#I wish i had his big ol hat; you could store so many things in there

[mfdragon]

Adding more of my style into his design and now I've truly made him Mediterranean 🍌☕

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Could you do one where Arthur has an obvious crush on the reader and the girls at camp notice so they tease you about it?

Hello, Anon! Thanks for sending this one in! I’m not entirely happy with it, but honestly I tried to rewrite it and it ended up in the same way, so I guess this is just the way it is. 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Arthur leans against one of the wagons, cigarette in hand. He lifts it up to take a smoke, watching as you walk past on the other side of camp. His free hand is looped around his belt, watching you unashamedly. Normally he wouldn’t be so open about watching you like this, but he thinks he’s alone. 

He’s had a crush on you for a few weeks now. You were brought into the gang a few months back and you and Arthur hit it off almost immediately, becoming fast friends. You weren’t sure what to think of him at first, but you thought he was a good man and a quick gun to have around if you needed it. You eventually grew to find you loved him, though you were too nervous to do anything about it. 

He didn’t feel anything romantic towards you for a long time either. That was until he got in a gunfight with a couple of O’Driscolls. You happened to be there too, and even though he killed most of them, you got one or two of them. However, Arthur didn’t leave the fight unscathed. He’d been grazed just above the elbow by a bullet. You immediately started to treat him, going on and on about how the wound could get infected and he could lose the arm. He kept saying you were being ridiculous and to stop making a fuss, but he secretly loved it. Your touch was so delicate and smooth he wouldn’t forget it ever. 

After that, something changed between the two of you. You didn’t act any differently, but Arthur started to. He started getting more eager to see you after being gone for days, wanted to take you out on jobs more often, just sit and talk to you. Then after a couple of weeks, he grew very distant and almost cold towards you. This hurt because you’d become very good friends and even trusted each other. You’d no idea why he did it, but it was because he was scared he might ruin things with his affections. So he figured the best thing to do was distance himself. 

That didn’t work though as he just couldn’t control himself around you. He kept approaching you, talking to you. By this time too everyone knew you were one of his preferred accomplices in jobs so they often volunteered you. Especially Hosea. He knew your feelings about Arthur as he was one of the few you’d confided in. He also thought you and Arthur would be perfect for eachother, you had habits and behaviors that suited one another, and you seemed to help keep Arthur calm and cool (though you could be quick and fiery too when needed). 

When distancing didn’t work, Arthur decided to try and go back to just being friends, but this had drawbacks too. He could control himself even less and by this time, many of the others were beginning to notice. Up in Colter, he had to endure a lot of teasing from Lenny, Bill and John (though he was quite laid up). Arthur had been wanting to get you alone to try and perhaps cuddle with you, so he made up a whole bunch of excuses in front of the others, like maybe you’d want to help him make a fire in a different building, there wasn’t enough space in the building you were in with the others, that he could use a hunting party. All of these excuses were picked up easily by the other girls, but Grimshaw prevented you from going with him. The ultimate blocker, ol’ Grimshaw. 

When the gang got down to Horseshoe Overlook and things settled down, the girls started to giggle when they saw Arthur trying to flirt with you, and you being completely oblivious. You didn’t pick up on it because you were trying to deny your own feelings for him and firmly believed that a man such as Arthur would have any interest in you. 

Arthur lowers his cigarette, a light smile on his lips as he blows out. He can’t keep his mind from drifting off to the last outing he had with you. He’d taken you to Valentine, bought you a nice meal and a few supplies from the store, then the two of you robbed the doctor who happened to be running an outlet for O’Driscolls. 

You go and sit on a crate near the wagons that provide shelters for the other girls during the night. Humming, you take out your needle and thread and begin stitching up one of Sean’s shirt after he’d fallen and ripped the sleeve. 

You hear people walking over and muffled giggling. Looking up, you smile at Mary-Beth, Karen and Tilly. Mary-Beth and Tilly try settling down, though they slip and giggle a couple times. Karen puts her hands on her hips and grins down at you. 

“What?” you demand.

They all giggle and sit down on the other crates, pretending to be working to appease Grimshaw. Still giggling, they all look up at you. 

“What’s so funny?” you say. Shit, they aren’t laughing about your fabulous cooking mishap from last night still, are they? You’d been helping Pearson by cutting up potatoes for the stew. Arthur had walked past and given you his adorable finger gun wave, which caused you to forget that you hadn’t cut up the potato you had in hand and tossed it whole into the pot. Pearson saw it and immediately chewed you out, making you fish it out. Your arm soaked in the heavily salted liquids, your face flushed, Arthur headed back over to you to talk a bit. Not wanting to look like an idiot, you threw the potato behind you, effectively hitting poor Kieran in the head as he fed the chickens, and hid your arm behind you so Arthur wouldn’t see how much of a mess you were. 

“Please don’t bring the stew thing up again,” you plead, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh, you know we will,” Karen says heartily. “But we ain’t here to rib you about that.” 

You sigh. “What? Did I do something else stupid?” 

Tilly giggles, but it’s Mary-Beth who speaks. “Oh, Y/N, nothin’ like that. It’s just… you two would be so cute together!” 

“Who you talkin’ about?” 

“You and Arthur,” Tilly says. “Everyone knows the two of you like each other.” 

You feel your stomach clench a bit. Okay maybe you haven’t exactly been subtle in your flirting, but he certainly has not reciprocated that.

“It… it ain’t like that, girls. He’s just a nice man.” 

“A nice man?” Karen says. “Okay, sure, Arthur’s got a soft side, but I wouldn’t exactly categorize him as a nice man. Nah, I reckon he’s sweet on you.” 

“No, he’s not,” you say, getting frustrated. You wish they’d stop, it’s only going to get your hopes up. 

“Fine, let us show you then,” Karen goes on. “Ladies, go to work.” 

You have no idea what she means as she gestures to Tilly and Mary-Beth. They giggle, then collect themselves, then Tilly turns to Mary-Beth and asks her about the latest book she’s been reading. Mary-Beth goes on about how it’s a romance and the way she tells it, it sounds very cheesy and predictable. They don’t bother keeping their voices down, which doesn’t bother you. 

When you peak up at them, still sewing Sean’s shirt, you see Arthur walking over. This makes you nervous. How will the girls react to him being close to you? Of course, Arthur’s very curious and likes to know what’s going on in the gang, so him being attracted to the conversation isn’t anything unusual. He stops and leans against the pole that holds up the canvas over your heads, his hands gripping his belt, a soft smile on his lips. God, why does he have to look so good in front of you like this? Can’t he do it when you can be alone and feast your eyes on him? 

“Oh Lord,” Tilly says when Mary-Beth finishes talking about the book. “That sounds completely ridiculous.” 

“Oh it is! But I love it,” Mary-Beth says breathily. 

“Could… could I maybe read it?” Tilly asks. 

The two smile at each other and then glance at Arthur. “We ain’t botherin’ you, are we, Mr. Morgan?” 

“Nah. I just like hearin’ you ladies talk,” he says in that gentle tone of his. You smile and look down, loving how much of a closeted sweetheart he is. Arthur’s the only man you know who can be scary as hell one second and be gentle and soft a minute later. His eyes glide over to you and his smile widens. He tips his hat. “Hello, Ms. (your last name).” 

You blush. “Hello, Mr. Morgan.” 

He stands there for a few more seconds, watching your hands move. Stupidly, you feel like you’ve forgotten how to sew in front of him, pricking yourself twice and having to remove four stitches. A small snort escapes Tilly and you feel like kicking her. 

Finally, thankfully, Arthur straightens up and heads off, disappearing around John’s tent. You let out a big sigh, knowing it’s fruitless to pretend like you haven’t got a thing for him. The girls already know, after all. 

“See what I mean?” Karen says. 

“That wasn’t unusual, Karen. He does that shit all the time.” 

“Listening in on conversations? Sure. But didn’t you notice you were the only one he greeted? That man’s sweet on you.” 

“He… he’s not! I promise you girls, we’re just friends.” 

“Really?” Tilly says. “Then how about this: you go over to him right now, do something that only a person who was sweet on him would do, and see how he reacts.”

“And what the hell would a person who’s sweet on him do?” You’re starting to get irritated again. Why can’t they just drop this?

“Oh you could touch his arm, pretend like you have a secret you wanna tell and whisper in his ear, play with your hair in front of him. Ain’t like it’ll be hard for you to pretend to be sweet on him,” Mary-Beth says. 

“I ain’t doin’ that,” you say flatly. 

“Fine. But we’re just gonna keep on teasin’ you,” Tilly says with a cocky grin. 

“Oh my God. Fine! I’ll go act stupid around him if it means you three will shut up!” 

Throwing down your sewing, you find Arthur standing near his tent, picking through the ammo supplies and slipping some boxes of bullets into his satchel. Your heart’s pounding in your chest, your palms sweating. What if they’re wrong and Arthur doesn’t feel anything for you? Then you’ll just be standing here acting like a complete fool. Worse yet, what if they’re right? 

“H-hey Arthur,” you say, trying to swallow your nerves. 

He looks over at you and smiles. “Hello, miss.” 

“H-hey, Arthur. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go hunting with me? I… I could use some time out and Pearson says he’s low on meat.”

That’s a damn lie, Pearson’s practically stuffed with meat from your last hunting trip. Hopefully Arthur doesn’t know that. 

“Sure. When you wanna go?” 

You swallow again, amazed that he’s already keen. “Um… when-whenever. It doesn’t have to be now. I mean, if you got stuff to do then you got stuff to do. I can just hang out until you’re done.” 

You start babbling on, feeling stupider by the second. How the hell does he not see right through you. However, he stands patiently in front of you, the softest smile on his lips and his eyes crinkled at the corners. After a second, he raises his hand to stop you talking, a faint chuckle leaving his throat. 

“Miss, we can go whenever you’d like. Now if you want, even. I’m free. Let me just get a couple more things, and I’ll meet you by the horses.” 

Feeling eyes on your back, you know now is your time to make a move. Your heart in your throat and feeling like you’re about to poop out your stomach, you smile up at him. “Thanks, Mr. Morgan. By the way, I have something for you. Way to thank you for getting me that book last week.” 

You reach into your own satchel and pull out a box of premium cigarettes, knowing he’s trying to collect cards for some stranger he met not too long ago. When he grabs it, you don’t let go. Instead you intentionally run your fingers across his hand, though try to make it look unintentional. 

Immediately his hand freezes upon your touch. Then, just as you’re about to drop your hand, his turns to meet your palm with his. He gives it the gentlest and briefest of squeezes. Forgetting that you have an audience, your hand slowly slides up his arm, you take a step forward. Your hand settles on his shoulder, your eyes glued to his. His hand settles, almost nervously on your waist, slowly pulling you closer. Before either of you really knows what’s happening, you reach up on your toes and gently touch his lips with yours. Instead of pulling away like you thought he might, he responds eagerly. He moves his mouth with yours and both his arms pull you to his firm body. 

After a second, you come to your senses and pull away quickly, your face flushed. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan. I don’t know what came over me.”

He lets out a long breath and then smiles, hiding his eyes beneath his hat. “That’s a’right. If… If you don’t mind me sayin’, I… rather liked it.” 

You blink rapidly. He liked it? The girls were right? What the hell? You hear a sharp giggle somewhere behind you and turn to glare at Tilly and Mary-Beth. Feeling frustrated by your audience, you turn back to him. 

“Arthur, would you mind if we left now? I feel this is not the wisest place for us to… be around each other, if you know what I mean.” 

His eyes land on the girls and he too blushes. He nods and puts his hand on your shoulder, leading you off to the horses. When the two of you are mounted up, you run down to the river beneath the Overlook. There, standing on the edge of the river, bathed in hot sunlight, you kiss Arthur again, only this time it’s much more passionate with less hesitation. His hands feel right on your back and shoulders while your own whip off his hat, winding into his hair. 

After enjoying the steamy makeout session, Arthur takes you to the base of a tree, sits down and gestures for you to settle against him. You sit in his lap, tucked against his side and your head on his chest. His arm is draped lazily around your shoulders, his hand settled on yours as it rests on his stomach. You watch the stream roll by, the birds whistling to one another. A doe grazes not far away, completely unaware of your presence, but you’ve no intention of showing yourself. You’re too happy, too comfortable, nestled against Arthur. His heart pumps steadily in your ear as a light breeze brushes through your hair. All is quiet. 

[mojavehearts]

Fallout 4 Companions react to Strong having a crush on Sole

(REQUESTED!!) (im cackling like a maniac already) 

(I know I used this before but...This IS Sole and Strong)

some are them realising it and some are helping him come to the realisation  (some of the reacts even work together as one!)

Cait: 

Cait watched as Strong stomped back and forth in front of Soles house in Sanctuary, at 4 am, on a Sunday. ‘’Oi buddy! can ya quit yer stompin?’’ she whispers out angrily, putting out her cigarette onto the side of one of the small shacks sole built Strong grumbles under his breath which makes Cait come striding up ‘’what is your problem?!’’ she was trying her best to whisper at least ‘’Strong doesn’t know!’’ he roars back she covers her ears and sighs ‘’Listen big guy, people are tryin to sleep and they cant with you stompin around’’ Strong grumbles again and points at soles door ‘’Strong cant be without master’’ ‘’what you like a lost puppy or somethin’? yer supposed to be a big mean ol’ supermutant’’ Cait scoffs, now leaning against soles house ‘’NO Strong does not want to be, without master near him, makes Strong MAD!’’ Cait’s eyes widen and she backs away slowly ‘’good lord, you better talk to MacCready about that...’’

Curie:

‘’Ah monsieur Strong!’‘ Curie waves strong over in a chirpy tune ‘‘How have our experiments gone so far? any pain? some memories? violent tendencies more than usual?’‘ Curie had gotten some data from some ‘hospital’ of sorts from New Vegas and was testing the medication in does on Strong so far nothing was different of course Strong was already more ‘Put Together’ compared to many supermutants and it had been a very small dose, ‘‘No strong want stop, making head fuzzy! weak!’‘ Curie nods and checks her chart ‘‘When does this usually happen or is it all the time?’‘ Strong stomps his feet slightly ‘‘If Strong is near master it becomes fuzzy! want to stop! need to be strong and protect Master’‘ Curie stops writing down in her notes and freezes ‘‘Oh Mon dieu’‘ 

Codsworth:

Codsworth is what he calls ‘Smart for an old bot’ he knew from the get go, hes still full of old world ideals so he isn't to keen on it, considering supermutants are known as violent brutes as well, but he warmed up to Strong (well as much as one possibly could if they weren’t sole) and it became quite entertaining for him to watch over a cup of tea and a nice book (he makes the tea for show, sadly he cant drink it) as strong ‘somehow’ gets red when with Sole, it really makes Codsworth rethink many things

Danse:

Danse...Isn’t exactly a fan of supermutants in general, that's just the way he’s  wired (haha get it...Ill go)

Strong would always try to size Danse up, whenever he would talk to Sole Strong would be there, either watching intensely with a violent glare or just interrupting whatever he could, so he went up to him and asked what his problem was, guessing it was because he used to be brotherhood and also because...Danse obviously wasn't a fan of him. Strong just stares him down and points a thick green finger to Danse’s chest poking it into him slightly ‘’Sole needs real man, not metal man’’ and walked off leaving Danse to be (the gif above)

Dogmeat:

You know that thing dogs do when they cover their eyes with their paws and or ears as well?...Yeah just that

Deacon:

One word nine letters  Terrified 

Deacon thought it was kinda cute at first when he would watch strong follow Sole around, in that scary sort of way...in that way where little girls sing ring around the rosy or your child stands beside your bed in the middle of the night and says nothing, but then he noticed things...different things, like how he would rarely let anyone else around Sole, and that one time where they went to the third rail and that person tried to hit on sole and he chucked a tantrum and set the third rail on fire and- OH MY GOD 

Piper:

Piper was making her usual rounds around Diamond City, trying to question whoever she could about her new piece ‘’Mirelurks and their MireQuirks’’ when suddenly she saw strong browsing the general supplies store she was confused why he was here alone, things may have changed since Sole came into play but he might still get given a hard time, he scratches his chin and Piper moves closer to greet him ‘’Master friend, Strong need gift for Master, Master gave Strong milk of human kindness’’ Piper thought this was very normal in fact and did help him pick out something, but then he turned to her and said ‘’How do humans show ‘E fec tion’ ‘’ and she froze ‘’Oh wow buddy i’m not the one for that um...Maybe Nicky can help he was married once well- when he was- when he wasn't- wait was he him- yes of course- um - but its- well-’’ Strong had enough of her blubbering and scoffs already walking off to see valentine, Soles gift in hand. Piper breathes out and then in deeply but then starts laughing softly, it was kind of cute really, but she didn’t think Supermutants could feel ..Love?, Piper had already found a new, and better article idea. SCORE

Preston:

Preston sighs softly, wiping the sweat away from under his hat, taking it off to fan himself with it he noticed the ground rumbling slightly beneath him ‘’Strong that you?’’ Preston turns to the direction of the rumbles and places his hat back on, sure enough he was met with big green mean fighting machine, strong. ‘’You know master, what does master like, besides blood and fighting’’ Preston purses his lips in slight confusion an audible ‘huh’ leaving his throat ‘’Strong want say sorry for Third Rail on fire, Mack Ree Dee says I should show sorry with actions’’ Preston scratches the side of his face and stares at the ground for a minute ‘’why don't you go to diamond city? check out the stuff there I’m sure they would like anything from the surplus store’’ Strong grunts in agreement and stomps away again behind Strong stood MacCready with a tilted head and raised eyebrows Preston looks at him completely confused until MacCready takes his two fingers and draws a heart, Preston stands there dumbfounded his gun falling from his hands

Valentine:

It was a slow day for nick, seemed not many people needed help nowadays guess he had Sole to thank for this time off, but he was getting a bit restless with all this sitting around waiting for something, he felt kind of bad for wishing for things to happen but he was sick of the small ‘Lost my cat’ or ‘forgot where my nuka-cola truck was’ and sick of the fact all of those were deacon in different wigs, so when his door opened he was pretty excited he turns his head up quickly and is met with strong slowly trying to squeeze into the door, he struggled for a few minutes before sitting down, and then breaking the chair, but he still sat in place on top of the broken chair on the floor, nick chuckles and rubs at his temples why was the world against him ‘’Strong, great to see you...What do you need?’’ strong was quick to speak ‘’Paper send me but before that pwes ton and then before that mac ree dee and then before him irish lady, and now im here help strong now metal man!’’ nick rubs the lower part of his face and sighs ‘’so...Paper? sent you specifically?’’ strong nods with a grumble ‘’Alright..tell me what you need’’ it was better than seeing deacon in a long blonde wig talking in a high pitch voice about his cheating husband for 5 hours ‘’Strong been told to come to you because you were married and I need to know E fec tion’’ Nicks eyes widen slightly, the pupils whirrling vibrantly this had to be one of deacons tricks ‘’Affection? for whom’’ Strong slams a big green fist on the desk, breaking it, nick pretends the desk is still there for sanity sake and rests his arms in midair ‘’For Master! who else would be good enough for E fec tion’’ Nick could die at that moment ‘’Alright Deacon you can come out now’’ Strong roars angrily ‘’Bald man at settlement!’’ oh god so this was...Serious, nick takes a looooonnngggggg drag of a cigarette and sighs ‘’Alright...ill help ya’’

X6-88:

(petition for me to just use Raymond Holt gifs for X6 considering they are basically,,The same person like the personalities are spot on omg)

All of the companions where sharing their opinions/outlooks on Strongs growing affections on sole/if Sole would return them and all that, Hancock threw in a few sexual jokes (making everyone groan in different tones) while everyone else already knew X6 did not, and he found it obscene 

‘‘x6, what do you think about it?’‘ Curie asks with her eyes full of curiosity, as always. 

‘‘Absolutely...Not’‘

‘‘What do you mean ‘Absolutely not?’’ Piper asks with a joking scoff 

‘‘it is ridiculous at best, there is no way’‘ the other companions sigh at him ‘‘hey it could be a real blossoming love my guy, they will have gorgeous half green babies’‘ Deacon says with a mouthful of carrot X6 looks at him in distaste and turns in his hair ‘‘X6! don't ignore us, stop being a grumpy pants you aren't in the institute anymore! love is real!’‘ Mac says excitedly X6 slowly turns his chair back and stares at him through his glasses

‘‘It might be, but not between sole and the supermutant, now before you complain, i am once again turning in my chair’‘

he will come around

MacCready:

‘’MACK REE DEE!’’Strong stomped up to Mac at INCREDIBLE speed ‘’whoa there strong! you could flatten me buddy’’ he chuckled but he was literally terrified for his life seeing strong run like that ‘’Loud lady says you can help me’’ strong says bluntly ‘’help with what?’’ now mac was interested  ‘’I told her I didn’t want to be without Master and she tells me to see you little man’’ MacCready rubs his neck in confusion why would she send strong to him over nothing it was only natural that he would be if he considers Sole his Master ‘’After fire in Third Rail Master was upset at Strong, STRONG CANT STAND IT’’ Mac nodded slightly ‘’uh well...Sometimes a good ‘’hey I’m sorry’’ and some affection, maybe a hug and a gift can work?’’ strong seemed to like that idea ‘’I GO NOW’’ he roars ‘’whoa buddy wait! do you want me to tell Sole you’re leavin? I’m on my way to have dinner with her now’’ dinner!? Strong’s alarms went off in his head and he picks Mac up by his jacket snarling slightly ‘’Dinner?!’’ Maccready stares at strong, confused and terrified ‘’Um yeah...The thing people do to eat? she wanted Duncan and Shaun to meet formally? you were invited remember?’’ ‘’oh’’ strong slowly and gently (for a supermutant) and slightly dusts Mac off and turned away MacCready laughed softly at how strange he could be and then stopped dead in his tracks ‘’Wait what the fu- ‘’

Hancock:

Once the institute was defeated Hancock and Sole both came up with the idea to have a party for everyone at the third rail, all of good neighbour was decorated from top to bottom with funny decor, synth scraps, all of that (much to x6′s dislike, he still went) everything was fine and dandy, everyone was partying it up, Magnolia switched It up for the night and was singing some upbeat party tunes, and then some random stumbled up to Sole, Hancock watched for a distance he knew Sole could handle themselves so he just watched silently, it was chill and all until Strong war cried, threw the person into some lit candles which then got caught on a decoration and set it on fire and then in shock some people bumped into each other and started fighting AND THEN as everything was going to shit Sole had to jump up to Strong to avoid the fire as it pooled around them, the way strong held onto Sole, told him enough whether supermutants could feel that kinda thing or not wasn't his business. Putting out his cigarette he sighs and decides to help in the chaos as Deacon walked into the third rail ‘’ I BROUGHT PIZZ- aaaa???!’’

BONUS

Sole:

Sole was sitting at dinner with Mac, Duncan and Shaun and turned towards the empty spot they had reserved for Strong with a sigh. They just continue to smile and eat, until the door gets fireman kicked down (I cannot stop with that) and strong appears Sole stands up and strong walks towards them, a pretty sweet looking belt in hand he throws it at sole and they catch it ‘’is this for me strong? well thanks! I-’’ then Strong picks them up and awkwardly  hugs them to his body sole struggles a little bit against him ‘’is this about the third rail? its alright strong I told you that I was just busy’’ Strong ‘’I’m trying to do human E fec tion’’ sole goes silent and then smiles softly ‘’thanks strong that’s really nice of you to do that for me, but you don’t have to I like you the way you are’’ strong slowly puts sole down and sole pats him on the arm 

Mac and Duncan just looked at each other awkwardly and kept eating the whole time

Bonus Bonus

Maxson:

(I hope this was okay!! thank you so much for requesting I had a BLAST doing it!! xxx)

[pangolin-404]

Delving into what chapter 2 of Bendy: Rewritten (or just the side scroller AU, as a couple people have called it- still working on a vaguely clever name hh) would be like, where there are choices and reactions! More canon divergence! Things set up and hinted at!

The background music changes. No shame to batim's music, I quite like it, but it can be better. Whenever Sammy's around (carrying the cutout, looking over the band room, giving his ritual spiel) a banjo is added to the bg track. The followers get string instruments, more added depending how many are in the room. The sacrifice room is mainly string instruments

Sammy is somewhat a lost one. He loses his buff rights and is a mix of his pre- and post-update designs. I say somewhat because, while he is skeletal, he drips a lot and doesn't really have feet.

Sammy actually has followers. It can be pieced together from notes and dialogue that he split from the Lost Harbor after a close run in with Bendy permanently mangled his body and converted him to worship. He brought a few other lost ones with him (like, only a dozen but a couple died on the way). They wear Bendy masks, too, yet he's the only one wearing pants (mostly to hold his legs together). He also wears gloves to hold his fingers together, and only takes them off for brief periods to play an instrument before having to put them back on. Bendy left him with a lot of lasting damage

They all look the same and they know it hh

He's a proper prophet figure now that people look up to him. If Henry can find them huddled around a statue in prayer or drawing a ritual circle, they will talk about how much hope he gives them and how kind he is, despite how strict or overly optimistic he can be at times.

The followers' opinion of Henry changes with his behavior. Suggest Sammy is nuts? Say Bendy is evil? Drink too much soup? Break cutouts? They don't like that. Ask to learn more, give them some fresh soup, maybe even draw Bendy for them if Henry comes across fresh paper, and they'll appreciate it.

The cutouts are decorated with soup and candles. Drink a couple cans and the followers won't notice, drink more and they'll be upset, drink them all and they'll get concerned. Ink rats will scuttle out of hiding and can be found licking the empty cans.

Oh yeah you think humans were the only thing the ink affected? No there are ink rats and they scuttle around. Sometimes they become an enemy if multiple melt/fuse together and it's just a Lump Of Rat

"Did you drink the soup?" "No, did you?" "We don't have mouths! We can't eat!" "Who drank all the soup then?" "I don't know, but now there are rats everywhere!"

The whole chapter 2 area is bigger, kind of. Lots more signs of being lived in, with offices turned into little bedrooms and such. The followers are shy, though, and lurk behind locked doors, so finding them is tricky. Signs of life are everywhere but finding the life itself is difficult. Finding ones that talk more than a sentence is even harder.

Sammy is unhinged. Well-meaning, but ultimately mentally...cracked. He claims to have visions he interprets, but it's ambiguous whether they're nightmares/dreams or if Bendy's messing with him. He genuinely believes that Bendy will set them free, and he wants the best for his sheep. He'd be amicable if he wasn't trying to sacrifice Henry.

Instead of pressing the switches to open that first door, Henry had to find a pipe valve. A new "mechanic" of sorts is draining flooded halls. Ink pours down from piped above in an unpassable wall, and one or two valve are needed to shut it off completely.

Remember those notes I mentioned earlier? Well, some found around the music department contain buckets of how the followers see Sammy and their situation in general. They range from "oh hey here's Sammy's favorite tune-" to "note: don't play the organ! D:"

It's possible to find old newspapers and comics. Some of the pictures have been carefully cut out and pasted on the walls in various memorials, ranging from Bendy letting them outside to Sammy being "blessed" by the Ink Demon.

Some of the more petty depictions paint Alice as a jerk. She's an angel, he's a demon, so they're opposites. Since Bendy's so great, she must be awful! Rumors of a cruel Alice in deeper levels are hinted at.

The band room is slightly different. The projector's bulb is burst and there's a sticky note on it saying something about how touching it when you're made of ink is a bad idea, and to fix the projector before Sammy notices. Henry has to find a lightbulb and fix it now before he can turn it on.

The fight after opening the sanctuary affects the followers' opinions. They begin to realize what Sammy has in store for Henry. Killing all the searchers make them either makes them wince or frustrated, depending on their view on him up til that point.

I feel like you could probably click/interact with the banister to look over and it shows a still image of the band room below, and it shows whether or not the projector is fixed/playing and also shows any Bendy cutouts that pop up. I tried to draw that but couldn't get the angle I wanted, so

Sammy's sanctuary is like...just a big ol Bendy shrine. It's also where he sleeps, writes songs to Bendy, and where his banjo is kept. He has a Bendy plush on his bed

The further the chapter goes on, the quieter the followers are to Henry. They're gathering candles and offerings of personal belongings. They might be bittersweet, neutral, or glad to be away from him, depending on Henry's actions.

Jack is important to Sammy. They worked closely together and so they somewhat remember each other. He acts as Sammy's personal treasurer and doesn't let go of anything given to him. The first encounter with Jack is relatively the same, with needing to grab a valve from him. However, instead of holding the valve, it's sitting on the box

Henry's notes in his sketchbook also change depending on his interactions with things. If he annoys the followers and develops a bad relationship with them, he'll treat them like blind fools. If he helps them or is generally nice, he'll sound more sympathetic towards their situation and wish them well.

One is in the infirmary, badly hurt, missing a leg, practically a searcher, and delusional after getting just grazed by Bendy's aura. They believe they've been blessed by his presence, despite falling apart more and more by the hour (Bendy and any ink creature do not go together-). Henry can kill them and put them out of their misery, if he so chooses. The others won't like that.

Whether Henry kills him or not, Jack remembers. Getting items from him in the future becomes harder if he's killed multiple times, until eventually he's downright scared (I'll delve into more detail on the mess that is chapter 3). Befriending him completely later in chapter 3, on the other hand, will make the task easier.

Killing Jack triggers a horror vision. Henry briefly becomes unable to move, visibly distressed and looking around until the vision ends.

Not necessarily the sewers you first encounter him in, but close enough. You know you've entered an area Jack's in if there's a random item on a box that's under a light in an otherwise dim ink-flooded room

He goes through 'stages.' First the valve is on a box. Henry tries to grab it, but Jack (moving through the ink) pushes the box away. The methods of dealing with him is a messy web of cause-and-effect, with chances to crush him, corner the box slowly and steal the valve, it rush at it and cause it to slide off, or snatch his hat and bargain. (It's possible to steal his hat, kill him, and then keep/wear his hat, but why would you do that? Jack would forever loathe Henry and later on Sammy may ask for it back)

Nothing will stop Sammy from knocking Henry out. No matter how kind or cruel Henry is to his followers, Sammy will smack him over the head with a dustpan. He can't run, but the man can be sneaky if he wants to be, lurking through shadows and phasing in and out of the ritual portals.

(Clarification: because it would be a side scroller and the player could see Sammy sneaking up on Henry, instead there's a ritual circle on the wall that he'll jump out of when Henry walks past it.)

The sacrifice room is more of a hallway. The followers are all watching from the sidelines, peering through knocked out walls and over makeshift fenceposts. Candles and other offerings are around Henry. Sammy gives his spiel as always, first starting with a quiet "that face..." whispered mostly to himself but then using his Big Loud Musician Prophet voice to put on a show about how grand the sacrifice will be and how happy Bendy will be. The followers get excited for it.

Messy rendition but you get the picture

Sammy enters the room off to the side and calls for the Ink Demon. Ink leaks from the vents, and his aura is making some of the followers unsteady/weak. They become more restless, and unstable, until the calling reaches its climax (Sammy also sounds out of breath and his voice becomes wet and labored) and Bendy arrives out of sight. Sammy is torn apart, as per usual, though it's a slower, more audible mauling, and drags on through Henry's escape.

Some followers flee into the ink, while one or two are liquidated just by Bendy's aura. Others panic and attack Henry when he breaks free, messed up by Bendy's aura and so they resemble searchers.

Whether or not Henry powers through the onslaught or axes the frenzied followers may alter the number of followers he encounters later on, and (combined with how he'd treated them) how they react to seeing him again. "Oh I kind of remember you" vs "I don't blame you for using the axe" vs "Did you slaughter your way down here, too?"

Like in the updated chapters in game, the you can see ink machine lowering past crates/wood boards

Bendy actually pries himself up out of the ink with effort. Like, hands planted on the ground, lurching up, ink sloughing off of him, generally more detailed for a 2D animation.

Boris time! The boy himself peeks out from behind a wall before stepping out of the shadows

Feel free to send an ask for clarification/more detail about anything- I'm happy to go on more tangents!

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #26 (Part Two)

Monster ... in the Mirror

A continuation of this prompt.

“Sunday dinner?”

The man known to outsiders as Sheriff Hoyt nodded, resting his forearm on the door to Monica’s motel room. “That’s right, sweetheart. Mama wants to treat ya to some nice southern cookin’ to welcome ya to town.”

Monica had no way of knowing Sheriff “Winston Hoyt” was actually Charlie Sawyer Jr., who had murdered the town’s last remaining law enforcement officer (the former Winston Hoyt) to protect Thomas Hewitt--who she really didn’t know...yet, anyway. No, she was left in the dark to make her decision on accepting good ol’ southern hospitality and there’s probably plenty of sayings about making decisions blind. She wasn’t hearing the warning bells around the Sheriff anymore, and the smile he was giving her was genuine rather than a creepy showing of teeth. She had no idea what had changed his attitude but she could get behind whatever it was, and beyond that, Luda Mae had seemed really nice. Monica took her eyes off the Sheriff, leaning a little out of the room to see if Luda Mae was nearby.

As if picking up Monica’s thought, Hoyt took a step back to show an empty porch. “Sorry honey. Mama’s already at home, cookin’ up a storm. She closed the store early, wanting to whip up somethin’ good for ya.” Hoyt adjusted his belt, rattling his ring of keys as he did so. “Hopin’ that’ll get’cha to consider our offer.”

Monica had no issue with telling people no, she rather enjoyed it given the right circumstance, but she couldn’t really think of a reason to do so at the moment. No, she didn’t know these people and it was entirely possible that taxi driver was going to tell her this was some murderous family of cannibals just waiting to invite her for dinner for her to be dinner, but when Monica locked eyes with Hoyt, she didn’t feel threatened--and no offense to this town or it’s people, but she didn’t think they’d be very good at hiding it if they were intending her harm.

“I...Up to you guys’s house?” Monica shifted on her socked feet.

“The Sawyer house, that’s right,” Hoyt nodded. “You said you wanted some research on small towns and the like, right? For yer book? You could pick our brains. All the Sawyers’ll be there, rich tapestry of folks for ya to talk to.”

That was enticing, and after another few moments Monica nodded with a small but genuine smile. “Okay, I’ll come.”

Hoyt let out a holler, slapping his hands together. “All right! Well all right, that’s great. How long does a pretty li’l thing like you need to get ready?”

Monica was actually already in her pajamas, having planned a long night of writing; her laptop was still out on her bed from when Hoyt had knocked on the door and interrupted--but she didn’t mind this interruption.

“Could you give me fifteen minutes?”

“Oh easily, darlin’, you take as much time as ya need.” Hoyt raised his hands, palm up. “Mama taught me not to rush a lady and you’re a lady if there ever was one. I’ll be in my cruiser parked out of the store again, you just come down when yer ready.”

Monica nodded, stepping back inside to push the door closed, unable to help her widening smile at how excited Hoyt had seemed by her acceptance. She didn’t know why but she could tell he’d been genuinely happy. For whatever reason, her acceptance of going meant a great deal to him and she didn’t get the feeling he thought he’d get lucky or anything. Maybe it was a small town thing, she mused as she walked over to her suitcase, propped open in a chair by the dresser. She didn’t know how long she’d be staying so she hadn’t put anything away in the dresser yet, but it wasn’t a problem to fish out a change of clothes--she didn’t want to put on what she’d arrived in, this seemed...special, and a secret part of her really wanted to wow these small town folks with a touch of her city girl sophistication. January, even in Texas, called for pants instead of shorts but she picked a more free-flowing top, the sapphire fabric a beautiful compliment to her brown skin. The shirt was sleeveless silk, slung lower on the sides and back, and she finished the look with a silver anchor necklace and matching earrings. Ankle strap heels showed off pretty painted toes and then it was into the bathroom to apply makeup that made her eyes pop and her lips look like syrup kissed peaches--since Hoyt and Luda Mae had likened her to one. Perfume was a kiss to her wrists and neck and she admired herself in the mirror as she loosened her short, honey-blonde hair. It was just long enough to style in a messy bun and she let the waves tumble free from the tie to kiss her petite shoulders. She turned this way and that in the mirror, eyes scrutinizing her own appearance but she decided against running a brush through it, opting to finger comb it to leave it a little loose and carefree. It seemed the perfect compliment to the rest of her outfit and she smiled, satisfied with her appearance.

Mirrors don’t always show the best sides of folks, though, and across the dusty Texas town a mirror was showing a man what a monster he really was.

The Sawyer House sat in the center of acres of plains and farmland, home to a multitude of Sawyers at any given time but it was always home to Bubba and Thomas, the latter of whom was glaring into the dingy mirror in the brothers’ shared room. He had his mask off, and he hated it. Thomas often thought himself better than Bubba when it came to his appearance; he thought he handled it better but the truth was neither of them did. The longer Thomas’s dark eyes lingered on his skeletal nose, the deep gouges in his cheeks, the angrier he got.

Bubba lumbered in from the bathroom, one large, pudgy hand rubbing a towel over his wet curls. He was maskless, too, fresh from the bath but he immediately side-stepped the mirror and kept his back to it as he went to his side of the room. Thomas watched him pass, that dark brow knotted at the center.

A grunt. ‘Ain’t you wanna look at yourself?’

A babbled reply. ‘No. I got me a face for tonight. Don’t need to see mine.‘

Thomas turned back to the mirror and immediately wished he hadn’t. He had planned on trying to be brave and go to this special Sunday Dinner without a mask on, but Bubba couldn’t even imagine. Their princess was gonna be there! He had to look his best! And the only way to look his best was to not look like himself! Bubba wasn’t the retard some of the townspeople thought he was; he was a smart boy who knew what he looked like. His nose had long ago rotted off his face, leaving a skeletal hole, and his lips were scarred. His brow bone was a little crooked and his teeth weren’t very pretty, either. He brushed them! Mama made sure he did, every night, but no matter how he pushed on them with his thumbs, he couldn’t get ‘em straight. Bubba also couldn’t...help taking a knife to himself sometimes, trying to cut skin off here and there, even up what the sickness had already done to him, so he had thick, pitted scars on his cheeks and by his eyes. Bubba wasn’t pretty, but he didn’t have to be! His princess was the prettiest of them all, and as long as she never saw how ugly he was, maybe she’d stay and be pretty for him.

Mama had been very clear with both boys; they could wear their masks but no skin, not until Monica was safely part of the family. Thomas and Bubba had been so distracted by learning the princess’s name they had almost missed what Mama said. Thomas felt his heart stammer at the sound and Bubba tried, oh he tried desperately to say her name. He repeated it so many times Mama had to shush him, and she’d made damn sure they both heard what she’d said.

“Now you boys know we love you, but this city girl ain’t used to how we do things ‘round here. Remember the puppy you found in the barn, Bubba? She’s just like that, she’s little and she’s new to us and how we do things, and she might be a little scared the more she learns but you be patient and she’ll love you good and plenty.” Luda Mae wagged her finger between her two hulking sons, her gaze serious. “No skin masks,you put on your Sunday best, and you know how big you both are. Ya gotta be easy when she’s here--and no. chainsaws. No matter what, you leave those in the basement. Y’hear?”

Bubba would have agreed to cut his arm off if it meant Monica would come to dinner, and Thomas was in the same lovesick boat. He liked to pretend he wasn’t listening when Mama was reading Bubba those fairy tales, but at times when he was working, his thick fingers splitting carcasses and stripping flesh from bone, he allowed himself to daydream about princesses, too--

Princesses who love monsters instead of princes.

Charlie, or Hoyt as Monica knows him, gave a deep wolf whistle as she came around the front of the general store, pulling his hat from his head to place over his chest.

“Goddamn, girlie, don’t you look like a million bucks? If you can do that in fifteen minutes you gotta be heaven sent.”

Monica gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Just wanted to clean up a little, it’s the least I could do for your family inviting me for dinner.”

Hoyt moved around the front of his cruiser, opening the passenger door for Monica with a cheek-splitting grin. “See, I like that. You got respect for family, and what it means. Mama’s right about you.”

Monica lowered herself into the seat, blinking at that semi-cryptic statement. They’d been...talking about her? On one hand it made sense, they had at least discussed her coming for dinner; still, that didn’t explain the statement away--but as Monica turned to ask Hoyt what he meant, she was met with the closing of the passenger door. She watched Hoyt pass in front of the headlights as he made his way to the driver’s side door, sliding inside with a muted grunt.

“Like I said, honey, the Sawyer house is a little ways outside of town and I’m real sorry, I can’t offer you the radio to listen to or nothin’ like that.” Hoyt shifted the cruiser into reverse, backing out of the spot without even looking--but as the sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, Monica noticed the sleepy, near deserted town seemed devoid of life. This was the main stretch of road and there wasn’t a single car to be seen on it.

“That’s okay, Sheriff.”

“Oh, now, no need to be so formal. You just call me Uncle Hoyt--or hell, Uncle Charlie’s fine.”

Monica’s smile was a touch shy at how forward the offer was, but some part of her liked that offer. It was genuine, and reminded her of his earlier offer to call him if anyone ever gave her any trouble. “Uncle Charlie? ...Think I can do that.”

Charlie’s smile showed teeth as he turned from the windshield toward his unknowing newest family member. “Glad to hear it, honey.”

The two started down the main stretch of road, and it wasn’t long before the buildings fell away and Monica was graced with Texas beauty--flat plains and whispering grass fields high enough to kiss her knees if she stepped into them. The night was balmy but not hot, and Monica was actually grateful there was no radio to interrupt the silence as the wind whipped past the cruiser. Charlie occupied some of the silence by talking, reciting little tidbits of history of the town and a lot more about his family. Monica learned there were dozens upon dozens of Sawyers that all still lived here, though some lived towns over, too. At one point he asked if she wanted to record him with her phone, and it sent a wash of relief through her that he hadn’t done something creepy like tell her to leave her phone behind. When she’d taken her phone out to record him, he’d whistled at how new it was, and when she’d said it was a smartphone, he revealed he was still using a flip phone--and that had been a recent “upgrade” for him. That was the end of the phone conversation and he hadn’t even made a move to take it from her. It further put her at ease that there was no harm headed her way, and the more she relaxed, the more she enjoyed the ride and the company along for it.

It was about twenty minutes before the plains broke and Monica watched a sprawling house settle in the center of them; it looked huge even from a distance, three stories tall with old southern plantation pillars in the front that complimented a nice screened in porch. The road leading up to the house was dirt, but it only added to the rustic feel of the place and as the cruiser came to a stop, Monica could only marvel at the people she saw in front. There were a multitude of boys ranging in ages from adult to under 10 years old playing football in the yard, while older women and men were sitting in rocking chairs and swings on the porch. All of them stopped what they were doing when the cruiser pulled up, one of the older boys winding up getting clocked on the side of the head with the football but he didn’t even seem to notice, too busy staring at the pretty girl in the front of Uncle Charlie’s cruiser.

Charlie gave the entirety of the family warning look as he crossed the front of the cruiser to open the door for Monica, and she could barely place her hand in his to let him help her out, stunned by all the attention she was getting.

“D-Don’t get a lot of visitors?” She tried for a playful laugh, too busy looking up at Charlie to notice some of the Sawyers smile just from the sound of her laugh.

“It’s way more than that, sweetheart,” Charlie led her away from the cruiser with a smile full of secrets. “But why don’t ya just take that it’s you lookin’ so pretty in your little outfit?”

Monica could hardly focus on his words; there were so many Sawyers! She counted over a dozen, between the kids in the yard and the adults coming down off the porch. She gave them a nervous smile, lifting her free hand to wave and nearly laughed at how adorable it was--all of them waved back.

“Hi pretty lady!” Near her waist, two twin boys who couldn’t be older than ten, dressed nicely but a little dirty from playing in the yard, stuck their hands up in excited waves, hoping to catch her attention. “You look like the ladies in the magazines!”

“Oh, t-thank you,” Monica gave them a smile, one that ended in a surprised noise as one of the boys grabbed into her hand, rubbing his cheek against the back of it.

“Soft,” he openly hugged her arm a second later. “You smell like candy!”

“Enough, both of ya.” Charlie leaned around, and Monica could tell he was an authority figure in the family immediately by the way the boys reacted, eyes widening and stumbling back from her so fast one of them fell over onto his butt. “Mama told you boys about behavin’ tonight.”

“They’re okay, U-Uncle Charlie,” Monica placated, and Charlie seemed to settle down immediately, his weathered face softening and he nodded, before turning to face the onlooking Sawyers.

“...Aight, well. Let that be a lesson to all of ya, Monica here has full authority to tell me if any of ya get up to shit, and you don’t want Mama or the boys to find out you’re messin’ with her, do ya?”

There were murmurs that sounded worried as the adult shook their heads, and the kids were too scared to even look up from the ground. Monica didn’t know how to take this; she still didn’t feel threatened, but this was a family who had a strange sort of hierarchy when it came to listening--as if there were severe consequences for not--and it was the second time she’d heard some alluding to “boys”. The first time had been what changed Charlie’s entire personality and now it left a yard full of grown men and women afraid of their own shadows. Who the hell were the boys?

“Ma says dinner won’t be ready for a little while,” one of the women spoke up, a blond baby on her hip. “Can we visit with Monica a little, before it’s time?”

“Well now, I guess I don’t see why not.” Charlie looked down at Monica. “You okay to talk to everybody?”

Monica glanced around the inquisitive, but oddly happy faces--they all seemed so overjoyed she was there, and she couldn’t help but attribute it to not having visitors often. She couldn’t accept Charlie’s explanation that it was because of her, specifically, that was too much and left her with nervous butterflies in her ribs.

“Sure,” she nodded with a demure smile, unaware it melted a few hearts in the enraptured crowd. “I’d love to get to know you all.”

The resounding excitement brought a little blush to Monica’s cheeks; they were so ecstatic just to get to talk to her! Even the kids crowded up onto the porch as the adults led her up the stairs, the little ones vying to sit on the floor by her feet to hear everything she had to say.

Charlie got her settled before he gestured toward the front door. “I’m gonna go check see if Mama needs any help. You remember what I said?”

“Give a holler if I need you,” Monica nodded, a little distracted by one of the women holding her hand, marveling at her manicured nails. She managed to give Charlie a smile. “I will.”

“Good girl.” Charlie gave a last warning look around the clan before he walked into the open front door, already smelling the feast cooking in the kitchen.

It was no surprise, finding Bubba in the kitchen beside his Mama, thick, nervous fingers chopping up vegetables for the stew pot simmering on one of the burners. Luda Mae was sweating over two other burners, and Charlie could smell a ham baking to a fine honeyed glaze in the oven below. It was definitely a special occasion when the Sawyers put aside their cannibalistic tendencies to appear more normal to impress someone, and Luda Mae’s words from earlier had resonated with everyone. This was a very special occasion.

“Monica’s here,” Charlie announced as he stepped inside the bustling kitchen; as he passed the threshold he finally caught a glimpse of Tommy ducking into the adjacent dining room, setting the table with Nubbins.

Bubba made a nervous noise at that announcement, his hands flying from the cutting board to his curls, smoothing them around the rubber Halloween mask covering his scarred face. It was pale and expressionless, but it fit his face well and he decorated it with a little bit of make-up--because that’s what you do when you wanna look pretty! In his fretting, Bubba forgot he was holding his knife and it got caught in his curls...which only distressed him further, leaving him blubbering and on the verge of tears. He was going to ruin everything with Monica right outside!

A sigh announced Tommy was back in the kitchen and he caught Bubba’s thick wrist, stopping the older male from harming himself. His other hand unwound the knife from those thick, shiny curls, freshly washed just for their princess. Tommy was the only one in the family tall enough to be of any help to Bubba; the two locked shoulders and shared the same muscle mass and it was lucky they got along so well, because no one had a hope or a prayer of stopping them if they got into it. But there was nothing to be had but brotherly affection between them, as Tommy smoothed a rough hand over Bubba’s curls, fixing them for his nervous older brother, before grunting.

‘All better. Be careful.’

Bubba nodded, babbling wordlessly behind his mask. ‘Nervous, I’m nervous!’

‘She’s not going to leave. Mama promised.’

Bubba fitted his hands to his masked cheeks. ‘What if she hates me? What if she hates us? No one ever stays, no one ever stays long.’

‘She will. Mama says princesses do what’s right.’

‘She can’t leave, we won’t let her leave.’

Tommy nodded once. ‘We won’t. She’ll stay.’

“Well shit, Mama, does that ever not amaze you?” Charlie rested his hip against the island counter, plucking up a strawberry from a bowl as he gestured between Bubba and Tommy. “They just...talk like that. Grunts and babblin’. Sometimes I think they’re more advanced than we are.”

“Because they are,” Luda Mae gave Charlie’s hand a smack as he reached for a second strawberry. “These are for the table. Stop bein’ a hog and go put your suit on.”

Charlie blanched. “Why I gotta get changed? She already done seen me in this and I look mighty sharp in my uniform, Ma.”

Luda Mae snorted, waving a hand as she turned back to the oven to baste the glistening ham. “I ain’t arguin’ this with you, git upstairs and change.”

Charlie grumbled, before stealing another three strawberries from the bowl under the watchful gaze of Bubba and Thomas. Bubba blubbered at him, before patting Ma’s shoulder to tattle; Tommy just stared.

“Charlie Sawyer Junior if you don’t git--”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’! Goddamnit, woman.”

Luda Mae shook her head, before turning to look up at her sons, who were staring down at her. Some folks might not think they’re much to look at, but Luda Mae felt they cleaned up real nice. Bubba’s hair was something to be proud of; his curls were thick and dark, bouncy like his personality and his painted mask complimented his black suit. His white button-up shirt was immaculate and she’d seen him being extra careful not to spill anything on it, wanting to be his very best for Monica. This was the equivalent of the boys’ first date, after all, and Tommy may be more reserved of the two but it was apparent he’d done the same careful preparation. Tommy’s suit was brown, but he skipped the jacket and opted for suspenders instead, and a tan bow-tie matched the half-mask of leather that he only wore on special occasions. It allowed his mouth free for eating but kept his nose and cheeks covered and gave him the confidence to be okay meeting Monica face to face--even if his stomach was full of butterflies. Bubba’s entire torso was full of them, if anyone cared to know.

“You boys are gonna be just fine.” Luda Mae gave Bubba’s masked cheek a pat, before that same hand patted Tommy’s shoulder. “You two go sit, pick out a seat where she can sit between ya. The family’ll be comin’ in soon and you know Chop Top and Nubbins can’t be trusted not to try and take her.”

Tommy grunted in annoyance at that, nearly shoved into the hall as Bubba started for the dining room--he was not about to let that happen!

When Charlie came outside to collect the family for dinner, he found Monica was still where he’d left her, surrounded by the entirety of the Sawyer clan (a few more had arrived after they did but hadn’t even come inside, wanting to meet the newest member of the family) and Monica had one of the toddlers on her lap, the little girl all smiles up at Monica.

“C’mon, y’all. Time for dinner.”

Charlie was patient as Monica handed the reluctant toddler back to her mother, the baby making a few fussy noises and trying to cling on. As soon as Monica’s hands were free, the twin boys from before latched onto them, trying to drag her toward the door.

“Come on, you can sit with us!”

“No way in hell,” Charlie just about spat out. “You youngins are all sittin’ at the kid’s table, where ya always sit. Monica here’s sitting between Bubba and Tommy.”

Monica glanced up at Charlie even as the boys continued to drag her, not at all deterred by this news. Bubba and Tommy? She didn’t think she’d met them, though she’d met so many Sawyers tonight it would likely be hard to tell. Charlie just gave her a wink as he followed her in, the boys leading her to the dining room where the Sawyers were all talking and laughing as they settled around a large dining table. It was buffet-style long, designed to to hold a family this size, and though Monica could only glance around a little, she could see the house complimented it’s rustic country surroundings--but it wasn’t dirty. She could still smell the cleaning products in the air; fresh country air filtered in from open windows and coupled with everyone looking well-dressed (even Uncle Charlie had changed!) Monica could piece together they really had done all of this just for her arrival. She had...no idea why they had, but she couldn’t deny it made her feel special--a sentiment that only grew as the entire family stood when she entered the dining room. She was so distracted with the little boys clutching at her fingers she hadn’t noticed everyone else had gone inside, and she could appreciate the size of this family.

“Sawyer Clan, this is the little peach I was tellin’ you about,” Luda Mae, from her spot at the head of the table, gestured with a mother’s pride. “Monica. Monica, these are your Sawyers.”

The reception of her was full of boisterous cheers and hello’s, of clapping and excited smiles, so that Monica missed Luda Mae’s deliberate wording of your Sawyers. She couldn’t get the boys to let go of her hands to wave, they were stuck like glue to her, but she ducked her head with a smile. “N-Nice to meet you all. Thank you so much for all this, for inviting me over.”

Bubba and Thomas were rooted to the floor as Monica spoke, addressing their family but each man was fine to imagine she was talking to them alone. As she swept the room with eyes greener than summer sun through a gemstone, when she looked at them her gaze did linger. Bubba sucked in a sharp breath, steeling himself for her to recoil in horror, readying his heart to shatter, and Tommy braced himself to lumber after her if she ran--but she didn’t. She stared at them, questions flitting over her beautiful, expressive face but she didn’t recoil and she didn’t look at them with disgust. Her smile didn’t even waver; in fact, it deepened, and Bubba felt tears prick the back of his eyes. Tommy had to look down. He didn’t deserve such a pretty smile, but he wasn’t going to let it out of his sight again.

“Boys, take Monica to her seat, if’n you please,” Luda Mae gestured to the boys clinging to Monica’s hands and they nodded with a simultaneous--

“Yes, Grandma.”

Monica allowed the boys to lead her around the curve of the table, her smile showing teeth as she passed Luda Mae, who gave her an affectionate pat on the back. Every Sawyer went out of their way to move out of her way, gracious as they gestured or introduced themselves if they hadn’t had the pleasure to meet her outside, and Monica finally, finally got to know who Bubba and Tommy were as she was led to the empty seat between two...extremely tall, stocky men. The only two men at the table wearing masks. Monica glanced up between them with a nervous flip in her tummy but as she approached, the one in the full face mask immediately pulled her chair out for her and she caught sight of his hand shaking. Was he...Was he nervous? Monica couldn’t imagine what a man so big could have to be nervous about; the hand that pulled out her chair looked capable of driving a nail into a board with a single punch.

“Thank you,” Monica gave the little boys’ hands a squeeze as they finally let her go, but she had a feeling she’d be seeing them again before the night was over. They had certainly taken a shine to her. She then turned up to the man who’d pulled out her chair. “And t-thank you.”

“That’s Bubba,” Luda Mae called from her seat. “You may hear us callin’ him Jed, but he prefers Bubba.”

The male at her other side helped Monica into her seat, pulling her up to the table with one arm and Monica was once again left marveling at the strength these two hefted around with obvious ease.

“And that’s Thomas,” Luda Mae settled into her seat with that same motherly smile. “Can call him Tommy if you like. Charlie always does.”

Charlie shot Monica a wink from his spot to Luda Mae’s right.

“N-Nice to meet you, Bubba,” Monica turned her smile up to the male in the full mask, not missing the excited babble that drifted out from behind the latex.

“The boys cain’t talk much, but that don’t mean they won’t try.” Charlie laughed as he reached for one of the bottles of beer at the center of the table. “Bubba there’ll babble your damn ear off. Tommy just grunts.”

Monica turned to Tommy, nearly having to look away at the way he was staring at her. That half-mask was way more intimidating than Bubba’s mask; it reminded her a little of Hannibal Lector’s mask, but the more she looked at Tommy, the more his eyes softened behind the leather and she felt herself relax in turn. She’d already seen Bubba’s boyish brown eyes resembled a little boy’s under the mask he wore; despite their intimidating presence and appearance, the two didn’t seem to mean her any harm.

“T-Thank you, too, Tommy.”

Tommy nodded once, his eyes on her lips as she spoke.

“Well now, y’all go on ahead and dig in--boys, why don’t you serve our guest?”

Luda Mae’s blessing got the food started around, and Monica could only watch, a little speechless, as Bubba and Tommy both reached for a different plate; Tommy picked up the ham, serving her more than she could ever hope to eat--she had no way of knowing he thought she looked like she needed to eat--and Bubba was double-fisting two different plates of assorted vegetables. As the boys worked in tandem, Monica watched as her dinner plate, salad plate, and soup bowl were all filled to the point of over-flowing with hearty southern favorites sure to leave her way, way full and probably a little sleepy. To top the meal off, Bubba poured Monica a glass of pink lemonade from a pitcher, only spilling it a little on account of he was so nervous in front of such a pretty girl.

“Way to go, retard.”

Monica sat forward a little to look down the table at the culprit behind such an insult, locking eyes with someone she knew was called Chop Top. The insult had affected Bubba immediately; he nearly dropped the entire pitcher, only just managing to set it down, babbling incoherent apologies toward Monica for his mess. She couldn’t see, but he was beginning to cry beneath his mask, absolutely terrified him spilling a little lemonade was going to be the thing that ran her off. Princesses deserve perfect! Stupid, stupid Bubba!

“That’s not very nice,” Monica chided Chop Top, unable to stop herself from speaking up. It may not be her place, but she felt...not sorry, for the two men at her side, but she knew they didn’t deserve to be called names. “Haven’t you ever spilled anything in your life?”

Chop Top opened his mouth to reply--not to snap, but to give her a taste of Sawyer vulgarity at how many times he spilled himself earlier at the thought of her--but Charlie cleared his throat the head of the table and Chop Top’s teeth clacked together at how quick he snapped his mouth shut. He’d only insulted Bubba as an attempt to get Monica to notice him; he’d risked the folly of his entire family for just a little bit of attention. Was it worth it? ...Yeah, it was.

“It’s okay, Bubba.” Monica placed a hand on Bubba’s trembling hand; it was so much larger she nearly lost her train of thought. He was trying to clean up the lemonade around her glass, but his fingers were shaking so badly he wasn’t much use for it. “Here.”

Bubba went still as Monica gently guided his hand to dab up the spilled liquid and the entirety of the table fell away. All the Sawyers were busy talking, eating, but Bubba couldn’t focus on anything other than Monica was touching him. He’d held a flower once or twice in his life; he remembered the petals being soft, and that was what her touch reminded him of. Love at first sight was too weak a description for this boy; he was head over heels already, his breath coming in short gasps because he wasn’t used to what he was feeling. No one...no one ever touched him. He was starving for affection and had no way of knowing it until she touched him, and as the lemonade was cleaned up, she let go of his hand and he couldn’t stop the blubbering, desperate noise he made. She looked up at him in surprise.

“A...Are you okay?” Her hand replaced itself on his arm and he calmed down, giving her a nod. Her smile returned and she gave his arm a pat. “Good.”

“The boys ain’t retards,” Charlie spoke up from his spot, pride in his tone--nothing to do with the boys not being slow, and everything to do with Monica standing up for them. Luda Mae’s smile was wide enough to show teeth. “They got a little bit of a disease, is all. Doctors told us it’s name years ago, said it’s uh...” Charlie snapped his fingers a few times. “Oh hell, what was the word?”

“Generated,” Monty spoke up from the other end of the table, lifting a forkful of green beans into his mouth.

Charlie shook his head. “Naw, that wasn’t it. Close, but started with a D.”

“...Degenerative?” Monica ventured.

“That’s the one!” Charlie snapped his fingers, pointing to her. “Degenerative. S’why they’ve got those masks on, their faces just don’t look right. They ain’t pretty to look at, mind, but they’re good boys.”

Monica risked another glance up at Bubba, then Tommy--who paused with a bite near his mask...which had some errant mashed potatoes on it. She laughed lightly, taking her napkin from her lap to gently clean it off. He sat like a statue as she did, and she watched his eyes flutter closed.

He desperately, in that moment, wished he was a handsome prince--he hated that he couldn’t feel her touch his skin because of the mask he hid behind.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Monica lowered her napkin, looking back up at Charlie and Luda Mae. “That can’t be easy, but...they definitely seem like good boys.”

Bubba made a happy noise behind his mask at the compliment, and Tommy gave her a small smile she could see behind the leather covering his face. This...was definitely the strangest dinner party she’d ever been to, but Monica couldn’t say she wasn’t enjoying herself and the company.

Dinner took nearly two hours before anyone was even remotely finished; conversations kept people from eating, too busy gabbing and wanting to be the one to tell Monica about this or that--and she had so many questions herself to answer that she could barely keep up. The Sawyers, especially Bubba and Tommy, were so interested in every single thing she had to say. Bubba had pushed for her to talk at length about all the books she’s written, and when Tommy found out she could draw, he had to turn to get his Mama to tell Monica he wanted her to draw him just a little something so he could keep it. Of course, Bubba immediately wanted one, too! Monica had laughed a little shyly, explaining she’d left her sketchbook back at the motel but that she’d be happy to draw them both something and bring it back? That seemed to make them both over the moon happy. She thought it was simply the promise of a drawing, but the fact of the matter was...it meant she’d be coming back to see them again.

“But...what would you like me to draw?”

Tommy and Bubba had exchanged glances, before Tommy reached out, pointing at Monica’s chest. She furrowed her brow, as Bubba seemed to nod and agree.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t--”

“They want a drawing of you, honey.” Luda Mae offered, her elbows resting on the table as she smiled. “Probably wanna hang it up in their room.”

Monica blushed prettily. “A-Are you sure?”

Tommy nodded once; Bubba hadn’t stopped nodding since he started. Monica could draw herself, she’d done it a few times before, but shyness was making her a little self-conscious--and in that moment, she realized she wasn’t the only one who was.

“How...How about I take a picture with you two? And I’ll draw it, and you can hang that up?”

Neither Tommy nor Bubba had had their photos taken since they were in diapers; at least, not willingly. Some mean tourists had snapped some photos of the pair when they were pre-teens, but that was the very last time. Bubba lowered his hands in his lap, wringing them nervously, and Tommy was staring at his plate. Monica’s assumption had been right; their self-esteem issues were through the roof, but she knew this could be helpful! And she didn’t know why, but some part of her wanted to help them.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You can leave your masks on.” Monica gave Tommy’s hand an encouraging pat, turning to Bubba. “Your make-up looks so pretty, don’t you want to see what it looks like?”

Bubba nodded, blubbering quietly. He would have agreed to anything she said, really, and Tommy may seem stoic but he was in the same boat.

“Well lookit that.” Charlie whistled lowly, replacing the toothpick in his mouth with a fresh one. “Boys ain’t taken a picture in years.”

“They just ain’t had a good reason to.” Luda Mae gestured with a smile. “Why don’t y’all take it out on the porch? It’s quieter out there, and it’ll give us time to clear and get the dessert on the table.”

Monica nodded, and Tommy pulled her chair out for her, both men standing as she did; she hadn’t forgotten how tall they were, was difficult to when she’d been sitting beside them all evening, but they all but towered over her the moment they straightened up. It gave a curious stirring of butterflies in her tummy all over again, and she nearly forgot to grab her phone from her purse before stepping away from the table, following Bubba toward the front door, Tommy lumbering at her back. She didn’t pull away when he reached over to take her hand--whether or not it was forward, or appropriate, Monica found she couldn’t care about that. There was something about these two that seemed to subvert social norms; she wasn’t in a big city, she wasn’t needing to put on airs or worry about what was right or what was wrong. Tommy held her hand like one would a glass figurine, as if she were breakable, and there was something so sweet about that she just couldn’t care why he wanted to hold it in the first place.

Out on the porch, the Texas night was a blanket of darkness littered with starlight, and the full moon cast the plains in an ethereal gloom. The sun was long gone and took with it it’s warmth and Monica immediately shivered, unable to believe she hadn’t thought to bring a jacket--

Immediately, Bubba shrugged out of his suit jacket, slipping it around her shoulders with a soft, caring noise. His large, roughly calloused hands gave her arms a rub--a little roughly, as if he wasn’t used to being gentle, but Tommy grunted at him and his touch softened.

Monica gave him a smile. “Thank you, Bubba. It’s very warm.”

It smelled like him, too; like a home-cooked meal, still hot and ready, and it warmed her even as her skin lost some of it’s chill. Monica unlocked her phone, and was immediately aware of Tommy and Bubba curiously crowding close--she should have realized they...probably have never seen a smartphone before. She couldn’t be sure, she’d only caught a glimpse, but she was pretty sure the TV in the living room still had rabbit ears.

“Oh, my phone? Do you boys have a phone?”

Bubba immediately shook his head, babbling as he did so. Tommy was silent as he shook his, too.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll get one!” Monica couldn’t help saying that; she wasn’t...sure they could even read, but the way their eyes both lit up was worth telling them anything was possible. They were the biggest men she’d ever seen, but there was something so sweet and innocent about them, as if they were little boys wrapped up in a very tough, scary exterior.

Monica was so new, she had no way of knowing this was solely because of her. These two boys, while their family treated them well enough, most days, had never really known kindness. They’d been bullied out of school at a young age, so no they weren’t able to read or really write. They couldn’t talk, so most assumed they were retarded, slow--and their appearance made them ugly. Hideous monsters that hid out in their family’s basement, preying on passersby with chainsaws and gnashing teeth. They had their fair share of violence and death, they knew all of life’s hardships and had eaten at the table of suffering with seconds and some might even say thirds. What they needed now was exactly what every monster in a fairy tale needs--a princess. Someone soft, beautiful, angelic and kind, to chase away bad dreams from childhood torment and to make the monster in the mirror a little easier to look at. Neither Tommy nor Bubba were comfortable with the idea of showing Monica who they really were beneath their masks, not yet--but it wasn’t because they didn’t want to. She was the nicest person they’d ever met, and they’d gladly do just about anything she asked--they just couldn’t imagine she’d look at them the same way once she saw their faces. No one ever had, but these two were suffering from the same problem all monsters in fairy tales suffer from; a lack of hope from being let down time and time again. It had taken time to sow those terrible wounds, and it would take time to undo them. The boys were convinced Monica would be the one to do that...perhaps, sadly for her, she’d never have another choice. The moment they’d laid eyes on her it sealed her fate. The boys may not be slow, but they ain’t all there upstairs, either. Now that they were convinced she was the princess from their fairy tales, she’d never truly be away from them again.

But...maybe that wasn’t so bad?

As Tommy and Bubba bent their spines, resting their cheeks against Monica’s for a picture, Monica didn’t feel the least bit worried or scared. The picture came out beautifully; her smile was something neither of the boys could look away from, but all she could see was that, beneath their masks, Tommy and Bubba were smiling, too.

All fairy tales have to start somewhere, and not all of them are going to start, or even end, the same. That story, with the handsome prince on his faithful steed, that’s been done to death. Maybe it’s finally the monsters’ turn to get the girl of their dreams.

Yeah, that’s not so bad, after all.

[tumblunni]

POKEMON BADGES ARE GIRL SCOUT BADGES?!

Holy shit i think that's it! On the early sprites and artwork for Red you can see some sort of weird big circle pattern on his hat, his shirt, a different place on his hat, with no consistancy. And i've just seen one concept art where it seems to have the Cascade Badge logo on it?? So were they originally envisioned as fabric badges that trainers would sew onto their clothes as a status symbol similar to scouts? That would kinda explain why you saw trainers holding their pokeballs on belts and bandoliers in the first gen, like i know everyone jokes about them being ammo holders but what if they were scout sashes? And then i guess it was just one of the many things that the anime reinterpreted that then became canon in later games. Like how pokeballs didnt have a button and used to literally look like gachapon capsules including one half being translucent so you can see the pokemon inside. Which would also literally shrink via magic rather than being stored in cyberpunk super energy technology. The Adventures manga actually kept this idea and i think its super neat!

Mannnn i wish they'd kept the fabric badges now. Im kinda torn tho? Like i understand that them being tiny plastic/metal clip ons makes more logical sense, and the whole thing of sticking them inside your coat pocket and dramatically revealing them would look coolwr in the anime and also save on having to draw them on the character model 100% of the time. But on the other hand fabric badges is such a cool cute and nostalgic aesthetic! It makes them feel more like an accomplishment, sorta? And more like this world has established a culture around the concept of gym challenges, if you see people wearing their badges in different ways as a fashion statement. It also makes a lot more sense as a thing you'd give to kids, like maybe kids get this version and the metal badge version is an alternate miniature equivelant for adults who feel theyre too mature for the normal one. And its cute to imagine it as an excuse for the player character to go back to visit their mom so she can help them sew on their new badge and congratulate them! Daww! Or imagining the kids being very responsible and talented if they were able to carry around their own sewing kit. It could explain the accessories for pikachu and eevee in the new game, like the protag learned to sew for the sake of his adventure and then he was just mending his clothes and then he actually ended up really enjoying it and learning to make miniature copies of his outfits for his new best buddy pikachu. :3 Oh oh, or maybe all the gym leaders are just nice kindly big sibling/parental figures to all the kids who beat them? You have tea together afterwards and they help sew on your badge and give you some tips for the next leg of your journey and a big ol motovational speech and also imagine Lt Surge's raichu cuddling your pikachu and acting as a move tutor to it? I will continue to aggressively headcanon lt surge as a good man because im still mad about the anime making him an asshole and telling me im supposed to hate raichu and not want pikachu to evolve. I evolved my pikachu in pokemon yellow IMMEDIATELY after that episode, i was so mad! Like yeah ash's pikachu has every right to not want to evolve, thats his decision. But that doesnt mean that lt surge's raichu is bad because it made the other decision! You could have just said pikachu doesnt want to evolve without making its evolution look like something the kids arent allowed to want. :( and also making a random gym leader an evil guy when nothing implied thatvin his game version :( what if he was a nice man with ptsd from his time in the war and he just saw you like pikachus too and he wanted to be a nice mentor figure to you and also he is Spark's uncle and also he hugs his raichu every day :( I love lt surge cos i was told to hate him, just like how i love Gaspar the random traded haunter in diamond and pearl just because they wrote his trainer being a jerk. I had to train him to level 100 just to spite her! Ans now i have to cherish lt surge to spite the anime!! I will style my pikachu's hair like him and take selfies together and be all hashtag my new pokemon dad. I really hope he is just like his red ans blue version in the new games, id be so sad if anime jerkness is canon like how jessie and james now are. Leav cool raichuman alon

WOW THIS POST WENT IN EVERY DIRECTION WOW IM SO FUCKIN TIRED

[georgeycowell]

DIY Carved Wood Wall Art

I’m in love with my newest piece of wall art, and making it was a lot easier than it looks! Check out this power carved wood wall art and tell me where you think it should go.

Hey, friends!

I’ve got a little bit of picture overload for you today. It’s honestly due to a number of factors:

I loved the way my project turned out

I loved that I didn’t have to put on makeup to be in these photos because my face is covered up

Even though my face is covered up, I look like a badass in these photos

This project looks harder to do than it actually is

This is part of a blog/YouTube hop called the #WoodArtChallenge

Don’t know about the Wood Art Challenge yet? Well, in a nutshell, around 30+ of us DIYers/makers (bloggers, Youtubers, Instagrammers, etc.) are all teaming up to present you guys with a single hive mind creative challenge: make a piece of wall art that is SQUARE and made out of WOOD.

Thassit. That’s the challenge. And that means with so many ways to interpret that, there are LOTS of DIY ideas in store for you guys today! Just look to the bottom of this post for others who are participating.

As many of you guys know (unless you’re new here because of the hop thing, in which case hi, stay awhile, we get weird around here… in a good way), I would call myself a woodworking “beginner”. Even though I’ve got plenty of house fixing shenanigans under my belt, there’s a whole other world of power tool fun that I am just now starting to learn more about. And that’s how I found myself using an angle grinder to make a block of wood look like fabric.

Or twisted metal? Or maybe just crumpled paper? I still can’t put my finger on precisely what I think it resembles most, but it definitely doesn’t look like anything I’ve created out of wood before!

It was actually inspired by an artist I follow on Instagram, nugeandwood. My attempt was, of course, pretty small and quick compared to his giant, awe-inducing carved sculpture (which takes anywhere from a few weeks to a couple months to complete). Seriously guys — you’re missing out if you haven’t seen his stuff yet!

The best part of it is, my DIY version doesn’t use a lot of tools to accomplish; the tools you would need to purchase are well within a normal DIY budget too, so this makes it a great beginner’s woodworking project!

What you’ll need:

eye/ear/clothing protection, and a breathing mask (this is a very sawdusty project! don’t breathe all that in!), a hat is good too

1x8x8 poplar board (if you choose another hardwood, keep in mind that hardwood species carve  differently, or so I’ve read)

4 1/2″ angle grinder (I bought mine, but there’s a very good chance a neighbor has one… Harbor Freight has them pretty cheap too)

4 1/2″ carbide cup wheel from Harbor Freight (only $10, and no, this is not sponsored)

4 1/2″ sanding disc in 40 or 80 grit (I preferred 40)

lots of sandpaper: extra coarse (around 40 grit), coarse (60-80 grit), medium (100-150 grit), fine (220 grit), extra fine (400 grit)… a lot of this you’ll probably already have, and you can also buy finishing discs for your 4 1/2″ angle grinder if you wish, but you will likely have to hand sand a little

cling wrap

bar clamps

painter’s tape

wood glue

wood stain

sealer

DIY Power Carved Wall Art

1. Cut pieces to size

Cut down the 1×8 poplar into 6 roughly-equal pieces (it’s ok if it’s slightly off). Line them up the way you would like to establish the block you’ll carve into. Be mindful of the layers below; you’ll carve through parts of the top boards to expose lower layers.

Cover your work surface with cling wrap and tape the ends with painter’s tape (to prevent you from gluing your wood block to your work table).

For my version, I had two scrap pieces that had been Kreg Jig’d together for another project I forgot about ages ago. Since these pieces formed a 90-degree angle, they were perfect for using as temporary clamp pieces in the next step.

2. Glue and clamp the entire block together

I glued 2 stacks of 3 pieces each of the poplar, side by side. This sounds confusing, but it’s not. Just make two equal stacks of your poplar pieces and glue them in order. Be sure to cover the layers in between and the side where the two stacks touch with an ample amount of glue.

If you have or make clamp helpers like I did, put painter’s tape on any sides that will touch the glue… just in case.

With the glue still wet, clamp the ever-loving crap out of the wood block so that it will dry as one solid piece. Be sure to clamp the sides together and the layers (clamp vertically and horizontally).

3. Cut to square and sketch your carving

Since the top and bottom ends of the block aren’t perfectly square, now is the time to cut the excess off so you have a truly square block. Sorry, them’s the rules.

I used the back of my block to sketch out a few lines of where I thought “folds” of my make-believe wood fabric would be, along with giving the carving disc a few test runs to make sure I had a good handle on it.

4. Start carving!

With my carbide blade attached, I went to town on my wood block. Gently, at first, then more aggressive.

It made surprisingly quick work of the wood, and I began to learn how to control the curve and carve of the disc to get the shape I wanted.

This part was the quickest and most fun! It really only took an hour or two to carve the bulk of what I wanted. When I felt I had a better handle on how to get the shape, I went in again for a second pass to get things smoother.

5. Sand.

Ugh. This part. No fun. But I highly recommend getting a 40-grit sanding disc to attach to the angle grinder as well. This made getting those first big chunks sanded away to a smoother result. I tried again with the 80-grit one, but it left lots of bumps and I regretted it.

(For those who might suggest the Arbortech Turbo Plane to avoid/reduce all the sanding — I do know of the tool. I think it would be awesome to try one and haven’t yet tried it myself. But for a beginner’s project, it doesn’t make sense to recommend a blade that costly. Usually budget is a reason for DIYing and/or part of the roadblock for why someone might not try to DIY, so I’m not going to recommend it here. For professional woodworkers or those who intend on churning out multiple carved pieces, that would be worth giving a try though.)

6. More sanding.

After trying a few other battery- and corded- assisting tools to sand down the remainder, I had to resort to good ol’ fashioned sandpaper for the rest. I hated this part because I was already tired from carving.

7. Stain and seal.

At first, I was really tempted to go with a bold color, like blue or green, since the grain reminded me of a topographical map. I picked out a brown stain instead, because I was worried that the few lines where I used wood glue to connect pieces would not take stain and/or detract from the rest of the piece. I’m sure with more glue-up practice and better clamps, I could see fewer lines from the glue. Either way, I still loved the result!

8. Hang and admire your work.

After way too much dry time (it rained for two days and things just would. not. dry.), I got fed up and finally hung my piece using some of my favorite hangers (they allow the art to sit flush on the wall). I love it!

For now, it’s hanging in the entryway, but I may move it at some point.

What do you think? What color would you have picked? Would you have put a frame around it? I considered so many possibilities on this one, that the options are still pretty tempting. I’d love to hear your ideas.

P.S. If you’re wondering what those pictures taped to my garage wall are all about, check that out here. K is a real prankster.

Don’t forget, this is a WOOD ART CHALLENGE and a number of other folks are participating, so go check them out!

1) Reality Daydream / 2) 100 Things 2 Do / 3) House Becoming Home / 4) Anika’s DIY Life / 5) My Repurposed Life / 6) 3×3 Custom / 7) One Project Closer / 8) Merrypad / 9) Chatfield Court / 10) Create & Babble / 11) Hazel & Gold / 12) Jen Woodhouse / 13) Sawdust 2 Stitches / 14) Wood Work Life / 15) Remodelaholic / 16)  Evan & Katelyn / 17) Jaime Costigio / 18)  Pneumatic Addict / 19)  Bower Power / 20) Lazy Guy DIY / 21) My Love 2 Create / 22) Addicted 2 DIY / 23) Her ToolBelt / 24) Shades of Blue / 25) Ugly Duckling House / 26) The DIY Village / 27) DIY Huntress / 28) Mr Fix It DIY

The post DIY Carved Wood Wall Art appeared first on Ugly Duckling House.

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[alexrodriguespage]

DIY Carved Wood Wall Art

I’m in love with my newest piece of wall art, and making it was a lot easier than it looks! Check out this power carved wood wall art and tell me where you think it should go.

Hey, friends!

I’ve got a little bit of picture overload for you today. It’s honestly due to a number of factors:

I loved the way my project turned out

I loved that I didn’t have to put on makeup to be in these photos because my face is covered up

Even though my face is covered up, I look like a badass in these photos

This project looks harder to do than it actually is

This is part of a blog/YouTube hop called the #WoodArtChallenge

Don’t know about the Wood Art Challenge yet? Well, in a nutshell, around 30+ of us DIYers/makers (bloggers, Youtubers, Instagrammers, etc.) are all teaming up to present you guys with a single hive mind creative challenge: make a piece of wall art that is SQUARE and made out of WOOD.

Thassit. That’s the challenge. And that means with so many ways to interpret that, there are LOTS of DIY ideas in store for you guys today! Just look to the bottom of this post for others who are participating.

As many of you guys know (unless you’re new here because of the hop thing, in which case hi, stay awhile, we get weird around here… in a good way), I would call myself a woodworking “beginner”. Even though I’ve got plenty of house fixing shenanigans under my belt, there’s a whole other world of power tool fun that I am just now starting to learn more about. And that’s how I found myself using an angle grinder to make a block of wood look like fabric.

Or twisted metal? Or maybe just crumpled paper? I still can’t put my finger on precisely what I think it resembles most, but it definitely doesn’t look like anything I’ve created out of wood before!

It was actually inspired by an artist I follow on Instagram, nugeandwood. My attempt was, of course, pretty small and quick compared to his giant, awe-inducing carved sculpture (which takes anywhere from a few weeks to a couple months to complete). Seriously guys — you’re missing out if you haven’t seen his stuff yet!

The best part of it is, my DIY version doesn’t use a lot of tools to accomplish; the tools you would need to purchase are well within a normal DIY budget too, so this makes it a great beginner’s woodworking project!

What you’ll need:

eye/ear/clothing protection, and a breathing mask (this is a very sawdusty project! don’t breathe all that in!), a hat is good too

1x8x8 poplar board (if you choose another hardwood, keep in mind that hardwood species carve  differently, or so I’ve read)

4 1/2″ angle grinder (I bought mine, but there’s a very good chance a neighbor has one… Harbor Freight has them pretty cheap too)

4 1/2″ carbide cup wheel from Harbor Freight (only $10, and no, this is not sponsored)

4 1/2″ sanding disc in 40 or 80 grit (I preferred 40)

lots of sandpaper: extra coarse (around 40 grit), coarse (60-80 grit), medium (100-150 grit), fine (220 grit), extra fine (400 grit)… a lot of this you’ll probably already have, and you can also buy finishing discs for your 4 1/2″ angle grinder if you wish, but you will likely have to hand sand a little

cling wrap

bar clamps

painter’s tape

wood glue

wood stain

sealer

DIY Power Carved Wall Art

1. Cut pieces to size

Cut down the 1×8 poplar into 6 roughly-equal pieces (it’s ok if it’s slightly off). Line them up the way you would like to establish the block you’ll carve into. Be mindful of the layers below; you’ll carve through parts of the top boards to expose lower layers.

Cover your work surface with cling wrap and tape the ends with painter’s tape (to prevent you from gluing your wood block to your work table).

For my version, I had two scrap pieces that had been Kreg Jig’d together for another project I forgot about ages ago. Since these pieces formed a 90-degree angle, they were perfect for using as temporary clamp pieces in the next step.

2. Glue and clamp the entire block together

I glued 2 stacks of 3 pieces each of the poplar, side by side. This sounds confusing, but it’s not. Just make two equal stacks of your poplar pieces and glue them in order. Be sure to cover the layers in between and the side where the two stacks touch with an ample amount of glue.

If you have or make clamp helpers like I did, put painter’s tape on any sides that will touch the glue… just in case.

With the glue still wet, clamp the ever-loving crap out of the wood block so that it will dry as one solid piece. Be sure to clamp the sides together and the layers (clamp vertically and horizontally).

3. Cut to square and sketch your carving

Since the top and bottom ends of the block aren’t perfectly square, now is the time to cut the excess off so you have a truly square block. Sorry, them’s the rules.

I used the back of my block to sketch out a few lines of where I thought “folds” of my make-believe wood fabric would be, along with giving the carving disc a few test runs to make sure I had a good handle on it.

4. Start carving!

With my carbide blade attached, I went to town on my wood block. Gently, at first, then more aggressive.

It made surprisingly quick work of the wood, and I began to learn how to control the curve and carve of the disc to get the shape I wanted.

This part was the quickest and most fun! It really only took an hour or two to carve the bulk of what I wanted. When I felt I had a better handle on how to get the shape, I went in again for a second pass to get things smoother.

5. Sand.

Ugh. This part. No fun. But I highly recommend getting a 40-grit sanding disc to attach to the angle grinder as well. This made getting those first big chunks sanded away to a smoother result. I tried again with the 80-grit one, but it left lots of bumps and I regretted it.

(For those who might suggest the Arbortech Turbo Plane to avoid/reduce all the sanding — I do know of the tool. I think it would be awesome to try one and haven’t yet tried it myself. But for a beginner’s project, it doesn’t make sense to recommend a blade that costly. Usually budget is a reason for DIYing and/or part of the roadblock for why someone might not try to DIY, so I’m not going to recommend it here. For professional woodworkers or those who intend on churning out multiple carved pieces, that would be worth giving a try though.)

6. More sanding.

After trying a few other battery- and corded- assisting tools to sand down the remainder, I had to resort to good ol’ fashioned sandpaper for the rest. I hated this part because I was already tired from carving.

7. Stain and seal.

At first, I was really tempted to go with a bold color, like blue or green, since the grain reminded me of a topographical map. I picked out a brown stain instead, because I was worried that the few lines where I used wood glue to connect pieces would not take stain and/or detract from the rest of the piece. I’m sure with more glue-up practice and better clamps, I could see fewer lines from the glue. Either way, I still loved the result!

8. Hang and admire your work.

After way too much dry time (it rained for two days and things just would. not. dry.), I got fed up and finally hung my piece using some of my favorite hangers (they allow the art to sit flush on the wall). I love it!

For now, it’s hanging in the entryway, but I may move it at some point.

What do you think? What color would you have picked? Would you have put a frame around it? I considered so many possibilities on this one, that the options are still pretty tempting. I’d love to hear your ideas.

P.S. If you’re wondering what those pictures taped to my garage wall are all about, check that out here. K is a real prankster.

Don’t forget, this is a WOOD ART CHALLENGE and a number of other folks are participating, so go check them out!

1) Reality Daydream / 2) 100 Things 2 Do / 3) House Becoming Home / 4) Anika’s DIY Life / 5) My Repurposed Life / 6) 3×3 Custom / 7) One Project Closer / 8) Merrypad / 9) Chatfield Court / 10) Create & Babble / 11) Hazel & Gold / 12) Jen Woodhouse / 13) Sawdust 2 Stitches / 14) Wood Work Life / 15) Remodelaholic / 16)  Evan & Katelyn / 17) Jaime Costigio / 18)  Pneumatic Addict / 19)  Bower Power / 20) Lazy Guy DIY / 21) My Love 2 Create / 22) Addicted 2 DIY / 23) Her ToolBelt / 24) Shades of Blue / 25) Ugly Duckling House / 26) The DIY Village / 27) DIY Huntress / 28) Mr Fix It DIY

The post DIY Carved Wood Wall Art appeared first on Ugly Duckling House.

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[lowmaticnews]

DIY Carved Wood Wall Art

I’m in love with my newest piece of wall art, and making it was a lot easier than it looks! Check out this power carved wood wall art and tell me where you think it should go.

Hey, friends!

I’ve got a little bit of picture overload for you today. It’s honestly due to a number of factors:

I loved the way my project turned out

I loved that I didn’t have to put on makeup to be in these photos because my face is covered up

Even though my face is covered up, I look like a badass in these photos

This project looks harder to do than it actually is

This is part of a blog/YouTube hop called the #WoodArtChallenge

Don’t know about the Wood Art Challenge yet? Well, in a nutshell, around 30+ of us DIYers/makers (bloggers, Youtubers, Instagrammers, etc.) are all teaming up to present you guys with a single hive mind creative challenge: make a piece of wall art that is SQUARE and made out of WOOD.

Thassit. That’s the challenge. And that means with so many ways to interpret that, there are LOTS of DIY ideas in store for you guys today! Just look to the bottom of this post for others who are participating.

As many of you guys know (unless you’re new here because of the hop thing, in which case hi, stay awhile, we get weird around here… in a good way), I would call myself a woodworking “beginner”. Even though I’ve got plenty of house fixing shenanigans under my belt, there’s a whole other world of power tool fun that I am just now starting to learn more about. And that’s how I found myself using an angle grinder to make a block of wood look like fabric.

Or twisted metal? Or maybe just crumpled paper? I still can’t put my finger on precisely what I think it resembles most, but it definitely doesn’t look like anything I’ve created out of wood before!

It was actually inspired by an artist I follow on Instagram, nugeandwood. My attempt was, of course, pretty small and quick compared to his giant, awe-inducing carved sculpture (which takes anywhere from a few weeks to a couple months to complete). Seriously guys — you’re missing out if you haven’t seen his stuff yet!

The best part of it is, my DIY version doesn’t use a lot of tools to accomplish; the tools you would need to purchase are well within a normal DIY budget too, so this makes it a great beginner’s woodworking project!

What you’ll need:

eye/ear/clothing protection, and a breathing mask (this is a very sawdusty project! don’t breathe all that in!), a hat is good too

1x8x8 poplar board (if you choose another hardwood, keep in mind that hardwood species carve  differently, or so I’ve read)

4 1/2″ angle grinder (I bought mine, but there’s a very good chance a neighbor has one… Harbor Freight has them pretty cheap too)

4 1/2″ carbide cup wheel from Harbor Freight (only $10, and no, this is not sponsored)

4 1/2″ sanding disc in 40 or 80 grit (I preferred 40)

lots of sandpaper: extra coarse (around 40 grit), coarse (60-80 grit), medium (100-150 grit), fine (220 grit), extra fine (400 grit)… a lot of this you’ll probably already have, and you can also buy finishing discs for your 4 1/2″ angle grinder if you wish, but you will likely have to hand sand a little

cling wrap

bar clamps

painter’s tape

wood glue

wood stain

sealer

DIY Power Carved Wall Art

1. Cut pieces to size

Cut down the 1×8 poplar into 6 roughly-equal pieces (it’s ok if it’s slightly off). Line them up the way you would like to establish the block you’ll carve into. Be mindful of the layers below; you’ll carve through parts of the top boards to expose lower layers.

Cover your work surface with cling wrap and tape the ends with painter’s tape (to prevent you from gluing your wood block to your work table).

For my version, I had two scrap pieces that had been Kreg Jig’d together for another project I forgot about ages ago. Since these pieces formed a 90-degree angle, they were perfect for using as temporary clamp pieces in the next step.

2. Glue and clamp the entire block together

I glued 2 stacks of 3 pieces each of the poplar, side by side. This sounds confusing, but it’s not. Just make two equal stacks of your poplar pieces and glue them in order. Be sure to cover the layers in between and the side where the two stacks touch with an ample amount of glue.

If you have or make clamp helpers like I did, put painter’s tape on any sides that will touch the glue… just in case.

With the glue still wet, clamp the ever-loving crap out of the wood block so that it will dry as one solid piece. Be sure to clamp the sides together and the layers (clamp vertically and horizontally).

3. Cut to square and sketch your carving

Since the top and bottom ends of the block aren’t perfectly square, now is the time to cut the excess off so you have a truly square block. Sorry, them’s the rules.

I used the back of my block to sketch out a few lines of where I thought “folds” of my make-believe wood fabric would be, along with giving the carving disc a few test runs to make sure I had a good handle on it.

4. Start carving!

With my carbide blade attached, I went to town on my wood block. Gently, at first, then more aggressive.

It made surprisingly quick work of the wood, and I began to learn how to control the curve and carve of the disc to get the shape I wanted.

This part was the quickest and most fun! It really only took an hour or two to carve the bulk of what I wanted. When I felt I had a better handle on how to get the shape, I went in again for a second pass to get things smoother.

5. Sand.

Ugh. This part. No fun. But I highly recommend getting a 40-grit sanding disc to attach to the angle grinder as well. This made getting those first big chunks sanded away to a smoother result. I tried again with the 80-grit one, but it left lots of bumps and I regretted it.

(For those who might suggest the Arbortech Turbo Plane to avoid/reduce all the sanding — I do know of the tool. I think it would be awesome to try one and haven’t yet tried it myself. But for a beginner’s project, it doesn’t make sense to recommend a blade that costly. Usually budget is a reason for DIYing and/or part of the roadblock for why someone might not try to DIY, so I’m not going to recommend it here. For professional woodworkers or those who intend on churning out multiple carved pieces, that would be worth giving a try though.)

6. More sanding.

After trying a few other battery- and corded- assisting tools to sand down the remainder, I had to resort to good ol’ fashioned sandpaper for the rest. I hated this part because I was already tired from carving.

7. Stain and seal.

At first, I was really tempted to go with a bold color, like blue or green, since the grain reminded me of a topographical map. I picked out a brown stain instead, because I was worried that the few lines where I used wood glue to connect pieces would not take stain and/or detract from the rest of the piece. I’m sure with more glue-up practice and better clamps, I could see fewer lines from the glue. Either way, I still loved the result!

8. Hang and admire your work.

After way too much dry time (it rained for two days and things just would. not. dry.), I got fed up and finally hung my piece using some of my favorite hangers (they allow the art to sit flush on the wall). I love it!

For now, it’s hanging in the entryway, but I may move it at some point.

What do you think? What color would you have picked? Would you have put a frame around it? I considered so many possibilities on this one, that the options are still pretty tempting. I’d love to hear your ideas.

P.S. If you’re wondering what those pictures taped to my garage wall are all about, check that out here. K is a real prankster.

Don’t forget, this is a WOOD ART CHALLENGE and a number of other folks are participating, so go check them out!

1) Reality Daydream / 2) 100 Things 2 Do / 3) House Becoming Home / 4) Anika’s DIY Life / 5) My Repurposed Life / 6) 3×3 Custom / 7) One Project Closer / 8) Merrypad / 9) Chatfield Court / 10) Create & Babble / 11) Hazel & Gold / 12) Jen Woodhouse / 13) Sawdust 2 Stitches / 14) Wood Work Life / 15) Remodelaholic / 16)  Evan & Katelyn / 17) Jaime Costigio / 18)  Pneumatic Addict / 19)  Bower Power / 20) Lazy Guy DIY / 21) My Love 2 Create / 22) Addicted 2 DIY / 23) Her ToolBelt / 24) Shades of Blue / 25) Ugly Duckling House / 26) The DIY Village / 27) DIY Huntress / 28) Mr Fix It DIY

The post DIY Carved Wood Wall Art appeared first on Ugly Duckling House.

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[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 22

Turning of the Tides

Warnings: Swearing, unimaginable fluff

Word count: ~8500

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

The night after your adventure in Lagras, Dutch takes Arthur, John, Bill and Lenny out to deal with Bronte. Hosea tries desperately to change his mind, but to no avail. As the group rides out of camp, he shakes his head. 

You watch them leave, feeling worried. Bronte will surely be heavily guarded and then there’s the possibility of city cops. Grimshaw assigns you to guard duty for the afternoon. 

As you stand by the gates of Shady Belle, you listen to the forest. A horse stomps its way towards you from the direction of the house and you turn to see Molly riding a small dun horse. You can tell from her eyes she’s been crying. She and Dutch fought again when he returned last night and most of the day she drank heavily. 

“Ms. O’Shea,” you say. “What are you doing?” 

“Don’t you worry about me!” she snaps, pausing her horse. “You get to leave with Arthur whenever you want, but anyone sees me set foot out of here and everyone loses their minds!” 

“Molly, the city is dangerous right now, I really don’t think-”

“I don’t care what you think! I’m going and you can’t stop me!” She kicks her horse into a gallop and leaves. You stare after her, worried. 

Charles approaches you, prepared to take the night shift. You hand him the repeater and go into camp. Spotting Hosea and Abigail at the table, you sit down, interrupting their conversation.

“Molly’s leaving,” you state.

“We know,” Hosea says sadly. “We tried talking to her, but she don’t wanna listen to us.” 

“She just needs some time,” Abigail says. “Dutch ain’t been too kind to her lately. Everyone needs a break from this place sometimes. She’ll come back.” 

The three of you fall silent for a moment. “Y/N, I’m glad you came over,” Hosea says. “Wanted to talk to you about this bank job.” 

“I didn’t think I would be involved,” you say. 

“Well, you’re not yet. But in order to do this right, we need to create a diversion away from the bank. I figure you, Abigail and myself will do that. We’ll go in, looking like city folks. I figure we plant a dud stage and set it off with dynamite.”

Abigail chews on her lip. “We’ll have to make sure no one sees us with the dynamite.” 

“That’s easy. We’ll take the stage we stole and put dynamite inside before leaving. You two act as lookouts while I light it and we walk away before anyone figures out what we’re doing. If all goes according to plan, no one will suspect a thing and we can sneak out.” 

“I don’t know, Hosea,” you say. “Seems like a lot of our plans the past few months haven’t gone too well for us.” 

“This one will, Y/N. Just have some faith.” Hosea pats your hand and stands up. “Just think about it, hmm?”

You nod and he leaves, lighting his pipe. Abigail stirs in her seat, almost as though searching for something to say. 

“So you and Arthur are getting pretty close?” she says. 

“Yeah. He’s, well, let’s just say when I first met him, I didn’t know how much of a romantic he was.” 

She laughs. “He’s always been like that. The carin’ sort. I just wish John…” she sighs heavily. 

“He’s getting better though, isn’t he? I’ve seen him with Jack more.” 

“He is, but I still have to talk him into it. It’s like he can’t make up his mind about the boy, and yet Jack looks up to him so.” 

“He’ll come around. John may not be the brightest man here, but he knows what’s right.” 

“I suppose. Well, I better go see to that boy.” 

She gets up and walks into the house. Javier sits by the fire with Uncle, but they’re both quiet. You see Karen stumbling about on the edges of camp, a bottle swaying from her hand. Sighing, you get up and decide to head to bed, hoping you can sleep without Arthur by your side. 

By morning, all the men except for Arthur and John returns. Lenny tells you and Abigail they stayed out after Bronte was dealt with. Dutch seems irritable, but he doesn’t seem to notice the absence of Molly. You approach him as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Hello, Dutch,” you say. “I wanted to let you know that Molly-”

“I don’t want to hear about Ms. O’Shea right now,” he grumbles. “I cannot worry about her, I got too much goin’ on.” He stomps away towards the house, stopping near Hosea. 

Midafternoon comes and Arthur and John finally return. John bids him farewell and heads off towards the gazebo where Abigail is sitting with Jack. Arthur rubs his jaw, his stubble nearly returned to normal. He sees you and walks over.

“Hello, Y/N.” 

“Arthur. You okay? Surprised you didn’t come home last night.” 

He sighs and hides his eyes with his hat. Something is troubling him. 

“You wanna talk about it?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe that would be good. Let’s go somewhere else, I don’t wanna be in this camp anymore.” 

He leads you over to the horses and you mount Rannoch, feeling worried. Arthur

doesn’t speak as you walk and you don’t pressure him. He takes you in the direction of Rhodes and you recognize the familiar path leading to Clemens Point. Stopping in the clearing, you look around at the familiar area. After dismounting, he heads towards the lake, still not speaking.

You stand next to him as he gazes out across the burning lake and take his hand. “What’s going on, honey?” you ask.

He sighs and sits down, leaning against the large tree. You do the same, your shoulders touching. 

“Well, we got to Bronte just fine. Slippery snake tried to weasel his way out, but Dutch took him to the swamp, same place that big ol’ gator tried to get us. He killed him, but in… in a bad way.” 

He explains how Dutch had drowned Bronte and then fed him to the gators. The violence of it seems to shock him. 

“I ain’t known Dutch a long time,” you say, “but that don’t seem like him.” 

“No, it ain’t. I been with him 20 years, never seen him do nothing like that. He’s killed a lot of folk, sure. Who of us hasn’t? But feedin’ a man to a damn gator, I don’t know many people who deserve that. And it was just the way he looked at Bronte. Almost like… like he wanted what Bronte had and hated him for it. I’m not makin’ any sense.” 

“No, Arthur, you are. I’m just… It just seems like ever since that trolley job, he’s changed. Been so angry. The way he talked to you the other night. I don’t know, he’s even been lookin’ at me funny, like I made him mad or somethin’.” 

“Don’t know how you could have. You should hear the way Pearson talks about ya. Almost expectin’ him to propose to you any day now.” 

“Arthur, you pig!” you laugh and smack his arm. He chuckles and pulls you into a one-armed hug. 

“Come on, let’s go to Rhodes,” he says.

“What for? You think it’s safe after Sean?” 

“Yeah I think so. Most people involved with that got killed and it’s been long enough. I was thinkin’ we could maybe play some black jack, have some fun.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

  You both head into Rhodes as the sun sets, relieved that no one seems to recognize Arthur. He stops in the store to buy a few things, and he tells you to find a new book. You see one titled “The Portrait of Dorian Gray”, and place it on the counter next to Arthur’s items. Nodding approvingly, he pays for it with his other things. 

Afterwards, he guides you down the street, offering you his arm. He keeps smirking at you, making you suspicious.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours, Mr. Morgan?”

“Nothin’. Just happy to be out here with you is all.” 

“Uh-huh,” you say, not believing a word of it. Just as you’re about to approach the front of the hotel, Arthur stops and pushes you against the wall of the building. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when his lips are on yours, his body pressed against you. 

He pulls away slowly. “Sorry, darlin’. Just… felt like I needed to do that.” 

Blushing, you giggle. “You’re funny, Arthur, but what are you doing? You can kiss me whenever you want, why now?” 

He smiles. “Like you said, I can kiss ya whenever I want.” His thumb traces your cheek gently, making your heart flutter. 

“You’re real funny, Mr. Morgan.” 

“And you’re beautiful.” He kisses you again, softer this time. He sighs and pulls away.

“Thought we were here to play black jack?” you open your eyes, your hands on his shoulders. 

“Yes we are.” He offers you his arm again and leads you up the stairs towards the black jack table. Before you have a chance to pull out your money, he lays down your bet. As the dealer begins handing out cards, you notice Arthur’s been holding your hand since the moment you sat down. Something’s going on with him, but you’re not sure what. 

You play for nearly an hour before Arthur decides he’s done for the night. He takes you to the main floor and buys dinner. Over the meal, he’s become oddly quiet. You try to pick up a conversation, but he doesn’t seem interested. Figuring he’s just tired or worried about Dutch, you suggest getting a room for the night, to which he agrees. 

He gets up and pays for a room, beckoning for you to follow him. He leads you to a room in the back with a bed no wider than the one you share in Shady Belle. Shrugging, you sit down, Arthur next to your side. He’s still quiet and he seems to be lost in his head. You extend your hand and gently grab his face, turning it to you. 

“Just you and me here now,” you say and kiss him. He sighs and kisses you back. Your hand wanders down to his shirt and you undo the first button.

“Not tonight, darlin’,” he says, grabbing your hand. You pull back and look into his face, which is hard and unreadable. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“No. Just… not in the mood tonight. Ya mind if we just go to sleep? Plannin’ on an early morning.”

“Why? What’s going on tomorrow?” 

“Nothin’. I’ll explain in the mornin’. Just get some rest.” 

Something in you wants to push further, but his eyes seem sad. You nod and unlace your boots, lying down. He lies down as well and you slide into the crook of his arm. His hand rests gingerly on your shoulder, but it feels as though he’s forcing himself to tolerate your touch. 

In the morning, you wake up alone. You look around but Arthur’s nowhere to be seen. His hat’s resting on the dresser under the window. After sitting up, you grab your knees. Something about the way he was acting last night when you were alone seems strange, completely unlike him. A strange feeling settles into your stomach. 

The door opens and Arthur walks in, his hair damp. He offers you a brief and uncharacteristic good morning, which you quietly return. 

“Come on, get dressed,” he says hastily. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Huntin’ trip.” 

“Okay, but where?” 

He looks at you before answering. “West Elizabeth, I reckon.”

He quickly leaves the room, letting you get dressed in privacy. You can’t shake off the feeling that he’s irritated with you. You try thinking back, wondering what you may have done or said, but coming up with nothing. He had been so sweet when you’d come into town, but after dinner he acted like he didn’t want you around. 

You leave the room, still conflicted and meet him by the bar. He silently beckons you to follow him out to the horses. 

“Figure we can take a stage,” he says, his voice flat. 

“You sure? Why don’t we take the train? It’ll take half the time.” 

“Because I want to,” he says quickly. He doesn’t go further as he leads you to the stage, the driver napping on his seat. Arthur dismounts and raps the carriage. “Hey!” he calls out when the driver doesn’t respond. He wakes up with a small snort. 

“Huh, what?”

“You mind takin’ us to Strawberry?” Arthur says. 

The driver rubs his eyes and yawns. “Sure, get in. Gonna be a trip.” 

Arthur opens the stage door and gestures you inside, his face stony. Bowing your head, you climb in. Arthur takes the seat opposite of you, hiding his eyes beneath his hat. You clutch your hands as the stage begins moving; the driver urging the horses on. 

The next few hours pass in almost complete silence. The nasty feeling in your stomach has grown. You begin to wonder if Arthur is planning on ending your relationship.

I told you, a nasty voice says. No one could ever love you.

Leaning back, you look out the window to the passing world beyond, wishing the voice would fall silent. It doesn’t. 

He’s come to the same realization everyone eventually comes to. You’re not worth it, you’re not worthy of being loved. He’s going to break it off with you and forget this ever happened. He’s going to run back to Mary and they’ll be happy.

A tear finds its way out of the corner of your eye and you angrily wipe it away. If Arthur notices, he says nothing. You wish he would.

He doesn’t care about your pain, you stupid woman, that awful voice says again. No one has ever cared, why would he be any different? You were a fool for believing he loved you.

You suddenly wish you were alone in the stage, alone to show your weakness. Arthur still sits rigidly in the seat opposite you, his eyes hidden and his hands clasped. You lean your head against the wall near the window as more tears betray you. Why is he taking you to West Elizabeth to break up with you? Why couldn’t he have done it already? You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep as the horrible voice continues to whisper to you.

Arthur shakes you awake abruptly. “We’re here,” he says in a hollow voice. You sigh and follow him out of the stage, wishing he’d just get this over with already. You wonder, as you mount Rannoch, what you will do when you get back to camp. Should you leave? That would be the wrong choice. Just because Arthur’s breaking up with you doesn’t mean you have to lose the rest of your family. The thought of losing touch with Hosea, the other girls, even Grimshaw is too painful.

Arthur hops onto Artemis and wordlessly leads you east towards Big Valley. When the expanse of green lays ahead of you, he stops. “Figure we can hunt for a few hours,” he says. You nod, doing your best to keep your face blank. You kick Rannoch into a run without waiting for him and break out of the trees, the wind flying through your hair and the sun bathing your face. A sense of freedom comes over you as a herd of pronghorns dashes through the wildflowers. You pull Rannoch to a stop on the north end of the valley. Ahead of you, a large stag with proud antlers lifts his head from the river and runs towards the trees. The sight brings the memory of Arthur telling you about his strange dreams of stags, and the hollow feeling returns.

For the next few hours, you keep your distance from Arthur, hunting the pronghorn and even a moose to keep the horrible thoughts at bay. The sun’s beginning to set behind the giant mountain on the western border of the valley and Arthur stops Artemis near you as you finish skinning a pronghorn doe. 

“Hey, let’s go to the lake,” Arthur says, leaning on his saddle horn. You look up and he offers you a small smile, his eyes bright again. You swallow and nod, your chest still heavy with doubts. After flinging the pelt across your horse, you get up and follow him down the trail into the forest. 

“You’re real quiet,” he calls back to you, turning in his saddle to see you. 

You’ve been buried in your own head and you look up to see him staring at you. Is that worry on his face?

“Oh, yeah,” you mumble, dipping your head again. You’re convinced he doesn’t want to hear anything going on in your head anymore. 

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he says, turning back to the trail. “I sure do like hearin’ your voice though.” 

He’s lying, the voice says. You don’t respond, patting Rannoch’s neck. 

Arthur stops on the trail, Lake Owanjilla lying ahead. The western sky has turned a brilliant pink, the ridges of the mountains burn gold. If you didn’t feel so miserable, you’d find it breathtaking. 

“Here’s a good spot,” he mutters and dismounts.

“Here we go,” you mumble quietly so he doesn’t hear you. He leads you to the edge of the lake, hanging over the water. A clear, cold stream rushes into it on your left. You stand next to Arthur, awaiting the blow. 

“Sure is a lot of beauty in this world,” he says, looking across the lake. An owl somewhere in the trees hoots. “You helped me see that.” 

“I’ve done nothing, Arthur,” you say. You stare out across the water too. 

“You’re wrong, darlin’,” he says. He turns his body to you and you look at him. He grabs your hands and smiles softly. “Ya know, the best thing I ever done was go into that sheriff’s in Blackwater, lookin’ for bounties. It lead me to you, even if my intentions were selfish. You done so much for me since I met you, I… I don’t know where I’d be without you.” 

He places a palm on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you repeat, more tears leaking from your eyes.

“You taught me what love really feels like,” he says. “With Mary, there was always somethin’ I had to do to earn her love. You give it freely, and yours is so much more pure and powerful. It’s not that I didn’t love Mary when I was younger, it’s just that with you, it don’t matter no more. I love you more than anything and I… I can’t imagine a future without you.” 

“What are you saying, Arthur?” you ask. You’d been expecting him to tell you anything other than what he’s saying now. Arthur takes his hands away and reaches into his satchel and he kneels down. Your heart stops as he shows you his upturned fist. 

“I’m askin’ you if you’ll marry me, sweetheart?” he opens his hand and shows you a ring, an emerald set into the gold band. Your knees feel shaky as you begin to cry, your heart feeling as though it might burst. Arthur sighs and stands up, hiding the ring in his fist.

“Listen, darlin’, if you- if you don’t feel the same, I-.”

You cut him off. “Yes, Arthur. I will marry you.” 

His face breaks into a massive smile and he grabs your hand, gently sliding it onto your finger. You stare at it for a moment before looking up at him. His own eyes seem watery and he pulls you into a tight hug, letting you bury your face into his chest, the horrible voice finally falling silent. His scent fills your nose and you breathe in deeply.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he sniffs as he rests his cheek against your head. 

You look up and kiss him, placing your hand on his cheek. “I’ll always love you, Arthur Morgan.” 

He grips your hand and kisses the ring on your finger. “I feel like the luckiest man alive.” 

“I’m not exactly a prize, Arthur,” you joke. 

“You are to me.” 

You both watch silently as a massive eagle circles over the lake, finally dipping down to the water and plucking a fish with its talons. 

“Come on,” Arthur says, patting your back. “Let’s get a fire going.” He guides you over to a wide spot of grass and begins a fire while you set up the tent. You sit down next to him and he immediately pulls you into his lap. You smile as the big cowboy cradles your head into his neck. 

“How come you looked so miserable this mornin’, sweetheart?” he asks. 

You huff a small laugh. “Ah, you’d think it was stupid.” 

“Nah, I could never think that.”

“Well, I thought… I thought you were going to break things off this morning. You were so distant and unlike yourself.” 

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I was scared.”

“Scared?” you look up at him. “I could never see you scared. How many times you been shot at?”

“This was different, darlin’,” he kisses your forehead. “I was terrified you were gonna say no.” 

You pause, trying to think of a response. 

“Why didn’t you?” he suddenly asks. “I thought after everythin’ you been through, marriage would be the last thing you’d ever want.” 

You listen to his heartbeat for a moment. “Because I love you, Arthur. It’s not that I can’t imagine a future with you, it’s just that the possibility of that future ever happening is impossible.”

“Me too. But what I meant was why? You been married before, and we both know how awful it was. Why you willin’ to try again?”

“This is completely different from the last time, Arthur.” You turn so your back’s against his chest. He clasps his hands on your stomach. “Last time, none of it happened with my consent. He was a complete stranger to me. This time couldn’t be more different. A chance to have something normal for once.” 

“Well, I’m glad you said yes,” he kisses your temple. “I don’t know what I woulda done if you didn’t.” 

You smile and pat his hand. As night falls properly, you cook dinner and then Arthur takes you inside the tent. He makes love to you in a way he never has before. He worships your body, every flaw, every scar, every inch, and you do the same with him, leaving no part of him untouched. 

The next morning, you wake to find Arthur sitting up and writing in his journal. You smile at him through tired eyes and roll over, placing your head in his lap. He chuckles and runs his fingers through your hair. 

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Mm, Arthur.” 

You sit in silence, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body, his fingers causing your skin to erupt in goose bumps. After a while, he pats your shoulder. 

“We ought to get back to camp, sweetheart. Figure the others will wanna know.” 

“Know what?” you look up at him. 

He smiles, you see his slightly jagged tooth, which you secretly love. “Know your answer.”

You sit up, still looking at him. “The others knew you were gonna ask me?” 

“Of course. Needed some advice. To be honest, when I first knew I wanted to marry you, I thought it would be too soon. We’re in a big mess right now, Pinkertons breathin’ down our necks. However, I don’t really see things gettin’ better any time soon.”

You nod, grabbing his hand. He squeezes yours. 

“Hosea made me realize that if I felt ready to ask you, then it meant it was time.”

You smile and lean in, kissing him. His arms loop around you, holding you close and warming you against the morning’s chill. 

“I’m glad you did. Can I admit something to you?” you say.

“Of course, darlin’. I want ya to know you can tell me anythin’.”

“I believed for a long time that I was gonna be alone forever. I’d never have anyone to depend on, never have someone I could trust the way I trust you.” 

He kisses your forehead. “Well, I’m glad I could prove you wrong.”

You nuzzle into his neck, adoring the familiar scent of pine and leather that seems to emit from his skin. His hands rub your back gently and he begins to hum a tune you recognize. One of the horses snorts and you remember you can’t stay here forever, as much as you’d like to.

“Come on, cowboy,” you pat his chest. “Like you say, they’ll be wantin’ to hear.” 

The two of you pack up camp quickly after a brief breakfast and some coffee. You ask Arthur if he wants to take the stage back to Saint Denis or Rhodes, but he says he wants to just ride back on the horses. 

“That’ll take almost the whole day,” you say.

“I know, but it gives me the chance to be alone with you a little longer.” 

You can’t help but smile, riding side by side with him. You adore the soft core he hides beneath his tough exterior. 

It’s late afternoon by the time you see the trees surrounding the path that leads to Shady Belle. You pat Rannoch, he and Artemis are heavily laden with game and pelts that you’ve hunted on your way down. 

“Who’s there?” Javier calls. 

“Just us,” Arthur replies. He hitches up and you do the same. Just as you’re about to grab the pelts from Rannoch, three figures walk towards you. Dutch, Hosea, and Grimshaw march your way, looking as though they’ve just shared a joke. 

“Well?” Dutch raises his arms expectantly. Arthur steps beside you, staring at them. 

“Are we to call you Mrs. Morgan now?” Hosea asks, a proud smile stretched across his face. 

You blush and grab Arthur’s hand. “Well, I suppose. We’re not married yet though.” 

Grimshaw puts her hands on her hips and marches over to you. Expecting her to start yelling for disappearing again, you await her blow. Instead, she quickly grabs your left hand.

“I wanna make sure this man’s done right by you,” she says, inspecting the ring on your finger. She seems to approve and releases your hand, smiling. “You done good, Mr. Morgan.” 

“Thank you, Miss Grimshaw.” 

Dutch chuckles deeply and turns back to camp.

“Everyone. Everyone!” he hollers. Several of the gang come up to hear what he has to say. Arthur hooks your hand around his arm. You feel nervous, never having accepted compliments well. 

“Tonight is a night for celebration! Arthur and Y/N are going to be married!”

Mary-Beth and Tilly clap, laughing loudly, Karen hollers out excitedly. Several of the men announce their congratulations, coming up to clap you and Arthur on the back. It makes you blush.

“Well, let’s celebrate properly then!” Uncle says, going to sit down by the fire. “Javier! Come play us somethin’!”

Despite being on guard duty, Javier complies. He sits down by the fire, his guitar in hand. “I know just the one to play tonight.” 

Lenny and Mary-Beth grab you and Arthur, guiding you to the big log directly in front of the fire. You sit down, your hand still looped around Arthur’s arm as Javier tests a few strings. He finally clears his throat and begins playing. You recognize the first notes of the song you had sung for the gang back in Clemens Point, The Sweetheart Tree. It makes you smile wider as Arthur rocks gently back and forth. 

When the song’s over, Jack runs over with strings of flowers in his hand. “I made these for you and Uncle Arthur!” he says, holding up the flower necklaces. Arthur chuckles and takes them, thanking him and putting one over himself and the other around your neck. Jack smiles proudly. “So she’s gonna be my aunt?” 

“That’s right, kid,” Arthur says as he drapes an arm around your shoulder. Jack gives a small “yippee” and skips off. Arthur kisses your temple and gets up, heading off to Pearson’s wagon where several boxes of alcohol have been laid out. He’s immediately swarmed by Lenny, John, Bill and Karen. Hosea sits down close to you as Javier finishes his song. Grimshaw takes a seat, along with Mary-Beth. 

“I’m real proud of you,” Hosea says, lighting his pipe. “Must have taken a lot of courage to say yes, after your last marriage.” 

You smile and look into the fire. “It didn’t, actually. I wasn’t scared when he asked me. Surprised, but not scared.” 

“Ah, you two were meant to be,” Mary-Beth says breathily. 

“It’ll be good for him,” Grimshaw says. “Hopefully you can help him settle down a little. Give him something to keep him centered.”

“Oh, I doubt even I’ll be able to tame him,” you chortle. “Always been a man of the wild.” 

Javier and Uncle pick up a song together and several of the others come over to join in. Hosea looks at you with a clever gleam in his eye. 

“You ready for tomorrow?” he asks.

“What’s tomorrow?”

“The big bank job in town.”

“That’s tomorrow?” you say, a little louder than you had meant. 

“Ah, must have forgotten to tell you. Sorry about that. Anyways, you, me and Abigail will take the stage coach ahead of the others and plant it a few blocks from the bank. You’ll need to wear something nice, make you look like an upper class lady.” 

“Okay,” you say. You’ll have to ask one of the other girls if you can borrow something, not having any dresses aside from the one you wore to that awful party at the mayor’s mansion. 

Dutch walks over, attracted by the mention of the bank job. “Now Hosea, before you get too excited about this, we need to smooth out the plan. Got a few wrinkles in it that are worryin’ me.” 

“We will tomorrow, Dutch. Let us enjoy this night. Like you said, we’re celebratin’.” 

As Javier begins playing a new tune, you look fondly over at Hosea. You call his attention.

“I know it might not be for a while,” you say as he looks at you. “But you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a proper father. Would… would you walk me down the aisle when Arthur and I get married?”

He smiles widely. “It would be my honor, Y/N.” 

You grin at him, thanking him. 

The party lasts for several hours. You and Arthur are forced to tell the story of how he asked multiple times. Some of the members, mainly Karen, Bill and Pearson drink themselves to the point of passing out. Arthur brings you a bottle of Caribbean rum, which you’ve never tried before. After half a bottle, you feel it getting to your head. You and Tilly both drunkenly try to play Domino with poor results. Lenny stands by the table, laughing as you drop a tile and try unsuccessfully to pick it up. Arthur stumbles over and screams, “Leeennaaaaaaayyyyy!” 

“Oh God, Arthur!” Lenny hollers back. “Not again!” 

Arthur guffaws as he stands next to you, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand. You give up on the tile and stand up, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“Think…” you hiccup. “Think it’s time for bed, Mr. Morgan. I ain’t seen straight for an hour.” 

“Okay, Mrs. Morgan,” he slurs, bending down to kiss you. You grab his hand and lead him towards the house, bidding the others good night. The walk seems much harder than usual as you and Arthur stumble over one another. When you’re finally in the house, he starts grabbing you, making you laugh.

“Room first,” you mumble. By the time you get upstairs and into your room, he practically rips your clothes off. You don’t even make it to the bed as Arthur lays you down, kissing every inch of skin he can reach. You rip his shirt open, glad to find he neglected to put on his union suit this morning as you run your fingers through his chest hair. He growls and nips your shoulder. As you reach down to remove his gun belt, you hear him mumble. 

“I love you, Y/N Morgan. Lord knows how much I love you.” 

You wake up with a terrible hangover. Arthur groans next to you on the floor, rubbing his head. 

“God, I wanna die,” he mumbles.

“Me too. Why’d we drink so much?” you say. You’re about to roll over to kiss him when he shoots up, drapes a blanket around his hips and runs out on the balcony. You hear him retching so you heave yourself to your feet, dressing. Arthur comes back in, wiping his mouth clean, and begins to dress as well. 

“Come on, cowboy,” you grab his hand. “Let’s try clearing our heads.” 

You both stumble down the stairs, still holding hands. You wince as the morning sun hits your eyes. Arthur leads you over to the fire and pours you a coffee. The hot drink seems to do little to clear the headache and your stomach clenches painfully. You throw out your coffee and dash to the river just in time to vomit what’s left of the alcohol in your system. 

Arthur walks up behind you, finishing his drink. When you stand up straight, he pulls you into his arms. 

“I gotta go speak with Dutch and Hosea, figure out this bank job,” he says. You nod into his chest, your head still pounding. He guides you back over to Pearson’s wagon, grabbing you a canteen of water. You greedily drink as much as you can, then he does the same. 

As Arthur heads to the house where Dutch and Hosea are talking, you head over to the crates where the other girls sit. You feel a little better as you sit down, picking up some sewing. 

“So you two gonna get married quickly or you gonna be engaged a while?” Karen asks, her eyes bloodshot. She looks worse than you feel. 

“I don’t know. We ain’t talked about it yet.”

“What about kids?” Tilly asks. “You gonna try havin’ ‘em as soon as you’re married or wait?” 

This question causes you to pause. Arthur’s the only one who knows you’re barren. You’re not in the mood to disclose that to the others just yet.

“We’re probably gonna wait. Who knows what our situation might be like for the next little while? Ain’t the best idea to have kids until we know it’s a good time.” 

“Well, be prepared for a lot of hard work,” Abigail says as she walks over with her coffee. “Much as I love my boy, it’s a thankless job.” 

“Ain’t that sort of the point?” you ask. “I mean, why’s a kid gotta be grateful to his parents just for bein’ born? Ain’t like they asked for it.” 

“Still,” she says. “You’d think after all I done for him, he’d at least be grateful.” 

“Kids ain’t supposed to be grateful,” you say, returning to your sewing. “And they don’t see the world that way. I’m not sayin’ you should spoil the boy or make his life difficult, but it ain’t fair of you to expect so much from him, as much as you’d like him to.” 

“You ain’t got kids,” Abigail finishes her coffee. “You don’t understand.” She walks away, muttering something beneath her breath. 

The next few hours, you do chores around camp and your head clears. Hosea approaches you and Abigail in the middle of the day, suggesting you get ready. She heads off without a word; you ask one of the girls if you can borrow a dress. Arthur comes into the room just as you’re changing.

“You ready for this, darlin’?” he asks. 

“Guess as much as I’ll ever be. Does Dutch know what he wants to do after this?”

“I dunno, he keeps talking about goin’ to Tahiti or Australia. I honestly don’t know the appeal of either one of ‘em, but I guess the Pinkertons won’t find us there.” 

“What about heading back west like he talked about?” 

Sighing, he sits down. “I don’t think that’s happenin’, darlin’. Wherever the train goes, the Pinkertons can get us.” 

He begins changing into a suit you’ve never seen before. He tucks a blue puff tie into his patterned blue vest. 

“Where’d you get that, Arthur? The suit?” 

“Oh, Trelawney made me buy it for that river boat job. Do I look okay?” He fidgets with the buttons of his coat sleeve. You walk up and adjust his tie, smiling.

“You look very handsome. Not at all like some country man.” 

“Well, I hope not. Now you know what to do?”

You swallow and nod. “Yes, once we set off the dynamite, Hosea’s gonna take us to the north end of Saint Denis, we’ll grab a wagon and meet you all back here.” 

“Hopefully, much richer than we are now,” he smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “You be careful out there, darlin’. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt.” 

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me. But promise me you’ll be careful? You’re guaranteed to be getting shot at.” 

“Awe, I’ll be fine. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Micah will get shot.”

You giggle and push him out the door. “Don’t get my hopes up.” 

As you walk outside, Dutch calls to Arthur. “You got everything?”

“Think so,” he says, straightening his sleeve. 

“So,” Hosea says as he climbs onto the stage. You and Abigail get into the back. “We rob ourselves a bank and within six weeks, we’re living life anew a tropical idyll spending the last of our days as banana farmers?” 

“Exactly,” Dutch says from the back of the Count. Arthur, John, Micah, Lenny and Javier mount their horses as Bill and Charles sit on one of the wagons.

“Let’s get out of this godforsaken place and go rob ourselves a bank!” Hosea yells out. The others holler and agree, Micah forces his horse to rear up. You suddenly get a flashback of Bison Point when Dutch and so many of the others had left in much the same manner to rob the ferry. A bad feeling settles into your stomach. 

Hosea whips the horses and the stage charges out to the front of the line, causing you and Abigail to sway inside.

“This is it, gentlemen!” Dutch calls out behind the stage. “The very last one!” 

“Where have we heard that one before?” John responds. 

“What has happened to you, John? You lost all your heart.” 

“I’m just trying to stay real about this.” 

“‘Real’. How I detest that word,” Dutch says. “So devoid of imagination!”

“How soon we shippin’ out?” Micah asks. 

Dutch begins talking about how he has a plan to get a boat organized and go down to South America.

“What about the money in Blackwater?” Micah demands. 

“Forget that, it’s gone!” Dutch hollers. “You all talk like it’s the only goddamn money in the world. We’re gonna take it from the people who take it from us. This is a big city bank!” 

“Right,” John shoots back. “With guards, security, police.”

“Hosea has done his reconnaissance, we’ve been over this.” He goes over the plan again, sounding frustrated yet determined. By the time he’s done, the stage is passing Calliga Hall.

“Hosea!” Dutch calls. “You know the drill. Any problems, meet us back in camp!” 

Hosea whips the horses on, the stage speeds up and drives into the city. Hosea guides it carefully down the cobbled streets, navigating around other wagons and riders. He stops it on a narrow street a few blocks from the bank. You and Abigail get out as he climbs down.

“Alright, ladies,” he says quietly, clapping his hands. “Each of you stand on one end of the stage, keep an eye out while I light her up.” 

You walk with him towards the back of the stage and stand on the sidewalk, looking around for potential witnesses. Hosea reaches into the back lockbox and pulls out a tied bundle of dynamite. He quickly places it inside the stage.

“Hold on,” you say, spotting a man and woman walking across the street at the end of it. Hosea pauses and watches them. Luckily, they take no notice of your party and walk on, disappearing around the building. “Okay, clear.” 

“We’re good on this end, Hosea,” Abigail says. 

“Alright, act quickly, ladies. Once I light this thing, we only have a few seconds to get down that alley and be gone.” He gestures to the alley between the two buildings the stage sits in front of.

“We’re ready, Hosea,” you say. 

He lights a match and touches it to the wick, which begins sparking.

“Now!” Hosea whispers. You and Abigail hastily follow him down the alley, trying to get away from the stage as quickly as possible without looking suspicious. As you reach the center of it, the stage explodes, the rubble clattering around the street. It’s immediately followed by screams, yells, horses neighing, a whistle blows. 

“Ladies, I think we’re done here,” Hosea says. He ushers you both down the alley in front of him, heading down towards the other street. You’re hoping the others are having as much luck as you when someone painfully grabs your arm. You’re suddenly slammed into the brick wall and Agent Milton, the Pinkerton, points the barrel of his pistol inches from your face. You hear Abigail get pushed into the wall and look over to see Ross pinning her. Several other Pinkerton agents and policemen stand behind him.

Hosea lifts his hands, shocked, and is about to speak when Milton interrupts him. “Mr. Matthews! We received word you and your gang of delinquents would be here, but we doubted you’d really be so foolish to rob the bank. Looks like our informant was right.” 

“Mr. Milton,” Hosea says, his eyes sparkling cleverly. “We have no business here other than to enjoy the day in this lovely city.” 

“And the fact that you just left the street where a wagon exploded is nothing more than a mere coincidence? I doubt that.” 

Hosea takes a step towards him. “Mr. Milton, we’ve no quarrel with you. We are on the verge of leaving, we’ll never be your problem again after today.” 

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Mr. Matthews! I’ve given you all how many chances to go and live as better men, but you’ve done nothing but laugh in my face.” 

Milton pushes his hand against your throat, pulling the hammer of his pistol down. You grab his hand on your throat, Arthur’s ring glinting on your finger as Milton’s finger twitches on the trigger.

“Wait!” Hosea says, stepping close to him. “Take me, not her. Give her and the other girl a five minute head start, I’ll go with you quietly.” 

“Hosea, no!” you choke.

“Quiet, Y/N!” he says, not breaking eye contact with Milton. 

“You’ll show me where the others are?” Milton demands. “No lies?” 

“No lies. Just promise me you’ll let these two have a chance.” 

Milton hesitates. His finger brushes against the trigger, his hand on your throat tightens painfully. Finally, he lifts the hammer and points the gun at Hosea.

“You heard the man, Ross. Let the girl go.” 

Hosea sighs heavily and keeps his hands up as Milton approaches him. He grabs him by the collar and points the barrel at his head, standing behind him. Milton glares at you.

“We had a deal, Ms. Y/L/N. You have five minutes, don’t think I won’t try to find you.” 

“Hosea, no!” you scream as Abigail grabs your hand and yanks you away. You try fighting her off.

“Get out of here, Y/N!” Hosea calls. “You have a wedding to attend!” 

“No!” 

Abigail wrenches your arm painfully as she pulls you down the street. “He’ll be fine, Y/N,” she hollers back at you, sounding hysterical. “Hosea always finds a way out.” 

You run with her, trying to keep the tears at bay. You look back and find the Pinkertons gone, along with Hosea, although a few policemen mill about, screaming at one another. 

Abigail leads you over a few blocks. You don’t pay attention to where she’s taking you, all you know is you’re farther from the bank than before. Just as you hope that Arthur and the others will be okay, you hear a faint gunshot. The sound brings you to a halt and you turn in its direction, a horrible feeling in your gut. The air is suddenly filled with the cracks of guns from the distance, echoing off the buildings. The city has turned to chaos.

You’re just about to charge into the street in the direction of the fight when Abigail grabs your shoulders, pulling you back. A wagon with a policeman standing behind a gatling gun roars past you, the wheel nearly catching your dress. 

“We need to get out of here!” Abigail yells as policemen and Pinkertons flood the streets. One of the Pinkertons points to the pair of you, whipping his gun out. Your five minutes are up. Abigail yelps and grabs your hand, dashing off down a thin alley just as the Pinkerton shoots his gun at you, the bullet plunges into the brick wall of a building. The alley winds and leads into a small plaza, a broken fountain sitting in the middle. You see not too far beyond the next street, which is swarming with more policemen as the gunshots continue to ring out. 

“I don’t think we can get out!” you scream at Abigail over the blasts. “We should hide! One of the buildings.” 

Without thinking, you dash over to a door facing the plaza, kicking it open. An elderly black woman screams, falling backwards onto her kitchen floor. Abigail slams the door shut after you, slightly dulling the ringing of gunfire. The woman doesn’t move and you bend down, trying to wake her, thinking she fainted. She doesn’t respond and you feel her throat, finding no pulse. She must have suffered a heart attack. 

You and Abigail quickly inspect the house, finding too many windows for your comfort at the front of it. The back where the old lady died only has one window, a narrow staircase leads to the upper floor. 

“Should we go up there?” you whisper. The gunfire still echoes through the city outside.

“No, we might get trapped,” Abigail says. “Let’s just stay here in the kitchen, it’s blocked from the front of the house.” 

“Help me move her then,” you say, gesturing to the old woman. You both pick her up and lay her on a couch in the front room. She looks as though she could be napping. Heading back into the kitchen, you both sit on the floor and away from the single window, praying no one will find you.

Several hours have passed, the gun shots have finally stopped. The city lies dark and unusually quiet except for the splashing of the torrential downpour. You would have left the city by now, except constant patrols of Pinkertons and policemen roam the streets. You and Abigail have been checking the front windows overlooking the street every half hour or so, finding no citizens or anyone else. The city must be on lockdown, meaning the others must be in it still. You pray for the thousandth time that everyone’s alright and you’ll see them in a day or two back at Shady Belle.

While waiting, you and Abigail raided the old woman’s closets to find new clothes. You slip on a pair of trousers that look as though they belonged to a teenage boy.

Abigail comes back from checking the front. “Think this is as quiet as it’s gonna get tonight, let’s try sneakin’ out now.” 

You sigh and nod. “Sure, this rain should help cover us.” 

You sit up, shaking your leg, which has fallen asleep. Once it’s steady, you open the back door leading to the small plaza with the broken fountain. You sneak out, hunching slightly and letting the rain soak you. The plaza’s clear. Just as you’re about to make a break for the other side, something big slams into you. Abigail covers your mouth just as you scream. You both look over and see a familiar face. 

“Charles!” you hiss. “What happened?!” 

“I’ll explain later,” he mutters. “We need to get out of here. Follow me.” Without another word, he guides you out of the alley and onto the street. He checks constantly as he runs slowly down the street. Through the rain, the form of a wagon appears, two horses patiently hitched to it. You see the words “Saint Denis Police” painted on the side. You point it out to Charles and the three of you run towards it.

Charles opens the door and looks inside, finding nothing but a police man’s hat and coat in it. He’s about to put them on when you slap his shoulder.

“Let me drive us out of here. You’re too recognizable.” 

Charles nods and you put on the coat, tucking your hair in underneath the hat. He and Abigail get into the carriage, slamming the door shut. Climbing up, you pray this will work. You click and flick the reins, trotting the horses on. Looking down at your feet, you spot a rifle. You hope you won’t have to use it as you navigate your way down the street. 

You spot several policemen and a few groups of Pinkertons wandering the streets, yelling to one another over the rain. One officer beckons to you.

“You find anything?” he hollers.

Putting on your best masculine voice, you respond. “Nothing!” 

He nods and continues on his way. You drive onto the large street near the train tracks, passing another police carriage. You sigh heavily as you drive down the bridge, heading away from the city. Once you’re off the bridge, you bring the carriage to a stop and hop down, ripping off the coat and hat. Charles and Abigail get out and you all decide it’s best to travel on foot back to camp.

For the next hour, Charles leads you through the swamp. He doesn’t say a word about the events that transpired, nor do you and Abigail ask. The rain begins to let up just as Shady Belle comes into view. 

“Charles!” Karen yells, holding the repeater as she keeps guard. “What the hell happened?” 

Charles beckons her to follow as you and Abigail go into camp. Grimshaw, Sadie and the others come into the middle of camp, greeting him expectantly. 

“Mr. Smith,” Grimshaw demands. “What has happened? We were expecting you all back hours ago! Where are the others?”

Charles shakes his head sadly. He looks around. Everyone’s staring at him, worried expressions on their faces. 

“Hosea and Lenny are dead. The others found their way onto a boat. I… I don’t know if they’ll be coming back.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 10

Memories

Warnings: swearing, murder, mentions of rape

Word Count: ~12,000

You wake up in the morning, still cuddled tightly against Arthur’s side. The storm has passed, giving way to a watery sun. The air is chilly from last night’s heavy rain. You’re stiff from not having moved most of the night, but you’re not uncomfortable. You adjust your hand slightly, and Arthur’s starts rubbing your back up and down. You look up and find him staring at you.

“Mm, sorry Arthur, didn’t mean to keep you pinned down.”

“”S a’right, darlin,” he says. 

You sit up, stretching out your arms. He leans up next to you, putting his hat back on. 

“Thanks for lettin’ me stay here last night,” you say. “Thunderstorm kept me up.”

“Anytime, darlin’.”

Hosea saunters past the tent, lighting his pipe. He spots the two of you sitting on Arthur’s cot and smiles slyly. You take that as your queue to get up. You pat Arthur’s hand and stand up, going back to your tent only to find that it has indeed flooded. You pull out your soaked bedroll and fold it up, wringing it out. 

Arthur walks over to you, puffing on a cigarette. He watches you wring out the roll for a moment.

“Ya sure ya don’t wanna just stay in my tent?” he asks, looking at you with a soft expression.

“That’s okay, Arthur. I don’t wanna impose on you.”

“Ain’t imposin’, sweetheart,” he flings the cigarette away. “‘Sides, you were half frozen last night.”

You shrug your shoulders. “It did get pretty cold.”

“C’mon, darlin’, it ain’t gonna be a problem to share my tent.”

You look up at him. You’re tempted by the offer, but at the same time you feel reluctant. You haven’t shared a bed nightly with a man since you were married, and that was with a man you despised. 

“Maybe, Arthur,” you finally say, unfolded the bedroll. “I really don’t wanna impose on you and your cot ain’t that big.”

He smiles at you, getting the hint. “A’right, darlin’. Just know you’re welcome to it whenever ya want.”

Over the next two days, the secret is completely out about you and Arthur. The two of you have to endure the taunts and jokes from some of the gang members. Mostly from Sean, John, Uncle and Lenny. Some of the others are more supportive, like Hosea, Mary-Beth, Karen, Grimshaw and surprisingly Sadie. 

“Thought you two were never gonna admit you like each other,” John laughs, approaching you while you scrub Pearson’s table one morning. You look up and laugh with him. 

“Yeah, well, it’s out now.”

“So ol’ man Artie Morgan?” Sean joins the two of you. “Now I know why ya always go off wit’ him to town and trips! He’s such a downer! Can’t quite see what ya see in him, especially when I’m ‘round!” 

You laugh, despite yourself. You glance over at Arthur, chopping wood, glad he can’t hear Sean. You know he has little self-esteem; he wouldn’t appreciate the way Sean’s talking, even if it is for fun. 

“Well, keep the flirting low,” John says after pouring himself a cup of coffee, Sean strutting away with him. You shake your head, smiling. 

Pearson walks over to you, rubbing his hands together. You see an odd gleam in his eye, he almost looks mischievous. 

“Oh, Ms. Y/L/N, could you go into town and get these things at the store for me? Arthur said he’ll drive the wagon.”

He hands you a shopping list scrawled on a piece of paper. You read it, nodding.

“‘Course, Pearson. We can go now.”

You drop the rag onto the table, folding the paper and tucking it into your pocket, heading over to Arthur. He finishes chopping his last piece of wood, turning to you. He puts down the axe. “Ready to go, darlin’?”

“Yep,” you smile, grabbing his hand. Hosea, over at the fire, gives you a smug grin, which you ignore.

You and Arthur hook up two large draft horses to a wagon and get into it, Arthur flicking the reins. You head into Valentine, Arthur stops by the store and hops out.

“I need to go to the gunsmith, pick up a few things. Almost ready to pull that train robbery with John,” he says, heading down the street.

You wave at him, walking into the store and pulling out your list. You approach the desk clerk, handing him the paper. He snaps his fingers at a teenage boy, who begins grabbing the items and putting them into boxes for you. While you wait, you look through a catalog on the desk, glancing through the section on shirts. You glance down at your own clothes, noticing how worn and faded they are. 

You read through the catalog, spotting a shirt you like. You ask the clerk about it, and he reaches into a box behind the desk, pulling it out. You see dark blue material with silver buttons. He hands it to you and you slide it on over your own shirt, liking the way it fits. It reminds you of the necklace Arthur had given you, the one you still wear around your neck. You pull out your money and buy it, along with a new pair of dark jeans. You follow the teenager out the door, both of you hauling a box loaded with supplies. Arthur strolls towards you as you slide the box into the wagon.

“Nice shirt,” he says. You look down, realizing you hadn’t taken the new shirt off yet. 

“Oh, yeah, figured I could use some new clothes.”

“Looks good on you.”

You both climb into the wagon, he grabs your hand after turning the horses around and setting off down the road back to Horseshoe. He pulls the wagon to a stop, jumping out. You help him haul the boxes over to Pearson and then turn to go to your tent to change. You pass Dutch’s tent and find that your tent and bedroll are gone. The grass it was set on is flattened and browning. You turn your head left and right, looking for your things. 

“What the hell?” you mutter to yourself. 

Karen walks over to you, laughing. “Looking for your things?”

“Yeah. D’you know what…”

“We moved ‘em, figured you wouldn’t need ‘em anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you still layin’ in your own tent, girl?” she laughs. “We figured you might as well share Arthur’s tent, probably more comfortable anyways.”

You look behind her at his wagon. It hasn’t changed a bit, but then again you hardly had anything in your own tent. You sigh heavily.

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur asks, standing next to you.

“Karen says we should be sharing a tent.”

“Well, why not?” Dutch walks over, grinning wide and smoking a cigar. “Might as well conserve space ‘round here. Since you two are together, why shouldn’t you be sharing a tent?”

Arthur grins at you. You almost wonder if he put them up to this. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Dutch laughs, slapping a hand on your shoulder. “Not like you haven’t spent a night in his cot before.”

Arthur laughs. You do too, despite yourself, finally relaxing. “Well, guess your right.”

Karen and Dutch walk away, both looking rather pleased with themselves. You wander into Arthur’s tent, or your tent now. You glance around, noticing it hasn’t changed at all since you were trapped here after that mess with the Murphrees. Three pictures still tacked to the wagon, the photo of his mother on the table. Even the photo of Mary is still standing, as much as you don’t like it. You decide to say nothing on it, despite the tightness in your gut. Arthur stands behind you and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Well, guess we’re gonna have to get used to squeezin’ close to each other. This cot ain’t that big.”

You look at the bed, which is really only big enough for one person, and Arthur’s huge. You turn around to face him, shrugging your shoulders. “I guess I won’t mind too much.”

It’s night, and you sit by the fire with Uncle, Bill, John and Arthur. You tip up the bottle of whisky in your hand, drinking from it. You hand it over to Arthur and lean over, resting your head on his shoulder as Bill starts talking about how he met Dutch. Arthur’s arm wraps behind you, pulling you closer. 

You look up into the sky, admiring the stars. Arthur puts down the bottle. You yawn widely, trying to hide it with your hand. 

“Ya gettin’ tired,” Arthur whispers in your ear. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Without complaint, you stand up and walk towards your shared tent. You sit down and take off your boots, Arthur following suit. You lay down, curling as close as you can to the side of the wagon, nose centimeters from the wood. Arthur lays down behind you, draping an arm over you as he buries his face into your hair. After a few moments, he whispers to you.

“This is nice. Spent way too many nights alone in this bed.”

You slide your hand over his on your stomach, squeezing it. “I bet. Well, ya don’t have to do that anymore, Arthur Morgan.”

You aren’t sure why you were so nervous about sharing a cot and tent with Arthur. Yes, your husband was an awful man and made your life a living hell. Arthur wasn’t that way, though. You wish that you could abandon all those fears you’ve gained from living with your husband, to be able to have a clean and healthy start with Arthur. You fall asleep to the dark thought that maybe Arthur would be better off with someone else; someone who isn’t as broken as you. 

You wake up due to the howling wind in the morning. You feel Arthur packed against your back still. You look over your shoulder and see he’s sitting up, scratching away in his journal.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you. 

You give a feeble smile, still feeling down. You sit up next to him as he closes his journal. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you lie, pulling your hair away from your face. 

He looks at you, but you avoid his gaze. “C’mon, sweetheart. Ya know ya can tell me anything.”

“I promise, Arthur. It’s nothing. Maybe I just need to get out of here again.”

He huffs a small laugh. “I know. I been thinkin’ the same thing. Well, what ya say we go on another trip?”

You look at him finally, forcing a smile on your face. You lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek before crawling over him and out of the cot. You walk over to the fire, pouring yourself two cups of coffee, returning to the shared tent and handing one to Arthur, who is putting his boots back on. Arthur takes the cup from you, thanking you before leaving, saying he needs to go speak with John quickly about the train job.

Hosea walks over as you’re strapping your boots onto your feet. He leans against the pole holding the canvas above your heads. He smiles at you.

“Well, I’m glad you and Arthur are together,” he says with a strange look. You glance up at him.

“Me too.”

“You’ve been good for him, Y/N. When he was with Mary, I must admit he wasn’t too likable.”

“What makes you say that?”

Hosea shakes his head slightly. “That girl had him runnin’ ‘round doin’ all sorts of things for her. She constantly kept sayin’ she loved him, then she couldn’t be with him. He was so tired all the time. Didn’t wanna help me or Dutch; took some of his frustration out on John. Nothin’ too bad of course. When he was 19, Mary finally disappeared and he didn’t talk about her again after that. Not that Dutch or I asked. When she wrote him that letter a few weeks ago, I was worried he’d go runnin’ off to her, which as you know he did. I’m just glad he hasn’t gone runnin’ around for her again. Like I said, you been good for him.”

You sigh, not sure you really believe Hosea. You have a hard time believing anyone would have a better life because of you. Of course, you haven’t noticed the way Arthur acts now that you’re relationship isn’t a secret. The way he almost skips across camp, how he’s more likely to smile at strangers. Even when he is out on his own, he’s more likely to greet people and help them out. All you can hear is your ex-husband’s voice in your head. No one could live with you and not end up hating you. 

You stand up, pat Hosea on the shoulder, and walk away towards Arthur. You find him leaving the tree John’s leaning against. 

“Ya ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah. Where you thinkin’ of this time?”

“Maybe a place called Cotorra Springs? Ya know it?”

You shake your head. 

“Good. Yer in for a treat, darlin’.”

He leads you over to the horses. You pat Rannoch gently on his neck after brushing and saddling him. Arthur looks at you from atop Artemis. 

“Ya shoar yer okay, honey? Ya don’t look like ya feel good.”

You wave him off. “I’m fine, Arthur. Just tired is all.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but then shrugs his shoulders. You mount Rannoch and follow him. 

You travel for several hours up north, through the Cumberland Forest, past a military fort and an old train station overlooking a huge gorge with a deep, fast river in its bottom. To the right of the path lies tall, craggly hills. Arthur stops you at the train station, which sits next to a long wooden bridge.

“Let’s cross the bridge, be quicker.”

You look at the bridge hanging over the steep gorge. You’ve never been a big fan of heights. You nod your head nervously, leading Rannoch to follow Artemis. Arthur walks the giant horse across the bridge, allowing her to carefully place her hooves on the rail ties and not get caught. Rannoch twitches his head, slightly agitated by this new obstacle. You urge him gently onward. 

The horses manage to cross the bridge easily. A second, smaller one lies ahead only about 500 feet away from where the large one ends. The two of you cross it easily; you’re grateful a train hasn’t come along. 

After crossing the smaller bridge, Arthur turns to the right and back onto grass, the land sloping up. You follow him, noticing that the land flattens out above you before it arches up into steep mountains. Tall, bare trees dot the flat area, and you see steam billowing out of the ground. Arthur waits for you, and you stop Rannoch at the top of the hill. 

What you had taken for flat land is actually small pools of water and a couple of geysers. The pools, encircled with bright yellows and deep oranges, glow blue as they belch sulphurous steam into the air. One of the geysers erupts, spewing water high into the air. Rannoch startles slightly at the explosion; you pat him until he calms down. 

Arthur looks over to you. “Well, what ya think?”

“It’s beautiful, Arthur,” you say. Your spirits have greatly lifted at being away from camp and into the forest. You’re convinced this is the best kind of medicine, being out in the wilderness, surrounded by trees and mountains. Arthur’s presence only improves your mood. 

“Now, we gotta be careful while we’re here,” Arthur says, dismounting from Artemis and pulling out his bow. 

“Why?” you ask as you mimic him. 

“I’ve heard rumors that there’s a pack o’ wolves lives up here. Wouldn’t be surprised, neither.”

“I never dealt with a wolf before, Arthur,” you say, feeling worried.

“Ah, don’t worry, sweetheart. If ya find yerself around ‘em, use a gun. Don’t worry ‘bout ruinin’ the pelts if they’re comin’ after ya. Now, ya still got them poison arrows?”

You check your quiver, looking for the arrows Charles had crafted for you using Oleander sage. You nod to Arthur, replacing the quiver on your back. 

Arthur goes off into the forest to hunt. You, on the other hand, want to explore the area more, particularly the water. You wander slowly towards a large pool, its water looking like melted sapphyre. The grass disappears, replaced with pale dirt. The earth becomes lighter the closer it gets to the pool, turning yellow. Veins of dark oranges and muted reds spread from the pool, almost like an infection. You walk closer to it, entranced by the steaming water. 

You’re 10 yards from the water when you feel the ground beneath you shift, almost like it’s too soft to hold your weight. You step back, lean down and hover your hand inches above it. You can feel the heat rising from it. You figure that underneath the soil must be tons of hot water, feeding the pools and geysers. You decide not to get to close to either of them, not wanting to fall and get boiled. 

You turn away from the pools, facing towards the forest. You walk over to them, scanning for signs of prey. 

You stay in the area of Cotorra Springs for two days, hunting elk and ram. At one point, you had accidentally startled a lone wolf, but you had shot a poisoned arrow at him just as he lunged towards you. Arthur was quite proud of you, saying the pelt was in excellent condition despite you shooting so quickly. 

On the morning of the third day since you’ve arrived, Arthur says he needs to head back to camp. Tonight is the night of the big train robbery he and John have been planning. You both pack up and leave. 

Just as you finish crossing the railroad bridge back to the station and enter Cumberland Forest, you see a woman standing alone ahead on the trail. 

“Hey, you there!” she calls to the pair of you. “Think you could help a lady out?”

Arthur pulls Artemis to a stop next to her.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” he asks. 

“My horse up and died on me. Think you could give me a ride home?”

“Shoar. Where you live?” he asks, helping her climb onto Artemis’s back. 

“Emerald Ranch. It ain’t too far.”

Arthur looks back at you, giving you a quick wink before he pushes Artemis into an easy canter. You follow close behind on Rannoch, listening to the woman as she tells the story of her horse who died, how it had bitten the ear off some wild mountain man who threatened her. While she speaks, you pass the corpse of a pinto horse. Arthur offers his condolences to her, stating how hard it is to lose a horse. You silently agree, thinking about Rain. 

You follow the trail south, and the mountains and forests give way to a wide open plain, flowing beneath a sea of bright green grass. You see ahead the roofs of buildings. You pass a train station, which has a sign reading “Emerald Ranch” on it, and just a short ways off lies the town itself. You’re not really sure it could be called a town since there’s only about 5 buildings, most of them being barns or stables. 

The woman asks Arthur to stop outside a long cabin, it’s roof made of peat and dirt. She hands him something as she gets off, thanking him. She waves at you, thanking you as well for going out of your way to help. You nod at her, waving back.

Arthur turns to you. “A’right, let’s head on back.”

You agree and he leads you out of the ranch towards the huge column-like mountains in the distance. As you gallop over the plain, you look to the right and see a wetland. 

“Arthur, let’s go over there real quick!” 

He looks to where your hand is pointing. You spot on one of the banks of the shallow pond a man holding something in front of him.

“Is that…?” Arthur begins to ask, guiding Artemis over to him. 

He hops off his horse, you following in his steps, over to the man.

“So you’re still alive,” he greets the man with a smile. 

The man jumps and you see he was looking into a camera on a stand. You’ve only seen one in your entire life when you were younger at a carnival. 

“Mr. Morgan!” the man says in a refined accent, clearly from a city.

“How are you?”

“Indigestible, apparently,” the man chuckles. “Other than that, very well.”

“How’s the project goin’?”

“This is God’s country, and I am his faithful servant. Although perhaps not his most talented one. I have been trying to capture the grace of some wild horses for weeks. Only the buggers can’t stand me.” The man points to a ledge across the water. Arthur pulls out his binoculars and looks. 

“That,” he says, pointing to one of them. “Is a silver dapple pinto!” 

“I know, they’re beautiful. Won’t come anywhere near me though. He can smell my stupidity.” The man turns and sees you. He has a kind face hidden beneath a thin-rimmed hat and beard.  “Ah, may I ask who this lovely young woman is?”

Arthur turns, putting his binoculars away and placing a hand behind your back. “This is Y/F/N Y/L/N. Y/N, this is Albert Mason. He’s a… what did ya say you was again?”

“A wildlife photographer,” Albert says. “And not a very good one, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t know wildlife photography was a thing,” you say, taking a small step forward in the soggy ground. “Ah, yes. I am discovering why it is not the most sought-after profession.”

“How ‘bout this?” you say, pointing to the mustangs on the bank. “Why don’t Arthur and I go and run them over here for ya? Bet you can get a decent picture that way?”

“Ah, you must be an angel, ma’am, accompanied by this saint!” he grins, gesturing at Arthur. 

Arthur laughs. “Shoar, a’right.”

You both mount your horses, dashing off towards the mustangs. They flee farther from the water at the sight of you, but you give them a wide berth and manage to get in front of them, running them back towards Albert. Just as the silver pinto Arthur had pointed out reaches the water, followed by the rest of the herd, you and Arthur veer off to the right, behind Albert so he can take a photo. You hear him yell and holler in delight as you dismount. 

“You are absolute geniuses!” he declares as you and Arthur approach him again. 

“Maybe not me,” Arthur chuckles. “But I can ride a horse.”

“Well, in my world, that makes you a genius.” 

You suppress a smile.

“You’re too kind,” Arthur says. “How are the photos comin’ along?”

“Oh, amazing. Here, I have a print of the wolves before they tried to eat us.”

Albert hands him a print of three or four wolves underneath the tall cover of pine trees. 

“Well, that’s real fine. Take care, Mr. Mason,” Arthur says, sliding the photo into his satchel and mounting Artemis. 

“Thank you, thank you both!” Albert calls.

When you’ve travelled far enough away from Albert, he stops and turns to you. 

“Hey, darlin’, I need to go meet John not too far from here. Ya a’right goin’ back to camp alone?”

“‘Course not. Be careful!”

He smiles at you. “I will be. Here, take these with ya.” He dismounts and takes the pelts from Artemis and puts them on Rannoch’s hindquarters. “You get back safe, ya hear?” He mounts Artemis and nudges her into a walk, heading away from you after he salutes you with two fingers. 

You push Rannoch into an easy canter, dashing across the plains of the Heartlands, passing the tall cliffs and back into the forest that tucks Horseshoe Overlook away from the prying eyes of those travelling along the trails. 

It’s early afternoon by the time you hitch Rannoch to a post, dismounting and going over to Pearson with your load of pelts and game. 

After eating, you head on over to the main campfire, determined to stay awake as long as you can until Arthur returns with John and Charles. 

Somebody shakes you awake gently by the shoulder. You look up, still sat by the campfire. The sky’s turning a soft grayish-blue, announcing the dawn. Arthur stares at you.

“What ya doin’ over here, honey?” he whispers, sitting down next to you.

“I was waiting for you,” you yawn. He puts an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. You lean against his chest, stifling a yawn again.

“Ya didn’t have to wait for me, darlin’,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Ya could’ve gone to bed.”

“Wanted to make sure you got back safe.”

“Well, I’m back and I’m safe.”

“How’d it go? Did you just get back?”

“Yeah. Sean joined us, even though John told him not to. That boy don’t listen to nobody.”

You laugh.

“It went a’right, though. Law showed up. They were real quick, too. Almost wonder if it was a setup.”

“The law showed up?” you ask, opening your eyes, pulling away from him. “Yeah, but we all got away from ‘em just fine. Lost ‘em past the train tracks. Don’t worry, honey. Just a bunch o’ locals from Valentine, I think.”

“Good. At least it wasn’t the Pinkertons,” you say, leaning into him again.

“Nah, we’d have a real problem if it was.”

Several moments pass in silence before Arthur pats your back. “I’m gonna get some sleep, darlin’. Ya comin’?”

“Of course,” you smile, standing up with him. You both lay down in Arthur’s cot, wrapped in each other’s embrace. 

That afternoon, Arthur approaches you with a plate of stew by the campfire. You take it, thanking him.

“I was thinkin’...” he says, sitting next to you. “Of goin’ to Valentine. Get some drinks or somethin’.”

“What for? To celebrate?” you ask.

“Shoar, why not? Score last night was good.”

“Shouldn’t you be takin’ Charles, Sean and John? They were the ones who helped you.”

He smiles. “Nah. I feel like takin’ you out.”

You agree, finishing your stew. You mount Rannoch, trotting next to Artemis and head to town. You follow Arthur into the saloon where he orders you both a shot of whisky. You both drink several of them, getting progressively more drunk. By the time the sun has set, you’re standing on the poker table yelling at the cards in your hand, convinced they should be shuffling themselves. Arthur’s standing next to the pianist in the corner, egging him on. He sees you and starts laughing, stumbling towards you. 

“Arthur!” you yell, slurring his name. “This stupid deck won’t pull out another king!”

He laughs at you; you take a step towards him and fall off the table. He helps pick you up from the ground, unhurt. He pulls you close to him, smiling. Before you can say anything, he leans down and kisses you. You kiss him back, but someone wolf whistles at the two of you.

You turn your head, seeing a man by the barber’s chair grinning at the pair of you.

“Let’s get outta here,” Arthur mumbles into your ear. You turn and nod at him; the pair of you stumbling over each other. Arthur leads you over to the hotel; you’re still too drunk to really do anything else. 

He slams a dollar on the desk, wrapping an arm around your waist. He guides you up the stairs, slamming you into the wall when you reach the second floor, pressing his lips against yours. You kiss him back, folding your arms behind his neck. He walks you backwards to the door of the room, closing the door behind him. He kisses you harder, his arms sliding up your back and to your front. The backs of your legs crash into the bed, you fall backwards, pulling Arthur on top of you. The two of you don’t break apart as Arthur’s hands start unbuttoning your shirt. You feel him pressing himself into you, pinning you to the bed. His hands grab your wrists, pinning them above your head. His fingers slide over your throat.

Without warning, your heart begins to race. Your palms begin to sweat, and your body begins to shake. It’s not Arthur on top of you anymore, and you’re not in a hotel. Through your blurred vision, you see him. James Brackenridge. Your ex-husband before you killed him. He’s pushing you into the bed, forcing himself on you, overpowering you. You feel terror flare in your chest. All you know is that you have to get him off of you. You start thrashing, smacking him in the face.

“What the hell, Y/N?” James yells, straightening up and away from you. You blink your eyes, your vision clearing slightly. Arthur stands where James was, rubbing his slightly red face. “What was that for?”

You realize suddenly that James was never here. He couldn’t be. However, the terror of feeling him forcing himself on you still roars inside of you. Your breathing is hard and fast; you try to slow it down with no success. 

“Arthur, I…” you start. He looks at you confused; you can’t stand it anymore. The room’s shrinking, spinning. You have to get out of here. 

You launch to your feet and run to the door. You yank it open, running into the hallway, ignoring Arthur’s calls to you. You turn to the right, throwing the door open and out onto the deck of the hotel. You breathe out hard, finally able to calm down slightly and close the few buttons Arthur had managed to undo. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, the panic attack subsiding enough for you to gather your thoughts. 

You run down the stairs onto the grass by the hotel and dart to the front, hopping onto Rannoch’s back. You’re still a little drunk from the shots of whisky, but you turn Rannoch and dash off down the trail that passes the stables and into the forest, ignoring the loud shouts of Arthur calling your name.

You arrive at Cattail Pond, the only place you could think of coming to this late at night. You slow Rannoch down to a halt by the water, hopping off and collapsing into the dirt. You’re sure Arthur hasn’t followed you, leaving you completely alone in the wilderness. 

You lie in the dirt and try to recall the last ten minutes leading to your fit. You know Arthur had never meant to hurt you or force himself on you. He had been caught in the moment, drunk and amorous, but he couldn’t have known you’d panic. You realize it’s your own fault really, not having ever told him about your past. 

You’re still drunk and exhausted now because of your attack, so you find it impossible to stand up and unpack your tent and bedroll. You just let yourself fall asleep on the earth, blanketed in starlight. 

You wake up stiff, cold and with a pounding headache after the sun has risen, a light mist hovering among the trees. You stand up, somewhat shaky, and then immediately buckle over, vomiting. You straighten up. Your head still hurts, but at least you’re sure what alcohol hasn’t made it into your bloodstream is now out of your system. 

You walk over to the pond, bending down and cupping some water into your hands, sipping it. You stay there for a moment, recalling last night and why you feel so horrible, remembering it wasn’t just because you drank too much. You can’t believe you ran away from Arthur, not even giving him a reason why. 

You lie back down in the dirt, wishing the headache and dryness of your mouth would just disappear. The sun’s in the middle of the sky by the time you finally gather enough energy to mount Rannoch and head back to camp. You travel at a walk, dreading what’ll happen when you get there. 

When you reach Valentine, you look briefly down the main street, looking for Artemis. She isn’t there, of course. You’d be surprised if she was. You wander slowly back to camp, feeling your stomach clench painfully when you hitch Rannoch next to Arthur’s giant horse. You climb off your appaloosa, still feeling a bit wobbly. You turn and spot Arthur sitting in his cot, staring at you. You can’t read his expression, but you’re certain he’s angry with you. 

You try to gather the courage to head over to him and tell him about last night, but you find yourself wandering into the trees, feeling miserable. You sit at the feet of a large oak tree, folding your knees up to your chest.

“Y/N,” you hear him gently call you. You lift your head from your knees, not bothering to wipe the tears from your cheeks. He stands to your side, looking sad and concerned.

“Arthur,” you say silently. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, ya ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he says, sitting next to you. He smiles. “‘S that why you been gone so long? Ya felt bad about last night?”

You wipe one of your eyes. “I thought you’d be mad. I would’ve been if I were you.”

He puts his arm around your shoulder. “Nah, honey, I ain’t mad. Worried more than anythin’ else. I tried lookin’ for ya last night.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“What happened, anyways? One minute, we were havin’ a good time. After ya hit me, which by the way ya got me good,” he laughs softly, touching his cheek. You can’t help but smile. He looks at you seriously again. “Ya looked like ya thought I was gonna kill you. Why?”

You stay silent for a moment. You’ve been putting this off for far too long, holding in your dark secrets, hiding them from the world. Arthur has been so patient and gentle with you; he deserves to know. You decide to tell him everything.

*******************************************************************************************

You had lived in the house your whole life, that tiny three room cabin, with your parents south of Blackwater in the lowest corner of West Elizabeth. The cabin sat on a decent plot of land, large enough for a small garden, a barn and pasture. The view was the only thing you ever liked about your home. To the west, you could see the plains stretching for miles, to the north were great sweeping mountains. The east and south faced Flat Iron lake, connecting with the wide San Luis river, winding its way west and above Mexico. 

Your father worked in Blackwater as a shop owner. Most men like him would live above their shop, but this cabin had belonged to your family for generations. Your mother stayed home, doing chores and caring for you, teaching you all the skills you would need to know as an adult. 

From afar, your family life was nothing unusual, pleasant even. Behind closed doors, however, it was anything except for that. Your father was a tyrant with extremely set ideas about how things should be, particularly in regards to the roles of men and women in society. To him, the man should not only be the head of the family and breadwinner, but the master of it. Whatever he said must be matched. He’d ruled over you and your mother this way for as long as you could remember.

Your mother, although sweet and patient when your father wasn’t around, had no courage to speak of whatsoever, and was highly limited in skill herself. The only thing she could offer you in ways of knowledge was how to clean, cook, garden and look after the few livestock your family owned. She could not read or write, in fact she could hardly even ride a horse. 

When you were fairly young and had no idea how to decide what you wanted for yourself, that lifestyle suited you. Some days, your father would take you into town to help him run the shop, but only as long as you were dressed to your best. You hated running the shop with him, it was an extremely boring job, and you weren’t allowed to touch or play with anything. You remember you had once snuck a piece of candy off the shelf and eaten it. Your father had struck you across the face hard, yelling and screaming. 

Every couple of weeks, your grandma would show up, riding on a small cherry-bay arabian. You loved whenever she came to visit; she always brought something for you. A new toy, a photograph, candy, and sometimes even a book, despite the fact that you couldn’t read. She would sit in the main room with you and your mother and read from the book for you. If your father was around, he’d voice how much he disapproved, but your grandmother would always send him off and tell him to be useful and make her a cup of tea.

When you were nearly ten, your grandma started to visit less and less. Your mother said it was due to her failing health. You knew it was a lie, though. You’d heard the arguments your parents would have with her when they thought you weren’t around. Your grandma had been begging your father to enroll you in school; to let you learn to read, write, do math, learn science. Your father was adamant that you would not go to school to become some over-educated ninny and think of ideas above your station. When she began to push the issue further, your father told her to stop coming around. 

After that, your grandmother would only come around to pick you up and take you to her house in the northern slopes of Tall Trees, claiming she was going to teach you how to care for horses. “Who knows?” she used to say. “Perhaps she’ll marry a horse rancher!” This was the only way she could convince your father to let you see her. She did teach you horse care, but she also tried teaching you how to read and write. She was forced to stop though when your father discovered your practice sheets in your room. He had beaten you severely that day, furious that his own mother had gone behind his back and done it. It was only with the promise that she would stop the lessons that you were still allowed to visit her. 

When you were eleven, you had gone to visit your grandmother when she pulled you into her stable to show you her large black American Standardbred mare named Ruby. She had you feel the mare’s swollen belly. When you asked why, she whispered in your ear that Ruby was pregnant and she wanted you to help take care of the foal. Five months later, Rain was born during the night. 

After that, you came to visit your grandmother each day to help her take care of the horses, especially Rain. When the foal was a yearling, she taught you how to bridle and saddle her and then to ride. You’d never ridden a horse on your own before that, but you loved the feeling of freedom, of rider and horse becoming one. You and Rain became inseparable after that. Your grandmother used to say that Rain was poured down just for you. 

Two years after that, your grandmother died of yellow fever. You were heartbroken, feeling like you had lost your only friend and protector. Your father took you and your mother in a wagon to her cabin, gathered everything up, including her horses and took them off to be sold. When you realized this included Rain, you begged and pleaded with him not to sell her, offering anything in return. He finally relinquished, but he demanded that if you slipped up for even a day in caring for her and the other horses, he would send her away.

After your grandmother died and you were allowed to keep Rain, you would saddle her up each day and go off on your own, wandering Great Plains and even venturing a bit into New Austin. Your mother hated this, stating she needed your help around the house, but you didn’t care. You hated living in the house with no one but your parents to keep you company, having nothing to listen to but your father’s gossip he’d collected from around town and your mother’s mindless babble. You had to get away from them, their land. Most days you’d be gone for a matter of hours, always back by dinner, but one time you had gotten terribly lost during a dust storm and had been out for three days. Your father put his foot down on your adventures then, throwing out the usual threat of selling Rain. 

Your mother had a better idea to keep you rooted to your home, realizing you were lonely and bored. She took you into Blackwater one day, forcing you to buy a nice dress and hat. You hated dressing this way, preferring your pants and button-down shirts. Your mother insisted, however, that as your father’s daughter and a proper lady, you needed to look nice. She ignored your statements that most proper ladies had the knowledge to at least write. She took you to the post office and paid a man there to write a letter to her sister. She didn’t tell you what the letter was for.

Two weeks after the visit to the post office, a young lady, close to your age, arrived on your family’s tiny ranch. She showed up by stage, dressed in a fine city dress, her hair perfectly pinned under her broad hat. Your mother and father made you stand outside to welcome her. Her name was Emma, and they explained she was your cousin from Saint Denise and they’d invited her to stay with you for six months. 

Those six months were awful. Emma, although beautiful and everything a woman should be, at least in the eyes of your father, was conceited and arrogant. On the first morning after her arrival, she witnessed you outside, taking care of Rain and the other horses. She had come outside, already dressed and primped, explaining a woman shouldn’t subject herself to such filthy work. You explained it was the only way you could keep your beloved horse. She laughed at you for this. 

“What impropriety,” she said. “A woman with her own horse? Why, only men care for these beasts.”

“Who’s the beast?” you snapped. “The beast or the person who names them as such?”

She had pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at you. After that, she started pointing out everything you did that she deemed unlady-like, from the way you dressed yourself, ate your meals, and even lay on the bed you were forced to share with her. In her eyes, you could do nothing properly. 

Your mother, not knowing how to properly tack, groom or hitch the horses to wagons, forced you to take Emma into Blackwater nearly every day. She treated you like her personal chauffeur, demanding you take her from one street to the next. On Saturday nights, she would put on her finest gowns and have you drive her to the city hall in Blackwater where they had a dance. You would be wearing a dress too, after your mother insisted you join the dancing since you had to bring her back anyway. These dances were miserable for you. You were sure they were designed for men to come meet their future wives. Marriage was one of the last things you ever desired. You saw the way your parents were when they were around each other, and happy is the last word you would use to describe them. 

These dances also proved to be boring. Since most of the boys your age were from Blackwater, and at least knew you were your father’s daughter, the young girl who was always running off, falling in the dirt, and even getting in an occasional fight, they wanted nothing to do with you. Not that you wanted anything to do with them either. Most of these dances you spent sitting on the sidelines of the main activity, watching your cousin with loathing. Emma was, of course, a popular item at these dances. Beautiful, graceful, elegant, and most importantly, submissive and stupid, most of the boys wanted to dance and flirt with her. 

When the dances mercifully ended at midnight, Emma almost always brought up the fact that you were never asked to dance, never even asked for your name. You didn’t care though. You just wished you could stop going to these stupid social functions. 

To your parents, Emma was the perfect young woman. They said she was someone you should idolize and mimic. Your mother even sent you into town with Emma with instructions to her to buy you clothes she would wear. You were forced to wear them, no matter how often you complained. All your old clothes, with the exception of a couple working pants and shirts, were destroyed so you had no choice but to wear the gowns and dresses. 

Your father doted on Emma, often verbalizing how much he wished you would be more like her. She was helpful around the house, always taking over chores for your mother. There was only one thing your mother wished Emma could do that you could and that was tending to the garden. You were instructed to teach her, but she complained every time the two of you set foot into the gated garden, stating how much she hated getting dirt under her nails and how the sun burned her skin. 

After only four months since Emma first arrived, you thought you might go insane. At the awful dances on weekends, you often found yourself at a table with a few bottles of alcohol. You’d grab one and nurse it all night. Emma would complain on the way home how you reeked of alcohol and how you couldn’t drive the horses straight. One of the night’s, when you were more drunk than usual and hardly able to stay seated on the wagon, she threatened to tell your father. Her reward for this was you pushing her off the wagon and into the dirt. After that, she no longer threatened you and she quit trying to stop you from drinking. During your mandatory trips during the day into town, you would often stop at the saloon in Blackwater and buy drinks while you waited for her to get back from her shopping or the men who were courting her. You had begun to drink so heavily by month five that your mother began to worry about your health since your eyes were constantly bloodshot, you were losing weight and you were suffering from balance problems. 

Your father took you to the doctor, who knew you were constantly getting drunk and told your father. He instantly fell into a huge fit of rage, screaming that a young woman should never drink alcohol with the exception of wine or champagne at parties. He dragged you by your hair to the sheriff’s office, throwing you on his desk and demanding you stay the night in jail for public intoxication. 

The next day, when you were released from jail after having paid $10, you had to walk all the way home, hungover, exhausted and terrified. When you did finally get home, your father beat you horribly to the point where he had sprained your wrist, cut open your lip and covered your skin in bruises and welts. He did this all while Emma and your mother watched near the fireplace, neither of them even attempting to stop him as he struck you again and again. He threatened that if you ever had another sip of alcohol again, he’d shoot Rain. 

Three weeks after, Emma finally returned to Saint Denise. You’d been sober the entire time, but you breathed a final sigh of relief when she got into the stage and disappeared down the trail. You never saw her again, not that you cared. Nearly a year afterwards, your father received a letter from her stating she was engaged to a wealthy man who owned a mine in Annesburg. You remember distinctly the look he gave you after having read the letter.

A month later, your father came home one afternoon. You had been working outside in the pasture, cleaning up the horses and setting out fresh bedding when he called you inside. You entered the house, finding your mother and father standing beside the fireplace, staring at you curiously.

“Y/N,” your father said. “You’re getting married three weeks from now.”

Your stomach dropped. “Married? To who?”

Your father grinned, tucking his thumbs underneath his suspender straps. “A man named James Brackenridge. Lovely fellow I met in the shop a few weeks ago. He’s just moved to Blackwater and he’s been looking for a wife for some time now. Says he has a lot of money, big estate just north of Armadillo. I think you’d make him a splendid wife.”

“No, father, please. Don’t make me do this.”

“You’re going to marry this man!” your father screamed. “All you’ve done here the last few years is be completely useless! Your poor mother has been taking care of this house alone! You’ve acted as though you were some prisoner! We’ve let you live under our roof, sleep in a bed and eat our food, and yet you remain ungrateful!”

“I am a prisoner!” you shouted back. “Yes, I’ve lived under this roof and eaten your food, but I didn’t ask to be your child! All I ever wanted, the only thing I ever asked for, was to learn how to read, to go to school! You wouldn’t even give me that!”

“You are a young lady!” your father roared, spitting in your face. “Why would you need to read? You’re going to marry this man and live with him! You are going to make him happy as his wife! If I hear that you’ve displeased him in any way, I’ll put a bullet into Rain’s skull!” 

You stood there, tears dripping down your face. “Please don’t make me do this.”

He sneered at you. “It’s too late. He’s already paid a reasonable amount of money to marry you.”

“He paid you to marry me?” “Well, of course. I’m not so heartless to let you marry some stranger without gaining something in return.”

You hadn’t noticed the way your mother refused to look you in the face as he said that. 

Three weeks later, you walked down the aisle in the church going towards the pulpit. You had never seen the man you were getting married to until that moment. Only a few years older than you, he had small, watery eyes, dark thin hair. He was tall and thin. He didn’t smile as you walked towards him, wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet of roses. Not that you smiled either as tears streamed down your face. Despite your desires to run, to do anything in your power to get as far as you could from the man next to you, you said your vows and kissed him in front of the Father. James, your husband, took your hand and walked you outside to a wagon pulled by an old chestnut stallion and Rain. He didn’t help you in, not that you needed him to, and he drove you to his home. 

What your father had said was a fine estate was as different from his home as a Missouri Fox Trotter is to an old, lame donkey. His home turned out to be an old, two room cabin, backed by a small pasture and a three-stalled barn that was beginning to fall apart. James took you into the cabin, its only rooms being a kitchen with a dining area and the bedroom, barely large enough to fit a dresser and the bed. 

That night, James forced himself upon you. You had fought him as hard as you could, trying to get away from him, but he overpowered you, pinning you to the bed with his hand squeezing your throat to the point you thought you would lose consciousness. You laid on the bed afterwards, terrified and horribly sore as he slept next to you. 

You discovered a few weeks after your wedding that James was not only a man who lived in a small cabin, he was also poor due to the fact that he often went into Armadillo to gamble, drink and whore. Not that you minded, of course. It got him out of the house and away from you. You preferred he go sleep with a prostitute instead of forcing himself upon you. Not that he didn’t do that still. Nearly once a week, he’d come home stinking of alcohol and trap you to the bed, having his way with you until he was satisfied, leaving you sore and miserable. 

Six months had passed since you married him, and things had gone from bad to worse. James refused to put a curb on his spending habits in town. He was already a poor man when he married you, and he wasn’t getting any richer now. He also refused to get a job, too busy gambling during the days and sleeping with women at nights. You tried your best to control the money, but not knowing how to count or even manage it yourself, it proved more than difficult. It got to the point where you would go to the market in Armadillo and had hardly enough money to buy even the cheapest of foods. You tried cutting back on your own diet, going down to one full meal a day, but it wasn’t enough. James was starving you. 

You ended up getting a job as a seamstress in Armadillo, but the work paid very little. Not enough to buy food for both you and James. Considering how thin he was, he ate an enormous amount of food. 

One afternoon, after you had gotten off work, you found yourself riding Rain into Tall Trees towards your grandmother’s cabin. You hadn’t been there since she died so many years ago, but you felt so miserable you figured it might be a reprieve. Along the way, you stumbled upon a hunter’s camp. It looked like it had been there for days, the fire pit cold and black. You investigated it, stumbling upon the hunter’s body. He had been killed by what looked like a bear. You saw, still strapped around his waist, a gunbelt with a knife and a sawed-off shotgun. Trapped beneath his body lay a bow and quiver full of arrows. Sucking in your breath, you moved his corpse, freeing the weapons and unbuckling the belt. You strapped them to yourself and carried on, only to find that your grandmother’s cabin had been torn down and replaced with a mining outlet. 

After discovering the hunter’s bow and other weapons, you took it upon yourself to learn how to use them. Every morning, after your husband would leave for town and before your shift started, you would go out to the yard, placing bottles in various locations and practice shooting them with the gun and the bow. Both proved to be difficult, particularly the gun with its aggressive kick-back. The bow was a little easier, although it made you incredibly stiff and sore. 

After practicing for a few weeks, you took Rain on a trail ride not too far from your home. You felt competent enough with a bow to try your hand at hunting. After several hours and many failed attempts, you finally killed a pronghorn buck. You had no idea how to skin and butcher it, but you sat next to the carcass and worked away at it with your knife. The end result was sloppy, but at least you had something. You put the skin and the body on Rain’s back and went into Armadillo, praying your husband wouldn’t see you. You went and traded the pronghorn to the butcher, who was thoroughly unimpressed with the quality. He gave you some tips on how to properly skin an animal and where on a carcass to cut. 

After that, you tried your hand several times a week at hunting, getting slowly better and more accurate. Nearly a year had passed since you found the hunter’s camp, and you had gotten so good at hunting that you were able to quit your job as a seamstress. James knew nothing of your job, so he was never suspicious, and he was usually too drunk to notice the steady flow of money. You and he barely spoke to one another, considering you were married. 

It was obvious at this point in your marriage that the two of you would never grow to love one another. You didn’t even like each other. He turned out to be as angry and abusive as your father was, if not more. On the nights he forced you into bed, he still enjoyed beating you, purpling your skin under his firm grip. 

One night, when he got home, he pushed you down and put his face inches from yours. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” he said, his breath reeking of alcohol.

“A baby?” you asked. “Why would we be having a baby? I’m not even pregnant.” “No, but you’re going to be. We’ve been married over a year. People expect us to have a family.”

“Who cares what people expect?” you snapped. “They expect us to be happy and we’re far from that.”

He slapped you hard, grabbed your face and made you look at him again. 

“I don’t care if you’re happy, we’re going to have a child and look like a normal family.”

If things hadn’t been horrible before that night, they certainly were afterwards. Almost each night, he would come home and force you to the bed, determined to start a family with you. You couldn’t understand why, it was no secret that he loathed you. You had often wondered why he had paid money for you to be his wife. 

After three months of constant attempts and you still weren’t pregnant, James dragged you to the doctor in Blackwater. It was the first time you visited your hometown in years. Not that you had happy memories of the place. The doctor inspected you. After he spoke with both you and James about your activities together, as far as how often you tried to get pregnant, he came to the conclusion that you were very unlikely to ever get pregnant. 

James became enraged then, dragging you to the wagon he had drove, and galloped the horses to your parents’ home. He tossed you through the door, screaming into your father’s face about how you were so inadequate of a wife that you couldn’t even provide him with children. Your father calmed him down, saying he had no way of knowing. James finally settled down, but not before saying what a waste of money you were. Your father told him to go home with you, saying that all sales were final. 

You went home with him. The upside of finding out you were infertile did have an upside in that he hardly ever tried to force himself on you anymore. In fact, you hardly saw him at all most days. Things went on this way for nearly a year. You still went out hunting and gathering each day, selling your wares to the butcher and the small doctor in Armadillo. You were getting so good that you had even been able to start saving money. For what you didn’t quite know, but you were sure it would come in handy one day. 

One night, James came home more intoxicated than he had been in a long time. You had just set down dinner, expecting him when he walked in, stumbling heavily. He stared groggily at the table and the plates set with venison and boiled vegetables. 

“‘Nother piss-poor example of barely-edible food,” he slurred. 

You bowed your head, used to these kinds of insults. You weren’t ashamed of your cooking. Instead you were trying to contain your anger. You’d grown tired of his insults, his abuse. 

“Y’know, just once I wish I could come home and see this house spick-and-span with a banquet laid out for me after having a hard day.”

“Why?” you snarled. “Why would you deserve that? All you do, day after day, is drink, gamble and hire prostitutes for your amusement. Explain to me how your days are hard.”

His face turned a darker shade of red as he pointed a wobbly finger at you. “You cannot talk to me that way! You are my wife and will treat me with some damn respect!”

“And as my husband, you are so supposed to treat me with love and gentleness! All you’ve ever done is hate me!” 

“No one could live with you and not end up hating you! You’re the biggest mistake I ever made!” he spat.

“I couldn’t agree more! Just hope I was worth the cash! Can’t imagine how you got enough to even afford me, probably managed to actually win a game of poker for once.”

“Oh, honey, trust me when I say I gambled that money away so fast I can’t even remember how much it was!”

“What?” you said. “How did you gamble away the money you paid for me? My dad wouldn’t have given me to you if you didn’t offer him something.”

He laughed, sneering at you. “You think I paid money for you? Oh no, it was the other way ‘round, girl! I met your daddy at the saloon in Blackwater when he went off about how he was sick of having his no good daughter hanging around his house all day. He offered me money if I would marry you.”

Your anger flared. How could you have been so stupid to think that some stranger would actually buy you? How could your father do this to you? Your eyes teared up. James smiled wide at you.

“I almost regret takin’ that money from your daddy. If only I knew how much the price tag really was. Marryin’ a woman who can’t even have children. It’s like havin’ a cow who can’t even milk. Only one thing to do then; send it to the butcher.”

You whipped around and went into the bedroom, reaching under the bed and grabbing your gunbelt, pulling out your sawed-off shotgun and pointing it at the man you hated so much. 

He laughed. “You don’t have the guts, little girl! I doubt you even know how to use that thing!”

“You’d be surprised, you sack of shit! You really think this food, all the fresh game I cook for your miserable ass, just magically shows up? No, I had to learn to hunt so we wouldn’t starve!”

He reached over and grabbed the beer bottle you had set out on the table for him for dinner, smashing it over the table, liquid spilling everywhere. 

“You don’t have the guts to hunt, and you certainly can’t pull the trigger of that gun,” he growled. 

“Try me!”

“Then why ain’t you shot me yet?”

You were just about to pull the trigger when he lunged at you, smacking the gun out of your hand. As you swung around from the force of his strike, you felt a sharp pain in your shoulder. You turned back and saw him pulling the broken beer bottle away from you, the broken shards coated in your blood. You dashed back to the gun on the floor as he reached for you again. You dropped to the floor, grabbed the gun and rolled over onto your back. He stood above you, preparing to strike you with the bottle again when you pulled the trigger. It exploded, the slug plunging into his stomach, blood spurting all over you. He fell with a heavy crash, gasping and sputtering. You stood up and looked down on James, grasping at his gut, blood streaming from his mouth. He looked up at you with shock and disbelief, choking on his blood.

“I hope I’m worth the price tag now!” you spit on him. 

You turned back to your room, grabbing the gun belt and buckling it around your waist, grasped your bow and arrows and a few other necessities, including the money you’d been saving, before turning back and walking past your husband’s corpse. You threw him one last look before walking out the door.

You mounted Rain, still fuelled by the rage from your argument with James. You galloped away from the cabin towards Blackwater, back to your parents’ home. It was night when you reached it. You stormed up to the house, throwing open the door to find your mother and father sitting at the table, finishing their meal. 

“Y/N?” your mother said, surprised. You hadn’t seen them since James yelled at your father for you being infertile. “What are you doing here?” her voice shook from the dark look on your face hidden beneath your hat, your shoulder still dripping blood.

“Y/N,” your father barked, standing up. “Why do you have a gun? How in the world did you even get a hold of it?”

“Is it true?” you growled at him.

“Is what true?”

“Did you pay James to marry me?!” you yelled.

“So he told you, did he?” your father said calmly. “Yeah, he told me right before I shot him!” 

He stared at you angrily.

“Why?” you finally say, tears sparking in your eyes. “Why do you hate me? I tried being a good daughter to you! All I ever asked from you, ever, was to learn about the world! I just wanted to read, to go to school! The only excuse you ever gave me was that I was a girl!”

He huffed angrily at you. “If you think you were a good daughter, Y/N, think again. You have been such a disappointment to me and your poor mother. How I wished your cousin Emma was my daughter!”

You whipped out your gun, pointing it at him. Your mother screamed and stood up. You pointed the gun at her and told her to sit down and shut up, to which she did.

“Don’t talk to your mother that way!” your father screamed.

You pointed the gun back at him. “I will speak to the both of you however I wish. You’ve done nothing to earn my respect!”

Your father started to approach you, telling you to give him the gun. You pulled down the hammer. “Stay where you are! I killed James with this very gun. You think I won’t kill you, too?”

He stopped, his face darkening as he raised his hands. “Fine, Y/N. I never let you go to school or learn to read because women do not have the intelligence to handle school. Your tiny minds simply cannot handle it.”

“Your mother could read!” you screamed. “She tried to teach me, but you didn’t like it. So what, you think that women only exist to wait on you men while you take over the world?”

Your father said nothing, but you can tell by his face that it was exactly what he thought. 

“Tell me this, father,” you said, tears spilling from your eyes. “Was there ever a day you felt proud of me? Was there even a time you were happy that I was your daughter?”

“What do you want me to say?” he said. “That you were an exemplary child? All you ever were was ungrateful.”

“I’m your kid! I didn’t ask to be part of your family, so I don’t owe you my gratitude! You chose to have me!”

Your father approached you again. You refused to let him come at you and wrestle the gun from you. Just before he reached you, you pulled the trigger, shooting him in the chest, feeling the flecks of his blood spatter onto you. He was dead before he hit the floor. Your mother screamed, standing to her feet. You whipped the gun to point it at her, forcing her to sit down again. 

“And you,” you snarled at her, walking slowly towards her, stepping over your father’s corpse. “You’re as bad as him!”

“Y/N,” she cried. “I’ve always loved you! I just wanted you to be happy!”

“No, you tried to make me into a better version of yourself! You brought my fucking cousin in to try to make me into the woman you wanted me to be! How many times did you just sit back and watch him hurt me?!” you gestured to your father’s body. “You should have protected me!”

“Y/N, please, I hated watching your father hurt you! But there was nothing I could do.”

“Yes there was! You could have told the police, hell you could have left him! But no, you were just too much of a coward to stand up to him!”

Full of rage and pain, you grabbed a length of rope hanging beside the front door. You tied your mother to her chair under the threat of your gun while she cried. When she was tied securely, you turned to her. 

“Now none of you can ever hurt anyone again! The world will be a better place without any of you.”

You grabbed a lantern from the table and smashed it on the floor, letting the fire spread across the home you’d grown up in. Your mother screamed and pleaded your forgiveness as you walked out the door, snapping it shut behind you. 

You mounted Rain and galloped away, stopping on a nearby hill and turning to see the house engulfed in flames. You turned away from the blaze, dashing down the hill and into the night. As you reached the road, another rider wearing a blue shirt on a palomino paint appeared on the road. You crashed into him, Rain whinnying in shock. You got up, glanced at the stranger’s face, and then got back on your horse, racing away into the darkness.

Within three days, the news of your parents’ death had spread to Blackwater, and Armadillo announced in their newspaper that your husband had been murdered. You had wandered into Blackwater when you saw a bounty poster with your portrait, claiming you were wanted for questioning, and the sheriff was offering $500 for you.

After that, you decided to stay away from Blackwater and Armadillo. You tried going west into Tumbleweed for a few months, but the town was a little too rough and hot for your taste, so you wandered back east. You avoided the towns as much as you could, staying on your own as much as possible. You were beginning to debate going north or east when you reached Tall Trees a year after murdering your family, and that was when a rugged outlaw came and found you, looking to collect your bounty.