Finally finished! It’s my first attempt at drawing people digitally. Sorry for it being so rusty! I don’t have much free time, but I had lots of fun making this!❤️
Sawthis postby@blackinquisitors yesterday about their modern AU interpretation and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. So I decided to see what “shockingly left wing but still redneck” Johnigail looked like if they were in game. Hope everyone enjoys :)
Sawthis postby@blackinquisitors yesterday about their modern AU interpretation and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. So I decided to see what “shockingly left wing but still redneck” Johnigail looked like if they were in game. Hope everyone enjoys :)
my modern interpretation of Abigail and John is like a shockingly left wing but still redneck couple. like Abigail has constant semi smudged eyeliner and is a cigarette mom. she’s got french tip nails that are usually chipped and she loves a good denim skirt. John still has the long greasy hair and is always wearing some band t-shirt usually acdc or led Zeppelin and has three pairs of jeans: one for when he’s fixing a car, one for every day wear and one for taking Abigail to outback steakhouse. they have a beat up pickup truck that John is constantly fixing and Abigail hates bc its like 15 years old. Abigail is on the pta at jack’s school and doesn’t understand anything abt how the school works but is pushing for better resources for LGBT students bc she’s convinced jack is gay (he isn’t). John cuts down his neighbors confederate flags and leaves dead rats in their mailbox
A raw wind blew down the streets of Council Bluffs today, still full of snow after the blizzard, and they’d be a mucky, muddy nightmare even after. There was frost on her window even now, and all the girls and women at Hattie McCormick’s, Hattie herself included, had bundled up in heavy winter woollens to help conserve the dwindling woodpile. Seeing her fellow painted ladies in their sweaters and thick woolly socks, hair messy and eyes still crusted with sleep, rather than dressed to entice, Ruth Roberts knew it would be a quiet day, and a quiet night. Men usually weren’t so desperate for a poke that they’d trudge through that kind of shit. Just meant in a few days or a week when everything got cleaned up, they’d be back and even more eager for the delay. But until then, she’d enjoy this little vacation.
She headed downstairs, seeing Abigail sitting on a stool at the bar while Uncle leaned on it, telling her, “…and that’s when they told me they’d trade me for this gold mine they’d found–”
“Filling her head with nonsense again, old man?” she said, but without much bite to the words. Uncle was a lazy bastard most of the time, and nobody knew his real name, but he made a good bartender, and he’d proved oddly attached to Abigail. Not in an alarming fashion, more in a pathetically incapable and cluelessly affectionate sort of way like a man with a puppy, but he’d followed Ruth and Abigail here from the Lamplighter and she suspected when she got too old for Hattie soon enough, he’d follow them too to wherever came next. He’d assigned himself as Abigail’s protector, told Ruth that once, and sometimes she wanted to laugh, but sometimes she was touched by it. Abigail was a girl growing up in this life, with nowhere else to go. She’d probably be working herself far too soon, as much as Ruth wished with all her soul for her girl to have something different, something finer.
To have a man who might have been as randy as any but who didn’t want anything from her could only do her some good. It wasn’t as though she had a father around to give her anything more than that beautiful thick dark hair, whoever he had been. And he didn’t try to get anything from Ruth either by his interest in Abigail, so she’d accept Uncle’s supposed help for what it was–not much, but certainly nothing harmful.
“Ain’t like there’s much else to do,” Uncle pointed out, nodding to the iced-over windows. “Bad as that wind is with the cold? Any man walking here today’s like to lose some toes or fingers to frostbite.” He cackled, giving Ruth a knowing wink as he slid her a bottle of beer. “Or maybe his pecker if he’s got a stiff one.”
She supposed there were places a little girl of nearly seven didn’t casually hear about things like stiff peckers, but growing up in a cathouse didn’t exactly allow for that, much as Ruth tried to keep as much of it from her daughter as she could. It would be a losing battle eventually, but still one worth the fight. Abigail piped up, blue eyes shining bright with glee, “Ma, Uncle’s telling me all about the gold mine he lost in a poker game!”
She sighed, shaking her head, but smiling all the same. “Sure. Go on with your tall tales, Uncle. But don’t you be trying to sell her no gold mine neither.” Girl’s got to know there’s more out there than this way, this life.
“It was only gonna cost her two cents to be my partner, Ruthie, I swear it,” Uncle replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
She took the beer and sat down, ready to hear whatever utter nonsense Uncle would tell Abigail. Hell of a story, and probably not a grain of truth in it, though it wasn’t as though Ruth could read to tell her any stories of her own. For a slow winter’s morning, tall tales and ridiculous yarns would serve well enough.
She blessed Jack having taken early to sleeping through the night, and given the business of caring for a one-year-old, Abigail slept hard where she could. So when she woke, she found she was one of the last to learn that John had left in the night, and not only for a good time in town or to go scout a job. He’d left a terse note at the door of Dutch’s cabin: “I got to go. Don’t know that I’ll be back. John.”
And that was that. He was gone. Not planning to come back. A few simple words, and he’d left it to someone else–Hosea, it turned out to be–to tell Abigail what was what.
For Abigail, he left nothing. No note, no words. Nothing except for the boy sleeping peacefully in the apple crate that had become his crib courtesy of Pearson’s handiwork. The boy he still hadn’t claimed, and now likely never would. She turned and went back to the tent, heartsick and feeling about two inches tall. Not wanting to face the others–how they must have been debating how to tell her before she woke, and not wanting either their pity or their told-you-sos.
“Abigail.” She didn’t turn from Jack, hearing Arthur’s voice behind her. “I’ll ride after him, if you want it. Drag him back slung over my damn saddle if it comes to it, I will.”
Arthur would, at that. She didn’t doubt he could catch John and do it, even with John having hours of head start. She could hear the steely fury in Arthur’s voice, the rough edge that told her he’d like nothing more than to chase John down and bring him back by force. The same way he’d talked to John and about John this past year and a half since Abigail told him she was pregnant by young Mr. Marston.
“No.” It came out as barely more than a whisper. She swallowed hard through her dry throat and repeated herself. “No. It ain’t worth it. He’s made it clear he’s got no interest in m–in Jack.” No, he still had interest in Abigail. Enough to keep her hoping now and again that he would finally, truly see the sweet boy that they’d made together, and whatever fears he had about being a father would be put to rest. Neither of them had grown up with much of an ideal there. She knew that. They’d talked plenty about their lives in those weeks two summers ago–so damn long now–when everything seemed so bright and full of hope and love. Like she’d found the life she’d longed for in John Marston, and they would make everything right for each other.
Poor fool. She wasn’t the first woman left with a baby with no father. Growing up as she had, she had no illusions of that. But she’d so wanted to believe that it was real. That the love between them was enough, and all the ugliness of their childhoods could be behind them.
She’d already spent so many nights howling at the moon over John Marston, aching to be seen by him as she thought she had been for those idyllic summer days and nights, aching to belong to him and have him belong to her in turn. To see him embrace Jack with joy rather than ignoring him like an unwanted stray, or worse, more or less calling him a whore’s bastard by claiming he could have been anybody’s.
He’d given an answer. She’d spent so much time chasing him. She was tired of it. They could find him and drag him back, even make him marry her and claim Jack as his own at gunpoint, and what was the point of it? Nothing would change unless John changed. She looked over her shoulder at Arthur. Lifted her chin and said, “If he ain’t man enough to claim his son, then let him run away.” Some part of her hoped he’d never come back so she could be done with him for good.
Arthur looked back at her steadily, some emotion she couldn’t quite read in his eyes. “He ever comes back, I promise you he’ll answer to me for this.” From him, she knew that was a promise, though she silently knew Dutch probably wouldn’t let that comeuppance happen, as he hadn’t in all this time. But still, it meant something that Arthur would say such a thing.
If only love was like a candle and she could simply blow that flame out, and be done with him, and be done with the hopes and the heartache. But it wasn’t, and she suspected she’d waste more tears and hopes and anger on John Marston yet before it was all said and done. But for now, she had a boy to raise, and she’d done it without John already. She would find a way, somehow.
“Jack got to my camera. He could’ve easily broken it but I wouldn’t even be mad at him for that. Boy is bored out of his mind most of the time, playing with a camera must’ve been the most entertaining thing he did in a long time.
Of course he used it to take photos of chickens and his mamma. This kid is too innocent to live with us, but where else would he be safer? Everyone protects him here. Even John.
Sometimes I catch him looking at the boy with longing. Before he notices I’m staring and his expression turns into a scowl. I think John wants to be a father, he just doesn’t know how. Or if he’ll be good enough.
I know how he feels, it’s a big responsibility and when you fail, the pain and guilt of it are unbearable.
Okay y’all I been thinking on this for a while now. So as we all know Arthur did have a son named Issac who was the result of a one night stand with a waitress named Eliza. Yet, we do also know that Arthur did visit them for a few days after a couple of months. Tragically we do also know that on one of Arthur’s visits we know that he found two crosses outside and immediately he knew what had happened. We do also know that the perpetrator who robbed them only turned up with ten dollars once the whole ordeal was said and done (which is suspicious). Now the mystery is WHO TF ROBs AND KILLS TWO PEOPLE FOR TEN DOLLARS???
Well I think I figured it out… and it is none other than:
YUP Mary Linton. Everyone’s least favorite thot.
Now stay with me. We all know at this time this bitch Mary had ran off with another man ,even though they made plans to get married, which broke his heart tremendously. So I think right before Mary got married she had second thoughts and went back to Arthur to try to work things out. But to her surprise she found that Arthur had moved on and started a whole ass family with another girl. So out of anger and spite this bitch decides to pull a whole fatal attraction on Arthur’s new bitch which brings me to my ultimate point.
Mary Linton backwards is notniL yraM which makes no sense just like how someone kills two people for ten dollars. Unless you’re a manipulative, disloyal thot like Mary Linton.
