#Dutch is Arthur’s only family he has left at that point

[drizzledrawings]

That one line that Dutch says after guarma to Arthur

“You sound like him” makes me wanna bash my head into a wall!!!!!!! Dutch’s coldness and dismissal of Arthur is so tied to Hosea’s death and I stand by that! Dutch’s grief over Hosea was such a tipping of the iceberg

[saturnxlust]

Age Gap

Van der linde gang x Fem!Reader

Dutch Van Der Linde

He def goes for younger girls

He looks like the type

You caught his eye with your outfits

Hes 44 but i feel like he wouldnt want a age gap over 10 years

If you got the courage to make the first move he would admire that about you

Definitely sweet talks you about being a smart girl

Lord the amount of praise this son of a bitch would give you could boost even arthur ego

Def a sugar daddy, before the events of black water

After he would try his best but he left most of his money behind in his old house

Arthur Morgan

He isnt that old but he def wouldnt go over 5 years

He finds it odd and repects his women too much

This is the man to go to if you want a sugar daddy

He will gladly spoil you with all the money he loots from dead O’driscols

He also gives out praise but thats just the man he is

If hes not complimenting you and how stunning you are 24/7 he feels like a awful person

He would so totally call you his “sweet baby” or “babydoll”

If you wear pink dresses he’d definitely be wrapped around your little finger

If not and your more of a streatwear person he’d loose his mind at low rise or cami tops

Again you’d have him wrapped around your finger immediately

John Marston

Hes definitely not old and would NOT go under 4 years😭

This guys only 26

Hes not a sugar daddy

Sorry babe

But he thinks your cute

He def likes girls with a attitude

Just look at abigal for christs sake

He was married to her😭

He would try to be good for you

Wanting to take you and run off into the sunset, but he couldnt leave dutch like that

Not after everything dutch had done for him

You would have to get along with jack to even be on johns radar (sorry🥲)

He wants you as soon as your motherly to jack

He talks to arthur about you

He calls you “sweet girl” and “doll” in that gravily voice

Hes incredible, really

Hosea Matthews

Okay well hes old😅

Def a sugar daddy

I mean have you seen him?

He goes for at least 10-12 years younger 😍

After bessie he really didnt think he’d fall in love again but when you came in twirling you hair and giggling he’d be a teenager all over again

You could ask him to shoot the man next to him for no reason and he’d do it

Hes quite literally wrapped around your finger

I say that because he would not leave you alone

Constantly holding you and treating you to gifts and fancy things

He once bought you a diamond necklace in saint denis

Whether you protested or not is up to you

He doesnt let you out of his sight and will not stop rambling to dutch about you

Dutch is too tired and crazy to deal with hosea and sends him your way to obsess over you😊

Sean MacGuire

The belief is hes mid 20’s so im gonna say 25

He definitely is like john and goes for 3 years younger

But i see him as the type to like older women cough cough mary cough

He likes the contrast of him being a stupid asshole and you being a sweet little thing

He trys his best with money but like john has very little so if he buys you something its usually something small

Though he never really feels accomplished after he gets you something small

So he saves for a long time and buys you something a little bigger like a silver necklace or a nice bracelet

His accent gets in the way of things sometimes but he will call you “sweet thing” though it sounds more like “sweet ting”😭

Love him though

Javier Escuella

Another baby of the gang🫶🫶

Hes 26 so he goes for the same range as john

He also doesnt have much money and buys you small things

But he makes it up by calling you endearing nick names

“Mi amor” “dulce nina” “Querida”

You get the point

“Ojalá pudiera comprarte más mi amor pero debes saber que esto es de mi corazón”

I love him sm

He would sugar daddy you if he could

Probably gets upset when he cant buy you things

If your family is rich he refuses your offers of giving him money

It doesnt feel right to have a sweet girl like you give him money when he should be the one providing

It gets him upset to see you want something he knows he cant afford

Has lowkey thought about robbing a very rich man cough cough braithwates cough to buy you things

When on the boat if you go with them he keeps an eye on you

Not liking the scene already, older predatory men being all around you made him extremely uncomfortable

He doesnt want to tell you what to do he always wants it to be your choice but it scares him that he cant really do anything to protect you

Though if it was dire enough he woukd throw the whole plan down the drain to cut open a older guy that got too power hungry and grabbed you

“No te lastimó, ¿verdad, querida?.”

Charles Smith

Hes not as young but doesnt go for under 5 years

Hes got some money to buy small things every now and again

He calls you “baby” and “little girl” alot no matter the age gap

It could only be a few months and he still would💔

He shows you how to hunt and stuff as bonding

He sees killing a deer together and bringing it back to pearson as romantic

But he still takes you on dates

When he can

Hes usually on watch duty as he is literally a unit of a man

This kid is huge

Around 6’6 and 240 pounds

Dwarfs even the biggest of guys, yes even arthur😭

Josiah Trelawny

Trelawny the man you are😍

Hes definitely rich

He has a house with his wife in saint denis

He is quite old so I imagine no more then 10 years difference

He calls you “darling” and “sweet girl” in that trans Atlantic accent

He definitely spoils you rotten

Only the best for his sweet girl

He takes a lot of time to take care of you as well

He doesnt spend time with the gang and only pops up when they need him for things like stealing from rich people

He never lets you pay

Are you kidding

He’d rather die then have you pay for something

Thats a little dramatic but i know he would never feel good about himself ever again if he got to a point where you had to pay

Like what do you mean he doesnt have enough money

No no darling put yours away papa trelawny will have a sweet little chat with the man trying to embarrass him infront of his woman

“YES I HAVE ENOUGH MONEY ARE YOU INSANE, no dear its okay you dont need to pay. BACK TO YOU DONT YOU EVER-“

Obviously there are ones i didnt put in here like micah, pearson, uncle, lenny ect. I dont know enough about them nor do i like most of them (except for lenny i love him sm)

[laylasredemption]

Wtf so I now can post long fics? Well, thanks Tumblr I guess the beef between us didn't last long. Here's the sad Arthur fic I wrote, hope you like it guys<3

arthur morgan x dutch's daughter!reader 3,9k words chapter 6 spoilers, death, violence

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Until the last breath

Never in a thousand years would have Dutch van der Linde thought his own daughter would betray him. He would suspect anyone - recently even John or Arthur. But not [Y/n]. She was his daughter, his only child, the only thing he had left of Annabelle.

And yet there she stood - a gun in hand, pointed at her father, who had his own guns pointed at Arthur and John.

"You're on these two rats' side? That's what I get for raising you?" Dutch asked, his angry gaze fixated on his daughter. "You ungrateful brat."

"You didn't raise me!" [Y/n] countered. "Hosea was more of a father than you. To you, money has always been more important. You always had a plan to get more, and more, and more. I'd be in Tahiti if I had a dollar for every plan of yours that didn't work out."

"I gave you everything I could!"

"You gave me everything?" She had to stop herself from scoffing. "I spent my whole life trying to make you happy for once. Trying to make you proud of me. I gave my heart and my soul for this gang, and you ruined it all when you took in this rat!" Her voice started to crack, but she forced tears away. She reached for her other gun and pointed it at Micah.

Dutch asked, "You really think Micah is the reason you're turning on me?" His tone was strangely calm, too calm. "You think I never noticed the way you and Arthur were plotting something behind my back? But, of course, he didn't sneak into your tent at night just to plot. You disgust me, [Y/n]."

[Y/n]'s mouth fell slightly open as she attempted to form a sentence, and yet she wasn't able to. How did he find out? She thought her and Arthur had been sneaky enough.

"You lost your mind, Dutch," Arthur spoke up, "we were worried about you."

Dutch turned his eyes to Arthur, his anger growing at the man's comment. "I'm the one who gave all of you a home! A purpose! A damn family! And you had the nerve to get with my daughter behind my back, and turn her against me."

"All these years, Dutch..." Arthur shook his head. "Just to waste it for this snake?"

"Be quiet, Black Lung." Micah said, his gun pointed at Arthur.

"No," miss Grimshaw appeared with her rifle pointed at Micah, "you be quiet, mister Bell. And put that gun down."

It escalated in a moment. Micah pulled the trigger, sending a bullet towards miss Grimshaw. He took the last remaining mother figure [Y/n] had. Miss Grimshaw was a cold woman, but she cared for her, she cared for all the girls. And now she was dead.

But there was no time to dwell on that.

"Pinkertons are coming!" Javier ran up to the group, warning them.

"Now," Dutch spoke way too calmly for [Y/n]'s liking, "who amongst you is with me, and who is betraying me?"

"Bill, Javier, think for yourselves." Arthur spoke, but they didn't listen.

The both of them were too blinded by the doomed loyalty to Dutch. They sided with him, while Arthur was left with just [Y/n] and John. Besides them, there was also Micah and his own friends he had brought to the gang recently. They were outnumbered.

"My own flesh and blood has turned against me." Dutch concluded in a cold voice [Y/n] hadn't heard before. He had never been a good father, but now... his transformation was complete. The man who had once been a leader, had been replaced by a ghost of himself, driven by greed and paranoia

"You brought it upon yourself." [Y/n] spat.

Micah sneered, "And here I was thinking blood runs thicker than water. Seems a good fuck can change a lady's mind so easily. Wouldn't suspect that of cowpoke, but seems this day is full of surprises."

[Y/n] winced at Micah's remark. She wanted nothing more than to shoot him then and there.

And she tried to. But her hands were trembling with anger, and she missed.

"Put your guns down!" An unknown voice yelled out.

The pinkertons. They ran into the camp, or whatever was left of it, and started shooting. The Pinkertons had arrived, their shouts and gunfire piercing through the madness. The world started to crash down. [Y/n], Arthur, and John found places to use as a cover. The girl didn't even care what would happen with her father now. She had to focus on the pinkertons.

After a few minutes, when the trio knew they won't get out of it this way, John called out, "[Y/n], Arthur, into the caves!"

They didn't think twice before running inside the cave, following the gloomy and scary passages. The pinkertons ran after them and [Y/n] hoped John was leading them to some second entrance. They couldn't afford hitting a dead end.

"Micah was a rat, Milton told me." Arthur confessed as they kept running.

"We should've let him rot in that jail in Strawberry." [Y/n] thought out loud.

There was a ladder, leading them upwards. And another one, and a third one. As the surroundings started to become lighter with the outside's air, [Y/n] thought they might be getting out of that cave before the pinkertons get them.

"John," Arthur turned to his friend when the trio reached fresh air finally, "Abigail is safe, Jack too. They're with Sadie." Then he turned to [Y/n], and tried to stop a cough before speaking to her, "You, [Y/n], I want you to go and–"

"Go where?" The girl interrupted him. "Go and do what?"

"We have to separate here. John and I will go this way, you'll go join Sadie."

In the meantime, John called for their horses. Except that [Y/n]'s didn't come, which could only mean one thing.

"They killed her..." [Y/n] mused, and for a moment she couldn't fight the urge to cry. A few tears had escaped. "Now I have to go with you."

But, again, there was no more time to think. They mounted their horses, Arthur insisting [Y/n] rides with John in case they had to go separate ways. She didn't mount John's horse, she sat on the back of Arthur's. She knew that he knew there was no time to argue.

And they ran again. Ran, followed by the bullets shot by Dutch, Micah, Bill, Javier, and those men Micah brought to the gang. Dutch van der Linde was many things, and he never played the role of the father well, but even now [Y/n] was shocked to see him chasing after them, not afraid of the risk to shoot his own daughter.

When they escaped them, they kept running into the pinkertons. They seemed to be everywhere, as if they knew their next moves.

The trio tried to escape running up a mountain, but they were stopped. [Y/n] saw John falling off his horse, and no sooner the same happened to herself and Arthur.

"Buell!" The girl called out, seeing the animal lying on the ground with a bullet wound. "These motherf–"

They had to shoot now. There was no way out if they didn't kill all those pinkertons. And, fueled by the rage, [Y/n] felt as if she could shoot them all by herself. Hell, she would gladly choke all of them with her bare hands if she got the chance.

"Come on!" John called out after they have dealt with pinkertons. He knew this wouldn't last long.

[Y/n] ran up to Arthur, who was kneeling next to Buell, gently petting the horse's mane. The girl didn't even get to be with her mare when she got killed, so she had to be at least with Buell.

"Let's go!" John repeated.

"Give us a moment!" Arthur shouted back.

[Y/n] touched the horse gently and Arthur leaned over his head. This was such a heartbreaking thing to witness. Arthur received this horse from a man who had lost his leg in the war. Found him randomly in the woods, when the horse bucked him off and his leg got stuck in a stirrup. Arthur helped him and became friends, visiting from time to time. They went hunting once, and the veteran got attacked by a giant boar. With his last breath, he asked Arthur to take care of Buell. And Arthur did, until the horse's last breath, too.

With one last final, "Thank you," that Arthur whispered to Buell, they were ready to run further.

"Let's go." John said for the third time.

Arthur asked, "What about the money?"

"Money?" [Y/n] sobbed, wiping away a few last tears. "What about Micah? We have to get rid of him."

"I go down there, I'm dead in five minutes," John stated, "I have a family, that's more important."

"You're right," Arthur admitted, thinking John must be making sense for the first time in his life, "[Y/n], you go with John. I'm going back for the money."

"No, you're not." The girl protested firmly. She wasn't losing Arthur, not like that. "We go together or we don't go at all."

Arthur knew it was pointless to argue with [Y/n]. If she inherited anything from Dutch, it was the subborness.

Arthur also knew that he didn't have much longer left. He was actively dying from tuberculosis that he hasn't even told [Y/n] about yet. If soon he was going to take his last breath, he wanted [Y/n] to go, not see him like this. He had always been a tough man, he couldn't let the girl he loved more than anything in the world see him die beaten by a stupid illness. "Fine, let's go." He muttered and the trio started once again running. He had no idea how to get out of this. There was no way out for him, but he still could help [Y/n] and John.

They needed to find a higher ground, running up a mointain. It was very steep, they had to be careful. At least they knew they were safe from the bullets, for now. The pinkertons would come back to the cave, as Micah most likely told them about the money hidden inside.

"Keep, pushing, Arthur!" John said.

Arthur stopped running. He stood bent slightly, propping his arms on his knees. It seemed to [Y/n] like he has difficulty to take a breath. An expression of worry grew on her face. She knew he had some kind of sickness, but she didn't realize how serious it was until this moment.

"Arthur, let's go, we've made it so far." She said, the tears threatening to appear in her eyes once again.

"I think I've pushed all I can." Arthur admitted, coughing out some blood. He straightened his posture, being able to breathe a bit better momentarily.

John walked up to him, "We ain't got time for this."

"We ain't all gonna make it."

His words hit [Y/n] worse than any bullets. She ran up to Arthur, grabbing his arm, trying to make him step forward.

"Don't talk nonsense," she tried to pull him, but even in this state he was still stronger than her, "Arthur, I'm not going anywhere without you."

"You both go." Arthur insisted. "I'll hold them off. There ain't no more time to talk." With these words, he reached for his sachel and handed it over to John. Then, he took his hat off and placed it on [Y/n]'s head.

She knew what that mean. She knew Arthur was prepared to die. But she couldn't let him. She couldn't imagine a life without him. He truly was the love of her life, how was she supposed to keep going if he died on that mountain?

Arthur turned to [Y/n], his eyes softening as he took her face in his hands. "You need to keep going, no matter what happens. You understand?"

[Y/n] shook her head, tears welling up again. "Don't talk like that, Arthur. We're getting out of this. All three of us."

But Arthur knew better. He could feel the life slipping away from him with every breath, every step. "I need you to promise me something, [Y/n]."

"No, Arthur, no." She closed her eyes, hoping this would at least stop the tears.

"Look at me," Arthur said, gently placing his thumb on her chin and tilting her head up, "look at me, doll."

She slowly did as she was told, opening her eyes to meet his. Her heart was racing, knowing that these might be the last moments they have together. His gaze was full of love, as if in these seconds he wanted to love her for all the time he won't be able to in the future.

"You've been the light in my life, the good in me." Arthur told her.

"You've been my everything." She whispered, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak.

"You get out of here with John. When I'm gone, you'll find a good man, one that'll give you the life you deserve. You're young, you can start a family, forget about me. I don't know what I did to deserve your love, but it's the time you bless someone worthy with it."

[Y/n] shook her head, her hands gripping Arthur's coat as if she could somehow anchor him to this world, keep him from fading away. "I'll never forget you. You're the love of my life."

"You deserve so much more than this life, [Y/n]. More than what I could ever give you. But you can still have it. You can still have everything you want, a future, a family, happiness."

But [Y/n] was stubborn, as always. "There's no future if you're not in it."

For a moment, Arthur looked as though he might break, as though he might give in to the desire to stay with her, to fight for a few more moments together. She tried to kiss him, and it took all the strenght his ill body had to stop her.

"I love you, [Y/n]," sounded his final words, "I love you more than anything in this world. But you have to go. For me. I'll love you till my last breath."

"And I'll love you until mine," that was the only thing she could promise him, "I'll never forget you."

The sound of gunshots echoed nearby, and the trio knew there was no more time. [Y/n] would trade anything to have a few more minutes with Arthur. She would walk down to Hell to speak to the Devil himself if he could grant her a bit more time.

John grabbed [Y/n], as much as it pained him, he had to drag her away. They had to run. That's what Arthur wanted.

As she was being dragged away, [Y/n] watched Arthur climb, trying to reach an even higher spot of the mountain.

"Arthur is doing this so you can live. Don't let it be for nothing." John said.

[Y/n] didn't reply. They had to make an escape, and they did so in silence, but the girl didn't even feel her own legs, she just trusted they were there. There was no life for her if Arthur died. This life had been all she knew. How she was supposed to live without the gang, and without him?

"John." She said firmly, somehow finding the strenght in herself to not cry anymore. "I'm going back there."

[Y/n] had been hit by the realization that she doesn't have anything to lose. Everything she had, she already either sacrificed or lost. Her mother, the gang, her father, her horse, and now Arthur, her Arthur.

John stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to face [Y/n]. "No, you ain't."

"I ain't got nothing to lose. Either I'll be dragging his dead body to the pearly gates and bribing the God to revive him, or I'll die there with him."

John looked into her eyes just to see fire in them. He understood her love for Arthur and her desperation to save him, and maybe he would have even done the same for Abigail. Except it was plain stupid to do such thing for a man, who was already dying.

"Damn it," John muttered, knowing he can't stop her, "you're as brave as you're stupid. The both of you."

[Y/n] took off Arthur's hat that he had given her, and passed it to John. "You're the best brother I could've had. When I die, I'll look up at you and expect to see you treating Jack and Abigail well. No more running away."

"You mean look down." He corrected her.

"Oh, I'm definitely going to Hell. And I'll be waiting for you, just wait at least fifty years." She chuckled and pulled John in for a quick hug. When they pulled away, she could see tears in his eyes. But [Y/n] wasn't going to cry, not anymore.

She had no reason to cry now. Her time was over. If Arthur was going to die, she was dying there with him, and she was ready for this. More ready than for a future without him.

"Take care of your family," [Y/n]'s last words for John sounded, "make sure they get the life they deserve. Make sure you get that life, too." And with that, she turned away and walked back to where Arthur was supposed to be.

John nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He knew he would carry this moment with him for the rest of his life. The night he had lost the two people who were like siblings to him. He had lost much more, but it didn't matter.

[Y/n] had nothing left to lose, nothing left to live for but this one last act of love. If she could save Arthur, it would be worth it. And if she couldn't... then at least they would die together, side by side, as they should have lived.

There were no more gunshots to follow, not a sound of any fight. [Y/n] climed up the rocks, finding the path where she had last seen Arthur. She saw someone walking her way, not someone who she yearned to see.

"You goddamn rat!" [Y/n] yelled as she grabbed Micah by his coat. She didn't know where she found this strenght in her body, but she managed to throw him such a powerful punch in the face that he had to take a few steps back, almost falling off a cliff.

"You just won't give up, will you?" He said, his usual malice still audible in his voice.

"Did you kill him?" She asked, pointing her gun at him.

"He's alive. Not for much longer though."

[Y/n] clenched her jaw, her grip on the gun tightening so hard her knuckles went white. She felt her anger building up inside her, threatening to explode at any moment. "I should've put a bullet in your head a long time ago."

"Come on, do it now then," he laughed, the sound getting into [Y/n]'s head as she contemplated the decision, "we both know you're too soft to do it. How can such a failure be Dutch's daughter? I bet your mama wasn't the most loyal to your daddy."

That was it, her breaking point. [Y/n] knew putting a bullet in Micah wouldn't fix what was already broken, but at least she could stop any further damage he would cause if he stayed alive.

[Y/n] pulled the trigger, aiming for Micah's head, right between his eyes. His body fell down the cliff, and [Y/n] watched that happen. She felt absolutely nothing. No remose. But also no ease. Not until she could see Arthur.

She ran towards where Micah came from. She found Arthur lying down, his upper body propped on a rock. His face was turned towards the east, looking at the sunrise, even though he had always loved the sunset.

"Arthur..." She said.

His eyes searched for the source of the sound, Arthur thought he was having hallucinations. He forced a smile on his beaten face when he saw her.

"You damn fool, [Y/n]." He said in a weak, raspy voice. Not the kind of rasp [Y/n] loved to hear in the mornings, but the one that emphasized Arthur's condition. "I told you to go with John."

"I couldn't leave you, Arthur." She said, losing all her power to not cry. She knelt down beside him, looking at his injuries. His face was full of little cuts and bruises, some blood. But he didn't seem to have gotten shot.

Tears shone in her eyes. And she must have been the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever laid his eyes on. The way the orange morning sunrays touched her face made Arthur feel butterflies in his stomach. It was way nicer to die when he had this sight in front of him. But it wasn't fair to her.

"Doll," he breathed out, "I'm dying."

"No, you're going to be fine." She stuttered, the pain in her voice betraying how delusional she was being. She couldn't accept the reality of the situation. She refused to believe that the man she loved more than anything was slipping away from her.

She took his hands in hers. His touch used to be so hot it could put the Devil to shame. But now his hands were colder than the coldest night in Colter.

"I've got tuberculosis." Arthur confessed to her finally.

"What?" A puzzled expression appeared on her face. "Since when?"

"Since I killed Thomas Downes."

[Y/n]'s heart dropped. She had heard rumors about the sickness, the way it slowly drained the life out of a person, but she never imagined that Arthur, her Arthur, had been battling it all this time. It explained so much, the coughing fits, the way he had grown weaker, more distant. And yet, he had never told her, never let on just how bad it was.

"I deserved to know." She replied, her voice cracking. "I could've helped you."

"I didn't want to worry you, doll. Didn't want you to see me like this. You deserved better than that."

"I loved you, I still do, and I would've stayed by your side no matter what. You should've told me. We could–" She choked on her words, realizing there was nothing they could've done to stop it.

A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's lips. "You've always been too good for me, [Y/n]. I ain't ever deserved you, not really."

"Don't say that, Arthur. You deserve everything. And now you're dying here. Alone."

"I ain't alone." Arthur murmured, his voice growing weaker with every word. "You're here, right? That's all I ever needed."

She nodded, her heart breaking as she watched him struggle to keep his eyes open. The sunrise was casting a warm glow over his face, and for a moment, [Y/n] could almost pretend that they were somewhere else, somewhere safe, where they could live the life however they wanted to. Away from all the bullshit they had to go through.

But reality was cold and its walls were closing in on them. She could feel Arthur slipping away, his fingers holding onto hers weaker with each passing moment. She wanted to scream, to beg for more time, but it would be in vain.

Arthur stopped fighting the urge to close his eyes. "Promise me, doll... you'll find a way to live... without me." He could barely speak anymore, yet he managed to utter these words.

"I love you, Arthur." [Y/n] said instead, because she didn't want to make a promise she couldn't keep.

His grip on her hands loosened, and his chest rose and fell one last time. [Y/n] leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She held him close, cradling his head in her arms as they were bathed in the warmth of the sunrise. She stayed like that, long after he was gone, her tears mixing with the blood and dirt on his skin. Arthur was gone, and with him, a part of her died too. She had nothing left to lose, nothing left to fight for, except the memory of the man she loved.

[heavenlymorals]

Arthur Morgan's Depression

(Warning: Spoilers for RDR2 and mental health issues)

Arthur Morgan is depressed. Yes, I know the writers haven't exactly come out and said that he is depressed, but it does not take a genius to see that Arthur Morgan is a man who deals with many demons and monsters. Arthur Morgan has some sort of functional depression, and it is shown in many ways. In many missions, he seems downtrodden and sad, but he goes along with it anyway because what else can you do? He talks about himself in such a degrading manner in the mirror, and not just in a way that we all do sometimes, but in a way that invokes actual hatred of himself.

He thinks he's ugly when he's a conventionally attractive man. He thinks he's dumb when he's very witty and smart. He gets knocked down for his intelligence a lot by both Dutch and Hosea (we, as a fandom, need to stop pretending that Hosea is perfect because he really isn't). I know that dudes generally joke like that a lot, but those two aren't his “friends”; they are quite literally his father figures. It's different. His journal is filled with self-doubt, pain, and a general apathetic outlook on life.

But as I was playing “A Quiet Time,” one interaction between Lenny and Arthur stood out to me.

“Why ain't you never married?”

“'Cause no one will have me.”

In the context of this mission, I think this was written as an “oh damn” kinda joke, something out of left field to make the player laugh. But after thinking about it more, I realized something.

If you guys follow my posts, then you probably know that I love to interpret things from a sociocultural perspective—so let's do that.

Now, this is an obvious reference to Mary and how she rejected him in the end for Barry Linton to keep her family satisfied. It might also allude to Eliza or other female love interests that Arthur might've had at some point.

But it may also be a nod to the culture of 19th century America and what it entailed for men.

Arthur isn't married at 36 years old. Men were expected to be married generally by their twenties. He has no children or legacy—the only one he did have died years ago. He doesn't have property or a home—he's always on the move with the gang (given how defensive he got with that woman he picks up to go to Lagras, it's probably a point of insecurity). He has no respectable profession—he should've had an honest career by now.

He hopes that Dutch will get his shit together and have them put their outlaw ways behind them, but Dutch literally cannot, and Arthur is the one feeling the burn for it. He has missed so many milestones that he “should've” reached by this point, yet he is still doing the same thing he was doing since he was a young teen.

He can't bring himself to leave Dutch either, as he feels like he has a debt to pay to the man (“I gotta try! I owe him that, at least.”) that can never be paid.

And that has to fucking hurt. You already hate yourself on the outside by thinking you're hideous. You hate yourself on the inside because you think you're dumb. You feel unaccomplished, like a damn loser. And on top of all of that? You can't bring yourself to let go of all the factors that make you feel that way because “they're family” and “they need you.”

You're trapped, and everything feels awful. I'd be depressed too.

It might also be another reason why Arthur is jealous and angry at John. He has a wife, he has a child, he doesn't feel particularly obligated to the gang (hence leaving for a year), he has a chance to do better, and he just doesn't care. He's reached so many milestones that Arthur misses not because he wants them, but out of pure luck, and I'm sure Arthur feels bitter about it.

It's just sad, man.

[nthspecialll]

why do you ship jovier?? i know its common but i swear they barely interacted at all

Well, let me explain to you at least why I ship them, but also thank you for asking! It is an amazing excuse to yap about them.

To me, it is the absolute tragety that they are and the care that they have for one another that we don't always see them show towards others. Take the very first mission with them for example, John is missing, gone, possibly run off and Hosea knows to ask Javier to go find him because Javier will go and he will not complain like Bill or Micah and he is willing to go the extra mile unlike maybe Lenny or Charles and even Arthur.

In this mission we hear the first of John, he is unreliable, he left the gang, his "wife" and his child and everything for an entire year and it also becomes clear that Arthur who has known him for years still doubts him and believes it is possible that John left. Meanwhile, we have Javier who has not known John that long yet he stands certain and defends John saying "he wouldn't do that" even though he would and has. We also see Arthur willing to give up as soon as the trail in the snow becomes semi-hard to follow yet again, Javier pushes on saying "just a bit more." If it has just been Arthur John would have died on that mountian.

And now in chapters 2-6 we get to the "problem" with Javier, he is not in a lot of main quests so to get to know him you have to be around camp because he actually has a lot of camp interactions, and a few is with John, so let's go through them.

While John is reading the newspapers Javier comes up to him and says "scar looks pretty", John replies with "yeah, ruined my fine features" followed up by "thank you, for saving me" to which Javier says "of course, I know you would do the same for me" and then in the end John "I owe you, for life." This interaction generally just shows a form of appreciation as well as softness between them, it isn't a lot of other times you see any other male characters thank another.

You have when they are sitting and eating and they start talking about Mexico where John says "I would like to go to Mexico one day" and Javier replies "maybe you will." It is just a heartbreaking foreshadowing.

Possibly my favourite interaction between them, Javier is drinking and John is standing nearby so Javier says "come join me brother, have a drink," John looks over and replies "no, I will sit down and have several" so they just sit and drink, John quickly becoming drunk and poetic and Javier shows obvious signs of concern to the point where even John comments on it saying something along the lines of "why not give me another?"

Now, in chapter six, the end is nearing, people are falling apart and things are going to hell. I have before made several posts about this but Javier is desperate. He built his entire personality around ideals and he joined Dutch because of ideals, should it come to the fact that Dutch is not correct that would mean everything Javier was and everything he made himself into was also wrong, not to mention he wouldn't be able to stay in America nor be able to go back to Mexico because of his family. He is frustrated, and as any other person when frustrated, he becomes agitated and hot-headed, he needs Dutch to be right so he acts out. His "anger" is nothing more than fright.

We see Javier yell at John, yet we also see him defending John. Bill comes up to Javier and starts talking about how John has to be the rat, how it is the only thing that makes sense, Javier replies "that doesn't make much sense either," clearly standing up for John when he needed to. That is until it is Arthur, when it is Arthur he turns on a dime and says something along the lines of "maybe it is John" but that is simply because he is "hating" Arthur on principle.

Now, the final gun stand, whatever you wanna call it, I have made a whole post on this, but in short, Javier pointed his gun on John but he was hesitant because he didn't actually have a hatred against John, he didn't see him as a traitor, he saw him as a brother. Also as soon as the gun fight is over Javier is gone, you can find Dutch, Cleet, Joe, Micah, but Javier and Bill are gone.

1911, the two have not talked for ages, yet Javier knows John has several children, clearly keeping some form of interest on him throughout the many years. Also their meet?? Their entire meet, both had the chance to kill the other but didn't.

Javier could have chosen to shoot John and get it over with instead of jumping out of the window, securing his own life's safety, but he didn't. John could have chosen to shoot Javier immediately and save himself the trouble, but he didn't.

Also, John's talk about Javier to Abraham. "When Dutch started fallin' apart, it hit Javier harder than any of us. He went crazy. It was like the one thing he'd ever believed in turned out to be a fraud." John knew Javier wasn't thinking straight and I personally see it quite obvious that Javier was never angry at John either.

I think in the end that John didn’t hate Javier, not when he killed him either, he just loved Abigail more than Javier and chose her over him, but in any other situation where they stood face to face i think John would have just walked away.

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Heartbroken doodles

~ Arthur Morgan/Older Brother!Male!Reader

~ Familial

~ 3k words

Request :3

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For as long as you’ve known the boy, Arthur has been head over heels for this ‘Mary’ woman. Days on days again, he was as giddy as a child in a candy store after coming home from spending the day with her. As home as home can get, that is. You were an older brother of sorts to both Arthur, at twenty-three, and the new boy, John, at only thirteen.

You were the first kid Dutch and Hosea had picked up to join the gang. No surprise, you were orphaned just as Arthur and John had been. You got along better with Arthur due to being closer in age than the two of you to John, having a decade between yourselves and the teen.

Yet, lately, you’ve noticed how Arthur has just been…off. Abnormally lazy, sure, but other things to accompany. Isolation, constantly stuck in his own head, less of the mouthy ass you’ve known him to be. You try not to impede on whatever stink he’s found himself in, assuming it would pass just like his rambunctious teen phase had many years ago.

Unsurprisingly, John had been unrelenting in his teasing towards Arthur, as usual. Yelling and being a general nuisance on why “he has to work while Arthur doesn’t”, as if John isn’t still learning not to shoot his own fingers off. 

Any time it’s brought up, either you or Hosea would scold him. “Leave him alone, John. He’s prolly goin’ through somethin’.” Like a pattern at this point. Often finding yourself wandering around camp with Dutch, not only to check on the things Miss Grimshaw couldn’t due to her hands being full, or to just watch Arthur.

He doesn’t do much. You can’t remember a time in the past few weeks he looked up at anyone aside from the worms in the dirt. His shoulders slumped forward and his posture curved in unspoken disappointment. Aimlessly wandering around camp, keeping to himself at all hours of the day.

That was, however, until he didn’t get up one morning. With your worry for your younger brother mounting, you take it upon yourself to head to Arthur’s tent just to check on him– also to make sure he’s still breathing.

Sighing to yourself as you stare at the closed flaps of his tent, your jaw set firmly and your brows pinched together in concern. Raising your hand and gently pushing one of the flaps open with a small “Arthur?”

You don’t get a response aside from a hint of a sniffle. His back facing you as he lays on his cot silently, staring at the tent wall as if it’s the most captivating thing in the world. It pains you to see your younger brother like this. Not to mention, you hadn’t the slightest clue on what’s been going on with him.

“Arthur?” you call again, softening your voice slightly. Once again, nothing. Not even an over-the-shoulder glance. Sighing, you step into Arthur’s tent completely. Slowly making your way towards his cot and taking a seat on the edge of it, near the bend of his legs.

“Talk to me, kid..” You nearly whisper. Leaning back slightly to be able to properly see Arthur’s face. His lips pulled into a frown as his eyes hold nothing better than utter distraught. Arthur sighs heavily with a brief glance over towards you, before he looks back at the wall.

The only other time you’ve seen him like this was after Eliza and Isaac passed. Having left camp for a good reason, long before John joined, for the sake of family. You were so proud of the man he was becoming– until he showed up again. Left an utter mess after it all. After that, he was a different man. Calmer. More mature. Hardened by the cruelty of life.

Usually, he was trying to copy Dutch’s way of acting as a means of looking up to his father figure, much to Dutch’s ire. Your chest feels tight as the long drone of silence washes over both of you. The moment Arthur’s lips part to try and say something–

“Arthurrr… Get uppp..” John groans dramatically as he pushes open the tent without hesitation, his eyes widening upon finding you sitting with Arthur. “Don’t tell me- Arthur’s cryin’, ain’t he?” He taunts, causing Arthur to grumble quietly to himself. Lifting one of his arms and resting it over top his head, curling his fist behind the base of his skull. His bicep resting against the side of his face and ear.

“Get outta here, John. You eat yet?” you shake your head dismissively, slowly standing up from Arthur’s cot. Crossing his tent again and standing in front of John, folding your arms over your chest as you stare down at him in silent irritation. Despite feeling frustrated with John, you still cared for him. The last thing you wanted was for your youngest brother to go hungry.

“Yeah. Miss Grimshaw made stew.” John informs, yet making his tone as snarky as possible. Crossing his arms over his chest just as you had in an attempt to mock you and be as annoying as possible. “But ‘sea said Arthur gotta quit bein’ a woman ‘n cryin’ so much.”

“Hosea said no such thing, ya little brat. Now go on, get.. Before I actually get Hosea ‘n tell him you’re botherin’ Arthur again after he told you not to. Or tell Dutch you plan on skippin’ his lessons today.” That seemed to shut him up, for a little while, at least.

John groans dramatically and drops his arms down to his sides. “You’re no fun..” He grumbles and marches out of Arthur’s tent with a childish huff. Sighing heavily, you look over towards Arthur, who hadn’t moved the slightest bit aside from the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes. That’s a plus, you suppose. Sad but still breathing.

“Alright, Arthur. You get up too. We’re goin’ out.” You make your way back over to him, nudging his shoulder with the back of your hand. Arthur grumbles in protest, silently telling you to leave him alone, but you don’t. Continuously nudging him until Arthur gets annoyed enough to snap his head up towards you, removing his arm and dropping it to his front.

“Don’t you gotta go help Marston or somethin’? I’ll be fine.. leave me be.” Arthur cavils, shrugging off your hand as he lays his head back down. Much to his dismay, you continue to pester him. Going right back to nudging his shoulder with the tips of your fingers. “Either you get up on your own, or I drag your ass outta this tent myself. It’s your call.” You threaten lightheartedly, ignoring Arthur’s protests, causing him to sigh.

Glaring at you, Arthur turns over and pushes himself to sit up on his cot. Swinging his legs over the edge and placing them on the floor of his tent. “The hell you want?” He mutters in annoyance as he runs a calloused hand down his face. You take a few steps away from Arthur and back towards the entrance to his tent, watching him to make sure he actually gets up.

“You’ll see.” You respond vaguely with a grin, to which Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff. Reluctantly, he gets up and makes his way over to you. Shoving right past you, with a few incoherent swears, and out of his tent.

You follow after Arthur and silently guide him over towards your horses. You steal a quick look around camp for anyone nearby, spotting Grimshaw nearby, you beckon her closer. "Y'all headin' out?" She asks curiously. Her eyes flicking over towards a sulking Arthur mounting his horse before they return back up to you.

"Yeah.. uh- prolly just down to the river for a while. Tell Hosea for me, will ya? I'll bring the boy back in one piece, I swear." You joke and take a step away from Grimshaw. She gives a curt nod and turns on her heel to go relay the message to the older man, whom you three boys called a father figure.

Despite the age difference being quite large between all of you, you still acted more like brothers than most you’d ever met in your life. Arguments, rough housing, endless teasing..mostly from John. You were as much of a family as orphans could get. You took it upon yourself to watch over the younger boys when Hosea and Dutch weren’t in your line of sight, despite Arthur entering his twenties and John being a rowdy teenager.

“You comin’ or not?” Arthur calls gruffly, causing you to look back over your shoulder towards Arthur sitting atop his saddle. “Yeah, yeah.. Hold your horses.” You wave a hand dismissively and approach your own horse. Muttering a breathless praise towards the animal as you stick your boot into the stirrup and hoist your body weight up to straddle your saddle comfortably.

With a silent nod in another direction, you take off. Leading Arthur on horseback out of camp, no faster than a trot. The only thing interrupting the long silence shared between the two of you are the rhythmic thumps of the horses’ hooves against the ground below. Your body rocking with the gait of your horse.

“Talk to me, kid.” You break the silence with nothing short of a polite demand. Arthur, however, merely gives a short snort and doesn’t say anything as he follows after you. “You ain’t gonna be able to hide it forever.” You coax, with little success.

“What’s it matter to you?” He grumbles, glaring at the back of your head before his eyes flick ahead once again. His brows pinched in faux irritation, when all he feels is a heavy weight on his chest and an all too familiar lump in his throat. His heart felt like it had been run over by a stampede of every animal in the vicinity, followed by a nice mauling by a gator.

“You’re my brother ‘n somethin’s got your panties all wadded up.” You respond bluntly, no use sugarcoating it. Arthur’s been out of commission for weeks now and your worry only continues to grow. While Arthur wasn’t your blood relative, he might as well have been. You care for him like a pestering, older brother would.

Arthur goes silent for a long, long time. The only thing you can hear from him are subtle sniffles, followed by the ruffling of cloth as he wipes his nose on his sleeve. With each glance over your shoulder towards him, his emotions are only plastered on his face; anger, hurt, bitterness…just plain heartbreak. You can’t help but to feel bad for him.

“She–” Arthur starts, his voice breaking as he fights against the emotions threatening to expel from his throat. “She left me..” He sighs shakily. You gently tug up on your reins to get your horse to slow, wanting to be able to ride next to Arthur. You don’t say anything in hopes he’ll say more.

But he doesn’t. He shuts himself off yet again. With a dismissive shake of his head and a bitter chuckle, wiping his eyes with the pads of his index finger and thumb on his right hand. “Mary did?” You asks quietly, to which he nods in confirmation.

“Oh, Arthur..” you mutter quietly with a small sigh. Your eyebrows knit together in concern as you idly chew on the skin of your bottom lip, occasionally glancing at your little brother to check up on how he’s holding up.

It all makes sense now. You knew Mary’s father never cared for Arthur, as evident by Arthur’s many, many rants about it mere months prior. You never could’ve expected the two to part, especially not after seeing how in love the pair were.

“Listen, kid..” you swallow what saliva pools in your mouth. You didn’t even know what to say. How do you help a broken man? You sigh and tug up on your reins again, getting your horse to slow fully to a stop. Arthur looks over towards you in confusion, but does the same.

Not another word is shared is the two of you dismount your horses and guide them to the nearest tree, tying a slip knot with the reins and securing your horses to a sturdy branch for a minute. You give a vague gesture with your hand further through what little trees surround the riverbank. Dead leaves crunch underneath your boots as you follow an uncertain Arthur, constantly looking over his shoulder for reassurance that he’s going in the right direction.

Just past the trees, the two of you make your way down to the riverbed, covered with rocks and stones alike, maybe an arm if you tried to look far enough into the water. “Things ain’t always gonna work out like you had hoped.” you finally speak, causing Arthur to exhale a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He looks over at you as you take a seat right in the grass, holding your knees to your chest and resting your forearms atop your knees. Your eyes scanning over the river in front of you, as Arthur stares at you, dumbfounded. The sun blinding you as it glistens along the surface, barely able to see the way natural debris is swept away by the current.

“I know for a fact Miss Linton loved you with all her heart. It ain’t like she hated you, Arthur. She ain’t got much a choice with that daddy of hers.” Arthur sighs, sitting down next to you with a huff. The stones are far from comfortable to sit on, but who could complain? Save for John, that boy has a mouth like no other.

“I know..” He mumbles with a sniffle, his gaze falling to his hands, idly collecting pebbles and putting them in arbitrary piles. You glance over towards him silently before your hands move back behind you to your satchel. It’s not much effort to pull out the worn journal from the pouch. A graphite pencil hidden in the spine between the pages for safekeeping.

“Still hurts.” Arthur adds with a huff, pushing over his small pile with the back of his hand, causing the pebbles to topple and a few to roll down into the river. He leans forward and pulls his legs into himself, sitting cross legged and resting his elbow atop the inner side of his knee.

“I know it does.” You murmur as you pull open your journal. Grabbing ahold of your pencil and beginning to sketch the sight in front of you. The rushing, deep blue waters hidden snuggly between two parts of the land. On one side, a field with muddy roads leading into Blackwater. Just behind you, trees, foliage, and the occasional rabbit..good for hunting, you assume. Less visible roads leading right back to your camp. The place all of you call home for a little while. Rocks barely visible beneath the shallow waters, certainly no place for any sort of fish. “And it will for a while. That’s just the way things work.”

“But you gotta understand, there ain’t much y’all can do– not ‘til that sour old bastard changes his mind on his daughter. You jus’ gotta focus on yourself for a while, you hear? I don't wanna see you balled up in that tent of yours again tomorrow.” Your voice drops a bit softer as you speak, your gaze flicking between the beautiful environment, and the journal in your lap.

Arthur nods slowly, looking over towards you upon hearing the scratching of your pencil on paper. Sitting up and leaning over slightly to get a good look at what it is you’re doing. His eyes widen slightly as he looks between your drawing, then the river, and back again.

“How the hell’d you do that?” He points to your journal, the tip of his fingernail just barely grazing the leather exterior. You grin bashfully with a hint of a chuckle, removing your pencil from the page and opening up the leather bound book further, offering it to Arthur.

“It ain’t much at all. Just- figured it’d be nice to commit to memory I s’pose.” You shrug, Arthur eagerly snatches the journal from your hand and begins flipping through some of the pages in awe. He and John were far from similar, but in that moment, you could really see a resemblance with the stars in his eyes. His eyebrows raised up to his hairline and his lips slightly parted.

“You gotta teach me how to do this.” It was more of a command than a request, but you could hardly gripe. Chuckling as you shift to sit a bit closer to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Calm down, kid.. It takes a lotta time to do this.”

Arthur pouts and tears his gaze away from the journal to look at you, silently begging you to cave and teach him anyway. He extends his right hand out, palm facing up, to accept your pencil, as if not giving you a choice in the matter.

With a heavy sigh of mock irritation, you place the pencil in Arthur’s hand, causing him to immediately grin. “You’re just as much a pest as John is..” you tease, yet Arthur ignores you completely. Too busy ruffling through the pages until he finds a clean one to draw on.

It was hard to deny his excitement, especially after all that he’s been through. Slowly, you begin to guide him through the ins and outs of creation. Sappy shit about “letting the pencil guide you” and “use that head of yours, Morgan.”

His first drawing wasn’t great, if you had to be honest, yet there was a genuine spark in his eye to say he was proud of himself and wanted to keep going. You make a mental note to buy him his own journal, so he doesn’t tear yours to pieces even further. It was far from perfect at an artists’ standpoint but as a brother? It was the greatest thing you’d ever seen.

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I hope you like it !!! :3

[pandaspwnz]

So I don't think this is actually the case but what if Eliza and Isaac's deaths werent over a petty amount of cash and a robbery gone wrong? What if, instead, Dutch had seen Arthur spending time with them, had perceived him slipping away as a threat: a threat to himself, his gang, his security, his family, afraid of losing his lead enforcer - whether he truly at that point did love him like a son, or not. And in his insecurity or fear or whatever other reason, he finds someone rotten, unrelated to the gang, and he pays them to murder Eliza and her little boy, so no one will ever tempt Arthur away from the flock, and he instead puts all his energy and time into the gang, the only family he has left.

[spoonsand]

CONTAINS SPOILERS

Just finished my second playthrough and I have to say: I hate Dutch more than Micah. Don’t get me wrong Micah is scum, but Dutch knew (mostly) everybody in the gang for over a year. Sometimes over a DECADE- and he still turns his back on them. All the kids he and Hosea raised, didn’t matter, the ‘last’ score mattered. The last robbery mattered. Not the orphans or runaways he raised, taught and loved.

Micah is a superficial type. You know he’s evil. When you first meet him, you know he’s bad. But I liked Dutch in definitely the first 3 chapters, I was still liking him in 4. Guarma was iffy. Beaver Hollow is where it all goes downhill. I noticed the decline since chapter 3, but I feel it really steepened in 4 and 6 (Guarma didn’t happen). But back to Micah- you know he’s evil. The way he talks, the way he acts, his beliefs, you just KNOW that this guy isn’t who you’d want to come to your rescue (RIP SADIE). Micah did what he had to do to survive. He never had loyalty in mind, he has his own being in mind.

The Van Der Linde’s whole gang/family was so BASED on loyalty that people killed and died for the gang. Miss Grimshaw mentions killing another traitor. Molly (mistakenly assumed as a traitor) is killed because that’s how strongly they value loyalty. Loyalty (mostly to Dutch) was how the whole gang was founded.

Hosea had the same loyalty, but he actually cared about the people. I think Dutch only cared about the image. Hosea said that he cared for the people that died following Blackwater- that they mattered to him. He wanted closure. Dutch used their deaths as ammunition for his speeches. As a reason for the gang to keep on going. The only thing that set him apart from the O’Driscolls was the fact he cultivated the image that they were a family and that he might have cared. The O’Driscolls didn’t have the same loyalty to their members. When Kieran was captured they didn’t try to get him back. He said he was as good as dead if he wasn’t with the Van Der Linde’s. Dutch took Kieran in to set himself apart. The loyalty. The image.

Hosea kept Dutch in check. After Hosea died, Dutch couldn’t be kept in check. He didn’t have someone he valued highly who truly cared anymore. Micah took over Hosea’s place as the highly valued peer. Micah’s influence was never for the good of the gang- and that wasn’t a secret. Micah’s influence was for his own gain. But what I can’t get over is once Micah had that influence, Dutch didn’t care about anyone anymore. Especially towards the end. He used Eagle Flies, he left Arthur, left John (TWICE), didn’t care about the women, didn’t care about little Jack. Dutch cared about Tahiti. One last score. Reallllly messing with the Pinkertons. Getting the gang to safety wasn’t a priority. As I mentioned earlier- loyalty to Dutch was how the whole gang was founded- Dutch says something about John and Abigail and that women are poison. At the end, John was more concerned with Abigail and Jack rather than Dutch. He didn’t like that. Dutch didn’t like that John was more loyal to his FAMILY than him. He didn’t like that Arthur was more loyal to John than him. Micah, Bill and Javier didn’t have family available to have that stronger loyalty to. They had Dutch and only Dutch. I’m sure that Dutch also had beef with Hosea and Bessie; especially when they left.

But Dutch turned his back on John and Arthur- his sons. He raised them. When Susan was shot, he didn’t bat an eye. He loved her at some point. All these people he’s known for 20 ish years. Or the newer ones, that again, he either raised or feigned affection. And nothing. Turned his back.

FUCK DUTCH YOU BASTARD I HOPE HELL IS AS NICE AS TAHITI

[famesau]

Before I get into this rant, I want everyone to know that I do not know much of Bill's character so if I mischaracterize him in any way I apologize and feel free to correct me.

In my first playthrough of this game, I was always outside of camp, not interacting with characters other than Javier and Kieran, to be honest. Now that I'm on my second playthrough I got the chance to get this clip and it's helped me understand Bill a bit more.

I didn't realize Bill picked up on people's wavering faith in Dutch this early, I always thought he jumped to conclusions. Not only did this clip help me understand him a tad bit more but it also helped me realize why he sided with Dutch in the end and it was all because of this line in this interaction.

"And that makes me so angry because he saved me. He saved Bill Willaimson! And he can do it again."

The way he yells out "He saved Bill Willaimson" made me really understand why he is so loyal to Dutch. Dutch, saw something in him and saved him. Dutch thought he was worth saving. At the lowest point of his life, Dutch took him in and gave him a purpose again. And in every low point in the gang, Dutch lifted them up. He believed, like Javier, that if any man could save him and the gang it was Dutch. Javier, in my opinion, loyalty isn't as strong as Bill's. Why? Let's look at chapter 6

In the end when Bill and Javier side with Dutch, unlike Javier, Bill aims his gun at John and Arthur. We hear many times how he doesn't like how disloyal Aruthur and John have been. Bill refused to think that Dutch was in the wrong. He didn't question him or what would happen next, all he knew was that he was going to stick by Dutch. Javier obviously had second thoughts about Dutch, but he still loved John and Arthur. That's why he aimed at the sky and not at them. His loyalty falters but in the end, he stuck by Dutch. Bill's loyalty didn't wavier. He always defended Dutch. We hear and see how the others often treat Bill, so that's another reason why he would side with Dutch.

Bill has the most loyalty to Dutch than any other character. In the wiki it states

"Bill's loyalty to Dutch is implied to be at least partially motivated by fear; not of Dutch himself, but of what the future holds for him should he end up alone again."

And keeping this in mind further helps me and others understand Bill. Bill may lack intelligence, he may be reckless or looked down upon by the others but Dutch chose to save him and that act alone was the reason he is so loyal to Dutch Van Der Linde unlike some of the others. Dutch gave him family after he lost everything and was left alone.

That's all I got :)

[2demondogs]

Name of the Game, Boy | Dutch & Arthur

Tags: Young VanDerMatthews and Arthur fluff, Dutch teaches Arthur how to roll a cigar; Hosea's not really present Word Count: 2.3k A/N: Have a Cigar by Pink Floyd, while on the nose, is unexpectedly fitting overall. I'm a cigarette aficionado myself, so I did my best to describe an unfamiliar process.

They've been cornered between city-smog and marsh-heat for days now. Tents were pitched under the shade of a grove, but when its the air that is assaulting them, there's not much the penetrable material of their enclosures can do. It's times like these he wishes they had found somewhere abandoned to shack up, even if it didn't have all four walls.

Hosea's lungs were beginning to struggle with the thickness, and the dampness. Dutch worries. He would have protested his going hunting if it weren't for the emptiness of their metaphorical pantry, and would've joined if it weren't for Arthur. What food's left has wandered off via the saddlebags on his horse, most certainly to the find the nearest watering hole and non-mudstuck grass to graze on. Hosea dislikes them being out of sight, but Dutch's only complaint is his things being carried into the wind.

His upper lip was soaked in sweat when he woke up — hardly unusual, but positively unbearable with the thick hair trapping every bit of it. The same could be said of where his back and behind were drenched in sweat when Hosea roused him to announce his early morning hunt.

While it's still cool out, he said. Even in half-sleep, Dutch laughed.

Always the reasonable one, the older man continues to insist that long sleeves keep the sun off and, therefore, they will sweat far less if they wear them.

Arthur can listen to him all he wants. Maybe, just maybe, he has a point somewhere in that advice.

But Dutch has been feeling choked in anything beyond his singlet. He cropped the sleeves off in their first days wandering this area and, being comfortably outside of society, has worn nothing but his shirt and trousers since they set up proper camp. His arms are beet red and bubbling with burns from the sun, but at least he can feel those rare breaths of relieving wind right on his skin.

Hosea's eyes wander, too. Pleasant, besides the additional heat of them.

The kid is already sitting in his tent with the flaps open when Dutch peels himself from the bedroll once and for all, a modest-sized tin in hand to roll himself a morning smoke. Sleep here is fitful and yet hard to swim out of, like a limbo, even with the sun coming up on its early noon position.

Across the yard or two between the tents, he can tell Arthur is dozing off with his eyes open; he's been growing suspicious that the boy has heat poisoning, his usual alertness having faded into something almost docile — if such a word could ever describe that scrappy mutt of a teenager.

"Mornin', mister," Dutch greets, seating himself between the men's tent and the dead campfire.

He looks up from where he was lazily picking the dirt from beneath his nails with his pocket knife. "Mornin'."

For such a young man, his voice is getting gruff, and fast. Dutch feels a twang of pride thinking on how its dropped since they took him in, as if he has any right to feel that fatherly way.

Even if he tries, the situation doesn't feel... committal enough to warrant himself a label which so many men desire. His mock-son could scurry off any time to try his hand at another orphanage, at finding some wealthy family with a nice homestead who will pity him. They wouldn't, but Hosea and Dutch could just as easily abandon him in his sleep or send him on a goose chase while they flee.

Their relationship isn't tied the same a father and his offspring's is. One mistake from either party, and it could be gone without nearly the same sorrow. Dutch grows older and softer by the day, but he fears wiser is not part of that.

Hosea suits the role of patriarch just fine; the youngin' has begun to say something like Pa and quickly changed his mind with a flush once or twice. In those moments, Dutch always jealously wonders what type of father he'd be.

Is he a Pa, too, perhaps an Old Man? Maybe he could be Daddy, the way his father was to him. Will Arthur ever call him anything but you old coot and yessir?

He's grown fond of the damned critter, and he seems to have met the age where most men feel a certain emptiness in their bachelorism.

Eyes are burning into him as he pops the tin lid and takes out the beginnings of his first cigar: a bundle of tobacco leaves and a bottled shot of whiskey for moistening them. It needs refilled when they cross the next saloon.

The pre-rolls he purchased in Saint Dennis have already molded in the heat, much to his dismay.

Looking up from the bunch of tobacco he's binding to absentmindedly check the horizon for Hosea, he finds Arthur turning his eyes down fast at nothing in particular.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, amused.

Arthur rarely turns away when he's caught watching something; in fact, he seems to stare harder as if to assert his authority. It'd be impossible to say he weren't Dutch's kin, if it weren't for that mop of dirty blonde hair and those blue eyes.

"Nothin'."

"Naw, come on, son."

How he perks up at the name is mostly imperceptible, but it softens Arthur's face as it softens Dutch's sudden, self-imposed jealousy of Hosea.

Raising on gangly legs — still so, even after being fattened with some of Hosea's best game meat — Arthur comes to stand before Dutch, hands stuck in the pockets of his trousers.

"That a cigar?" He nods to the roll in his hand. The question doesn't seem to warrant the interest, but he lets Arthur be timid about his real intent.

"Yessir," Dutch says. He rolls it smooth along his thigh, considers the opportunity he has before him. "You want to learn how to roll one?"

Hilariously, his only response is: "Could I smoke it, too?" His voice is even, total seriousness in it.

Dutch laughs. It is one his first real, hearty ones since they pitched in this miserable swamp.

"'Course you can," he says. He looks up and squints into the light, follows his eyes as the teen plops himself on the ground next to him. He warns with a dull severity: "But if you tell Hosea, he'll hang me. You're too young for smokin'. He worries you'll grow a pair of lungs like his."

"When will I be old enough?" He asks.

He purses his lips, picks up the razor he keeps in his cigar tin for trimming the ends. "I'on know," he admits. "Guess I smoked cigarettes before I was your age." He offers a wry smile. "But I weren't no role model for anything, so don't listen to me."

"They were too expensive f'me," Arthur says. "No one'd let me bum any."

It's one of the few looks into his previous life that he's ever given them. As always, delivered without a missed beat. Arthur doesn't realize how solemn his life was, not really — not beyond the animal discomfort it brought him. It was all he really knew.

Dutch is never sure how to respond beyond the tight knit of his brows. "Well, you're gettin' to try one now," is all he says.

He feels the yearning for a son again while Arthur watches him intently. Explaining his more practiced skills in words has never been Dutch's strong suit, so he's decided he'll either smoke a second or save it for Hosea, depending on when he returns.

Usually, he wouldn't care for one, but Dutch knows he likes the whiskey-River Valley combination real well.

It is strange to have someone so intent on learning from him. Dutch knows he can command a room of people rather easily — it's his job. A genuine attempt to teach makes it feel different, fulfilling; Arthur is hooked, blinking sweat from his eyes as it forms. Seems he's been wanting to ask Dutch to show him this process for a long time. It makes the heat of the risen sun feel bearable.

"Why do you use the drink?" He asks. He spilled a splotch of whiskey on his trouser leg, and Dutch hopes Hosea doesn't smell the liquor on him when he comes back. He'd have to say goodbye to his own hide.

"Makes the leaves flexible." He starts to bunch them to form a core, eyeing Arthur to his side. He learns quick enough, but he's pressing together too hard. "So they won't crumble when you manhandle 'em."

He struggles with wrapping the bunch, but shakes his head when Dutch offers to fix it for him. "I won't learn if you do it."

"A'right," Dutch says. "You want help, you jus' say it. You can try again next time Old Girl's out."

When they're finished, he knows Arthur's cigar isn't going to burn too well. What exactly will go wrong, he isn't sure — but his fingers, though skinny and precise, are unpracticed with this art.

It is an art, one of practicing the tactical differences between excess and moderation, and he makes sure to tell Arthur as much.

He does insist on toasting both cigars. It's hard to explain, the words his own father told him on the matter long forgotten in favor of muscle memories, and Dutch isn't sure that he could even think how to pick apart the delicate process.

He'll probably have to offer Arthur his own cigar if he wants the boy to not hate them forever over one low quality roll — he is fond of him, but it takes practice.

As expected, Arthur's acne-pocked face scrunches upon his first draw. The density of the smoke gives him a mighty cough, and Dutch slaps his back as he hacks.

"Sorry, son," he says, smoke furling from his nostrils as he speaks. He means it. "I probably shoulda known you wouldn't know how to smoke it right."

"There's," — a group of final, shorter coughs, tears forming in his eyes — "A right way?"

"Ayuh," Dutch nods. He barely notices he's adopted Hosea's favorite affirmation, mind focused on finding a flask to offer him a drink of water. "You don't inhale the smoke.

"I still cough like that if I do and I've smoked 'em longer than you been breathin'." Arthur seems mildly surprised by the reminder someone is so much older than him; oh, youth. "When you drag on it, keep that smoke in your mouth and let it sit there. With cigarettes, you smoke 'em. A cigar is for tastin'. Watch."

He takes an exemplary drag. Arthur mirrors him carefully, face still somewhat twisted as he waits to exhale alongside Dutch. The clouds mingle and fade into the air before them, over the unlit campfire.

"All I taste is some nasty ass leaves an' itchy throat," he admits, sounding disappointed.

Dutch laughs. "Sounds 'bout right. It takes time to learn how to appreciate it," he says. "Like all good things in life. Try mine."

They trade. Arthur's is bitter, and he notices the skin of it is cracking at the end. He rolled far too tightly in his efforts to do it right; the taste is tolerable, but only just, and it is difficult to pull on. Arthur immediately hits his cigar once he's gotten it and he bites his cheek to avoid protesting too rashly.

Over the year he's been riding with them, he's noticed the boy struggles with enacting much patience.

"I wouldn't smoke them so fast," he warns. "You'll make it into even more nastiness." Dutch taps the cigar on the boot of his folded leg, Arthur copying him. At least the ash falls off easy. "If you savor it, they can taste real sweet."

Arthur near balks. "Sweet?"

"These are a sweeter kind," he says, and the information takes a moment to be believed at all. He's sure Arthur still thinks he's pulling his leg once it registers that this sour little roll-up tastes sweet to his companion. "Hosea likes these ones 'cause they're some of the easiest to stomach."

It isn't entirely fair to say, but he is absent now and Dutch hasn't influenced Arthur with a good-natured jab at his partner in one too many days.

As they finish them in relative silence, the only sound the thrumming of the heat in the atmosphere and the chirps of birds and insects milling through it, Dutch relents to the sneaking feeling that Arthur looks up to him in some way.

The kid watches him close, nearing the end of his own cigar and yet still learning how to draw it right from how little Dutch's cheeks hollow when he pulls the smoke in. He tries his hardest to wait between drags like he does. He didn't think being mimed could feel so rewarding; he didn't think teaching anything could be much beyond an inconvenience or the mild satisfaction of knowing that he's smarter than someone else.

Probably it speaks to all his own mentors — at least all the ones before Hosea — that such egoism was all he found in it.

The man of the hour rides in shortly after they tap their last ashes, and he is equal parts dismayed and proud to see Arthur studying how Hosea smokes on his cigar once he's passed the responsibility of dismantling the sizeable deer onto Dutch.

He'll give their little smoking lessons away before the month is over, but he has a feeling he can talk his way out of being skinned. When it comes around, he'll tell Hosea he shows Arthur how to survive, and Dutch shows him how to live, and his hubris will endear Hosea too much to say anything besides: don't go rolling him one everyday.

[sushisocks]

DO U HAVE ANY ANGSTY SEAN HEADCANONS??? OR ANY AT ALL??

DO I HAVE ANGSTY SEAN HEADCANONS???!? Is my tumblr url sushisocks??? I'm including just a couple non-angsty ones that are v important to me bcz we're here to have fun, after all lolol

Lets start out with a light one; Sean absolutely has ADHD and dyslexia. Everybody knows Sean can't read, but nobody asks WHY Sean can't read despite frequent opportunities to learn. Based on the camp interactions with Lenny, we know he has been willing to attempt to learn, but has given up. This reads a lot more like learning disability to me, than it does laziness!!

In a similar vein; Sean taking frequent naps/falling asleep a lot is because he's a light sleeper - he has had a hard time falling asleep and staying that way ever since his father got murdered in his bed by the law. Left an impression Sean can't really shake even when surrounded by friends and allies - it's easier to nap when it's light out and people are awake in the area. Combine that with the ADHD and suddenly he's sleeping when he's not supposed to - like on guard duty.

Btw Sean has REAL BAD nightmares so that doesn't help at ALL either

Sean's mom probably passed when he was very young - he doesn't have any tangible memories of her in the same way he does his dad. Telling stories about him is how Sean keeps the only real family he had alive.

SIMILARLY I imagine it was just the two of them fleeing to America together; Sean was right there when Darragh got killed in his sleep - I imagine him waking up to a gunshot tbh.

In previous posts I've talked some about Sean's parallels and similarities to Arthur. Consider; Sean having similar self-esteem issues as Arthur, but instead of being quiet and disparaging about it, Sean covers it up by boasting and talking a big game. Nobody tries to talk Sean up because they all think he has a big ego, and it sort of just feeds into the insecurities Sean already has & is trying to avoid thinking about.

Also; Sean is generally an open book about his feelings, but he struggles a LOT with being truly vulnerable or getting at the deeper stuff. He'll also always downplay and make a joke out of truly traumatic and desperate situations he's been in. Though he DOES tell you what happened, he's chuckling and acting like it's nothing. (This isn't even a headcanon, he actually does this very consistently. It's why Karen is so mad at him in that one camp interaction after the party lol)

The only times Sean feels comfortable not being The Camp Clown is when Dutch isn't around, with a limited amount of people to witness. He still feels weird about the fact that he did actually try to kill him, when they first met, like he actually pulled the trigger (I feel like people are prone to forget this abt him), and he's never sure if Dutch might resent or distrust him a little for it. Same goes for Hosea.

A MacSummers one I came up w on discord literally yesterday; Sean has a Claddagh ring heirloom he got from his late mother through his late father. He gifts it to Lenny at some point, who doesn't realize the symbolism, just the sentimental value. Lenny wears it on a chain around his neck.

The previous one could work for MacJones too but tbh I think it hits harder for MacSummers lol (im biased)

Sean blocked out a lot of what he experienced while holed up at Ike Skelding's; the teethpulling and the burned feet were probably some of the lighter things he had to endure.

Sidenote the fact that his feet were fucking burned being as brushed off as it is makes me fucking insane. How bad were they burned Sean? Are you in pain atm? Should you be walking?

[slicedmayonnaise]

Dutch was NOT always bad.

a lot of people overlook the fact of how much pressure dutch was under 24/7. for ~20 years, he had the burden of taking care of those around him and it only got worse as time went on and more and more people joined the gang. whenever something happened, good or bad, everyone looked to him to place blame because he was the one in charge.

i believe the first cracks started after colm killed annabelle. she was his responsibility; therefore, her death was his fault.

he was able to continue on normally until blackwater.

he lost davey, jenny, mac, and sean in blackwater. two dead and two mia and that blame is put on him. it is his fault that those four people are lost. it is his fault that his family is dead and hurting. then, when he gets sean back, he finds out mac is dead.

then arthur gets kidnapped by colm on a set up to discuss peace between the two gangs. arthur is shot and tortured. he's barely conscious when he makes it back to camp. dutch's fault. if only he'd realized. if only he'd taken arthur's absence more seriously. the pain in his voice when arthur tells him colm set them up.

then he loses sean again in rhodes. again, it is his fault sean dies. he is the leader. he is responsible.

then jack is kidnapped.

then kieran is captured and killed, whom dutch still feels responsible for despite the circumstances of how kieran came about. he clearly expresses sympathy for kieran's death.

then, of course, he loses hosea, lenny, and john during the saint denis bank robbery.

hosea's death itself is what finally breaks dutch. during the entire sequence in the bank, dutch does not move or fire his gun. he has to get arthur to blow open the wall because he is in shock. he can't even bring himself to move when he sees john get taken by the pinkertons.

everything went so wrong so quickly over the past few months and everything was dutch's fault.

the deaths of the two people he loved more than anything- annabelle and hosea- were his fault.

even when it's just dutch, bill, micah, arthur, and javier in guarma, dutch can't help javier when he gets shot and taken by the guarma officers.

at this point, he's lost his patience with himself and the world. he can't stand to see another of his boys die because of him. so he goes to immoral lengths to ensure he saves javier (killing that old lady in the cave).

nothing and no one else matters to him but his gang anymore. he has to keep them safe. so when micah gets in his ear about a rat and throws john under the bus to save his own skin, dutch can't help but go along with it in his fragile state because circumstantially, it does make sense. john was the only one who was taken alive at the bank, and his wife somehow managed to get away when hosea was grabbed by the pinkertons.

i don't believe dutch really would have let john hang in sisika. i do believe he had a plan to go for him eventually, but after john's return, he only got more and more antsy. he lost his mind more and more and trusted john and arthur less and less because of all the shit micah was feeding him. arthur did go behind dutch's back, after all.

"i gave you all i had" is the statement that makes dutch realize how much of a damn fool he's been. arthur- his son- laying at his feet and dying, once again, because of HIM. it's his fault that the gang fell apart. it's his fault that arthur is dying. it's his fault that john- his other son- is suffering. he was the one that betrayed the gang, and he recognizes it. he abandons micah on the mountain and breaks down crying over his own failure.

annabelle, davey, jenny, mac, sean, jack, kieran, john, hosea, lenny, molly, susan, arthur. all his fault. everything was his fault.

i doubt dutch stayed with bill and javier after beaver hallow. i believe he left out of shame. shame of what he'd become. shame of what he'd done.

i don't know why or how he ended up working with micah again by 1907, but my best guess has to do with that fact that he has completely lost his mind at this point.

well, not completely, as he does shoot micah for bad-mouthing arthur, and he does let john live.

john. his son. his last son. john misses dutch. dutch misses john. but john is too hurt. and dutch is too ashamed. dutch leaves, and he leaves john with the fortune he and micah had stashed away.

shame. guilt. all his fault.

[strandsofgold]

so, i guess i'm kind if in the minority of players who actually really liked guarma. like, don't get me wrong, i really disliked the limited area, but the scenery is beautiful and the missions, god the missions, are so damn good. they do so much for the characters and the themes and the story as a whole and they are honestly the missions i replay most frequently.

one of these days i'm going to write a meta along the lines of "hercule vs. dutch: honest revolution and grifts" but that's for another time. right now i want to talk about javier, his relationship with dutch, and the idea that he "should've stayed a good guy".

i've seen a quite frankly confusing amount of people say that javier "would've sided with arthur" if it wasn't for rdr, and that he "wouldn't have turned bad". and i have a few problems with this.

in every single camp, javier has a multitude of random encounters and conversations that divulge his past; a past filled with want for a better world, revolution, betrayal, heartache, and loss of family. and then he describes how dutch found him and brought him into the gang. how he gave him a new purpose, something to fight for.

the sense of loyalty javier has towards dutch is just as strong, if not stronger, than arthur's.

in chapter 3, javier is beginning to doubt dutch. he believes in him fiercely, but there are holes in his plans that he cannot help but question. when he asks dutch about it, dutch lashes out, telling javier in no uncertain terms that he not only needs javier but that he needs javier strong. and the way javier reacts really underlines how unsure javier is of everything and how much he relies on dutch and the image javier has on him. he hesitates, he stutters, clearly unused to dutch talking to him like that, but ultimately gives in, willing to follow dutch to the ends of the earth, because dutch saved him, gave him a new family, and has yet to lead him astray.

and then guarma happens. javier is shot and captured – he essentially sacrifices himself to ensure the others' safety.

dutch and arthur come to his rescue. they could have easily left him to rot, and it would have probably been easier considering how heavily guarded the place is, but they don't. dutch puts himself directly in the line of fire and takes the extra weight of a wounded javier on his back while holding guards back with the help of arthur.

dutch could have easily died trying to save javier, was willing to put himself in mortal danger for javier, and javier notices. of course he does.

twice now, dutch has saved javier's life and brought him to what will/has become his family. how can he not double down on his loyalty?

on top of this, as dutch unravels further and further in chapter 6, the one thing he constantly rambles on about is loyalty and doubt and how the people doubting him are the reason for their downfall. and javier, who at this point believes even more fervently in dutch than he did before, hears this and sees the way john and arthur have begun questioning dutch, a man who – as javier believes and points out to them – raised them and gave them a family and a purpose to their lives, and comes to the same conclusion as dutch: they're the ones who have betrayed them.

so yeah, the idea that javier would have sided with arthur if rdr didn't exist is just wrong, even if you exclusively look at rdr2.

i also want to dismiss the idea that javier "became bad" in chapter six or that r* butchered his character. they didn't. what javier does in the last chapter lines up with everything i've mentioned above, and it doesn't make him a bad guy. putting aside the dumb idea that any character in rdr2 can be described as bad or good, that all the characters aren't morally gray and complicated, javier, till the very end, fought for what he thought was right, what he belived was right.

javier explicitly says that he is willing to die for what he believes in, for freedom, and unlike dutch, whose ideals i believe have eroded and nearly been cast aside by the time the game starts, this is a constant for javier. i believe that javier fervently believed in the ideals and philosphy dutch used to believe in, as well as the family dutch invited him into.

this doesn't mean that he doesn't eventually become a traditional villain in a sense. honestly, it's like r* put a neat little bow on the entire thing, because javier seems to undergo the same changes between rdr2 and rdr as dutch had before and during rdr2: he becomes everything he was previously against, everything he swore to destroy. javier abandons his ideals, actively fighting against revolution in mexico, and works for a man who, in cutscenes, has women dragged away to be raped – a villain in every sense of the word.

in my opinion, rdr2 did the same thing for javier as it did for dutch – it humanised him, made him redeemable and sympathetic, ultimately making his reappearance in rdr and john's life all the more tragic and horrible.

[tossball-stick]

i dont have a name for this au beyond "the gang survives au." im really bad with names. sorry

this is mostly gonna be a first draft ramble, specifically about kieran. most of this is subject to change at any time.

second disclaimer: this is also a really self indulgent au haha. im mostly listening to my pussy while writing this whole au. im doing stuff that appeals solely to me. it might not make the most sense to you, but there is an easy explanation for every decision i make, writing wise. just ask and i can explain things!!

hiiii im here to ramble about kierans role in my the gang survives au!! i will explain the premise and also get to rambling below the cut. have fun :)

this post covers only her happier, sweeter ending, as i realized while writing that this alone is so fucking much to read haha. part 2 will be linked here once its out.

tagging my kieran enjoyer army: @verdemoun @bakedcrossaintt (? lmk if thats the right tag) (ask to be tagged!!)

Some of these explainations are simple. Sometimes, it's as simple as making the bullet graze the area rather than pierce. Sometimes, I've been thinking for so long and have still been stuck. Sometimes I just change the way the dynamics work out.

Hiii okay so! Basically, the idea with this AU is that the entire gang does live, but the VDL gang crumbles all the same regardless. Yes. Everyone lives. I have been brainstorming for weeks to try and figure out ways the dead members can still go through the events of canon while living.

This, of course, means the final standoff is a lot more tense, and has a lot more peoples emotions involved, and this also means everyone lives until the events of RDR1!

This is not a good thing.

Many of the gang members find themselves stuck in the cycle of poverty, abuse, and violence still, by 1911. Not everyone is as fortunate as John, Abigail, and Jack Marston, or the Reverend, or Tilly. Not everyone wants the same redemption as John, either.

Due to this, John must hunt down all of his family. All of it. At least, those the law and public recognize as members of the gang.

Perhaps the cracks of the gang being destabilized started when John first left. Perhaps he can also push the gang back together for one last hoorah.

Obviously, Kieran still lets Jack out of her sight, he still gets kidnapped, they still bring him back for his party, and she still gets drunk, and nobody notices her initially wander off. This all remains the same.

As for Kieran herself, and her death, I've actually thrown together a couple ways I'd be happy with her story concluding. Unfortunately, I cannot decide which I like better! So, I decided to pull a Dutch, and make Arthur (the player) be able to decide her fate. As with most things in the game, the choices will give Arthur an honor loss, or boost! They both have the same setup, however.

Where I start changing the story, however, is that people do eventually notice her disappearance. Due to her slowly being welcomed into the gang, and very clearly forming some actual bonds and relationships, people do start to search her out. Bill, Mary-Beth, and Sean all begin to worry about her location some time into the party.

It begins by Bill being shamed or outcast in some way. He goes to bug Kieran about it, though struggles to find her anywhere nearby. He awkwardly shuffles to Mary-Beth, knowing the slight romance thats bloomed between her and Kieran, asking if she's seen the guy around. The concern begins to mount when she says, "I thought he was with you," and her brows begin to worry.

This is where Sean butts in. He's been recovering from a head wound, don't worry about it, so his role during the party has mostly been that of an observing drinker. He points out that he saw Kieran drunkenly wander towards the woods, though she disappeared from his sight behind the manor. "I just figured he went to piss! Honest! He has been gone... a long time, though."

By this point, Bill has had enough. He marches up to Dutch and explains the situation, how Kieran is gone in the woods and he knows there are O'Driscolls in those woods, Kieran has been acting paranoid about getting captured by her old gang nearly this whole time, and things are going more and more downhill for the gang. Bill is loud. He always pulls attention to himself.

Dutch responds by dismissing the worries— Kieran is strong, she can handle herself. She went and saved Arthur's life, after all. Sean said she only went to take a leak, right? Why are you, Bill, trying to ruin Jack's party? How could you be so heartless as to make everything about you? A young boy has been saved, you should be celebrating.

I am certain Kieran's loyalty would mean nothing to Dutch by now. He's simply too blinded by the blood fued between his and Colm's gang. Dutch van der Linde is, also, not an idiot. As much as I call him stupid, I doubt he even believes Kieran's insistence that she didn't run with Colm long, or didn't care for him. Dutch knows Colm. He knows the grip Colm has over his flock, the same Dutch has over his own. He believes that, one way or another, Kieran would remain an O'Driscoll, unless he gets to kill Colm himself.

Bill struggles to articulate himself— Why he's worried, why he thinks that they need to be heading out there now, that he's got this awful feeling in his gut, and some people are starting to get worried. Dutch shushes this all, spinning the dialogue in circles and attempting to get Bill to dismiss his own worries as well. If she hasn't come back by now, and there are O'Driscolls in the woods, she probably ran off with them. Use your head, Williamson.

Dutch let Kieran in initially because of his whole "feed people as need feeding" speech to her. He can't go back on that word at first, when people would bring it up. By Jack's party, I doubt anyone even really remembers it but Kieran. There is no reason to keep her around, to keep up those optics, in Dutch's eyes. She has barely been pulling in money and all she does is tend to the horses and take up more resources, no matter how little. Not many people in the gang like her even if they are warming up to her.

Bill, understandably, gets frustrated with this. Gives up, says he ain't even enjoying the party anyway. He's gonna go look for Kieran. Sean and Mary-Beth cannot follow him. Dutch invites Bill to, "be his guest."

This is where player choice is involved. This entire interaction is missable, if you want to miss it. Regardless of Arthur's involvement, Bill will go to the woods to look for Kieran.

Let's start with Arthur being there, and seeing all of this go down.

Bill will then turn to Arthur, a desperate and pleading expression on his face. "Morgan, he saved your life," Bill begs. "You at least owe it to look for him, right?"

And let's have Arthur say yes. Yes, fine, he will help Bill go look for that damned Kieran, O'Driscoll or not. With a decent sized honor boost, they mount up and head out.

Bill eventually finds a trail of footsteps in the mud, following it along with Arthur. Arthur will express his doubts to Bill, but Bill will simply brush them off or ignore them. The footsteps eventually fade into hoofsteps. This is all until there is an abruptly cut off scream from the distance, and Arthur and Bill are racing off.

By the time Kieran is found, she's tied and blindfolded on the back of an O'Driscoll's horse, much the same as you find her atop the back of Arthur's to start. She has already been roughed up, and is only letting out broken sobs by this point.

There are two O'Driscolls, and once Bill calls out to Kieran, it all culminates in a chase through the woods. Hope Arthur brought a horse that handles turns well!

Kieran's struggle quickly grows with the announcement of her saviors, though she is quickly beaten over the head for causing more of a commotion. She is not left unconscious, though she does grow silent besides sobs once more.

Eventually, the chase will burst through into somewhere more open, allowing an easy and clear shot on both O'Driscolls that Arthur and Bill both take. Bill misses, and Arthur must do a little deadeye QTE to keep the O'Driscoll from pulling his revolver and shooting Kieran in the head.

The gunshot startles the horse and Kieran falls. Bill is scrambling to help untie her and get her on her feet. Between broken cries, she's desperately thanking Bill and Arthur, trying to pull herself together from hysteric sobs. She can't stop talking about how terrified she was of what Colm would do to her, only making it all the more clear that her and Colm have more between them than she wants to admit. That they would likely tie her up, starve her, do all the most awful torture methods to her, she's seen how Colm treats men that aren't his kin anymore, and she's heard the way he spoke about Dutch and his gang. This is all too familiar to Arthur.

The ride back is condensed to a cutscene of Bill proudly riding back with Kieran on Brown Jack with him, Arthur following along. Kieran is welcomed back and tended to, Mary-Beth and Karen taking her. She escaped with only some minor head trauma, a couple cigarette burns on her neck, some awful ropeburn, and some body-wide bruises.

From here on out, she is clinging to Mary-Beth, indulging her desire to settle somewhere some day. The violence and constant kidnappings have begun to wear on her, not to mention Bill telling her Dutch's aversion to go look for her, and the lack of concern from half of the camp still, bundled with the growing guilt of letting Jack escape her sight originally... She decides she just wants anything but this.

When Guarma happens, she stays behind. Despite how Dutch seems insistent to have all hands on deck, she refuses to go, demanding why she should do anything for a gang that likes to pretend it's a family, but is the same as all the others she's been in. Dutch's gaze simple hardens into a glare and he says that they will talk about this once he is back. If Kieran does not wish to go, fine.

While the rest of the working men are gone, she is confiding in Mary-Beth more and more. They continued to get pushed closer from the stress of everything, from the constant worry, from having to pull up their bootstraps. She's quite the hand around the camp when Dutch isnt around, and she continues to prove herself to those who ever doubted her. She also grows closer to Sean, who Lenny urged to stay behind as well, to continue recovering.

By the time the boys are back in town, Kieran is well respected, and has pulled herself together to take care of the people Dutch had left behind. She stands up to him, despite being sympathetic to the struggles they all went through.

She does not involve herself in Colm's death, I don't think. I want to believe her and Sadie fight about it even— Sadie demanding to know what reason she has to not want Colm dead.

Of course Kieran feels bitter about her treatment from Colm. Of course Kieran despises the awful things he has done. Kieran also recognizes that she will never climb out of the cycle of violence she's found herself in, should she continue it. She has no druve to keep the violence going. Even survival seems like a pathetic excuse for it, to her.

This only solidifies her backstabbing nature to those who don't trust her.

By the time the caravan of deserters leaves, she's right there with them, clinging to Mary-Beth still.

Kieran thanks Arthur for everything he's done for her. Even if her life hasn't been perfect with them, and has been a lot more good than bad, she's grateful to him for breaking her from being trapped in the tide. She understands why he stays, and does not make an effort to convince him to leave. She knows the kind of hold Dutch has on him, still.

By the epilogue, she's near impossible to find. Though, there's word that Mary-Beth's got an assistant, who seems a little too old for her position. The assistant never says a word to anyone, though she certainly seems a little too familiar.

And that's her happy ending :)

[heavenlymorals]

Hi this is the TB!reader anon. Tysm for answering! I agreed with all that you said although one part did made me curious. So y'know how you mentioned that if a doctor recommended going somewhere then he would? I was wondering how do you think that'd work out with the gang? Surely it'd be difficult for Arthur with him being so loyal to Dutch and them. I'm also interested in how the gang would react since Arthur has been such an essential member

You're absolutely welcome, anon ❤️❤️❤️ I'm glad you enjoyed that, I took great pleasure writing it❤️❤️

When I wrote my response, I wrote it in the sense that the gang was out of the picture and I only wanted to focus on Arthur and his partner.

But if the gang was there? Honestly, I think it'd be pretty difficult. I mean, they clearly rely on him and there is also Dutch's guilt tripping.

But given how Arthur talks to John about getting out of there and taking care of his family and all that, there is also reason to believe that he'd ultimately put his partner first, especially if she's dying. Also, when he talks with Mary in their final interaction, he tells her that they will run away together right after he makes sure the gang is ok. Like, that right there shows that he is willing to leave them behind to go with Mary, but he just needs to make sure they are safe.

But this is a different situation. His partner is literally dying- he doesn't have the luxury of waiting and I think that Arthur would find that way more important then staying for Dutch. I mean, the only reason why Arthur stays with Dutch in canon is because of how he has nothing else besides the gang.

And there is reason to believe (just speculation and and a different interpretation, I'm not trying to present this as 100% canon) that Arthur WOULD'VE left the gang for Mary if they did get married but they never did. Remember, he says that Mary wasn't able to marry him because her family looked down on him for his status : "My money, my life, me. I wasn't good enough." And "I wasn't good enough to marry into your family, but it's ok in asking me to save your family?"

And in the next encounter? Arthur almost leaves because he doesn't want to deal with her father, and that's when Mary starts berating his lifestyle to defend her father.

"Surely you can't hate a man for the sin of loving his daughter and wanting better for her then, then-"

"Then me?"

"Then the choices you make!"

No where in the game does it say that Mary leaves him because he was an outlaw and didn't want to leave the gang. She doesn't marry him because her family barred her from doing so, especially her father and she clings onto that reasoning to justify to herself why she didn't marry him.

And also note that Arthur tells Mary that he WILL run away with her just as soon as he makes sure the people he is with are safe, which shows that he ultimately does choose Mary instead of the gang, but he needs to make sure they're safe first before leaving them forever and being with Mary. I mean the gang is in such a high stress situation after Blackwater, it's insane. I feel like a lot of people forget this.

But if his partner WAS in the gang and they are 100% established as being a couple AND she's dying? Yea, I feel like Arthur's priorities are going to shift because SHE'S the main focal point now. That's someone that he must take care of more than his fellow gang members. I mean just look at the way he talks to John about him leaving with his woman and child. Arthur believes that John has the responsibility of taking care of them FIRST and then the gang second because Abi and Jack are his actual immediate family.

So I honestly think he would leave. That's his woman. That's the love of his life and she is DYING. Fuck Dutch and his bullshit, they can take care of themselves, they are grown ass men and women.

I feel like the majority of the gang would be very understanding and accept that Arthur needs to go. Dutch might try to be passive aggressive, but I don't think it'd really go anywhere. Micah is Micah so he'd have a problem with it, but I doubt Arthur cares what Micah thinks.

Would Arthur come back to the gang after she passed away? Maybe. I mean, they let John back in for abandoning them for no reason whilst having a whole child. Arthur would have an actual reason to go and I don't think the gang is as heartless as all that.

Thanks for the ask anon, it has been so much fun and I hope you enjoy it ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[lacrymatoryao3]

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 7: New Year’s Eve, 1899 and Day, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

4,410 Words (AO3 Link)

“Gettin’ real good at that.” Arthur said sitting on an old barrel, watching Arthur Francisco blow the bottles apart off the nails hammered into the beaten and pellet scarred section of fence. Now and again he would pull out his pistol, taking a shot from his hip to impress the boy despite his fingers starting to go numb even in gloves after a couple of hours in the cold.

Ana had given Arthur Francisco some instruction. He was better for his age than he imagined most boys were. Like his mother his focus was incredible. His stance was solid, his feet apart to match his shoulders and his left foot slightly ahead of his right with its knee facing the targets. He had a decent grip on the rifle, the stock at his dominant shoulder but far enough so it wouldn’t strike his collarbone. He knew not to hold his finger on the trigger unless he was ready to fire. He aligned the barrel with the eyesight and checked it with the attached scope. Arthur made some minor corrections with him over the past week. He had gotten comfortable enough rather quickly.

Arthur remembered an instance when his father tried to teach him to shoot. It didn’t go well. In fact, none of the memories he had of Lyle Morgan were positive except when he died. It wasn’t long after his mother was buried, Lyle trying to give him some semblance of survival kills. He wasn’t going to live forever, after all. A fact Arthur began to savor at one point. In the end, like any time he tried to be a parent, it ended with his hand striking the back of Arthur’s head and the young boy shedding hidden tears after. The only thing he learned from the miserable son of a bitch was using violence to stay alive.

Then he met Dutch and Hosea. It was the first time men had shown him any sort of care, rather than tolerance. The marksmanship he came to depend upon came from their patience. They didn’t lambaste him when he didn’t hit the target, they didn’t lay a hand on him when he needed more instruction, they just kept at it until he was good to handle it on his own.

He had made a promise to himself when Isaac was born and he saw the baby for the first time. He was going to be the opposite of what his father was to him. He tried to balance his two lives, one with the family that had accepted him and gave him love he didn’t have after his mother was gone, and the one consequence thrust upon him to build until it was torn away from him at the cost of two innocent people’s lives.

Looking back, he wasn’t the father he could have been. He’d show up every three months or so, stay a week, and ride back off leaving Eliza to fend for herself with whatever support he could give to her. Though he was always happy to see him, Isaac barely knew him and Arthur didn’t learn enough about him either. Somehow, for some twisted reason, he was given the chance to try again. He could be the father he pledged to be the first time, without the responsibilities of a gang to distract him.

He didn’t know this one either… At all. He didn’t get the glimpses of him as he grew. Arthur Francisco had no idea about him in return, or the fact Arthur was the father he asked about. It had never come up for anyone. Arthur and Ana hadn’t spoken about if or when or how to tell him, and his namesake never said anything. As it stood, this man that suddenly appeared in his life was just a friend of his mother’s from a long time ago. Arthur wondered if he had some sort of inkling. It wasn’t impossible to put the pieces together. They had the same first name, the same color of eyes… Whatever he thought, he was keeping it to himself.

Ana had only given her son a small ration of ammunition to practice with. It was even smaller on New Year’s Eve. There was a schedule they had to follow. Once it had ran out they started walking back to the nice, warm house where Arthur talked the boy through how to use gun oil. Arthur Francisco got most of it on the rag and as a result on the rifle, but his hands were still coated in the greasy fluid when it it got put away. It took him several tries to wash it off.

“What you thinkin’ about huntin’ anyway?” Arthur asked, holding his hands over the stove to take the chill out of them.

“I’m not sure yet,” Arthur Francisco said, “I’d like to at least get a deer. If I’m lucky maybe an elk or moose someday.”

“Ever hunted them before?”

“I’ve tracked them. Couldn’t shoot them. Only animals I’ve killed have been rabbits and turkeys.”

Arthur Francisco began to explain the movements of several deer in the area. He knew exactly where they grazed depending on the season and snow cover. He learned one herds schedule so well he looked at the clock in the kitchen and told Arthur where they were. He also knew the general territories of the elk and moose in the mountains up north according to the roving hunters and trappers who would come and go from Canada. The boy was on his way to being an expert hunter, something Arthur never felt he’d been. He improved a bit after Charles showed him the methods he used. He never was able to master a bow and arrows until then, though he had to admit he still preferred a gun. Either way he hoped he’d be a little bit useful. He had taken down plenty of deer, a few elk, a couple of moose, and other animals in his time. Pearson never went without meat, at least. Arthur used the opportunity to tell the story of the one thing he was proud of: killing that massive and nasty, scarred and half blind grizzly bear above O’Creagh’s run awhile after he and Hosea practically ran from it.

As the time ticked by Ana had finally appeared from upstairs, carrying a the overnight bag she packed for Arthur Francisco. She had been running around the house all day. She cleaned the house top to bottom, mopped the floors with cinnamon and water, made everyone bathe, she put a candle on a white plate surrounded by grains and spices to burn out and buried the waxy remains. On the stove for dinner she had a stew with salted codfish and olives. In the oven was two pans of Mexican styled cornbread, one for them and the other for the Liang family who Arthur Francisco was going to spend the night with since Mrs. O’Hogan was expected to give birth any day.

They finished dinner with a spoonful of lentils. Something that apparently a token of good luck for the coming year. After cleaning up Arthur and Ana accompanied Arthur Francisco to the inn, along with the corn bread. As soon as they went back to the house, Ana disappeared upstairs again to get ready for the party.

She envied men at times. The ordeal getting dressed for any formal occasion was less time consuming for them. They didn’t have the expectation to be as beautiful as possible. Just her hair was a time consuming process. She split the layers in half, braiding the top much like she normally did but more elaborately and higher onto her head. She left the bottom loose and flowing, allowing it to curl in its natural profusion. To think other women envied her for that thick mop she had to care for. She wasn’t a whore anymore, and hadn’t been for over 16 years. If it wasn’t so socially unacceptable she would have cut at least half of it off years and years ago once she had escaped.

One thing it had taught her was how to do her face up without making it too obvious she had product on. She massaged her face, neck, and chest with a soothing cream that was intended to keep her complexion youthful and even… well, as possible. She was getting old and there was only so much she could do about it. When it dried and absorbed she covered it with a fine powder that she had to mix with cocoa and cinnamon to match her skin tone. She covered her eyelids with a subtle dusting of charcoal, then wetted a tiny brush from one of her son’s old paint sets to apply a darker line along her eyelashes. She added some blush to her cheeks and stained her lips with a waxy rouge.

Ana removed her robe and stepped toward the clothing laid out on her neatly made bed. Her stockings and the Combination – an assemblage of the top of a thin strapped chemise sewn to the drawers which made the waist less clumsy – was a heavy knit wool for the cold weather. She slid the low heeled pumps that matched the color of her dress onto her feet, then put on her corset. It was much more rigid and slightly tighter than her normal one, partially for vanity and making the gown’s bodice fit better. She covered it with a ruffled front camisole. The idea was it would keep the dress from being too tight around the breasts, but it really only seemed to give the illusion that they were bigger than they really were. One petticoat was heavy, lined with glazed cotton quilted into black satin. The second petticoat was much finer, a sheer underskirt to cover a back padding that supported the dress’s train… or make her ass bigger, she didn’t really question American fashion anymore.

“You almost done there, Anie?” She heard Arthur’s voice on the other side of her door after a soft knock. Perfect timing.

She opened the door and motioned him inside, “Good! Can you help me with the back of this?”

Arthur had seen women in various states of undress. Whether it was the women in camp, the working girls in whatever town he was in, he’d seen her in a lot less layers than she had on. Yet, he still couldn’t be casual about it. It still felt indecent of him to be there. He obliged, of course, standing behind Ana and focusing of fastening the back buttons of her gown’s bodice and only that. He turned away from her to let her put on the skirt, a shy attempt at maintaining her modesty around him.

Ana shook her head, muffling her laugh with a smirk. She put on her gloves and a set of pearl jewelry she received as a wedding gift before ending the charade, “Well? I think you can look at me now.”

She didn’t look like the same woman. She was regal in her champagne yellow gown with irises draping down the fabric in delicate golden silk threads. The train made her appear smaller, delicate, the most feminine she had ever looked. Her rigid stance still dripped with the same wild pride she had since he met her.

Arthur smiled, one of the few genuine ones he could recall over the last few years, “Almost don’t recognize you. Didn’t think you could seem dainty.”

“Oh, I could still take you down if I needed to.” She replied keenly.

It made him laugh. The girl he knew was still in there. Just waiting for the moment to resurface.

Ana folded her jacket over her arm, a closely matching black opera coat overlaid with yellow lace and lined with black fur. Arthur held the door open for her, “I have no doubts you could.”

The Grange hall was a nondescript structure, built like an oversized double shotgun house. It could have been easily passed by, even with the sign hanging from the porch roof that wasn’t readable until they were right in front of it. The entryway had a strong scent of oak from the wall panels. Arthur underestimated the population of the town. People came flooding into the hall with them in droves to the point it started to make him nervous.

A young man who was a member of the Grange fellowship took their coats. They entered the main meeting hall to join the throng of people. It certainly wasn’t a high class affair like the ball that wretch Bronte held in Saint Denis. It was much looser, less focus on formalities and more on the locals having fun. What people wore ranged from simple evening wear they could afford, to just what they put on when going to church on Sundays. On the stage was a volunteer brass band. It was immediate that they weren’t professionals, but while they didn’t play well it was enough to dance to without being grating.

Lounging at the end of one of the benches that spanned the walls underneath the windows was a man. He was about as tall and built similar to Arthur, though clearly several years older. His face was much more weathered, with a default expression of solemnity and seriousness. His heavy horseshoe shaped mustache and eyebrows where an ashen white, as was most of his hair except his long muttonchops and ends swept behind his ears that reached his shoulders which still retained traces of auburn. He seemed to be studying everyone who crossed the gaze of his oddly piercing dull gray-green eyes. The simpleness of his wool blue-black suit stuck out or the occasion, until Arthur noticed the overly polished brass six pointed star sheriff badge pinned to his chest.

Ana approached nonchalantly him, “Good evening, Sheriff! Even working on a night like this?”

Seeing her, his eyes lit up and he stood to greet her, “Ah! Mrs. Gardener! It’s good to see you! You look lovely as you always do!”

Something about how they talked didn’t sit well with Arthur. He couldn’t entirely place why, but there was a twinge in his chest. Maybe the fact he was the Sheriff that caused it, or how suddenly warm he became to her. He quietly reminded himself, regardless of what once was, she was no longer his. It didn’t stop the simmering instinct to get her away from him, protect her from whatever he was eyeing her for.

Ana motioned to Arthur to join them, delicately leading him by the arm, “Sheriff Strange, this is Mr. Arthur Callahan. He’s been staying and working with me for a few months now. Arthur, this is Sam Strange, Cain Valley’s sheriff. Mr. O’Hogan told you about him if you were interested in maybe helping with some bounties or whatever else.”

“Sir.” Arthur acknowledged gruffly.

The Sheriff looked him over, “You look tough enough. Could use more strong men in these parts. Especially once the thaw starts. With the lower states pushing back against ‘em, we’ve been getting a lot of gentlemen hoping to cause mischief like they used to. If Mrs. Gardener can give you the time, stop by the station.”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged before they moved on to the banquet table in front of the stage. The centerpiece was a large crystal bowl of spiced punched that had cherries and orange slices floating in it. Behind it were bottles of rather cheap wine and champagne and carefully arranged glasses. On plates to the side were dainty snack foods like crackers and cheese, small fruit tartlets, and different kinds of finger sandwiches. Ana poured Arthur and herself some wine. She identified the eligible women in attendance. Many of them she knew and she narrowed them down to an acceptable age.

“Have you seen anyone you think you’d like?” Ana asked innocently.

Arthur had forgotten about Ana’s plans on finding him a woman, “Can’t say I’ve been paying much attention.”

Ana started subtly pointing out she settled upon, “The really tall blond lady over there in the pink dress? That’s Ingrid Svensson. Her sister Astrid is the school teacher, because of that she’s not permitted to attend events like this. Astrid is 25, Ingrid is 27… Over on the other end, the two women chatting in the corner in red and green? One is Nina Weimann. She’s also 27. Her father is the barber. The other one, her friend, is Zofia Grabowski. She’s 28, came here from Poland to marry a miner. He apparently died before she arrived and she wandered up here. She works as a milk maid and a laundress… The woman next to Sheriff Strange is his daughter, Louise. She’s 30 and her surname is still technically Covey. She was married for a while, but moved to Nevada for a year and got a divorce… Just walking in, in that bright purple is Margot Lambert. She’s a bit more closer to your age, 33. Her grandfather was a French trapper to staked a mine claim here. Even after it dried up they remained. They’re good people. Run the bank now. Just… Pick out whoever you like and I’ll introduce you. Or all them, we can make a circuit.”

Arthur followed her gesture. There was nothing about any of the women, not that they weren’t attractive and he was sure they were nice, that piqued his interest.

“What makes you think I’m keen in any of them?” He muttered.

Ana playfully poked his back, “Oh come on, Arthur.”

Arthur jumped away from her and laughed, “Why you so determined to get rid of me?”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you!” She defended, “But you need someone. My god, when was the last time you even bedded anyone?”

His eyes widened in surprise at the question, sputtering out in reply, “When was the last time you did?!”

Ana swallowed down the last of her wine and poured another, “Too goddamn long, that’s when.”

Arthur sat down on one of the long benches as Ana joined the Contra group dance. Just watching it overstimulated him. For one so fast paced he’d have made a complete clown of himself if he had tried. Ana stuck out, a jewel among them in her rich dress. Her skirts billowing about as she glided from one partner to another. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, striking a match with the sole of his shoe. He took a few hard puffs. Jealousy reared itself in his emotions again, especially with the men who became her momentary partner. Being unable to quell it was further frustrating him. What the hell did he want? Even more, what the hell did she want?

Ana had much more to drink by the time she rejoined him. Her face was rosier with the amount of alcohol in her blood, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile on her face. She dropped beside him heavily and joyfully wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t sit there with such a sour face!” She teasingly chided, “You used to know how to have fun! Come on, the next dance we have!”

She led him hand in hand to the floor. Her steps weren’t as graceful as they were at the beginning of the party. Arthur himself had a bit to drink, but he didn’t indulge as heavily as Ana did. He had to be on his best behavior, after all.

When the waltz began Ana had brought herself closer to him than the usual. She led at first, a comical sight for a woman whose head only reached his chest. Once he was refamiliar with the movements she let him. She sighed and laid her head on him. In her deep brown eyes was a deep affection that was always in the background of her gaze towards him. Something that came to the surface once her inhibitions were thoroughly suppressed. He hadn’t seen it in so long. It was pure and unconditional, unashamed and not awkward or close to ashamed like he had with Mary the last few times she and Arthur had crossed paths.

He didn’t know how deep it went for her. How safe she felt with his arm around her, his hand resting on her back. It was the same when they were young, like his presence was where she felt the most right and where she belonged. If she could tell him, she would. Instead she simply savored the brief moment, rather than the endless ideas of what could have been.

The champagne began being passed around as it grew closer to midnight. The band stopped when another member of the Grange came onto the stage. With his watch in hand he began announcing the minutes to midnight. Once 10 seconds were left the crowd joined in, counting down from 9 until the new year finally arrived.

It was 1900. A new century. Everyone was cheering. The church bell began to toll in celebration and the band played Auld Lang Syne with some singing loudly along and other throwing small pieces of food or coins at the door to the entry hall, a superstition to prevent hunger or poverty in the coming months. There was another tradition Ana had wanted to fulfill, one that caught Arthur off guard. She turned to him, standing as tall as she could and kissed him on his cheek.

It lingered on him on the way home. He didn’t understand the messages she was sending him. One moment she was trying to find him a bride… The next she was pressed against him and she had her lips on his face. He was considerably less drunk than Ana was, who spend the time gushing about their shared memories, but he was enough for the contradictions to annoy him.

Ana felt his mood shift. His energy was always so strong when his mood changed, comparable to the air when a sudden storm rolled in. Another thing her son had in common with him. It sucked the mirth inside her, replacing it with cold and anxiety. She waited until they were inside where it was warm to confront him about it.

“What’s bothering you now, Arthur?”

“It’s just…” Arthur grunted, pausing and slamming his fist on the capped post at the bottom of the bannister, “What you want from me, Ana?”

She blinked, his image swayed in her foggy vision, “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Bullshit!” He barked, “You get all nice and cozy to me, then you act like you don’t want me!”

Knowing him, how easily he felt rejected, made what he said painfully sear through her. Her instincts to hide weakness made her straighten, to fight the regretful tears starting to string her eyes, “It’s… It’s not that I don’t want you.”

That only further agitated him, “THEN WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!”

“BECAUSE I WILL NEVER BE MARY!” Ana shouted back. She covered her face. The dam had burst and she couldn’t allow him to see it. She softened her voice, “I accepted, ten years ago, that you would never love me the same level as I loved you.”

She started to laugh at how ludicrous she sounded, “That’s it! The truest form of love I can show you is a path where you can actually enjoy life. It doesn’t matter if it involves me. I’ve had a good life, I want the same thing for you.”

No matter what she said the result was still the same. While Arthur’s anger was gone, the self loathing that haunted him filled every fiber of him. He just stared at her, remorse etching the lines in his face deeper. He reached out to her, “Anie…”

“No. I just can’t…” She stumbled passed him up the stairs.

He heard the door slam. He just stood there. He’d rather she had just called him names, confirmed what he already knew about himself. What did happen made him feel worse. Something clicked as his silent chastisement paralyzed him. He didn’t know what it was, but it was enough for him to follow. Ana was probably undressed by now, in her nightwear. He just hoped he didn’t totally miss the chance to make something right. He hesitated at her door. From the other side were her muffled sobs.

He didn’t knock. Ana didn’t react to him entering and softly closing the door behind him. He sat next to her on the bed, only able to muster a weak “Ana…”.

“Will you at least try?” She said weakly, staring at him with red and watery eyes, “For me? For our child?”

Arthur rested his palms of Ana’s cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that stained her face, “Yeah. I can try.”

He pulled down the blankets of her bed. She wearily obeyed, allowing him to help her lay down and tuck her in, “But, for now, you need to rest. You had a lot to drink tonight.”

He lowered the flame in the kerosene lamp on the side table to a dim glow. Once he was satisfied that she would be okay, he got up. Before he could get too far away from her, Ana grabbed his wrist.

“Please don’t leave me…”

Her hold on him was strong, desperate. Ana knew it shouldn’t be. She was the one who left him. She was no more worthy of it than any common whore. In her state, she just couldn’t be alone, away from him.

Arthur couldn’t say no, not with her despondent mood and woeful expression of heartbreak. He nodded. He did, however, instruct her to let him undress. She closed her eyes as he quietly stripped himself of his confining clothing, making sure his union suit didn’t show too much. The innocence of it aside, he did have some apprehensions sharing a bed with her. He hadn’t done anything of the sort in years, to the point he couldn’t really remember exactly when. Still, he crawled in on the empty side next to her. He put his arm around her, where she instinctively rested her head and hand on his chest.

“Since the party didn’t seem to go well,” Ana whispered as sleep came, “Do you want help finding Mary? I’m still willing.”

Arthur pulled her closer, covering her more, “You don’t need to worry about her no more.”