#{ The Dreamer | Dutch van der Linde }

[westrelics]

-- cont. from here!

     Occasionally, he trekked back that way to recollect some thoughts.  At the very least, the view was worth the trip.  Arthur didn’t live far from that spot -- remaining in the mountains in a solemn living.  With how sick he had been and all the trouble he is in, it was truly the only choice he had after the gang fell apart.  After he helped John get out of that mess.  After Dutch had left him behind.      Dutch... a man’s name that he thought of often, but was now staring at the back silhouette of unexpectedly.  Arthur had been alone for so long, with only the occasional traveler he bypassed for any sort of reminder of human life, that seeing someone else-- let alone Dutch of all people --was enough to stun him into a silent freeze.  Contemplating.  A feeling of anger began to shroud that initial surprise, but his body rejected it almost -- like it was too tired to hold grudges now.  Arthur didn’t know if he had it in him to confront the other, but it’s not like he could just pretend he didn’t notice Dutch at the cliff-side.      A subtle clear of his throat as he wets his lips, preparing to speak.  Voice was cracked as he spoke out to be heard,  ❝ You won’t have to look long. ❞      Hazel eyes steadily stare as he takes in the sight of the old friend -- a man he had given his life to once.  It’s here Arthur knows Dutch will look at him and see him as nearly unrecognizable, with an untidy beard and tousled hair that has become overgrown.  The scout’s jacket he wore did little to keep him warm up here, but it was all he really had aside from hide blankets he had crafted back at his cabin.  All absent thoughts that mattered little.

     ❝ Dutch, ❞  he adds-- as a way to greet.  Arthur didn’t exactly seem happy to see him and held a cautious ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

         The voice behind him strikes him like a knife in the chest. Sorrow and fury surge through him in equal measure as he looks back, over his shoulder, at a shell of a man. So far removed from the wild, bold, fiery delinquent Dutch had known for twenty years or more, he just seemed tired. Exhausted beyond what words could ever convey, with hair he'd clearly done little to care for.

         Images and voices flash by in Dutch's mind. He can almost hear Grimshaw telling Arthur to shave that 'dead rodent' off his face. As ever...ghosts who won't leave him, continuing to haunt his every waking moment. His mind hadn't been right since Blackwater, and he knew it. Deep down, he always knew -- but his stubborn pride and desperation wouldn't allow him to give light to it. He had to be right. he had to have a plan, had to keep it together so he could get everyone out alive.

         Hosea had been right. Arthur had been right. So many needless deaths, all suddenly brought back to the forefront of his mind upon setting eyes once more on one of the precious few people he could say, truthfully, that he would have done anything for at one time. But the worst was how suddenly, despite it being broad daylight...he could feel it again.

         The chill of the wind. The gloom, darkness through the fog. The dew building on his skin, on the hairs of his arms. The nausea that crept up in his gut as he'd watched Arthur writhe on the ground, pleading one final time for him to SEE REASON. And he'd turned his back on him AGAIN. Just as it had that night, when he'd climbed the hill - his emotions, his guilt, get the better of him. Tears form in his eyes, but he refuses to allow them to fall. He refuses to cry in front of Arthur, as if HE is the victim in all this, when he knows damn well the opposite is true.

         "Arthur?" As he rises to his feet, his voice cracks, hard, harder than usual. High-pitched, as if he was looking at a ghost. The echoes in his mind, the voices, are hard to ignore. Especially being as most of them are Arthur, chastising him for his myriad of decisions made in exceptionally poor judgment. "I... I, cannot... Nothing I could say, could ever..." He stumbles over his words. Long gone is the eloquence for which Dutch had been known; the way he could string words together to manipulate and coerce was a skill lost to him now. It was too hard to think. He couldn't keep his thoughts together well enough anymore, and it felt as though it was only getting worse.

         "I am...sorry, Arthur. I know -- I know. It... It doesn't mean much, now. Not, after..." The memory of Molly flashes in his mind. The blood. Oh, there had been so much blood. He cringes at the memory, sure his unstable behaviors aren't making him seem any more trustworthy to Arthur than he had been that night. "You-- you were right. You, and Hosea, and... Micah." He all but snarls as he speaks the name, eyebrows narrowing. His blood boils every time he even thinks about Micah, now. Like hot magma flowing through his heart.

         "My, my mind...has not been right, for a long time, now. I... I don't even know for sure you're here. Could be, my mind, just...playin' tricks on me again. If it is... It has been wonderful seeing you, son. But-- but if-- if you're, here, then... I have failed you more than I could ever have conceived." Finally, Dutch's shoulders sag, and he turns his gaze to the ground. He was broken. But here, in this moment, a little of who he had once been emerged again. A ghost of a man who no longer existed, and the shell desperately clawing at that lost soul, giving all it has to cling to a memory.

@allnostalgic!

[eldritch-bf]

You can’t tell me Dutch van der Linde never read Walt Whitman. Sure he would have disagreed with him about westward expansion and a few other things but that man wrote some of the horniest homoerotic poetry about the wild western ideal and got himself fired for it.

When I peruse the conquer'd fame of heroes and the victories of mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,

Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great house,

But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them,

How together through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long and long,

Through youth and through middle and old age, how unfaltering, how affectionate and faithful they were,

Then I am pensive—I hastily walk away fill'd with the bitterest envy.

Like Dutch read that and thought fuck the government. I need to go sleep in the dirt with other men. And! This is him and Hosea in the early years.

We two boys together clinging,

One the other never leaving,

Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,

Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,

Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,

No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,

Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,

Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,

Fulfilling our foray.

You can’t tell me Dutch didn’t think self-consciously about this poem @ himself esp towards the end

Are you the new person drawn toward me?

To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose;

Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?

Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?

Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction?

Do you think I am trusty and faithful?

Do you see no further than this façade, this smooth and tolerant manner of me?

Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man?

Have you no thought O dreamer that it may be all maya, illusion?

Here’s the calamus poems aka the horniest ones from Leaves Of Grass.

[necrohund]

THE HOUND'S INTRO POST.

about necrohund:

name-fluid. check blog name or ask me.

they/them. it/its. (the) dog/dog's. (the) hound/hound's. (the) horse/horse's. (the) clydesdale/clydesdale's. (the) shire/shire's.

autisitc. bpd. queer. agender. lesbian. questioning polyam. i am taken.

i am 18. minors do not message me. you can interact, like or comment, but do not private message me.

psychological alterhuman / nonhuman + fictionkin. i am a black german shepherd. this is not a 'kin' or 'theriotype'. this is what i am in real life. do not 'fact check' me or use any other stuff, it wont work. my identity doesn't concern you.

i am also a horse, specifically shire and clydesdale, but i am also several other breeds. this is not a 'kin' or 'theriotype'.

i am also charlie spring from heartstopper. this is not a 'kin' either.

do not refer to any of my identities listed as 'kins' or 'theriotypes' because they arent. i am also a church grim, scar (the lion king), death (puss in boots), dutch van der linde (red dead redemption). these are my alterhuman identities. doubles DNI. i am also conceptkin. aside from being alterhuman, i am a furry, pet regressor, pet dreamer and age dreamer. DNI: - zoophiles / pedophiles / general dni criteria. - proship. - under 18s in dms. - kff'ers / kinnies. - dream SMP fans. - anti neopronouns, anti xenogenders, anti otherkin.

i am here to post about my experiences, meet other people and hopefully make friends!

[scarfacemarston]

Ask Abigail (redone)

I rp as Abigail and found she became pretty popular on Discord so I thought I’d try it here.  Feel free to send anons, questions, headcanons, or RP requests! Please let me know if you’re sending something Abigail related or if you’re requesting something for me to write/talk about. Hope to see you! I’m open to other possible ships. My Abi is a bit different because I wanted to give her more things to do and show how her character grows.

Name: Abigail Roberts Marston -She/Her/Hers

Age: 22 - Date of Birth: May 11,1877 - Death: 1914

Height: 5’7 / 1.7 m

Language: English, French

Alignment: Neutral Good MBTI: ISFJ Enneagram: 6w1

Horse: Arabica - a dark bay Tennessee Walker

Personality: At her core, Abigail is a compassionate, steadfast woman who is willing to do absolutely anything and everything to protect those she loves. She does not have a formal education, but she is intelligent, cunning, insightful, and a diligent worker.  She used to be something of a romantic and a dreamer. Part of this aspect is still present, but her pessimism and exhaustion have taken precedence.  She is very motherly overall. She doesn’t plan on mothering people, but she finds that the people she meets need that sort of nurturing. However, she is frustrated with her lot in life. She wants nothing more but to settle down, be properly married, work a ranch, and enjoy her family. Abigail can be cold and calculating, and ruthless, even to those she loves. She is also very assertive, stubborn, and emotional at times.

Backstory contains minor triggers for violence and brief mentions of sex work’s dark side.

Abigail was born May 11,1877 in the Virginia area. Her mother Adelle passed from puerperal fever after giving birth to her. Her father, Henry, was a kindly woodworker. Her family was always destitute due to her father’s unfortunate luck with repaying loans. They were poor in money, but rich in love. Abigail had to fend for herself  during the day as her father worked himself to the bone causing many nights where she went to bed without food.  As a child, she was always musically gifted.  Later in life, she used to sing on street corners or perform in places of ill repute in order to bring in extra income. Unsurprisingly, her dream was to be a singer. Her father provided for her the best he could and taught her a few basics of music, but he passed when she was seven. She was then sent to an orphanage but escaped at around  eight years old to escape the abuse and take her chances on the street, eventually falling into hiding out in saloons. 

Abigail was eventually scammed by a madam who promised she could kick start her career and make Abigail famous. She foolishly believed the woman. At first, she did make a name for herself by singing, but eventually, she was requested to perform “private shows” and mostly for men. Eventually, she realized that was conned into becoming a working girl. Even worse, the Madam forced her to discreetly kill on several occasions, teaching her to become a manipulator, seductress, and actress. Abigail had no choice. Unsurprisingly, this lifestyle hardened her. It wasn’t long until Abigail was one of the most gifted con artists and a decent business woman in the Madam’s establishment. She met Uncle from the gang by chance. The Madam held a grudge against Dutch van der Linde due to unspecified reasons. The Madam wanted Dutch murdered but was disappointed that Uncle showed up instead. She told Abigail to befriend Uncle and assist the gang in whatever ways were needed so she could gain the gang’s trust. Unfortunately for the Madam, Abigail had enough. Uncle was kind, fair, and protective of her, something she had lacked for years. Uncle was savvy enough to recognize the Madam’s scam. He offered Abigail a better life - turn on the Madam and join the gang. Abigail and Uncle then murdered the Madam so they could safely escape. Uncle told Dutch the entire tale of how he met Abigail, the Madam’s plans, and what Abigail’s skills were. It was then that she would do whatever the gang required of her - she did it out of a sense of duty and she felt the need to repay them for saving her. (Contrary to popular belief, she did NOT sleep with the entire gang, likely 2 or 3 at the most.)

It didn’t take her long to become accepted as one of their own. The gang quickly realized how efficient of a con-woman, thief, and occasional fighter she was. She was the most active and successful female member after Bessie and Miss Grimshaw.

Then John Marston happened.

She fell for the raspy-voiced, gangly man at first sight. She didn’t mean to, but he brought out a whole new side of her. She found herself horrified by how quickly and deeply she fell for John. Fortunately for her, John Marston was just as enamored by her. However, they always had a tumultuous relationship. When they loved, it was intense, but the fighting was also fervent.

Her world was turned upside down when she discovered she was pregnant with John’s child. She was horrified. She wanted a family, but not like this. She enjoyed being an active gang member. Even worse, when she told John, he refused to believe her despite the fact that they were exclusive for well over a year. He attempted to stay with her out of fear of Dutch, Hosea, and Susan’s wrath. However, when a son, baby Jack Marston, was born, John couldn’t handle it. He abandoned her and their newborn son. Now, Abigail witnessed the loss of her status in the gang, and was saddled with a screaming boy and no husband. Arthur, Hosea, and the others helped Abigail pick up the pieces, but Abigail was a shell of a woman for quite some time. Some would argue she is still a shell of what she used to be. When John returned, he acted as though nothing had happened. He completely ignored Jack’s presence and mostly ignored her as well. She was both furious and envious that he could come and go as he pleased. Their relationship returned to its tumultuous cadence and that is where it is to this day. At this point, she cares more for John acknowledging Jack than her romantic relationship with him. Now, after the failed Blackwater heist, she is becoming increasingly concerned about where the gang is headed. All she knows is that Jack and the rest of the gang are hungry and suffering. Abigail is done sitting around waiting for things to happen. While she will never become a working girl again, she will provide for her family no matter the cost. It’s time to return to work.

[unregistered-hypercam-two]

Do you actually like Micah ? Why lol

ok, long post but yeah, I do

I’m gonna try to word this as best I can but english ain’t my first language so bear with me, partner

so... micah’s one of those villains you can’t help but laugh at and joke about. he’s a greasy bastard rat man who’s constantly making weird noises and has the weirdest temperment... and I don’t just mean in regards to anger.

micah is shown multiple times to be romantic and clingy, especially when it comes to dutch and arthur. like weirdly so that it took me two entire playthru’s to really see it...

micah’s a doll to arthur in the beginning, arthur’s distain for micah’s weird bootlickin’ backhanded comments sometimes spurs micah into a temperment fit but otherwise, micah seems to genuinely think of arthur as more than just some dumb gunslinger, he compliments arthur multiple times throughout the game, though none are ever requitted by our favorite outlaw...

and I mean, for good reason, micah’s constantly on a manic episode so you always have this feeling that micah can never be fully trusted at one given point. but I do believe he’s being genuine when he compliments dutch and arthur and gives them his advice (moreso dutch as the game plays out and arthur keeps pushing him away)

I think...

well, I have two theories... that I wanna talk about, and I might as well put it here...

so what if arthur requitted micah’s compliments, bantered with him like a friend rather than an outsider? (micah does bring up a good point that he’s been loyal to the gang longer than charles and yet arthur trusts charles so much more) do you think micah’d betray the van der linde gang if everyone put up with him a bit better or maybe tried to talk him through like... his trauma? (like how the girls tm sometimes let arthur and some of the other boys vent to them and rant about things that bother them)

do you think micah could truly change or is he already brutally morphed into a mass of evil constant? because I think about his upbringing a lot,

especially that one newspaper clipping talking about how micah and micah’s dad, micah (🥴) killed some ranchers by slittin’ their throat n’ hangin’ ‘em... micah was 17... imagine before that, how much grooming do you think it takes to force a child to murder someone? and judgin’ by what we know about papa micah and granpa micah, he was probably forced to do a plethora of gruesome and twisted things to strangers at a young age... I hate to see it

but I digress, micah had that one newspaper clippin’ of dutch’s bounty in his camp near Strawberry (you can go find it at any given point in the game after the american postoral service quest) so he was definitely contemplating it... but do you think if he felt more accepted in the gang when he was approached by Milton (after they tried to rope arthur into their deal when he took Jack fishing) he wouldn’t have taken the offer?

because micah’s alone at this point... he only has cleet n’ joe who implied/said (I never heard the dialogue myself) that they feel uncomfortable around micah at times due to his manic episodes, so... the van der linde gang is all micah has before he drives them apart and wills Milton’s deal, trying to isolate dutch, manipulate him, turn him in (which is... really strange considering even after arthur dies and after everyone gets away, micah takes in dutch and they coexist in the mountain for years after... why not turn him in in all those years he had him? with milton dead and the rest of the pinkerton agency not really knowing who micah is, he could have easily turned dutch in for a boat load of cash...)

but I keep thinkin’... even before all that, what if arthur and john were a bit more able and ready to handle micah at his weirdest, at his most clinically insane. maybe they could have drove him out peacefully or maybe they could have changed him :\ taken him in as a true brother... it wouldn’t be easy seeing as how absolutely gone micah is after being forced down the outlaw path at such a young age

don’t get me wrong, everyone started out young in the oUtLaW LiFe but fuck if dutch and hosea kept john and arthur’s heads on them and didn’t force them to kill children, maim women, slit farmer’s throats open for some quick cash— kill for fun. hell, their motto is that they only shoot people who NEED shootin’, micah’s daddy from the sounds of it really had no moral, no fucks to give ever.

being groomed to kill for fun, to be indifferent to women in general (seeing them as objects), and to see POC as outsiders (micah was probably raised to see them not only as lesser than him but probably as more evil), it couldn’t have been easy on micah’s psyche so yeah, maybe I’m bein’ a dreamer in this, trying to formulate a reality where micah can be changed, where he can have a realistic redemption arc but in honesty?

something drastic between he and arthur would have to happen in order for that to happen... it’s just weird seeing this goofy drunk man giving arthur praise and compliments and gifts descending more and more into this rotten and insane brick wall. hell, in the beginning when they were up in Colter, micah took missions well, listened to orders and directions extremely well without having to input anything and then you reach shady belle and micah questions everything anyone does, constantly has dutch changing his mind or thinking about something else other than the task at hand

I like micah a lot, his character is so interesting and he and his psyche and his motives, they’re all fun to study and I wish... idk I wish there were more redemption arc fics for him ‘cause I’m a sucker for them 😔

and as a disclaimer, I should say I do not support micah’s actions nor do I necessarily condone his thoughts towards those he deems lesser than him... I think he’s a fun character to play around with, that’s all, that’s why he’s my favorite character

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 4

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Thank you guys for all the support you’ve given so far! The messages and comments I’ve received have all been so kind and caring. It really means the world to me. Hope you enjoy this part :)

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

LATER THAT DAY

AURORA BASIN

“You ever wonder about eternity?” Mrs. Downes’ voice echoed in Arthur’s head, ringing like a distant bell.

“...You should.”

These days, it felt like that was all he could think about. With Hosea dead, Marston gone, and Dutch’s life hanging by a thread, Arthur often found himself pondering what awaited them in the near-future.

Their gang was pretty much done, despite how much Dutch tried to deny it. He may have acted as if they were still in their prime and running around like in the good ol’ days, but with both the Pinkertons and Skinner Brothers crying out for blood on the horizon, Arthur didn’t see much of a future for them at all. If anything, the only thing he saw coming for the Van der Lindes... was an end.

They were already living on borrowed time as it was. Their gang had experienced so many close calls and damned so many lives, that Arthur figured they were due to pay for their crimes sooner or later. 

He had lived long enough to see that there was no such thing as getting away with a sin, and considering how things had been going for them lately, he assumed that their time would run out before they even realized it.

Civilization was the new foundation for America... and without anywhere else to run to anymore, Arthur only hoped he’d be able to wake Dutch up before it was too late.

Otherwise... he didn’t know what they would do. 

Scribbling down a few more lines into his journal, Arthur threw together a simple portrait of Dutch as he quietly relaxed by the campfire, allowing his mind to drift away with the soft crackling that emitted from the flames.

He had just finished his heated conversation with the old man and left him to rest in the cabin, but even after calming him down, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was still on edge.

The way he acted back there... it was nothing like the Dutch he knew. In Arthur’s head, he still pictured the outlaw as a paternal figure. He saw Dutch as someone who cared for others and dared to question what everyone else accepted as their perpetual reality. 

He was a guardian. A father. A dreamer. A lost soul trying to find his way back home.

But the man in the cabin? ...He was nothing but a stranger to Arthur. His mind and mannerisms both remained a mystery, and the added layer of insanity on top of all that did nothing except further his paranoia. 

His life revolved solely around greed and pride these days, and if Arthur didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Dutch himself didn’t even care anymore. 

They both knew their life as outlaws was done for. That much was obvious. But the difference was -- only one of them was willing to accept it.

“Spoke with Dutch about the robbery today,” Arthur wrote next to his drawing. “...It didn’t go so well. His illness keeps getting worse, and his mind ain’t doing much better neither. He’s deranged. Lost. Nothing but a memory of his true self.”

“It just makes me wonder how life is gonna be after he passes. I didn’t say it to Dutch’s face back at the cabin... but one of my biggest fears in life is the idea of being left alone. Family’s pretty much the only thing I live for nowadays, and without anyone else to stand by my side, part of me wonders if the world is just gonna stop turning when Dutch dies.”

“I don’t even know if I’ll want to stay with the gang at that point. I suppose I could try to make contact with John and the others once again. Try to live a normal life. But knowing Abigail, she’d probably want nothing to do with me. They have Jack to take care of, after all, and it’s no secret that Abigail despises anything to do with criminals. Not that I blame her.”

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see where this goes. I ain’t got that many options left in life, that’s true. But that don’t mean I’m not gonna try to do the right thing. We was born to be outlaws. And it’s clear to me now that that’s how we’ll die too. But I may as well try to make amends while I still have the opportunity.”

“It’s the only thing I can do at this point.”

Setting his pencil down with a conflicted sigh, Arthur stuck it in between the pages and shut his journal closed, shoving the thing back into his satchel. He figured he had wasted enough time skulking around in his head for one day, and decided it would be best if he just focused on preparing for the bank robbery ahead.

There were weapons to load, guns to clean, plans to lay out... and judging by how Dutch was doing just a few minutes ago, Arthur assumed most of the work would fall on him and Micah. That was usually how things went.

Before he could return to the task at hand however, a pair of men approached him.

“Morgan!” Shay called out as Bill Williamson walked alongside him.

Arthur mentally groaned to himself, admittedly not in the mood for socializing. “Shay. Bill.”

Mackintosh had a seat at the campfire, making himself comfortable on a crate. “Heard you had a talk with Dutch. How’d it go?”

Arthur took his hat off, combing a tired hand through his hair. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Bill joined in. “So, we’re robbin’ the bank then?”

He put his hat back on. “Yep. Looks like it.”

Shay was obviously disappointed by the news and shook his head in disapproval, glancing at the cabin. “...He’s gonna get everyone killed, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed in a defeated tone. “Look, I tried to get through to him, but his mind’s been set. It’s clear that he ain’t leavin’ Blackwater anytime soon, and if we try to push any harder, I’m worried he’ll kill someone. Dutch already pulled a gun on me when I talked to him. We’ll just have to do our best during this robbery.”

Shay stared at Arthur for a moment, evidently not reassured. 

“...We have seven people, Arthur. Seven. And two are staying behind to guard the camp. That’s four outlaws and a dying man against what, a dozen lawmen? Pinkertons, too? This robbery is gonna be a suicide mission.”

Arthur rested a hand on his knee. “Well, we don’t have a choice. Alright? I don’t like it either, but no matter how unstable he might be, Dutch is still the boss. If he says we’re gonna rob the bank, then...” his eyes fell to the ground, “...that’s what we’ll do. You don’t wanna do it, you can always sit it out.”

“No, I’ll come.” Shay confirmed. “But you can’t deny that this is a stupid idea. We should be movin’ away from the Pinkertons. Not straight towards them. That was kinda the whole reason we even bothered travelin’ this far west.”

Mackintosh let out a breath and backed down for a moment, dragging a hand down his face. “Ah... I’m sorry, Arthur. I dunno why I’m puttin’ all this on you. I know it ain’t your fault. You tried your best to talk to Dutch, so, really... I should be thanking you. I just wish he would’ve listened.”

Arthur nodded in agreement, standing up from the campfire. “...Yeah. Me too. Sadly, my words seem to always fall on deaf ears these days. Feels like no one’s listenin’ to us. Not even ourselves.”

Strolling away from the fire, Arthur suddenly stopped in his tracks when he noticed that someone was missing from the vicinity. He assumed that everyone was at camp and getting ready for their upcoming job in the next few days, but upon further observation, the gang appeared to be one man short.

Arthur turned back to Shay and Bill, quirking a brow at them.

“Hey, have either of you boys seen Micah?”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

BLACKWATER SALOON

Laying the weathered piece of paper down on the desk, Micah presented his roughly-drawn map of Aurora Basin to Isaac as the young man relaxed in a wooden chair, studying the map with one hand and holding onto his rifle with the other. He and Micah may have been partners for the time being, but that didn’t mean he trusted the outlaw for one second.

“...Aurora Basin.” Isaac read aloud, his eyes skimming over the text. “So this is your camp?”

Micah nodded, crossing his arms. “Sure is, cowpoke. You ever heard of it?”

The young man shook his head. “No.”

“Good. Then that means I chose a good spot. Or not, depending on how you approach it.”

Isaac pulled his chair closer, taking a better look at the map. “Well, what’s the best way in? Is it well-defended?”

Micah rested a hand on the desk. “Overall, I’d say yes. There ain’t nothin’ but mountains on the west side of the camp, and the region of Tall Trees completely envelopes the other. If you wanna attack the gang, you’re gonna have to get real close. Unfortunately for you though, there’s only one way in.”

“I thought so. Is it this path here?” He pointed to the road on the eastern side of the map.

“Yep. That’s where we post our guards. We’ve always got two men standing there just in case anyone... unfriendly shows up.”

Isaac leaned back, contemplating his next move. “So... there’s no way in from the east or the west. What about the north and south? Is it possible I could sneak in from there?”

Micah rejected the idea. “Surrounded by mountains too, I’m afraid.”

The young man furrowed his brow. “Well, shit. Looks like this is gonna more difficult than I thought. What about the guards who are posted at the entrance? When do they switch out? That might be the only opening I can seize.”

“Every couple hours or so. But they don’t switch at the same time, so there’s always gonna be at least one person there who can see you.”

The outlaw offered an alternative. “Though... it might interest you to know that the gang’s headed out for a robbery in two days.”

Isaac perked his head up. “It is? Where?”

Micah chuckled. “That information’s irrelevant to you. The part you should care about is the fact that everyone’ll be gone for a while. The only people who’ll be left are the two guards at the entrance. But I’m sure a tough boy such as yourself can handle them just fine. Can’t you?” 

Isaac rubbed his chin in thought. “I should be able to sneak in, but I need to know more about the camp itself first. Where do you keep your supplies?”

Micah pointed to a group of wagons stationed near the hitching posts. “Here. That’s where we store most of our food, weapons, medicine, ammo... you name it.”

The young man diverted his gaze to another location. “And what about this cabin here?”

The outlaw followed his line of sight. “Oh, that? That’s where our leader lives.”

“You mean Dutch van der Linde?” Isaac clarified. “I’ve heard he’s quite the unpredictable man.”

Micah sighed. “Unpredictable, paranoid, and dying. The deadliest combination. I’d suggest leavin’ him alone for now.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind. But tell me more about this robbery. When are you boys setting out? How long d’you reckon you’ll be gone?”

The outlaw took a moment to think. “Oh, I dunno... about an hour, I’d guess? Not a lotta time for you to find the camp and do what you need to do, but it’s the only chance you’ll get. As for when we’re leaving, we usually start robberies early in the morning. We don’t wanna give the law a chance to wake up properly before the chaos ensues.”

Isaac stood up from the desk. “That works for me.”

Micah eyed the young man with a cautionary glare. “...Just remember who helped you get this done, princess. You may be payin’ me, but I still got guns of my own. I won’t hesitate to use ‘em if you leave me no other choice. Understand?”

Isaac took the map and folded it in his hand, casually assuring the outlaw. “Of course, Micah. I won’t forget.”

“Good. Then I think I’ve given you your eighteen dollars’ worth of information. You wanna know more, you’ll have to pay more. For now, though...” Micah made his way to the exit, resting a hand on the doorknob, “...all I can say is good luck.”

“Wait.” Isaac said, stopping the other man before he could leave.

Micah lazily glanced over his shoulder, clearly eager to get out of here. “What is it?”

Isaac took a seat on the edge of the bed, placing his rifle on his lap. He seemed a little too calm for Micah’s liking, and the next words that came out of his mouth did nothing to ease the man.

“...Don’t eat the food after you return from the robbery.” He warned plainly, obviously thinking of something. 

“Otherwise, it won’t be pretty.”

[vanderking]

Well to the other man’s credit he had willed himself to listen to Dutch and his constant rambling about his literature obsession with author Evelyn Miller. ❛ Thank you for humoring me. ❜ He reaches a hand across to squeeze the latter man’s shoulder. ❛ Not many folk pay no mind to the words of an old yankee dreamer who reads books. ❜ Already he is quite fond of this August. 

❛ You can call me Dutch if you like? That’s the name I’ve been called for a long while now. Dutch Van der Linde. You might of heard of me or you might’ve not. These days I’m more of a ghost than anything else. ❜ After all the carnage that unfolded over the last few weeks most believed he was dead or had escaped the country. It was just a weight off of his shoulders to be able to have a drink in a saloon again. 

/ @forgedwild​​ ♚

[squidproquoclarice]

All right, continuing with this Ask: I apologize if you've covered this already, but I just started reading Sunrise and I was wondering about your interpretation of Javier and Bill. Arthur REALLY soured hard on Javier even though they were good friends in the beginning--he can even be heard saying they should have left him to die in Guarma. I don't think RDR2 even really explains how Javier split up with Dutch, let alone the pathetic state he ends up in RDR1. Part 2: Javier I think Javier kind of got done dirty by RDR1.  I’ll say that up front.  The predestination of him being one of John’s RDR1 targets very much forced his char’s arc in RDR2, which kind of sucks, because given the man we see in-game, it could easily have gone the other way. I’ve remarked in the past that Arthur and Javier seem to be a tragedy of two similar men on parallel but opposite courses.  They’re both artists and dreamers who care about people, are intensely loyal to those they love, and are deeply insecure about their place (Arthur due to a history of abuse, Javier due to being an immigrant and POC).  Arthur starts as an unquestioning hyperloyal thug who hates himself and ends up finishing RDR2 as an idealist with strong principles and openly expressed compassion.  Javier starts as an idealist with strong principles and openly expressed compassion and ends up in RDR1 as an unquestioning hyperloyal thug who hates himself. We see Javier was a revolutionary who wanted so much to change things in Mexico.  (Side note: Sadie and Arthur aren’t seeing the worst of things in Mexico in Sunrise to this point, but some of that’s because they’re largely transient when they’re riding through the villages and estates where more absolute power is being exercised, and they’re also white Americans.  They’re experiencing Mexico with some privilege, and don’t get as much access to viewing the cruelest realities as someone like Javier who grew up in that system.  I’ve tried to still pepper hints here and there that things are a bit fucked up.)  He came to America running from the law for effectively speaking up and fighting back, and Dutch found him and took him in.  For a non-white, non-English speaking man on the verge of starving by that point, that act of kindness, of being seen and implying he has value, meant everything.  And so like so many others, he gives Dutch his gratitude, his loyalty, and his worship. He’s a quiet, thoughtful man who tries to make the camp better with his music and the like.  He’s openly philosophical in a way Arthur is only in the pages of his journal.  But when it comes to Chapter 6, he proves he’s afraid to lose the man who made him feel more than worthless.  He sticks with Dutch rather than face the uncertainty of what lies beyond the gang’s schism.  He embraces Micah and Bill because that’s what it takes.  He does it because he knows Dutch.  He knows Dutch will keep him around.  Otherwise, what is he?  A Mexican man in a country that clearly doesn’t want him.  Even at the very end, though, he’s still hesitant to try to attack John and Arthur, and I honestly think he’s not 100% sure what the hell is going on.  He missed the exposure of Micah as the rat, and Micah’s shooting Susan--all Javier knows is he ran into camp to warn about a Pinkerton attack approaching, and everyone’s pointing guns at each other, and demanding he pick a side.  He makes his choice and in his fear, picks loyalty over principles. Arthur early on is very friendly with Javier, which makes sense given they have a lot in common, even if most of that’s hidden in Arthur.  But they click readily as friends and brothers.  But by Chapter 6 they’re clashing, because that “parallel but opposite paths” thing is coming into play.  Arthur has the drive of a man with a possibly fatal illness striving with everything within him to accomplish his goals.  He’s also got the fervor of a man recently awakened to his principles and hating who he was.  So yeah, he’s impatient with blind followers and people who still willingly choose to follow Dutch down this road of destruction.  If he’d had more time, maybe he could have been gentler about those facing his same crossroads, but he doesn’t.  So he’s critical towards Javier, to the point of viciousness, and it’s not pretty.  He sees Javier making his choice, the wrong choice, and putting himself into opposition of Arthur’s goals.  He literally doesn’t have time for this shit anymore.   And I think unlike Bill, Arthur genuinely expected and hoped for better from Javier, the dreamer and idealist, so in his pained disappointment, he’s lashing out at Javier in anger, to the point of saying pretty lousy things like how they should have left him to die on Guarma.  If he had the space and energy left to think about that, he’d likely be appalled to realize he’s engaging in another Dutch-ism: you’re not helping me accomplish what I need, so yeah, I’d be willing to abandon you to die.  But when it comes to the gang, he has to shut out everything but the will and determination to help save those who want to escape this hellhole. It’s an interesting contradiction that while he’s at his softest with many people in Chapter 6, he’s his most ruthlessly dismissive towards others.  Though even at the end, he’s pleading with Javier and Bill to think for themselves, one last time. Post-game, I think Javier realized soon enough what he’s done.  He’s with Dutch, yes.  But look who else Dutch chose in the end.  Micah and Bill, who have both abused him with racist remarks, who think the answer to everything is to shoot it?  Is this who he really is?  He’s sold his principles for nothing. So I don’t think he goes with Bill and Dutch.  I have him wandering Central and South America for a time, but he finds no answers there, and nowhere he belongs that would help set the balance within him right.  Sometime before 1911, he ends up in Mexico, and drifts into the role of the strongarm for Agustin Allende, the kind of man he used to despise and fight against.  A man who abuses people, abuses power.  But he deserves no better than this now, does he?  He made his choice. In 1911, John finds him.  And as opposed to Bill, who shoots John readily, it’s interesting that Javier never tries to fight him.  He’s been working as a hitman, a level the Van Der Lindes never sank to (given both Dutch and Arthur clearly state to Bronte and Jean-Marc respectively that they’re not paid killers.)  So he’s a man of ready violence.  But he quietly tries to talk John down first.  Then he tries to escape.  Never once reaches for his gun.   He only gets angry if John captures him alive, and then starts spitting some insults after being dumped in a jail cell.  I honestly think he was hoping John would kill him, because he’s had to live knowing what a huge mistake he made, and what it cost him.  John’s made it clear it’s a mercenary situation, and he’s desperate to save Abigail and Jack: “it’s your or me, and I figure it might as well be you.”  Javier can maybe even accept that.  But John doesn’t even think he’s worth killing anymore, and how much of a “fuck you” is that?  He’s got Sadie’s deathwish, but hers makes her reckless, whereas I think Javier’s just makes him empty.  

[az-valentine]

3rd Strauss Dream

         This dream is harder to define than my previous two – we were on a ship of some sort, but the only people from the Van der Linde gang in this dream was Strauss and Dutch. Everyone else was a stranger to me in both fiction and reality (except for my uncle and cousins, who showed up towards the end for some reason). The ship went down in a storm, and we ended up having to swim to an island for refuge. One part of this island seemed to be like a mash-up of Las Vegas and Disneyworld, and the other part seriously reminded me of Innsmouth. The village – or perhaps conglomeration of villages – was rundown, flooded in some areas, and many of its buildings were dilapidated and unfit for shelter. The Disney-Vegas was always sunny and warm. Perhaps this was my unconscious mind giving me insight into some sort of social commentary about how mankind favors the luxurious and non-essential at the expense of the common folk? The people in the Innsmouth-like-locale were weary of outsiders, but we did manage to find a couple villagers that were willing to shelter us until the storms passed, and a ship could come to take us back to the mainland.

         In this particular dream, despite the events of the previous ones, I was a shy bundle of nerves that hardly even mustered up the courage to speak to Strauss. I’m not what you’d call an active or experienced dreamer – I don’t know how to hold any amount of control over my dreams, and so I was unable to call back on the memories of those prior, and remained shy around Strauss. He had a tendency to remain in the village, while Dutch went off to Disney-Vegas to attempt to con people out of money. I moved back and forth between them quite frequently, mostly just to explore the island while I could. A lot of the time, though, I found myself trying to locate Strauss, doing my best to quell my nerves – I wanted to ask for his company, to spend some time with him, and if all went well, to tell him how I felt. This cycle continued for two or three dream-days, but to no avail. This wasn’t because it couldn’t have been done, at least eventually, but because he was impossible to track down. The only time I managed to get close to him, outside of the initial shipwreck and swim to the island, was at the very end of the dream. My uncle had dropped me off at the village, along with my cousins who were coming home from volleyball practice. He was there in a kitchen, speaking to Dutch – that was the first time I’d seen him smile since the dream began, so…I was able to wake up happy about something, at least. I’m beginning to wonder if recording these dreams is the key to training my mind to produce more of them.

[dreier21coyle-blog]

Red Dead Redemption two (For PlayStation 4) Assessment & Rating

I've played a very good handful of video games primarily based on the Western genre, but handful of have captured my focus the way Red Dead Redemption did. Red Dead 2 is nonetheless a Rockstar game, right after all. It does not want to obliterate you. It wants to push you just far adequate outdoors of society that you can justify toying with it. What how to download red dead redemprion 2 is the point of hunting deer if you can not sell the skins to somebody? What's the point of possessing other people to talk to if you never have the option to point guns at them? That is the sort of freedom Red Dead 2 offers: the ability to do what you want and be rewarded for it. Red Dead Redemption two is as a lot an encounter as it is a game. 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I am a freelance writer whose perform has appeared in The Atlantic, The New York Occasions, The New Republic, , Wired and a lot more. I cover social games, video games, technology and that complete gray area that occurs red dead redemption 2 download when technology and customers collide. The Bottom Line Red Dead Redemption two is a marvelous achievement in nearly each and every sense and a shoo-in for a single of the ideal games of this generation. check this is a member of notorious rogue Dutch van der Linde's gang. Or, perhaps a lot more properly, a cult - due to the fact despite his claims of idealism and righteous anti-establishment liberties, Dutch is a narcissistic asshole who preaches sophistry and schemes to serve his personal ends. One particular more where i can download red dead redemption 2 job,” he tells them, but there's usually one particular a lot more following that. Faith and loyalty,” he insists, until the identical is necessary of him. 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Arthur may possibly be the story's protagonist, but Red Dead Redemption two is an ensemble drama. The Van der Linde gang is more than just yet another Pekinpah-esque clutch of scoundrels on horseback it's a neighborhood, a mobile encampment consisting of about 20 males, women, and youngsters, every with their own story, desires, and role. There are villains and psychopaths, drunks and miscreants, and also dreamers, runaways, and lost souls just seeking Red Dead Redemption 2 Download to survive. Each character has their personal probabilities to shine, especially for players who take the time to get to know them all. From the cook to the layabout to the loan shark, each and every has grow to be genuine to me in a way fictional characters hardly ever do.

[westrelics]

Dutch - Hallucinations

Dutch's descent wasn't entirely a case of showing his true colors; it was true he had always been a master manipulator with a quick tongue, but even so, he had never been without reason. Hosea and Arthur were his counsel; Hosea, his right hand man, always kept him from getting too reckless, too into his own head. The skeptic and the dreamer. Arthur was loyal, often blindly so, and so Dutch knew to take a step back and think if Arthur was speaking out.

During the Blackwater ferry heist, Dutch took a hard knock to the head in the middle of his getaway. It made it hard to sleep, and harder to think. It affected his ability to plan accordingly, and led to mistakes. Stupid ones. He already had minor brain damage to contend with following the Blackwater Massacre, but it was made exponentially worse following the Saint Denis trolley crash. It affected his memory and caused auditory hallucinations, and made it oh so hard to think. As time ticked by, as the gang fell apart & the bodies kept piling up, his judgment only got worse - and so did the hallucinations. The voices, and his anger, fear, and paranoia grew unchecked. All too quickly, it became more madness than simply an injured head. The hallucinations remained limited, however, until 1911; only voices, and the occasional glimpses of those he knew to be long dead. In 1911, due to a mix of age, lifestyle, and diet, they worsened. Visual hallucinations joined the auditory, and they were vivid.

They were all there with him. Hosea, chastising and doubting. Arthur, contradicting his ideas and trying to steer him back to a better path. Micah, trying to get into his head. Annabelle, supporting him, always close by. He knew they weren't real. Couldn't be - they were dead. But he would still engage, speak to them, as he believed it helped to organize his thoughts. The voices of those he didn't see still haunted him as well; he'd heard Grimshaw, Lenny, Sean, and the Callander twins more times than he could count. Heard the Reverend praying. Occasionally could hear Javier's singing, just faintly, carried on the wind. More than once Dutch had cursed upon hearing the voice of Molly, still believing her a traitor. Still angry.

When Dutch faced John at Cochinay, his back to the cliff's edge, he saw Hosea one final time. The old man appeared from behind John, stepping out off to John's left side with a morose stare. He rested a hand on John's shoulder, unnoticed by John; eyes flicked to Dutch's gun, then back to Dutch's face, and he shook his head slowly.

As if asking Dutch not to betray Arthur's last wish, what he had died to accomplish.

That was the final push Dutch needed to embrace the end. He couldn't fight nature. Couldn't fight gravity. Couldn't fight change. His time, their time, had passed. So, for the first time in his life, he surrendered. He let himself fall, leaving only a final, somewhat cryptic warning for John, embedded within a speech once used to save Arthur's life, and his own.

[westrelics]

tag drop

[westrelics]

     “Ah- excuse me, miss? Are you Charlotte Balfour?”

     Dutch had felt...so lost, since that night on the mountain. Directionless. He no longer had any true, solid plan. He was tired of fighting. Tired of running. Tired of...being tired. He didn’t know what to do. For the first time he could remember, he didn’t have even the slightest idea where to go from here.

     At first he’d wandered aimlessly. Stayed out of towns, keeping to rural areas in weak disguises. But more and more, he found it difficult to care. Micah kept trying to follow him, to pester him about the damned money- Dutch didn’t even want it anymore. He was about ready to tell him to go get it himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to damn another of his boys to the Goddamned Pinkertons. He needed some foundation. He needed clarity. He needed Hosea. But Hosea wasn’t there, now. He was on his own.

     And Dutch's ideas were never as bright without Hosea to perfect them.

     As if on autopilot, he found himself approaching the little homestead north of Annesburg. He knew Arthur had visited the building a number of times. Perhaps it would be...beneficial. At least he was doing something, even if he still wasn’t sure it was...right. Or even smart. What if she recognized him? Wanted posters were still out showing his face everywhere from here, to Saint Denis, to Valentine - and even moreso back out west. The heat hadn’t died. Showing himself like this...wasn’t wise.

     But he hadn’t been known for being particularly wise of late.

     “I... I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother, you, miss... I’m Archibald Smith. An old friend of mine came up this way not long ago, Arthur? I was hoping to, have a word, I suppose. If you have a moment?”

     He spoke slowly, with frequent pauses, as if he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say. A con man who was out of practice. Part of him just wanted to talk about Arthur - to try and...piece it together in his mind. Figure out where he went wrong. But deep down, he knew. Arthur never went wrong. He did. And it was eating at him every waking moment.

@westpromised​ hit the starter call!

[westrelics]

     Over a month had passed since that nightmare on the mountain. The gang had scattered to the winds; Dutch knew where to find them, when it was time. If the time ever came. But today he had a more imperative focus. Dutch realized the truth, that horrid night; the gang falling apart, the deaths, Arthur- it was all his own fault. He hadn’t listened to Hosea when he should have. He hadn’t listened to Arthur when he should have. It was all his damn fault. And it was still, just...so hard to think.

     Quiet roads helped some. Quieted his fears. Calmed him. But the guilt continued to tear at his heart. Kieran he didn’t mind so much, but Sean? The Callandar boys?

     Arthur?

     How could he have been such a fool?! He was better than this! But then, Hosea was always there to correct him, as he would remind himself. Hosea...ever the voice of reason, the skeptic paired with the dreamer. Balance. Without him, every opportunity seemed brighter, but Dutch knew better than to believe that. Hosea was always right about these things. Always. And now, he could almost hear Hosea telling him to go back to that mountain. To make SURE Arthur was dead. To make sure that poor man wasn’t out there, alone, somehow still alive - that Dutch hadn’t forsaken him twice.

     Yet, when he arrived, he found no body. He found no sign. Even Arthur’s gun was gone, and he doubted animals would have gone for that. He could believe a wolf, or a cougar, something may have dragged away the body, but not the gun. Either his body was collected by the Pinkertons, which was unlikely, or he was alive. 

     A new wave of anger surged through him, boiled his blood, as he thought about Micah Bell. The only man Dutch had left to blame, apart from himself. Maybe he was the rat. Dutch...wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t even sure he cared. Letting out a cry of fury, he fired a shot at the direct spot where Micah had stood over Arthur. Too little, too late. He found himself dropping to his knees, a moment of weakness. It was almost funny. All those years, acting strong, acting like he knew what he was doing, always fighting- and now he knew the truth. He...was just a fool. They all were fools, but him, the worst of the lot. He sat in silence, for what felt like years, before he finally managed to speak.

     “My boy...you, you didn’t deserve...I...I failed...I am sorry, Arthur. And I will find, you...I promise.”

     Not once did the thought cross his mind that someone might be listening. He didn’t spare a moment to wonder if he should be speaking so openly. Guilt was overwhelming him. He’d lost his war, lost his family, lost everything he held dear, and it was his own fault. He owed Arthur better than he gave. Now, perhaps, he had a chance to make good.

@allnostalgic​ hit the starter call!