would come up with a plan like this .

three!

it’s just new year’s , you tell yourself . a tradition , nothing more .

two!

but maybe not . because jack’s gaze has softened , his eyes are fond , and this doesn’t feel like one of his usual drunken whims . you know the face he gets when he’s intoxicated and looking for mischief , but this ? this is far more sincere .

one!

he’s a breath away . a gentle squeeze is delivered to your waist .

happy new year!

lips are on yours , soft yes passionate . much more than a peck , for sure . his lips work once , twice , and his tongue brushes your lower lip before he pulls away , dazed .

“happy new year, y/n,” he mumbles , almost dreamily . his eyes drop once more , another kiss delivered to your lips .

“happy new year, jack,” you return , tucking yourself into his side .

you fit . he smiles . and with the new year comes something else new .

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

That devil-may-care attitude. That nonchalant nap he decides to take.

Everything about the way Chase lies back and takes a nap in the Sphere of Yun is mimicing Dashi, from the arms pillowed behind his head, right down to crossing his left leg over his right in the exact same pose and position.

There are little habits Chase seemed to have learned from or at least picked up from Dashi in their time together.

Like how a few of the ways that Chase interacts with Omi are similar to the ways Dashi interacted with Omi in the brief time they got together.

Chase's playful demeanor when he's up against Omi in a match,

And some of the little bits of the way Dashi displays physical affection too.

(Though everything Chase picked up from Dashi, Chase does add his own smug flair to. Which probably makes it work even better with Omi.)

But in this case, I think Chase is emulating Dashi specifically because he's trying to be as irreverent and irritating as Chase always found Dashi at times like this. But it's also just an effective way of ending a conversation.

Chase's reaction to it back in the day was definitely something akin to Omi's.

Unfortunately for Chase, it's not as effective at getting on Jack's nerves as it is when Dashi was using it to get on Omi and Chase's nerves.

But it's cute that Chase's invoking his old friend at all here.

[radiance1]

Vlad: Would you like to form an alliance... with me?

Ghost writer: Absolutely. Absolutely, I do.

Now, Vlad should know better than to ally himself with someone who broke the Christmas truce, buuuut. The call for DnD is so tempting that he just had to do it.

He then dragged Daniel and his friends into it as well. Daniel dragged his sister along and then the Fenton parents found out and, well.

It suddenly became a thing.

Oh well, both Vlad and Ghost Writer sculpt up some lore from each of their character sheets, weave a world from words and then drag a random number of people to act as their 'players.'

It was supposed to be people from Amity Park, but there was a miscalculation on that part, and honestly you can't even blame them because they've been weaving nonstop and Vlad ignored quite a bit of sleep to try and make this perfect as he could.

So instead of civilians they dragged in a few members of the Justice League and, well.

As long as they play by the rules nothing would hopefully go wrong...?

[marstonsboy]

had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.