#i need to draw more wallace

[edenfire]

💞🐱🐶bark bark🐶🐱💞

puppy todd ingram is such an adorable concept I just had to doodle it!! and ofc I had to include kitty wallace����💗💞

what animal would scott be?🤔

[moxxpoxx]

miscellaneous mobillaces. they have a cat methinks

[fruitfulfaggot]

I had a hunch this expression would fit his dumb face

[anonblubb]

Insert the music from that one wallace wells edit

[charbon-et-feu]

With all of my recent Steven art, you might be under the impression that I'm thirsting after him, but that is incorrect. Now, don't get me wrong. Steven is fine. He's lovely. Would smash.

But the character I'm really thirsting after is Wallace. I want to sexualize this man. I want to throw him in drag and make him my fabulous showgirl. He is my teal haired Barbie doll. My circus clown. My bad bitch who knows all the tea and isn't afraid to spill it. I want to decorate him with the finest jewels and display him on a bed of roses. I want to pull his hair and make him moan. I want to grind up his gender and snort it. I want him in my mouth. I want to grate his essence over a salad and devour him. I want him carnally. At all times.

Look at him. He's such a little bitch. I love him.

Anyway, I just think Wallace is neat, and I do sometimes get a little salty about how often he gets stuck in Steven's shadow. He deserves so much more love.

[rauhallinen-hauki]

Barret x Cid for Barret Birthday Bash, an event by @romancingbarret

short explanation (mini story?):

After a big party with the rest of his friends and family, Barret goes on a quieter, more private date with Cid through a forest surrounding Rocket town. He has taken his gun arm off, maybe to completely let the wind caress his skin. Cid holds his arm and pats his back, because sometimes that little reassurance from that special someone is like getting a daily birthday gift.

Happy birthday Barret, and happy day in general to fellow Barret fans

[wildflowercryptid]

woe, messy ass phone doodle redesign of tucker be upon ye

[veryblushyswitch]

​TODD’S FACE ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! 🥺💖 My gosh I can’t with lee Wallace in your art style!! 😭

Commission :3

[autumnation]

everytime I want to finally draw an oc and get some development in, my brain always makes me unable to visualise them properly as if I haven't had these brainworms since I was 14

[zae-heeyyy]

Boisterous

Summary: Arthur takes you to The Loft. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 2,095 Warnings: 18+ MDNI Tags: rough sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, biting

a/n: I somehow ended up spending literal hours trying to perfect this drawing. I traced a lot and freehanded a lot too, but overall, I'm happy with the final product. TYSM for taking the time to read, like, reply, and reblog; I appreciate every interaction!

Boisterous: behavior that is loud, energetic, and often unruly. It describes a person or situation that is full of noisy enthusiasm.

When Arthur found "The Loft" two nights ago, he was grateful to sleep in a bed surrounded by four sturdy walls. The accommodation would've been perfect, but you were missing from it all. Lewd images of your past escapades together infiltrated his mind as he tried to sleep, and he made his best efforts to push them aside. Your pretty face lit up his brain, and he wrapped his hand around his cock, trying his best to imitate the ecstasy only you could make him feel. No grip was as delectable as yours, though, and despite a quick release, he was more pent-up than ever. He needed you there with him and planned to sweep you up and bring you back as soon as the sun rose.

The cowboy's sonorous voice roused you from your dreams about him, the early morning sun casting a golden glow on his face as he leaned over you. His beard had grown since the few days you'd last seen him.

"Get dressed. M'taking you somewhere."

Without a second thought, you joined him on the back of his horse within the hour. Arthur spared the details of this urgent impromptu trip, keeping you in suspense for the duration of the ride.

In a few hours, you'd passed through Valentine, went by Fort Wallace, and climbed up into the mountains of the Grizzlies East. As you rode on, the clouds grew thick and gray, and the smell of petrichor filled your nostrils. Arthur caressed a hand you had wrapped around his waist, reassuring you.

"Almost there."

But you weren't close enough; the atmosphere released a torrential downpour in the last fifteen minutes of your journey, leaving you drenched. A little after noon, you reached a towering outpost that Arthur coined, The Loft. Arthur ushered you inside, futilely shielding you from the rain and promising the heat of a fireplace as he closed the door behind you.

While you stood, rubbing your arms for warmth, Arthur checked for signs of other people, climbing a ladder and peaking over the top for a second before sliding down.

You two were all alone, finally.

When he got a good look at you, he realized just how soaked you were, the layers of your clothes sticking to you and showing every curve of your body. Arthur swallowed, mouth salivating from the view of your hard nipples peeking through your blouse.

All the blood left his head and traveled south, damn near making him dizzy. Maybe he should've been embarrassed, but he was just a man, and you were the most alluring thing ever.

Two large steps were all it took to get to you. One hand found the back of your head, and the other rested on your hip as he drew your lips to his, practically swallowing you in a scalding kiss.

You could feel the groan rumbling in his chest, and you giggled against his lips. The noise crescendoed as his lips separated from yours to find your jaw and neck. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, inhaling your scent while the hand on the back of your head traveled to the small of your back.

"Mmm," he hummed, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. "I missed y'so much."

And he had you all alone, truly alone, for the first time in your relationship. He'd been waiting to make love to you the way he really wanted. Your previous rendezvous were hushed, whispered, and sneaky, your moans muffled by Arthur's lips or hand. Even when he whisked you away to a hotel, he was keenly aware of everybody else around who could hear the two of you. Turning you into a whimpering mess filled him with fervent pride, but he wanted those parts of you, especially the sounds you made, all to himself.

The thought of finally hearing all those pretty little noises at full volume was enough to rile him up, and his hand groped your breast, kneading with a force he hadn't used on you before. You shivered against him; some of it was from your arousal, but the other part was the cold.

"The fire, Arthur," you said, shoving him off playfully. Grunting, he tore away from you, grateful for a log near the stove.

While his back was turned, you peeled the wet clothes off your body and dropped your blouse on the floor. Arthur spun back around right as you stepped out of your skirt, leaving you clad in your bloomers and nothing else. His breath hitched in his throat as if it were the first time your body had been bestowed upon him.

"Straight outta my dreams," he declared, his blue eyes shining with pure avidity. And just like that, Arthur strode across the room, dragging a chair with him and putting it against the door nob, just in case. You were back in his arms in an instant, his kisses emphasized with unadulterated sounds of pleasure. A rough hand slid into the waistband of your bloomers and grabbed a fistful of your ass, squeezing, letting go, and repeating.

You sigh breathlessly as he feels you up, leaning into his touch. Then without warning, he tastes you hungrily, tongue fucking your mouth.

His chest vibrates with titillation again, and you're hoisted up into his arms just a beat later, his hands cupping your rear. You squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding on tight as he carries you across the room and dumps you on blue cotton blankets. Breathing heavily, you watch under eyes saturated with desire as he promptly removes his own damp clothes.

You were just as taken aback by his body as he was with yours. Brown curls adorned his chest and stomach and gathered in a carnal wreath around his manhood. Touching him was like running your hands over a textured map: his scars, old and new, like rivers and valleys, while his muscles, firm and hot, were mountains and volcanoes. You could spend eternity exploring that map. Arthur would never get used to you ogling him in such a way, but now your hungry eyes lured him to you.

He climbed on top of you, pinning you under his weight. Usually, he'd ask if you were okay, but you answered the question before he'd even asked by tangling your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles to bring him closer.

His hard-on brushed against your leg, making him shudder. You helped him remove the last garment of clothes between the two of you, lifting your hips to help him pull the bloomers down your legs and off your feet.

Arthur normally took his time meticulously exploring you, leaving kisses in his wake, but damn it, the thought of the sweet grip of your pussy had been on his mind for days, and he needed it now.

His forehead leaned against yours, and he clutched your jaw, holding your face still to gawk at it. If someone saw him this way, they'd think he'd just completed a full sprint, every exhale coming out in a loud pant. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, turning him animalistic. He couldn't wait any longer.

The gunslinger dipped his head to look between you, a guttural utterance escaping him as you spread your legs, exposing your needy cunt. He held his cock, nearly discolored from being so hard, and rubbed it up and down your center, coating himself in your juices.

"Need you, woman," he bellows. The bass in his voice sends goosebumps spreading down your arms, and you nod, mouth agape, eyes staring into his. His jaw also hinges as he watches himself disappear inside you. Once wholly sheathed, he moans long and loud, a stark contrast to his regular subduedness.

You'd never seen him like this, so desperate and uninhibited. Your body responds to the unexpected but welcomed change, your pussy clenching around him, making both of you jolt. Holding himself up on his forearms, he rocks his hips into you at a steady pace, leaning down to kiss your neck.

Shy and coy Arthur had left the building, replaced by wolfish Arthur, willing to howl and snarl for what he wanted. And in the moment, he wanted to brand you with his mouth. Bruising you was defacing a masterpiece, but it was a crime he was happy to commit. He was an outlaw, after all. He nipped at your neck with his teeth, leaving a mark before moving on to another spot to do the same.

You cried out, the first orgasm of the night building within you. He knew your body well and adjusted to give you what you needed, straightening his back, digging his thumbs into your ribs, and pistoning in and out, his hand going to rub your clit. Head tipped back, he moaned, no, roared, with every thrust.

You knew this was rare: Arthur Morgan losing complete control of himself. He was lost in you, lost in your wetness, lost in your tightness, and lost in those sounds. His head snapped down, and he stared right through you, eyes wild.

"Let me hear you," he demanded, slowing his strokes to get your attention. Head spinning, you gasped, too cock drunk to pay attention to what he was saying.

Grumbling, he pulled out of you to switch positions, now standing on the side of the bed. He guided you back to him, aligning your backside with his crotch. He hugged you to his chest, your back pressed into him. Your hands instantly went to his forearm, holding onto him as he practically held you in the air.

"I said let me hear you," he growled in your ear, accenting each word of his demand with an electrifying pulse of his hips. You arched your back into him, his name coming off your lips like thunder.

"That's it, darlin’."

Perverse sounds of wet skin slapping together and boisterous cries filled the cabin.

You were starting to see stars, your vision blurring as you focused on the pressure building in your insides, wanting so desperately for it to boil over. Your toes dug into the buckskin rug at your feet, trying to keep the rest of your body upright.

Arthur was a machine, pounding into you with the goal of bringing both of you to the edge. He didn't relent—didn't show any mercy for the mess you'd become under him. It was overstimulating in the best way possible.

You just needed a second, just one, to get your barrings. Attempting to scoot forward for that break was futile. Arthur moved with you, his length plunging deeper than ever.

"C'mere," he growled as his cock grazed against that sweet spot in the depths of your core, making you holler out and lose the little balance you had left. It didn't matter, though; he held you taught against him, pinning your body between him and the bed. Keeping one arm wrapped around you, the other touched you right where you craved.

"Now," he groaned into your ear, fingers circling your clit antagonizingly slow. A chuckle exited him as you melted to his touch. "Want you to come undone right here. Can you do that for me?"

Droplets of sweat fell from his head onto your back, and you moaned out, "Y-yes, Arthur."

You didn't take long then; a wave of warmth crashed over you as your velvet walls contracted around him, making the man curse into the now-hot cabin air. His hips kept their steady rhythm as you came, Arthur chasing his own climax now.

"Good girl, good girl, good girl," He moaned with every thrust as you clenched around him. He folded himself in half, once again putting his full weight on you, his heart pounding against your back like a drum. More erratic now, his rhythm lost its steady cadence as his balls tightened, his orgasm coursing through his veins.

He pulled out of you, one hand still gripping your side as the other one pumped furiously at his cock. Moaning, whimpering, and whining, Arthur threw his head back as hot spurts of his lust splattered across your back.

Hand falling from your hip, his breath slowed as clarity flowed back into his eyes. Using his discarded bandana, he wiped his sins away from your back before gently rolling you over. He scratched the back of his neck, a sly grin making home on his face as he watched you splayed out and spent. Arthur had gotten everything he'd ever wanted: a bed, four walls, and you.

[lizaisdrawing]

How did Wallace find Francis and get him to be the production manager for Welcome Home? Did they know each other ahead of time, or did Wally just put out a Prod. Manager job and Francis took the opportunity? Or did Joyce overhear Wallace say he needed a manager in the beginning stages of the show and was like "I know a guy!"

'Cause Wallace seems to like Francis but they don't seem to interact much aside from what has to be done for the show. And Francis seems far more standoffish than OG Frank to really interact with anyone (even Joyce from what little we see of them).

You’re actually correct that Francis met Wallace in the beginning of production. Francis and Joyce did know eachother prior and are close :) and yes she did recommend him. She was very excited to have him work so close with her. it’s just that I don’t draw him that often 🤷 (my fault)

Here’s an old sketch I had of them! He may have been a bit standoffish in the beginning but I promise he grew closer to them in his own way :)

It’s a found family kinda trope lol

[edenfire]

☀️🌻Day 5- Beach/Pool Day🌻☀️

based on that one panel of wallace in his swimsuit💞 you just know todd would get the worst sunburn😂😂💞

[prospero-xp]

HELLO PEOPLES

Heres human walden for ya :)

And a wip of wallace! Ive been trying to find ways to go about my art style with exploring new pens (default and custom), and i found that i like the airbrush LOL and watercolor brush :) and im tryna improve more bc i wanna show my ICT classmates whos better at drawing 😊 i need an ego boost

Au cr: yourinternetmom/Katelyn Deuce

[funyiipp]

I'm posting late because it's my blog and I can do what I want. I have three things for you today. First; a quick, silly little doodle.

Second, the shading practice I accidentally deleted and then got too embarrassed to repost. (Why I didn't just do so and explain my mistake, I dunno)

And third! The thing I mentioned in my previous post announcing that my health decided to do a kick-flip off a one-eighty pipe and miss the landing. Ladies and gentleman (and things in between and not): one goofy bastard.

(Just look at that horrid haircut!) This fellow does not have a name because he is not conscious; he's what happens when my persona accidentally crash lands into another person and does a really fancy thing called "soul melding" (which is an equally fancy way of saying the two do a life-threatening fusion)

And on this not-so-silly occasion, @lizaisdrawing's goober, Wallace was the unfortunate casualty(??) because idk, I thought it'd be fun. (And it was/is). Whose Bane? I'll tell you later.

Like I said before; I wanted to draw more than this, but by the time I had finished, I got really sick and my body felt like hell. I'll definitely try to draw more soon. Especially since I need a much-needed break from drawing people semi-realistically for Threaded Sight.

Also, that's why the notes are at the bottom, so I don't forget because my memory is bad. (I'm just imagining Sylvia putting a full-body mirror on the left side so she can scold Wallace for whatever he did.)

Uhhh, I went a'ramblin' again. Sorry, goodbye for now.

[fi0den]

ur art is super cool oh me days

do u have anything about ur swap au? :o

i think its awesoememememe HEEEHHEE

Thank you sm, I’m so glad to hear ppl are still interested in these Swap AUs

Here’s a couple more!

Really tried to keep these as sketches to not burn myself out but still did in the end :/

It was still fun though to draw these ideas out!

Evil Exes Swap Below 👇

How They Broke Up

Knives Chau - Similar to the original, she was used as a rebound, but under different circumstances. After escaping Envy, he needed money for a ticket to America fast, causing him to take up a job as Knives's tutor. A month later, her boyfriend broke up with her the day before prom, prompting Mr. Chau to bribe Scott into going as her date. After defeating the other prom candidates, they were crowned King and Queen. However, during the drop-off, he dumped the truth on her then left for New York the same night. When the league formed she begged to be the first ex opponent.

Lisa Miller - Kinda the same situation with Lucas, but it ended more tragically. Scott ditched and forgot their first date in favour for Kim. She grows up to be a massive diva actress with a scarred heart.

Kim Pine - Without Lisa, Kim was never informed or got to say goodbye to Scott when he moved away, bringing their relationship to an abrupt and unresolved end. It left her bitter and closed off, she did managed to find another boyfriend with the new boy named Gordon. Nowadays she’s currently busy with being a rockstar drummer and vegan.

Wallace Wells - They were dorm roommates, and Scott’s bisexual awakening. He was a playboy on campus, but with Scott, he thought they would form a genuine relationship. They even got matching earrings together on a drunken late-night. One day, he came back to their dorm to find all of Scott’s stuff gone, leaving only a note behind. He’s now a swordsman carrying a large amount of angst on his back and a cool sword.

Sandra & Monique - When they discovered Scott was two timing them, the award-winning duo quickly became enemies, taking their heartbreak rage out on each other that lasted after university. Now, Canadian pop stars are competing to outshine each other while attempting to eliminate Ramona.

Envy Adams - She met Scott at a fancy cocktail party. She was drawn to him because he reminded her of her first love, a blonde boy from childhood. However, that infatuation gradually morphed into an obsession on changing Scott, such as dying his hair. After he departed, she went on a depressive rant on Craigslist about him.

[josephquinnswhore]

•dead men don’t kiss•

chapter two ; a familiar face.

summary: Dutch had received some viable intel—sending you and Hosea to check it out. You get more than what you bargained for with a familiar face.

word count: 2.3k

content warning: mentions of bessie being dead, violence, allusion to death, blood, mentions and use of guns, hogtying, murder.

As unusual as it was to ready yourself under a makeshift tent in the middle of a camp surrounded by strangers, by the grace of a miracle you’d managed to encapsulate yourself in a grace of beauty. Hiding all of the sorrow, bitterness and grief behind a small tube of cherry red lipstick and a small tin of hair pomade.

“Mrs Simmons, won’t you join us?” Dutch calls out to you, carrying out Arthur’s prediction of the man’s intentions. In which he gestures to a small wooden table a few feet away. There are no chairs to sit, just a few lacklustre wooden crates in the patchy grass. Supposed they could only make do with what they had.

As you sit, you’re joined by Arthur, and an older man who coughs into his sleeve before taking a seat.

The predicament continues of the evening prior, recalling someone who was coughing violently, the sound of an agonised groan filled the quiet evening atmosphere while everyone else slept. It makes you ponder whether the older man is ill. Despite that, and how the constant wheezing had created an irate response from you, there is a kindness that radiates from him, the softness of his gaze and a weary smile.

“Madam, I am most pleased to meet you, my name is Hosea Matthews.” He holds his hand out for you to shake, to which you oblige with a firm grip. “Dutch has told me little about you, although my mind is curious to know more. Pardon me for my lack of manner, what is your name again?”

“Mrs Simmons.” The reply is haste, although shielding the unusually softening feeling that’s bubbling inside of your chest.

“Mrs Simmons, that’s right. A pleasure at last.”

In the following moments of introduction ending, Dutch unfolds a large map with a few calculated movements.

There is plenty to observe, circled locations marked with O’Driscoll in neat cursive. The number of men spotted at these makeshift camps are also noted.

“The O’Driscoll boys have been sighted in half a dozen surrounding ares of Valentine. All leading—here.” A thick finger thumps onto the map, drawing your hard gaze onto the prominent, thick lead circle on the map.

“Word is they congregate here, in a small house secluded in the Cumberland Forest. Now, it is near the old Fort Wallace prison which was destroyed by his men. This needs to be taken into consideration, should any of us approach the area.”

“Where did this intel come from?” The doubtful respite from your lips is expected, it was apart of Dutch’s plan after all. If the ever doubting fierce cowgirl could trust him, surely his blindly following friends would connusume that trust too, since they had been nothing but doubtful and faithless after Blackwater.

The intel was new, and it was an area you’d never thought to look because the Fort Wallace prison was too hot. Too protected. “North east from Valentine. How many men will he have with him in this location?” The rapport is consistent with men you interacted with in the area, perhaps you could take this on alone.

Dutch intervened the silent thought, caught through your expression. “No one does this on their own, including you. It’s quite clear to me, miss, that you’re a strong and intelligent woman. Make no mistake here; the area will be guarded and it’s possible they’ve taken weapons from the lawmen they killed.”

An argumentative comment dies in your throat bitterly as you swallow it down. “Then how exactly are we supposed to get to Colm? If he’s even in the area.”

“Since you’re so passionate about this, Mrs Simmons, I’ll have you take this opportunity to ride to the location. See if you can get a sense of the place and report back to camp. Do not engage. Hosea will escort you, he knows that area well.” Dutch’s voice is a stern warning you put in mind probably for the best. There could be dozens of heavily armed O’Driscoll boys.

Packing up the map, Dutch stands, crossing his hands over his chest. “One of our.. associates overheard the conversation of two of Colm’s boys in the Valentine saloon. Hosea is no killer, but I am sure you will appreciate the theatrics.”

Your blood may spill, but you will not fall before Colm O’Driscoll.

A side eye is send toward Hosea, a thought that perhaps could’ve stayed inside of your head is suddenly spilling from your loose lipped mouth. “Are you in well enough health make this trip, Mr Matthews?”

Hosea is not offended by your brusque comment, in fact it draws a laugh from his chest, one that he hadn’t experienced in the many years since his sweet Bessie had been laid in the dirt. All that’s left of her is the photograph by Hosea’s bedroll and the wedding band on his finger. The ever consuming sensation was something he found himself transfixed on.

The attitude from a sharp lipped woman who seemed daring to put any man in his place, valiant and truthful was something that impressed him.

“I often find myself asking the same question, young lady. Let me assure you that I’ll be fine.”

In hindsight he seemed well enough, as you observe the way he walks and mounds his steed. Perhaps he would keep his word and not fall off of his mount halfway through the trail.

“Whatever you say,” with a strained response from mounting your large Hungarian Halfbred. The horse was tall enough for a giant to mount and ride, perhaps a little drastic for what you often used her for, long travels. Her stamina was the best you’d seen in a horse, nor did she startle easily. An incredibly rare attitude to find.

As dearly as you wished for the ride to be silent, to hear the rustling of the trees hoping to hear a voice whispering in the wind to you, the ever vision of such foolishness and pretty dreams were ruined in a moment as Hosea rides alongside you.

“Quite an impressive creature you’re mounted.” He comments after a few moments of silence.

“Sure.”

“I get the sense you don’t enjoy small talk.”

“Suppose you’d be right.”

“Whatever it is you’re hiding, I won’t pry. Although I can tell something seems to be tearing away at you.”

He was right, and you detest it. How it felt like every muscle and limb that contained life, flesh, was rotting from the inside out. As if there were some rapidly spreading cancerous disease. Clear of any disease, you concede it’s from heartbreak, grief.

Although there is one thing Hosea was prepared to teach you about.

“You remind me of my wife, in her younger days of course. She was never good at conversing when it came to small talk, nor did she have the patience for small minded men, although a kind woman.”

Through his rambling words, you suppose it’s doing him a favour to talk about his wife, the way he spoke about her — you could only assume his wife is not around anymore.

“Been eight years since I buried her. Yet, I feel ashamed to admit that I don’t visit often, I feel too much guilt for her passing, I fail to understand how I could have let this happen to her. The stubborn woman knew who I was, the kind of lifestyle I lived. In the end she paid the price.”

It should touch you, that he’s opening up about someone that were dearest to him but you can’t find yourself to care all that much. You had your own grief to wrangle, your own loss.

“I’m sorry about your wife.” It was strangled, a forced pry of pity for the old man. It’s all you could summon at this moment.

“You’re no such thing as sorry,” the old man retorts, but with a humorous laugh he smiles. “I take no offence, you don’t know me personally, I can’t expect you to take pity on me.”

The two of you make small talk, not giving too much away about your personal life, or anything before meeting Dutch and Arthur in the saloon in Valentine.

“How’d they convince you to join them?” There’s a ring of curiosity in his tone.

“I don’t need convincing to hunt down Colm or any goddamn O’Driscoll for that matter.”

The name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, as if simply uttering the word is poisonous.

“Dutch has had a run in with Colm for years. Dutch killed Colm’s brother—Colm killed Dutch’s dearest wife, Annabelle. The rest is repeating history I suppose. It won’t end until one of them is dead.”

Adjusting your grip around the reigns you pull your horse to a standstill seeking cover for your horses behind the fallen fortitude of the prison, dismounting and searching through your satchel for your binoculars. As you grip them, you sneak bend down, using a fairly large rock for cover as you zoom in on the camp with a click of the slider.

“What Dutch does is his own business. I’m only here because we have a mutual agreement that Colm should suffer for his indifference.”

Hosea silently agrees. “What can you see?”

The sight is surprising and infuriating. “There’s at least a dozen men down here, if not more.” Moving the binoculars around you confirms the task Dutch sent you for.

“That’s Colm alright. Arrogant fool.” His disgusting wrinkled face and greying hair was undeniable, it was one etched into every ridge of your brain. Everytime you close your eyes, you see him.

Putting the binoculars away, you scowl. He’s right there, your fingers are itching to unholster your sawn off shotgun and ride in to execute him.

Hosea's hand grips your arm. “We need to get back to Dutch, report what we’ve seen.”

Something catches your eye— it can’t be. An O’Driscoll wondering around with a rifle, horribly keeping watch. He’s barely ten feet away from you, a man you recognise that was in your house the night your life ended. “Get on your horse.” Ushering Hosea, he relishes in your command and hastily sneaks back to where you’d left your horses.

Meanwhile you’re sneaking out from behind the rock, each footstep is carefully placed to not alarm the enemy, unholstering your revolver your fingers curl around the engraved wooden grip.

As soon as you get close enough behind the man, you tap the man on the shoulder roughly to get his attention. Before he could scream, or reach for his own poorly conditioned weapon you whack him on his face with the butt of your revolver. His nose begins to bleed the moment you retract the gun from his face.

You’re quick to catch him before his body could his the ground with a loud thud—setting him down gently as not to alarm his nearby comrades.

With a determined few loops, you’ve hogtied his hands and feet together in a restricting bind that would make it impossible to escape from. He’s heavy though, so you’ve resorted to gripping onto the knotted rope between his hands and dragging him to your horse behind the destroyed prison.

Hatred is enough to fuel your adrenaline alone, giving you a strength that impresses Hosea as you stow the unconscious man onto the back of your horse.

“Pathetic sack of shit.” You insult, mounting your horse and wiping off the man’s blood that had stained the cuff of your sleeve. You wanted this asshole alive when you interrogate him.

“Remind me not to piss you off.” Hosea mused as you two ride hastily back to camp.

“Well well, what do we have here,” Dutch laughs in amusement, sauntering over to you as you drag the slowly stirring O’Driscoll awake through the grass to a tree, tying the sorry sack of shit upright.

“This.. is our ticket to Colm.” You huff, wiping some beads of sweat off your brow.

“What of the camp?” Dutch reminds expectantly.

“Colm is there. Had at least a dozen heavily armed men.” You’re met with a smirk from Dutch, he knew that now you trusted him, his sources.

“Now, I did reassure you my dear, that my word is honest. What exactly do you plan to do with this fool?”

“I’ll dispose of him, once I get answers.”

The words came of second nature to you—it makes Arthur turn to Dutch with a raised brow. “Do you think this is a good idea Dutch?”

“My boy.. this woman is.. apart of my plan.”

Arthur couldn't help himself as he watched on, the familiar feeling of curiosity creeping inside of him. The urge to know more about you.

Now, it’s your turn to smile, the twisted expression makes the tied up O’Driscoll squirm as you approach him. “No.. no not you.” His voice is full of fear and it fills your chest with a sense of satisfaction. “No! I’ll pay someone real good if they kill this crazy bitch right now!”

“Oh yes Marv. You remember me, don’t you?” Now that he recognised you, it was time for the fun part. “I’ll cut you a deal, you know it’s Colm I want. Tell me where he is, and I’ll cut you loose.” The sound of your voice is kind, sympathetic, promising.

“I don’t believe you,” he sneers, but what choice did he have other than to trust you. One wave of your knife in his face was enough convincing. “Wait—wait alright! He’s planning to rob some rich fools in Saint Denis. I told you.. now let me go, just like you said.”

“Oh Marv..” for a moment you smile, in a twisted way, the O’Driscoll truly believes you’d cut him loose.

“You’re a fool to think I would turn you loose after what you did. Begging won’t save you from me. You’ll be rewarded with the death you deserve, I promise you that.” As soft as your voice was, it provided no comfort but a sharp crack of malice.

Pressing a firm kiss to his cheek with your sticky lipstick, it transfers into the perfect imprint of the shape of your lips. In doing so, it seals his fate with your signature cherry red stain.

“I’ll see you in hell, Marv.” The promise is met with its fulfilment, unsheathing your knife and plunging it deep into his neck. “But not before Colm joins you.”

With blood staining your hands, Marv slumps as he chokes on his own blood, watching as he takes his last breath. As you stand, you wipe the blood off your blade onto Marv’s coat.

“So.. Saint Denis.” You repeat to Dutch.