#i'm not fully happy with the way i drew abigail

[dystopeyes]

prey

[verdemoun]

idk marstons and morgan angst

i fully believe that when john stops and goes 'what was her name? mary?' when arthur tells him not to live two lives in the sheep and the goats - he was about to bring up eliza and isaac and had to stop himself because as angry as he was he knew it would kill his brother

jack's drawing is him, abigail and arthur all happy with their sheep ranch - no john in sight. he originally drew it for abigail, who suggested he give it to arthur to avoid john seeing it. of course, john did in 1907 when he was ready to look through arthur's satchel, and immediately knew it wasn't him. felt he deserved it - and wondered if they would have all been happier if he and arthur switched places that night

at least once, but probably a lot more than once, in 1907, abigail didn't wish but wondered what her life would have been like if arthur had been the one to get off the mountain instead of john, and if arthur had recovered. she never loved arthur like she did john, and never would, but deep down she wondered just how happy they could have been together.

arthur would have treated her right and respected her, married her, encouraged jack's reading and writing and wouldn't have gone after fucking micah. he might've hated her cooking enough to offer to cook for them, and she could've escaped the wretched task. evenings could've been the three of them, comfortably sitting around a fireplace, listening to jack read aloud

especially when it was just her and jack bouncing around after proghorn ranch, jack would often catch her looking out the window and sighing sadly as if she could see the peaceful little house with horses and sheep, and jack smiling and happy learning from his devoted proxy father. he also learned this was a great time to ask about stories about the old days, the gang, and learned most of what he knew about uncle arthur during that time period.

after 1911, when abigail got sick, jack would read to her constantly. one picked up his father's journal one day, expecting to find stories from when they were young and in that pathetically sappy young love phase before he was born.

it wasn't until he reached 'abigail and marston keep arguing' that he realised it wasn't just his father's journal. realizing at the same time, abigail let out a shuddered gasp and asked him to keep reading. she had always held onto the past so much more affectionately than john had, and hearing arthur's inner thoughts was as comforting as him being in the room.

just for a second imagine abigail marston laying sick and dying, with tears of joy in her eyes as jack shows her drawings arthur did all the way back in 1899 of her 'in her prime', and a young jack, quick sketches almost like photographs

jack's voice cracking as he reads arthur's last entry, that desperate, deliberately heavy pencil writing 'john, protect abigail and jack', knowing he would, and did, only to turn the page to handwriting he recognizes again.

not getting the chance to finish reading it together, but one of the last things abigail gets to see before her mind is completely gone is john's excited, wonky, capital letters I'M GETTING MARRIED and knowing she'll get to see him again

[funkwhistle]

Dutch Van der Linde x reader

Dutch Van Der Linde x pregnant reader

Pairing: Dutch Van der Linde x F!reader

Warnings: A bit of NSFW themes at start, fluff, and pregnancy

A/N: Thank you to anon for requesting this, I had one half written so sorry if this isn’t what you were expecting - might do some headcanons about this in the future. Little disclaimer - I’ve never been pregnant, so anything which is incorrect, just let me know and I can sort it. Otherwise, happy reading! :)

(Photo is mine - don't reupload without tagging me)

“What've you been eating dear?” Dutch asked, his fingers gently ghosting over your breasts as you lay there. When you didn't reply, he continued, “I mean, they're just… nicer I guess?” By this point you were half asleep, but you just shrugged, moving back into him. He hummed contentedly, kissing your shoulder gently as the pair of you fell asleep.

Dutch rolled off you, breathing heavily and kissing you lightly on the head as he lay beside you. Exhausted, you moved closer to him, so he could drape his arm over you and pull you closer to him under the blanket to try and retain some sort of heat between the pair of you.

When you awoke the next day, Dutch had left the tent already, he was chatting to Arthur outside about another job. Quietly, you got dressed as fast as you could, thinking about Dutch's comments last night. Maybe it was the spring weather making you feel like this. Emerging from the tent, Dutch glanced over at you, smiling a little before returning to the conversation as you walked over to Tilly and Mary-Beth who were sewing up one of the shirts.

“Ah, Dutch has some socks which need darning,” Tilly said, pushing the needle she'd been using into the fabric and passing over the socks. The heel had worn through, a simple fix, but it would take a little time, so you sat down beside them and got to work as the warm sunlight filtered through the trees.

After you'd sewn his socks, you stitched a rip in one of Hosea's neckerchiefs before standing up to take a break. However, as you stood up, you began to feel dizzy, and a previously unfelt sickness came flooding over you as the world swam a little. Grasping onto the wagon beside you, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the feeling to go away, before moving. the dizziness left, but the nausea was still there, gnawing at your insides like you'd forgotten something.

“You alright there?” Mary-Beth asked, glancing up at you. “Did you eat this morning?” Shaking your head, you realised she was correct; you hadn't eaten anything since last night, that would be why you felt like this. thanking Mary-Beth, you walked to Pearson's wagon, grabbing a dry bread roll and biting down on it. Instead of quelling your sickness as you'd expected, the bread only made things worse, making you feel like when you'd eaten some raw meat a few months ago. Swallowing forcefully, you shook off the feeling, although you didn't finish the bread.

The sickness didn't leave for the whole day, and as the night drew in you found yourself in the tent, sitting by the small stove he had in there and massaging your temples. Dutch came into the tent then, and upon seeing you rushed over to you, carefully placing a kiss on your forehead before rubbing circles on your knee as he looked at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and you merely nodded, your headache getting painful now; and him speaking wasn't helping. He sighed, coaxing you to sit up fully so he could wrap his arms around you, helping you to stand. You were too exhausted to speak, but you smiled gratefully as he turned you around, making an effort to unlace your corset with care, although the knot at the bottom got him a little confused. After your corset was off, he pulled your skirt off, and pulled you closer to him, now only in your undergarments.

Dutch placed deliberate kisses over your neck and shoulder, making you sigh into him as you stood there together, you nearly falling asleep in his arms. the last thing you could remember before you drifted off was Dutch laying you in the bed beside you and pulling the blanket over you both.

You didn't know how long you'd been asleep for, but that didn't matter now as you felt much more nauseous than yesterday. Pushing yourself away from Dutch as he slept, you wobbled to the edge of the tent before falling onto your knees as you retched on the grass outside. Someone must have heard, as you felt someone pulling your hair from out of your face.

“It'll be alright, no worries. Dutch!” The gruff voice belonged to Arthur, who was calling fruitlessly for Dutch as he hushed you, rubbing your back gently as you shook in the cold grass.

By now you'd stopped retching, pushing yourself up so you were sitting as you pulled a face at the taste in your mouth. The early morning air was cold, biting at your exposed skin now you sat on the floor, dew seeping into your clothes. Arthur offered you his water as he stuck his head into Dutch's tent to wake him. Drinking a little made you feel better, but you couldn't shake the idea you might be pregnant, you remembered from when Abigail was that she would always be sick in the mornings.

Dutch emerged from the tent with Arthur, and when he saw you sat in the grass he shuddered himself, wrapping his arms around you. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Dutch mouthing a thank you to Arthur as he walked away. Feeling less ill now, you buried your head into Dutch's chest, trying to keep your tears at bay as he rocked you soothingly, muttering something calming to you.

The sunrise was visible by the time you felt you could stand up. Dutch supported you as you walked back into the tent, pulling one of your slip-on dresses over your head before letting you sit on the bed to allow him to get dressed. And yet you couldn't shake the idea of your possible pregnancy from your mind, deciding to ask the only person who knew, Abigail.

Dutch was more doting than usual throughout the day, coming over to check on you every few hours and not allowing you to work at all. However, while he was busy talking to Hosea, you caught the eye of Abigail, who you quickly motioned to come over.

“You good?” she sat down opposite you at the table you'd been playing dominoes on earlier. Sighing, you decided you needed to ask someone, so glancing around to check nobody was over hearing, you leant in and whispered;

“I think I might be pregnant?” Surprisingly, Abigail didn't even flinch, instead a grin spread over her face, making you more confused.

“You've finally worked it out? You ain't eaten properly for days and you can see a little bump?” she laughed a little at your face of shock. “Come on, most of the girls have cottoned on now,” you shook your head, disbelievingly, but now she mentioned it; you didn't eat all your dinner the other day, and you noticed you had to loosen your corset. Abigail took your hands in her own, making you look back up at her and you could tell what she was going to say next.

“You gotta tell him,”

“How? He won't want it,” your eyes began to prick with tears as you realised the reality of your situation, that you'd have to raise a child without the father, Dutch could die on any day, with a bounty like that on his head. Sure, you wanted a child at some point, but not now, maybe when you'd settled a little; got a house of your own, with a yard for the kid and… As she was aware your panic had begun to set in, Abigail continued calmly;

“Well, when I had Jack I didn't know if he was John's, so I told Dutch first. When I tell you he was excited about the idea of there being a child in camp-” she stopped at your face, you'd been wondering if Jack was, in fact, Dutch's. As though she could read your mind, Abigail shook her head, continuing. “Don't worry, he is John's, I spoke to Dutch because I didn't know if I had to leave camp,” you smiled at this, maybe she was right about him after all.

After speaking to Abigail, you didn't leave the tent for the rest of the day, with Dutch bringing you a small bit of food in the evening.

“You feeling an-” Dutch started, passing you a bowl of stew which you took from him eagerly, but not eating any yet, you wanted to tell him first.

“Dutch, I need to tell you something,” you interrupted him as he sat down beside you. All of a sudden, all your previous courage had gone, replaced with doubt and worry about his reaction; if he banished you from the gang you had nowhere to go. Cocking his head, Dutch was looking at you expectantly, the stew on one of the crates behind him, long forgotten.

“I think I'm pregnant,”

Dutch didn't move at first, and you were worried he'd take it badly, he was twisting his rings as he processed your information.

“You're sure?” you nodded, mentioning you were going to go into town tomorrow to get the doctor to confirm it. Dutch still didn't say anything, although his hand found it's way to interlocking itself with yours. Slowly, he looked up at you, and you could see the glimmer of tears in his eyes as a smile began to spread over his face, making you smile also.

“You're going to make a wonderful mother Miss Van Der Linde,” he was still beaming, but he pulled you close so he could kiss you instead of you seeing him cry. “We can have a mini Van Der Linde running around camp now,” his reaction prompted tears of relief from you, and the pair of you sat together, you on his lap now, whispering about the good news. Dutch kept drawing patterns on your small bump, and placing kisses on whichever bit of skin he could.