How the batch give kisses to Omega: The complete set!!
All of the art pieces together in one post, for your continued viewing pleasure. Looking at them together, I can see the development of how much farther i went when it came to rendering/coloring them as I went along up to Tech.
while I am on a roll posting these cute little 1/12 scale horses with AU Hunter, here is the one I finished today. Hunter is 7" tall, a little bigger than a Black Series figure. It's harder working in this scale, but they also take up less room, so there is that! This is another favorite color of mine, a chestnut overo.
1/12 scale Hunter on another horse. I'd sell this horse if anyone is interested, I have 2 this color. They are about 7" tall and 10" long. I posted other colors too, if you like this sort of thing.
My latest AU Hunter/horse project - a 1/12 scale horse and 7" tall Hunter. I am going to make a few more of these. I had the horses but hadn't gotten around to custom painting all of them. I like this size, they take up less room. And love this chocolate palomino color.
Echo is lovely because he is so confident and competent and stubborn and has such a strong will and is so put together but he also hates being alone and doesn't like silence and has PTSD and can't ever slow down (@saturn-sends-hugs wrote a fic about that you should read it) and has such a big heart and is torn up on the inside but would rather die than talk about it or show too much of it and has high standards for the people he loves and is disappointed when they don't meet those expectations so picking him apart and exposing every single nerve that one could possible put pressure on and stopping him from keeping up appearances so that he finally has to be emotionally vulnerable with someone is such a delightful experience i love him and all of his twisted up emotions and just how damn beautiful his character is and that we get to love him so dearly
We are so lucky to have tech as a character because he can always be the voice of all the research you've done for your fic and it's totally in character.
If I Gave You My Hand Would You Take It Masterlist
A Hunter x Pregnant!Reader Western AU
When you find yourself pregnant out of wedlock, your father forces you to marry the Sheriff of a remote village in the American Southwest. Reserved but kind, Sheriff Hunter gives you and your unborn child a home alongside his little sister. Will you be able to find love with your new husband? Or will your heart always beat for the father of your child?
Notes/Warnings: Animal blood (this chapter only), Animal Death (this chapter only). Crosshair is an ass, but that's why y'all like him. Pregnancy, Arranged marriage, slow burn (if I can be patient enough), female reader. Comment/DM to be tagged/untagged. Dividers by @stars-n-spice
Life on the Fett Farm was routine, each day following in a similar fashion to the one before it. You woke every day to the rooster crowing, just like they did in the stories. The outhouse was a short walk from the back door, but you usually managed to make it before you threw up.
When you stepped out, you stopped, staring at the mountains in the east. The sun rising over the purple peaks cast a pink sheen across the desert sky, orange and yellow fading into clear blue. You'd never seen any sunrises this beautiful back home, it was utterly majestic.
You’d head back inside and get changed into one of your dresses. If you were quick enough, you could get dressed and start making biscuits and oatmeal before anyone else did.
“You know what I was thinking?” Wrecker asked, setting the buckets of milk on the table with enough force to make the silverware rattle, “We should take one more picnic up to the Falls! You know, before it gets too cold.”
Megan squealed in delight, “That would be so much fun!”
Hunter shook his head, collecting the dirty dishes to put them in the washbasin, “The wagon won't make it all the way up there, and it's too far to walk. I'm not making her do that.” He nodded to you.
Megan hardly had a chance to frown before Crosshair’s head snapped up.
“Why not?”
Hunter froze. Only you and Phee noticed as he tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't give away your secret, but Crosshair pushed ahead--
"Is she too good to hike up the falls with us? 'Fraid she might rip her pretty little dresses?"
Something hot and angry flared in your chest. You pounded your fists into the dough you were kneading for tomorrow’s bread. You’d gotten pretty good at it after Phee showed you a few of her tricks.
"It's too big a trip for her first mountain hike.”
“How about the orchard?” Poor sweet Wrecker asked innocently.
Crosshair snorted derisively, “Children hike the Falls just fine, you can handle it, can’t you, sweetheart?”
“Children that have been making that hike with their families since the day they were born,” Hunter reminded Crosshair.
Your face went hot as Crosshair looked you up and down, “So a child is better suited for this life than she is?”
“Crosshair,” Phee said firmly, placing her hand over yours, “That is enough.”
Crosshair sank back into his chair, arms folded across his chest. The toothpick moved up and down in his mouth as he chewed on the end.
You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, staring down at the dough so that no one could see how you were holding back the angry tears.
“If all of you would like to take a picnic up to the Falls, you should go,” You said, squeezing Phee’s hand, “I don’t mind staying home alone.”
“But you’re my Ma!” Megan ran around the table, latching her arms around yours, “You have to come! It’s so beautiful up there!”
You pressed your lips together tightly, “I don’t know, Megan, I’ve never hiked like that before.”
“Hunter can help you! He carries me all the time, I bet he could help you, too!”
Hunter clapped his hand on Megan’s shoulder, “C’mon, Megs, it’s time to get to school.”
Megan grabbed her sunbonnet, but didn’t bother to tie it on before she bounded outside. Hunter grabbed Crosshair by the collar of his shirt, practically dragging him out the door.
Wrecker headed out to the cornfields, Phee was going with Tech to check on one of the women in the next town over who had broken her leg last month, and they would be dropping Echo off at the Chuchi Ranch on their way.
It was the first time you’d been left alone in the house all by yourself.
Even though you knew how to perform all the necessary household chores, the brothers were all still used to doing their own cooking and cleaning, and often got to the tasks before you could. You felt utterly useless. But there was one task you could do when they were all out at their work, and that was the laundry.
There wasn’t much of it to speak of. Each of the men had a couple work shirts and one nice shirt to wear on Sundays and special occasions. Getting their pants, however, would be harder, as most of them only had the one pair. You’d figure out that problem after you’d finished the first load.
You spent the whole day in the hot sun washing their shirts and Megan’s dresses, scrubbing at stubborn mystery stains and biting your lip as the lye soap stung your hands. You could feel a layer of it coating your hands, like dipping a candle in wax. Even scrubbing your hands with the plain water couldn’t completely get it off.
Your grandmother would wail if she could see you now, sun-kissed, probably sprouting freckles. You couldn’t be mad at her, she didn’t have a say in your father’s decision to marry you off, other than to calm him down to finding a groom who seemed least likely to make you miserable. But you were here now, and married. There was no leaving, and you hated feeling useless. So you scrubbed out the milk that stained the front of Wrecker’s shirts and hoped you were cleaning them properly.
There wasn’t a clothesline, but there was the fence. You lay each article of clothing on the fence posts to let it dry in the wind, but the wind in the desert was harsher than the wind in the city. As it whipped up your skirts you turned back to the fence in horror to see two shirts already being carried away.
Batcher, the dog, barked like it was a bird, already chasing after them. You grabbed Megan’s dresses before they could follow, and hitched up your skirts, running after the wayward clothes.
Batcher had keener eyesight than you, so you followed the dog as the shirts flew over the fields of corn. They were nice and green, too green to be picked yet, but not too green as to stay on the stalk when you knocked them aside.
You heard hoofbeats coming up the dirt road, and the wheels of the wagon. Megan was talking to someone, but you couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. You had to hurry and get the shirts before they came home, and before any other shirts tried to escape!
Tech’s orange striped shirt flew in low, and you jumped up, grabbing it by the sleeve before it could soar skyward again. You looked around frantically, hair flying from your neat braided bun, looking for the other shirt, Hunter’s red one. It was his nice Sunday shirt, the one he’d worn at your wedding. It was a good color on him and you really didn’t want to lose it. You burst out the other end of the field by the road just as the wind died down.
“Batcher!” Megan called out to the dog, leaping out of the wagon before it could stop. Batcher stood on her hind legs, licking every bit of Megan she could reach. Hunter stared back at you from the driver’s seat of the wagon.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing out here?”
You immediately caught sight of the red shirt, plummeting from the sky like a cannonball to land neatly on top of Hunter’s head.
Megan looked at him for a moment, then giggled. You were too humiliated to laugh.
Slowly, almost deliberately, Hunter removed the shirt from his head and held it in his hands. He looked between it and the one you clutched in your arms
“How’s laundry going?” He asked, rolling the shirt together and placing it on his lap.
“It’s…going,” You said slowly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. It slipped out of place a moment later.
“I was just hanging up the shirts to dry, and-” You turned back to look at the fence in front of the house. Another shirt and one of Megan’s dresses had been blown off, landing in the dirt at the front yard, and you groaned.
“Here,” Hunter held out his hand, “Let’s get you back to the house.” He helped you up onto the bench, but Megan was already skipping along the road with Batcher, stopping by the creek to throw some rocks.
“She’ll come along soon enough,” Hunter assured you, urging Maudie forward.
It wasn’t even a minute to get you to the front door, and you hopped down before Hunter could help you. He seemed surprised by that, and you weren’t sure why. You were pregnant, not dying.
You gathered the shirts that hadn’t fallen into the bucket. They were mostly dry, but not fully. The shirts that had flown off had been dried by the wind, and the shirt that had fallen had landed in a patch of stiff desert grass that mostly kept it protected from the dirt, but Megan’s dress had turned the dirt that touched it into clay. You’d have to wash it again.
“You know,” Hunter started slowly, like he knew it was a bad idea to suggest it, “We have a roll of twine in the barn. We usually string it up in the house and dry our things inside.
You marched over to the washbin, agitating the water to work up the suds again, “Is there room in the house for everyone and the laundry?” You tried not to sound snappy, but you’d spent the better part of the day scrubbing clothes, and now he wanted to offer advice?
”We can make it work,” He stood by the wagon, still holding Maudie’s bridle, “Admittedly, We usually take turns washing our own clothes.”
Usually, people had more than one change of clothes. You wanted to scream.
“The wind and sun is supposed to help them dry faster,”
Hunter shrugged and reached into the wagon to grab Megan’s pail and schoolbooks, “The fireplace has always worked just fine for me.”
Men.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” You said. You didn’t care that your tone sounded sharp, you wanted the conversation over.
As he walked off, taking Maudie to the pasture, you remembered that you still needed to wash his pants, but you’d bring that up later.
You kept yourself busy scrubbing the mud off of Megan's dress until you saw Hunter going inside. Your arms were so heavy from use, you wished they would just fall off. Maybe Tech could make you something like Echo’s chair, arms that wouldn’t get tired when you scrubbed clothes or floors.
The mud was cleaned from Megan’s dress, and you wrung it out over the grass with all the strength you had left. You took the damp laundry inside, draping the shirts and dresses over the chairs and kitchen table. Crosshair would complain, but you didn’t want to do the laundry again. Despite being in water all day, your hands felt cracked and dry, and you didn’t know how to make them feel better.
Megan came in a few minutes later, her sunbonnet hanging around her neck like the world’s largest necklace, “Hi Ma!” She ran up and hugged you.
Her hugs still caught you off guard, but you wouldn't trade them for the world. Megan and Phee were the only people who really treated you like family so far. Even if Megan's enthusiastic hugs knocked the wind out of you every time, you'd take them.
“How was school?” you asked her, hanging her bonnet by the door.
“It was fun. We learned about how to predict the appearances of pea plants and worked on our essays for the competition. I learned how to spell “reservation”!”
She spelled it out for you without hesitation. She almost said the letter “s” instead of the letter “t”, but quickly corrected herself.
“Pea plants?” you asked.
“Oh yes, did you know when you cross-pollinate a pea plant with purple flowers and a pea plant with white flowers, you're more likely to get a white flower? Mister Kenobi says it's called genetics!”
“That sounds impressive,” you said, laying her dress across the back of her chair. Megan plopped down into it and took out her slate. Her letters were carefully written across the top for reference, and several mathematical equations took up the majority of the blackboard. She held the nub of a stick of chalk in a rag so that it wouldn’t get on her hands, tapping it against the wood frame of her slate as she worked out the problems in her mind. She jotted down the numbers with quick strokes in such a way that it was obvious that the careful penmanship across the top was not her own.
“Are you certain that your teacher will be able to read your answers?” You asked with the best of intentions.
Megan’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout as she glared at you, it was obvious that this was not the first time her sloppy handwriting had been pointed out.
“Does it really have to be neat?” She whined, “I’m the only one who has to understand what it means.”
You almost laughed at how dramatic she seemed, “But will you remember what you answered tonight in the morning?”
Megan stared down at the white numbers, stark against the black slate, “Usually.”
You poured her two cups of water. One to drink, and the other to be used to erase her letters.
“How are you supposed to win the essay contest if you cannot read your essay?” You asked with a chuckle. You ran your hands over one of Wrecker’s shirts to see if it was dry yet.
Megan didn’t say anything. In the time you’d known her, Megan had never been at a loss for words. When you turned back to her, she was staring down at her slate, cheeks flushed, “I…wasn’t being serious about that.”
“Oh?” You asked.
Megan slumped in her chair with her chin in her hand, “I’m not a very good writer.”
“Says who?” You asked.
“No one does, I just know it. I do better at maths and sciences, because Tech can help me with those, but when it comes to my writing, I…”
She trailed off, eyes on her half-finished maths assignment.
You slid into the seat next to her, placing your hand on her arm, “I could help you write.”
Megan blinked up at you with her big brown eyes, “Really?”
You nodded, “I’ve had to write letters every day since I was twelve. My grandmother always said it meant more when you wrote something instead of saying it.”
Megan threw her arms around your neck, “Thank you, Ma! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Alright,” You smiled, patting her back gently, “I have to get started on supper now, but we can start on your essay after we eat. Finish your homework, then help me set the table.”
“Yes, Ma!” Megan was much more eager to help than you had ever been as a child. It was no wonder Phee and all the brothers adored the girl. Even if your relationship with Hunter never became anything more than marriage in name only, you could have a happy life with Megan and Phee in it.
Your loaf of bread hadn’t risen in the middle, but it was baked through. It was edible even if it didn’t look quite like the loaves of bread you could get from the bakery. Cooking the chicken was a bit easier, it didn’t take as long, so you could stand by the stove and keep an eye on it before you started thinking about all the other things you could be working on. You carefully measured out the salt and the other seasonings to make the coating for fried chicken. It was one of Tech’s favorites, discovered by Phee on one of her treks out west, so you wanted to make it perfectly.
Killing the chickens still made you squeamish, but you’d watched Phee and Crosshair do it enough that you could do it yourself without getting too much blood on your apron. You’d finish the laundry after dinner.
Megan helped pluck the chickens as she talked about her friends at school and what dress she might like once she won the essay contest. You listened, but made no promises. Hunter hadn’t mentioned finances since your first day in town, but you knew that the money had to be one of the only saving graces for a mail-order bride. Your father had always refused to let you or your grandmother help with the finances at home. He was the banker, the man, he knew better.
Your own clothes were getting tighter and tighter, you’d need new clothes of your own soon, not to mention everything you’d need for the baby. The sooner you could accumulate all of that, the better, but only after you’d reached an appropriate time to tell everyone about the baby, when Hunter could claim it as his own.
The feathers from the dinner chickens were saved to be cleaned and used in the quilt the townswomen were making at their quilting bee next week. You were quite excited for that, you hadn’t had the chance to meet many of the other people in town yet, too busy getting used to life just on the farm with the Fetts.
You mixed the batter for the coating, using the less appealing slices of bread for crumbs with the eggs and milk. Phee told you that the more lard you used, the better, so you kept adding lard to the skillet to make the satisfying sound of the chicken frying. Megan cooked the green beans in just as much lard, but even more fresh beans ended up in her mouth than in the frying pan.
Hot and sweaty, you cut into the thickest breast for the moment of truth. No pink, cooked clean through. You sighed in relief.
Two by two, the others returned home. Echo mentioned how delicious dinner smelled as Crosshair wheeled him in, and everyone washed up in the tin basin that served as a sink, rinsing away the dirt of the day, before settling in their usual chairs around the table.
A few clothes still hung close to the stove to finish drying, but all the dry clothes were folded and stacked in a basket next to the stairs.
“Thank you so much for doing all the washing,” Phee said loudly, pointedly looking at her brothers-in-law. A murmur of gratitude rippled around the table.
“I’d love to wash all your pants as well, so whenever you get the chance to change, I can take them,” You said, passing the beans to Hunter.
“Really? Thanks!” Wrecker said.
Crosshair frowned, “I can wash my own pants, thanks.”
“Crosshair,” Phee warned, “She’s only trying to help.”
“We don’t need her help,” Crosshair snapped, “We were doing just fine before she showed up.”
You bit your lip. You knew Crosshair didn’t like you. This wasn’t new. But it still hurt.
“Cross,” Hunter said sharply, “Shut it.” He placed his hand on the back of your chair.
“It’s always good to have more help,” Echo said evenly, taking another bite of chicken.
“Of course you’d say that,” The words were out before Crosshair could stop himself, and the table went icily quiet.
Echo’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. Megan’s eyes went wide as the rest of her brothers glared at Crosshair.
“Apologize.” Hunter said. The tone of his voice reminded him of when he spoke to Cid, the Parlor owner.
Crosshair placed his hands on the table, “Sorry, Echo.”
Echo was staring at his plate like he was trying not to cry. He nodded, unable to speak, but no one else moved. He took his plate and set it on his lap, then backed away from the table in his wheelchair.
“Thank you so much for dinner, it’s delicious,” His voice cracked as he spoke to you, then wheeled himself to his room to eat in peace.
Wrecker was the first person to return to eating, his chewing magnified in the silence of the house.
“It is very good,” Hunter said softly. He took a couple bites, and everyone else followed.
Crosshair stared at his plate for a long time before he finally picked up his knife and spoon and cut into his chicken.
The raw pinkness stared back at him like an evil omen. A horrified gasp came out of you like a squeak. You were so certain that all the chicken was cooked, and everyone had taken their chicken at random, Crosshair had to know you weren’t trying to insult him.
“H-here, Crosshair, you can have mine,” You said as your throat swelled with shame. You forced your plate–barely touched–into his hands as he protested. You ran over to the stove and scraped the chicken back into the skillet, maybe you could finish cooking it all the way. The flame had gone out already, and you tried to stoke it back to life, but it was no use.
You took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to calm yourself as you looked down at your apron. It was covered in flour and chicken grease and just looking at it made you feel dirty.
Dirty. The look your father gave you when you told him you were in the family way. The way you felt when Edmon told you he was married. The way dirt made it into every crevice of your body even when you were shut up inside out here.
You could do something about this kind of dirty.
You left the cold stove and headed outside. The sun was setting, splattering red and pink and orange across the sky as you yanked on the pump handle, sending water gushing forth into the bucket. You dove in with your bare hands, scrubbing at the apron stains with your fingernails to try and get them out. It occurred to you that you needed the lye and a brush to properly clean the apron, but that meant going back into the house with everyone.
The water splashed up your arms and onto the front of your dress. It was cooling after the heat of the desert day, and the noise almost kept you from hearing the footsteps crossing the yard to stand behind you.
“You haven’t eaten yet.”
You kept your back to Hunter, hoping he couldn’t see the flush in your cheeks. You really didn’t want to go back to dinner, knowing his brothers were there judging your every move.
“I am so sorry. I didn't mean to-”
“I know. And so does Crosshair.“
Hunter rested one arm across your shoulders, tenderly massaging a sore spot on your arm, and pried the apron from your hand with the other.
“They’ll still be dirty after dinner. C’mon, let’s get something in your stomach.”
His fingers trailed down your rolled-up sleeve to the bare skin of your arm. The hairs on the back of your hand tickled as he hooked his fingers around yours, giving a little tug.
You bit your lip and tried not to cry. You didn't deserve this kindness, this generosity, this patience, and you certainly didn't deserve it from him, but he was giving it to you anyway.
Gently, he pulled you after him, and you followed him back into the house.
Every step towards the table in the center of the house felt like walking down the aisle all over again, walking towards a fate you had no say in. You could try to make it the best fate you could, but it would only work if the Fetts worked with you.
