#catherine braithwaite

[abovesn4kes]

Side characters!!

[jihef03]

I really like how most of the antagonists, no matter how corrupt and twisted they are, are able to see through Dutch's Robin Hood act and call him on his bs.

[fandomlife-confessions]

[hylorien]

The gang is so dead set that Catherine Braithwaite is a nut bag but honestly she was smarter and quicker than all of them and while Dutch and Hosea think they're running a scheme, she's pulling the rug out from underneath them. She wasn't a GOOD person but she was way sharper than she's given credit for

[anarthriticsimp]

I jus wanna know Why the developers of rdr2 gave catherine Braithwaite such a sexy voice like...Goddamn yall she doesn't have to sound like that

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Longing

~ Van Der Linde gang/Male!Reader

~ Platonic

~ 2.1k words

Request :3

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Two thousand, three hundred fifty-seven days. Six whole years since you’ve started working with the Braithwaites. Six years since your friends– your family, left you behind. You were nothing more than a grifter now. Picking up odd job after odd job for money; working at every beck and call at the hand of Catherine Braithwaite.

In a sense, you owed her. All those years ago, you had gone on a heist with the Van Der Linde gang. You were in charge of planning everything out. From the positions of everyone in the gang, to the escapes, to the successes, and the probable failures. Unfortunately, somehow, there was an outcome you never even considered.

They knew you were coming. To try and help your family make it out alive, you had to play the hero. Take the downfall and let them all escape with the promise of following them immediately after. 

Unfortunately, you were caught. You hadn’t the slightest clue on how long had passed of nothing but hell. Beaten, stabbed, cut, shot, kicked, bitten, starved… all until the Braithwaites found you after you barely managed to escape– your life hanging on by a thread.

They took you in for a price. They would watch over you until you were stable again as well as provide you a stable income if you worked for them. They were the equivalent to Satan’s hemorrhoid covered in burning moonshine embodied, but you didn’t have much of a choice. Adapt or die.

Day after day. Night after night; you were the property of the Braithwaite family. You had fallen from bad to worse. You knew some of the names of the family you had loved so dearly, but their faces escaped you. That was devastating to you. You weren’t even sure where to consider searching for them. You weren’t sure if your sacrifice had meant nothing and they all died anyway. Often spending your days drinking to be able to focus on the task at hand.

To your dismay, one of the devils that had crawled out of Catherine’s rotten womb had come to find you again. You had never cared to remember their names. They were the scum of the Earth and not worth remembering– though, they thought the same of you.

Dragging you back into that wretched manor by the scruff of your neck and, thankfully, you didn’t have to head inside too far. Catherine was sitting on her wrinkled ass in the front room as she watched her sons pace and ramble at one another. Her gaze is drawn to you as soon as you’re shoved inside by her third son.

“Ah, you’re back… good.” She mutters, though her tone is hardly friendly. “Yeah, yeah.. What’d you want?” you grumble in response. Glaring at her son briefly as you adjust the collar of your shirt before folding your arms over your chest, looking back towards Catherine.

“I thought I told you to watch that tone of yours, boy. Bartholomew here would have no problem sending you right back the way you came all that time ago.” You roll your eyes with a frustrated sigh, but you don’t argue nor call her bluff.

“Now then. Couple ‘a vermin took some of my shine. I want you to go hunt ‘em down and get it back.” Catherine all but demands before waving you off like some mutt, but you don’t leave quite yet. “How the hell am I s’posed to find ‘em?”

She stares at you like you’re the stupidest man she’s ever met before she sighs in annoyance. “Saw ‘em heading out of town.” one of her sons chime in, once again poking into a conversation where they aren’t wanted. You glance over towards him, considering your options for a moment, before looking back towards Catherine, staring down the bridge of her nose at you.

You grumble an acceptance to the task under your breath and turn on your heel to leave the room. Pulling your sidearm out of its holster and checking how many bullets you have in the chamber, not bothering to look up as you head outside. The Braithwaites’ doormen doing their jobs and holding things open for you.

Stuffing your gun back into its holster, you walk down the steps and over towards one of Catherine’s horses. She hates you borrowing them, but you don’t have much of a choice. Your own horse is still remaining near the parlour house you were dragged from.

Gently extending your hand open palm towards the horse so as to not scare it and allowing it to smell your hand. Your other hand working to untie the reins from the hitch rail. You weren’t the most knowledgeable on horses, but you knew enough to get around and manage them properly.

Guiding your hand over the horse’s mane as you stick your boot into one of the stirrups. Bringing your body weight over the saddle and tucking your other boot into the stirrup on the other side. With a pat to the horse’s neck in praise for not bucking you off, you command the horse into a trot and controlling where it heads with both hands on the reins. Your body rocking with the steady gait of the horse.

Assuming this was just another case with the Lemoyne Raiders, you had your guard up more than usual. You’ve had to deal with them more times than you can count. Mostly on the behalf of the Braithwaites, but dealt with nonetheless.

As you ride through town, you’re sure to take your sweet ass time. While the Braithwaites pay you, it’s not nearly enough to ensure a quality job gets done. She’ll be lucky if it gets done in the next few days.

Just as you’re about to head into a clearing just outside of Rhodes, you’re stopped by a rugged looking man pointing his gun at you. Taking quick notice of his attire, your eyes fall onto the deputy badge he’s wearing before looking him in the eye again. “What can I help you with, friend?”

“The hell’re you doin’ out here, friend? You ain’t got no business here” The man responds gruffly, though he seems slightly confused by your appearance. You glance away from him briefly towards the clearing before making eye contact with him. His voice seems familiar, but you can’t quite pinpoint it.

“Out looking for a couple gentlemen who robbed the Braithwaites. Don’t imagine you’ve seen ‘em, sheriff?” You respond calmly, to which he grunts. His eyes seem to be picking you apart like a vulture on a carcass as if he could see to your very soul. His stare unwavering as he slowly puts his gun back in its holster.

“What’s your name?” The man asks warily, though it’s not quite a question. More so a demand before he kills you where you stand and steals your horse from underneath you. “L/N. Y/N L/N.” you answer without a fuss, but the man seems put off by your name.

“Y/N..” he echoes, as if testing your name on his tongue. A look of recognition crosses his face as he looks up towards you. Beckoning you down from your horse with a wave of his hand, to which you follow his instruction. Slinging your body weight to one side of your horse before stepping down onto the ground. Keeping one hand clasped around the reins at all times.

As the man steps closer, you step back cautiously, yet there’s only so much space you’re given before you run into the horse, peacefully grazing on the grass. He seems completely dumbfounded by you. Staring at you doe-eyed as a grin slowly spreads across his lips.

“You don’t recognize me, do ya?” He asks. You make a point to look the man up and down as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You can’t shake the feeling of familiarity he radiates. So similar yet far different than your memories. “Am I supposed to?”

He chuckles and reaches up to push the brim of his black hat up, exposing a bit more of his face. The dopey grin on his face is contagious, causing you to smile slightly, despite your confusion. “Morgan ring a bell?” you practically feel your heart drop into your stomach at the realization. He made it out alive. Thank the Gods.

Without even thinking, you step closer to him and pull Arthur into a tight hug, causing him to laugh and hug you back just as tightly. “I thought we lost you, kid. The hell happened to you all these years?” his voice is slightly muffled by your shoulder, but you understand him perfectly.

It takes you a bit longer to answer. You never thought you’d see your old gang again. Seeing Arthur feels like a damn miracle. “Long story..” you mutter simply. He looks more weathered than you remember, though you’re sure he barely recognized you too. Your face littered in scars from being held captive for so long. “The hell are you doing working with the law?”

Arthur gives a hearty laugh and pats your back before letting go of you, causing you to do the same. You’re not at all concerned on where the horse ran off to. To hell with Catherine. Someone gets a free horse today. 

“Dutch ‘n Micah got a plan to steal from the Braithwaites and the Grays for a bit of gold.. It’s a whole deal.” He waves dismissively before resting his hands on his gun belt. “Well now I know who I’m s’posed to be lookin’ for” you joke with a chuckle. Scratching the back of your neck as you look down the road in the direction of the cursed manor you’ve just come from.

“Is.. y’know- everyone else fine?” you asks hesitantly as you look back towards Arthur. You’re not sure if you want to know the answer. Arthur sighs heavily, his expression turning slightly solemn.

“Yeah. A couple of us made it out here. It’s been hell without you, I’ll say that much.” He chuckles bitterly as he glances over your shoulder before suddenly getting an idea. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to see ya again.” he invites.

Feeling your heart begin to race, you nod a bit quicker than you meant. Arthur nods towards a direction behind you as he steps past you, silently telling you to follow. You feel like a lost child as you follow after Arthur. Awkwardly stuffing your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. Your eyes darting across the clearing you intended to go into in the first place. 

You can just barely hear chatter among several people. Upon seeing the camp set up, you can feel all sorts of forgotten memories coming back to you. Remembering the drunken nights you’ve shared with your family. The petty arguments. The excitement of inviting new members into the gang. Since you parted, there’s a lot of new faces you don’t quite remember.

Arthur leads you right up to Dutch’s tent, clearing his throat to draw his attention, causing Dutch to look up from the book– of which you can only imagine is Evelyn Miller. “You remember Y/N, don’t’cha?” Arthur asks quietly as he puts a hand on your shoulder, nudging you further into Dutch’s tent.

The man himself is almost silent. Slowly closing his book and setting it down on his cot before getting up and approaching you as if you’re a dangerous animal. For a moment, you swear you see a hint of a tear in Dutch’s eye.

Before you even register what he’s doing, he pulls you into a tight hug. Surprisingly tighter than Arthur’s own. Catching both of you off guard by the sudden action. “It’s good to see you again, son.” Dutch says quietly

“It- It’s good to see you too, Dutch” you respond as you slowly wrap your arms around Dutch’s back and giving him a short pat. It takes him a moment, but he finally pats you back and lets go, putting his hands on your shoulders and looking you in the eye. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him smile..if ever.

A long moment of silence is shared between the three of you before Dutch pulls his hands back down to his sides, gently tugging on the ends of his vest as he awkwardly clears his throat, looking away from you.

“I s’pose I should show you ‘round camp. Introduce ya to everyone you missed.” Arthur mutters behind you, causing you to turn around with a small nod. There’s an undeniable fear and excitement that comes with seeing everyone again. You can’t wait to meet the rest of your family after all these years.

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its finally done </3 I hope you like it !!

[omgwhatchloe]

for some reason, the trope of a character running away, getting kicked out, getting kidnapped or just going missing, only to be stumbled upon by the other characters a few years later, as a completely different person is so interesting to me. like i actually love it so so much. for example, imagine this:

catherine braithwaite never confesses to where jack is, and they never find him. then, one of the gang members years later riding through saint denis, with probably absolutely no contact to john and abigail (would they still be together?), finds him as one of angelo brontes hardened street kids.

i know this has jst turned to me rambling, but i need a fic about this. DESPERATELY.

[cowboysanddragons23]

Arthur Morgan has been training to fight Dutch during his whole arc and doesn't even realize it, as all of the antagonists he fought against, all represent an aspect of Dutch:

-Colm O'Driscoll: Colm O'Driscoll is an outlaw who cares only about causing chaos and destruction, with no sense of idealism or loyalty towards his men, seeing them only as expendable numbers, focusing only on the quantity aspect instead of quality. He rules his gang with a cultistic mix of fear and adoration ("He's..uh..uh.. wh-when he talks to you nicely is like the sun is shining, and when he is mad at you, it's like the devil's gonna be upon you"). This parallels how Dutch would behave during Chapter 6, leaving Arthur and John to die and regarding the rest of the gang as expendable numbers and leads them with a cultistic mix of adoration and fear.

-Leviticus Cornwall: Leviticus Cornwall is an industrialist who, despite his delusions of gentlemanliness and eloquence, he robs, kills and destroys everything on his path, showing utter lack of concern about the destruction he leaves on his wake ("Business doesn't give a damn about feelings."). He is also obsessed with getting more power and will betray the law he claims to uphold so he can get what he desires. This reflects how Dutch threw away the ideals he cherished so much the moment pressure started mounting him at the drop of a hat, but also that despite dressing elegantly and speaking eloquently, he is a criminal hiding under a mask of sophistication.

-Andrew Milton: Andrew Milton is a Pinkerton agent determined to make his vision of the world a reality, starting out with a noble intention (which is up to interpretation), which is to clean up the West, yet ends up descending more into savagery and uncivilization, yet retains a sliver of honor. This mirrors how Dutch started out wanting to build an utopia using brutal and relentless methods, yet ends up descending more and more into insanity, dying a violent death.

-Tavish Gray and Catherine Braithwaite: Tavish Gray and Catherine Braithwaite are the heads of the Gray and Braithwaite families, who despite the times advancing, they still remain stuck in the past, wallowing about the "good ol' days" where they could hurt and kill with impunity. This is a parallel how Dutch refused to stop being an outlaw and had no intention of retiring at all.

-Angelo Bronte: As already explained in my earlier post, Angelo Bronte is a mobster who rules Saint Denis as a king, who has both the police and mafia serving as his knights. Similar to Cornwall and Colm, Bronte is not only supported by society, but is also a criminal who has no delusions about the nature of his business, treating others as dirt and manipulating them into doing what he wants. He also takes orphans into his thrall in order for them to serve him as criminals. This parallels how Dutch treats the gang at heart, with a compassionate way, but in the most condescending and arrogant way possible, but also how he adopted Arthur and John, grooming them into becoming his personal weapons.

-Alberto Fussar: Alberto Fussar is the dictator of Guarma, who he rules as its ruthless autocrat, claiming to work for the glory of Guarma, yet being utterly uncaring and apathetic towards the people inside it, working them to death and outright importing slaves for him to use as workforce in order to satisfy his own endless greed. When his right hand man, Levi Simon, was shot, he left him to die and only cared about saving himself and his pride. Fussar is also ruthlessly intolerant of any viewpoint other than his own. This parallels with how Dutch rules the gang, as the title of the mission "A Kind and Benevolent Despot" can be also applied to Dutch as well, as he gaslights on numerous times the members of the gang the moment they start questioning him and is willing to kill them himself.

-Henry Favours: Henry Favours is a colonel in the US Army who after an undistinguished career, hatches a plot to "reclaim" his "lost glory" by manipulating the Wapiti into war, eventually becoming one of its casualties, while being regarded as an incompetent moron. This is a reflection of how Dutch manipulated the indians in order to both make his escape and to cause chaos and his delusional belief about being a mastermind, yet having in reality an abysmal track record.

[thedailybullshit]

RDR2 Incorrect Quotes pt. 31

Bessie: Oh, you’re such a handsome young man! Can you give us a big smile?

Little John, who had a shitty childhood & doesn’t know how: 😬

Bessie: Oh! Ah - please don’t do that again. Ok-

Thomas the Swamp Boatman: You people have issues.

Arthur: Well of course I have issues!

Dutch: *drowning Bronte*

Arthur, pointing to him: THAT’S MY FUCKIN’ FATHER!!!

Arthur: Hey man, whatcha doin’? Whatcha up to?

Francis Sinclair: Nothin’ big. Just, uh, practicing my time traveling. So-

Arthur: Sorry, did you say time traveling? Like traveling-through-time time traveling?!?!?

Francis: In fact, the love of your life is gonna walk through that door in three, two, one-

Charles, opening door: Hey, I’m sorry, is this - is this the therapy session?

Arthur: The love of my life is a man?!?

Francis: . . . Oh, have we not gotten to that part yet?

Micah: It’s sad to see you slowing down, Cowpoke. Tell me, is it the TB?

Arthur: Maybe it is the tuberculosis. But then how pathetic are you? That you can’t best me at my worst!

Dutch: The money is what I want. That is where my loyalties lie. That is what my priority is!

Hosea: Not the person who raised your children?

Dutch: Don’t bring the boys into this.

Hosea: Alright. NOT THE MAN YOU MARRIED?!?!?

Dutch: I REFUSE TO BE BLAMED ANY LONGER FOR THIS GROTESQUE MISALLIANCE!!!!

Arthur: I don’t talk about feelings, Hosea. I don’t have any, I’ve never seen one. I’m a night-stalking, train-robbing outlaw, and a campfire tune-singing machine. I don’t feel anything emotionally except for rage - twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five, at a million percent. And if you think that there’s something behind that, then you’re crazy. Goodnight Hosea!

Hosea: Arthur, it’s morning.

Arthur, looking into the sun bc he didn’t realize: Hsssssssssaahhhhh!!!

Young John: I have a question.

Young Hosea: Alright, shoot.

Young John: *shoots the ceiling* Alright can I ask it now?

Mr. Grimshaw: If I were a gardener, I’d put our two-lips together.

Susan: Aw, thank you!

Dutch: If I were a gardener, you’d be my Ho.

Hosea: Thanks.

Hosea: It must be so nice to be rich instead of, say, having to develop a personality.

Mrs. Braithwaite: Shut up, Matthews.

Hosea: Buy my silence, Catherine.

Charles: I have this strange urge to do something stupid.

Arthur: I’m stupid, do me.

Charles:

The Gang:

Arthur: I said that out loud.

[rinsearosewithwater]

okay but what if the gang never found out about who took Jack.. what if someone got a little too trigger happy and killed Catherine Braithwaite before she could tell them..

then.. what if.. what if Jack was then raised by Bronte?? his italian is perfect at 4 yrs old, he just fits the mold so well jack raised by bronte au

[verdemoun]

that scene where milton and ross show up at clemens point and tell dutch they only want him but then kierans like “what if we give you colm odriscoll” and theyre like sure that works and they do that

this would most likely lead to the typical 'if the vdls were all alive who would actually be able to give up being an outlaw and settle down' dilemma

this did however make me kick my feet and giggle over the idea of the gang being forced to do a 180 because they actually realise kieran has a whole lot of power

in short: even if they had a deal with the pinkertons not being outlaws would be a condition and dutch is such a garbage power hungry vain person he wouldn't be able to help himself and end up jeopardizing the deal for everyone who WAS able to settle down. like rdr1 but with a proper 50:50 of the gang hunting down the other members of the gang who stayed with dutch in an effort to buy back the right to live free

but have you considered kieran having the sudden confidence to confront milton and ross because because he was actually an undercover agent with the og bureau: the classic fbi agent arrested by stupid cops

milton and dutch having their legendary stare down as the entire gang draw their weapons after dutch said he would go peacefully and kieran just finally groans and rolls his eyes because 'that was a pretty damned good deal but how about we give you colm o'driscoll and you let these 'murders and lowlifes' carry on their merry way if they promise not to - i don't know - rob anymore ferries??'

in the time it takes most of the bewildered gang to turn to kieran, who looks bored, and has holstered his weapon: ross is sweating a lot more than the lemoyne air should make anyone sweat and agent milton has goosebumps. 'what are you doing here' 'it's a long story. now how about we actually sit down and talk about this civilised'

kieran whistles to branwen, who calmly trots his way into camp almost going straight over micah bell. from the ratty saddle bags attached to a barely kept together saddle, kieran pulls out a badge, a very fanciful looking ID, and hundreds of photos of colm, the vdls, the braithwaites and fucking angelo bronte having tea with catherine braithwaite when the gang still just think that's a funny looking italian feller and haven't actually put a name to the face.

with only dutch, hosea, milton, ross and kieran duffy mediating, there is a back and forth of wit and snark and entire time kieran is there actually talking confidently, boredly, snarking at both 'respective' parties and making arguments about legal loopholes hosea didn't even know existed. then there's silence, milton shakes dutch's hand, and milton, ross and kieran ride off. and everyone is asking what the fuck just happened. hosea says they wait. yes jack's missing, yes they just burned down a manor, yes the pinkertons know where camp is but they stay and they wait until kieran tells them otherwise. the whole van der linde gang waiting for the word of kieran stableboy duffy

and three days later, kieran duffy rides back into camp with a very excited jack who can't wait to explain spaghetti and the dozen words of italian he learned to his parents with seemingly no idea how terrified they were. kieran kicks over a crate, gives himself a little box to stand on as he reads through dozens of pages of terms and conditions.

thanks to the unwitting work of the van der linde gang, the pinkertons and bureau were able to arrest colm, fat tommy, a half dozen other high ranking o'driscolls wanted for a collective thousand murders. they also were able to arrest angelo bronte and all his minions, severing a major international weapons dealing and money laundering operation. their reward? slate is wiped clean.

obviously, the gang are banned from ever setting foot in blackwater again. dutch is expected to be a polite and docile law abiding citizen the rest of his life. no more cons for hosea, arthur is also banned from going with 600ft of saint denis because no one should be able to accidentally trample 4 people and leave one man dead galloping through side streets. turns out that guy a wanted criminal anyway. otherwise? bounties forgiven. crimes washed away or otherwise explained as justifiable. javier esuella is an american citizen with his outstanding warrants in mexico not recognized by any us state. bill's dishonorable discharge was changed to 'other'. any members of the gang younger than 20 were given $150 to cover the tuition fee to a college of their choice and a letter of recommendation. everyone else was free to do as they wished, as long as they don't commit a crime big enough to come to either agencies' attention ever again.

well, except micah. the bureau still wanted micah, who arthur is only too happy to truss up like a thanksgiving turkey and deliver to the nearest police station

and if the gang chose to stick together (as strongly suspected they would) they were stuck with agent duffy, who was legally obligated to inform agencies if dutch started making stupid plans again (but if it was a good plan - which agent duffy may or may not have been allowed to advise on to help them not break their contract with the bureau - then what was the harm?).

the gang head west happy and free and definitely still committing much smaller scale robberies for the thrill. kieran discovers he prefers being called o'driscoll to rat king but at least he finally got his own bedroll

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Novels for Black History Month (Refreshed)

Titles, authors, and genres below the cut! Favourites are starred!

YA:

Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas*

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson

Everything, Everything by Nicola Yoon

Pride by Ibi Zoboi

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas*

Happily Ever Afters by Elise Bryant*

Your Corner Dark by Desmond Hall

Yesterday is History by Kosoko Jackson

Mystery/Thriller:

My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite

Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley

Blacktop Wasteland by S.A. Cosby*

Lightseekers by Femi Kayode

Razorblade Tears by S.A. Cosby

Sci-fi/Fantasy/Magic Realism:

Rosewater by Tade Thompson

Fifteen Dogs by André Alexis

The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin*

Beloved by Toni Morrison

Historical:

Deacon King Kong by James McBride*

The Fishermen by Chigozie Obioma

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill*

Washington Black by Esi Edugyan*

Half-Blood Blues by Esi Edugyan*

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin

Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi

Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson*

The Rib King by Ladee Hubbard

The Love Songs of W.E.B. DuBois by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers (May 2021)

Black Cloud Rising by David Wright Faladé*

Last Summer on State Street by Toya Wolfe*

Contemporary:

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo

New People by Danzy Senna

Swing Time by Zadie Smith*

Loving Day by Mat Johnson

Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams

Real Life by Brandon Taylor

The Turner House by Angela Flournoy

Open Water by Caleb Azumah Nelson*

The Late Americans by Brandon Taylor

Seven Days in June by Tia Williams*

Small Worlds by Caleb Azumah Nelson*

[sednonamoris]

unbridled

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: A theft gone right and a deal gone wrong.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, strong language, lots of dialogue, lots of horses

Word count: 2,322

A/N: my humble take on horse flesh for dinner <3 this is our last bit of plot before john and ghost have some time alone to figure out what exactly is going on between them next chapter... as always tysm for reading!!

Series masterlist • AO3

— 

You manage to avoid Micah and Dutch and your own complicated feelings for all of a week before things start getting serious with these two families, the Braithwaites and the Grays. No longer is there time for your own petty feuds. Hosea has the ear of the Braithwaite woman, and Dutch has sent John to lean on the Gray head of house while he helps that Sheriff, Leigh, drink himself to death or uselessness. Maybe just death; he’s pretty useless all on his own. 

You report back on the Braithwaite horses - finely made English Thoroughbreds with pedigrees to boot - and soon enough John sends for you and Javier to meet him at Caliga Hall. Arthur is supposed to join you there, too, but between playing sides and settling as a husband and surrogate father he’s barely had time to breathe, let alone rustle a stablefull of horses. 

Tavish Gray waits in his own stable. He seems about as drunk as his brother - face flushed, eyes shot red and out of focus. His clothes are quality but his manner is entirely unkempt. If this is what a store of gold gets you, you might have to tell Dutch it’s not all he’s made it out to be. The animals in the barn don’t even seen that nice.

“Hello, sir,” John greets on everyone’s behalf. “You wanted a word with us?”

“That’s right.”

And what a word he wants. 

In his rambling accent, he goes on about those traitorous Braithwaites and how high and mighty that Catherine is with her prize nags. You get the idea pretty quickly that he’d like you to steal them out from under her - knew that before you came, really - but he doesn’t stop there. Soon his rantings turn to how friendly your group has seemed. How troubled things have been in spite of it. His eyes squint as he says it, and his lip sticks out more with suspicion than with the tobacco he stuffs there. 

By the time Arthur shows up John is in the middle of selling the usual lie - that your merry band of misfits suffered a failed investment in a railway company out West and came here seeking that ever-elusive American dream. 

“We heard good men can do well in this country,” he says.

“Sure,” Tavish agrees, his speech slow. “And bad men.” 

In spite of his doubts, though, Tavish promises gold - and five thousand dollars rustling those horses to boot. You give a subtle shake of your head when John raises his brows at the price. They’re nice animals. You’ll certainly turn a profit. But there’s not one fence down here in Nowhere, USA paying that much for Thoroughbreds that’ll have to make it over state lines to sell. Not one. 

Crazy old fool.

“Five thousand dollars for horses?” John says when you’re far enough away that the manor guards won’t hear. “Guess we should’a taken a page out of Ghost’s book all this time. We been robbin’ the wrong folk.” 

Arthur scoffs. “He doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. Who’s his contact?”

“Never said,” you reply. “Worst case scenario I’ll take John and run ‘em out of state myself. It’ll take longer, but the profit might be better. Tidier, anyway.”

“Sure. Dutch won’t be too happy about losing the extra guns, though.”

You roll your eyes. “He’ll be happy enough when we come back with the money.”

He always is. And, selfishly, a week away with John hardly sounds like the worst thing in the world. 

“So,” Javier says, “how are we doing this?”

You about fall out of your saddle when John suggests shooting your way in and out, and again when Arthur wants to pose as buyers with the four of you looking every inch the no-good thieves that you are - miles away from respectable. You share a can you believe these morons look with Javier before announcing that you’ll all be riding back to camp before anyone else pipes up with any more rotten ideas.

—

“You been spendin’ too much time with Hosea,” Arthur grumbles as he tugs at the starched collar of his shirt.

After a change of clothes and horses, you’re near to the back gate of Braithwaite Manor now. The four of you cut a much more respectable figure on matching Morgans brushed to a shine with clean faces and clothes that aren’t marked by a lifetime’s worth of wear. You’re still armed, but to Arthur’s point, anyone about to ‘spend’ this much would be. 

“Why don’t you leave the finer details of horse theivin’ to them that know better,” you snipe. “You clearly ain’t spent enough time with him if you think you’ll be able to waltz into a place like this all covered in mud and dressed like a degenerate.” 

Javier snickers. Arthur glares at you both, which only makes you laugh more, but you sober up the moment the gates are in sight. John talks you all past the guard. It’s only a matter of setting a nice, easy pace along the manicured dirt paths to the stables after that. You offer directions here and there, but John leads confidently. Probably so Arthur can’t say I told you so if he messes this up.

You observe the grounds with an air of practiced indifference as you go. This place was certainly grand once, but a look at the peeling white paint and leaning fenceposts makes you wonder, not for the first time, if the Braithwaites have any riches left. Their horses may be fine enough, but the barn they reside in is decidedly ordinary. The closer you get the less impressive it is; its wood is unpainted, and there are shingles missing from the roof. Bales of straw lie hither and thither, like they can’t afford the help they need to move it all in place. Fence boards are down between paddocks. Only a single hand works out front, oiling a saddle that’s seen better days.

He’s suspicious of you all at first, even going so far as to call Javier greaser, but once Arthur spins a story about stables up in Saratoga he eases off and beckons the lot of you into the barn. A dark bay stallion stands tall and proud in the nearest stall, marked only by the stockings on his legs. His head is finely-featured, his eyes dark and intelligent. His legs are straight. Hindquarters strong. The stallions beside him - black with a star on his face and unmarked dappled grey, respectively - are much the same. Their ears flick to attention at the prospect of visitors. The grey tosses his head and paws, willful, but the black stud brings his head right over the stall door to whoof at your pockets for treats.

“We call him Old Father Time,” the stablehand says. Talking about his charges has warmed any remnants of suspicion right over. You almost feel bad he’s taken the bait so easily. “He loves his apples. Here,” he produces one from his pocket for you.

Father Time’s whiskers tickle as he gently takes it from your flat, outstretched palm and you can’t help but smile. You give an affectionate rub to the white snip on his nose while your new best friend tells you everything else there is to know about these animals. The bay stallion is named Cerberus. The grey one is known as Autocrat. Each one has a race record, he tells you, and each one is already a proven producer. You ask after specifics in their pedigrees just in case you find yourself forging papers later, but mostly to keep him busy while Javier slits his throat. 

“Uh-huh?” he sneers as the body slumps to the ground. Blood pools over hard, dry dirt. “Greaser, huh?”

Autocrat rears up at the dark shift in mood, tossing his head with nostrils flared. The other stallions whicker nervously and dance in place. Their eyes roll white. 

“Alright boys,” you say, loosening your gun in its holster and adjusting your bandana over your face. “Grab a horse and get a move on. Time for us to to get gone.”

—

It’s a close thing, but you make it off the manor without losing any horses or getting shot full of holes. Your pursuers turn back through the brush before making it to Clemens Clove, where Tavish’s mystery fence awaits. Everyone - human and horse - is blowing hard and sheened with sweat. 

The fence’s covered wagon sits tucked in among the crumbling stone fences of the cove, just off its shoreline. A few horses mill about in temporary fencing. Nothing particularly impressive. Worth a couple bucks at most. But the thing that really turns your mouth in displeasure is the realization of exactly who Tavish’s associates are: Clay and Clive Davies. 

“Well, well, well,” Clay drawls as you ride up, “look what the cat dragged in, Clive. The Ghost Rider of New Austin all the way up in Lemoyne and visiting little old us. My, how times change.”

“Fellas,” you greet tersely. 

Clay leers a grin. “Ain’t you gonna introduce us to your friends?”

Between clenched teeth you make introductions on both ends. John, Arthur, and Javier, meet Clay and Clive Davies. Professional acquaintances. Old rivals. John raises his brows at your obvious displeasure, but you just grimace a polite smile. You’ve known the twins for longer than you care to recall. Back when you were young and dumb and maybe fifteen - just starting out - they were your biggest contacts. Those boys helped you move stolen horseflesh all across and beyond the state of New Austin. If you didn’t happen to sell to another fence and make twice your usual profits, you might never have realized just how bad they’d been fleecing you. Wool over the eyes. Played like a damn fiddle You were livid, of course, going so far as to tip the law off about their whereabouts - a favor they returned in kind. You’ve encountered them plenty over the years since, both of you ripping one another off in equal turns, and seeing them always puts a sour taste in your mouth. 

“I haven’t seen you since you screwed us out of a good spot out near Blackwater,” Clay continues conversationally. 

You shrug. “Anybody could’a tipped the law off. Obvious place.”

“Oh, sure,” he snorts derisively. “Anybody.” 

“Look, we’re trying to move some horseflesh here. Think you can help us, or do we need to make other arrangements?” John interrupts. 

Clay purses his lips and folds his arms, taking a step back to get a good look at your animals for the first time. They toss their heads but stand quietly otherwise. Their coats glisten in the sun. The brand marking each of their shoulders stands out, dark and obvious. 

“I know these horses,” he finally says. He flashes a smug little grin your way when he adds, “They ain’t yours.”

“They ain’t yours yet, either. We’re askin’ four hundred a head.”

“Oh, you’re a real hoot, Ghost,” Clay laughs, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Man, that is funny. How about six fifty for the lot of ‘em?”

John bristles beside you. “I was told we could get up to five thousand.”

“And I was told that the moon was made of ladies’ tears, only it ain’t true. Not one little bit.” He leans back on the crumbling stone wall and raises a single, challenging brow. “I ain’t got more than seven hundred on me. You want it, or you want to ride them fellers into town and maybe someone there’ll hang you?”

“We’re gonna need more’n that,” Arthur argues.

Clay puts his hands up. “I ain’t got no more money, pop. Take it or leave it.”

Arthur almost makes to shake hands, but you step forward and block him. “Then we’re leavin’ it. Keep your goddamn money and try a hand at sellin’ the nags you got lined up here. I’m sure there’s a better deal elsewhere.”

“Now wait just a—”

But you don’t wait. You don’t even listen. You just turn and take the horses and go.

—

“Well shit, Ghost,” Arthur says when you and your stolen goods are far enough away from the twins and tucked out of sight among the treeline near camp. “Seven hundred would’a been better than nothin’!”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist. “I told you I can get a good deal. Give me John and a week or so to run ‘em out of state. Plenty of buyers for nice animals like these— Ones that can afford more than seven hundred for the lot of ‘em.”

“Five thousand?” 

“Don’t be stupid. Over a thousand altogether, but not without papers. I got somebody who’ll do some up nice.” 

Arthur sighs. “Fine. I guess I’ll tell Dutch.” 

You clasp his shoulder in thanks. “We’ll be back before you miss us.”

Without another word, he and Javier take the leads of the Morgans you and John rode in on while the two of you pull your tack and whistle for your regular mounts. Moonshine and Old Boy emerge from the brush in short order. Sunlight filters through the tree canopy to paint their coats dappled gold. Arthur and Javier take the spare horses and wave goodbye. 

— 

It doesn’t take long before you’re on your way, just you and John and Old Boy and Moonshine and three Thoroughbred studs and the wild country ahead. 

“So,” John says, “where we headed?”

“North,” you tell him, and he nods along beside you. “We’ll cut through fields ‘til the state line just in case any law is on the lookout, then take the roads up to a town called Thunderhead. I know a counterfeiter lives there who’ll give us a good price on papers.” 

With any luck, some decent-looking paperwork will make these animals easy and profitable to sell. Just a breeze across state borders. A quick trip and a neat score. 

What could go wrong?

[hylorien]

I actually think Catherine Braithwaite was a brilliant woman and even tho she's an antagonist she's one of the characters I will always want more of

[rookisaknight]

I always find posts about Arthur's relationship with women to be a little bit lacking when they come in the "feminist king 😍😍" variety. Because yeah, by 1899 standards he is incredibly progressive, respectful of the women in his life and basically friendly to the idea of women's suffrage. He's a repeated protector of the women at camp and prioritizes their safety in a way that does make him fee safe. Maybe its the trans deconstructionist in me: I do find it interesting that he seems to relate to women in a very different way than he does men. I'd argue this is less a symptom of him being a political misandrist and more, a result of his raising. Where his father was an abusive jackass who Arthur expressly wishes had died faster, he seems to have had a far more positive and loving relationship with his mother. Arthur struggles to express vulnerability and affection with men. Even more positive masculine relationships usually have him putting up more of a front, and he's far more likely to whip out those snide and angry defense mechanism when its only men in the room. He's more willing to open up to Marybeth, Karen, and Tilly, seemingly feeling safer around them.

To be clear, this is an incredibly human reaction to parental trauma. This also isn't a "cancel Arthur" post. But I do think that while he's far less derisive and dismissive of women than most of his contemporaries its still interesting to me how gender shapes his interactions and worldview. Foundationally, even if there are plenty of individual women he can dislike or be disrespectful towards (from Catherine Braithwaite to the sex worker in the Valentine saloon who he derisively says "I didn't know i was talkin to a LADY" to), his response to Women as a class is an extremely elevated view. Theyre a safe spot, but foundationally in need of protection from the kind of dangers other men represent to Arthur. I think that's part of why he struggles with Sadie's desire to ride with the gang, as well as her frequently violent temper, the way he does. It degenders her somewhat. I also would argue there's a degree of confusion. To someone like Arthur, the masculine spaces that traumatize him routinely are something women not only NEED to be protected from, but GET TO be protected from. To throw that protection away is I think a little hard for him to compute (because he's also largely oblivious to the many detractions on the other side of the fence, as well as the inherent frustration of being "kept safe" from your own agency)

[librarycards]

i love this rec idea this is so fun: the sparrow by mary doria russel, east of eden by john steinbeck, the seven moons of maali almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka, the glass hotel by emily st. john mandel, and the biography of x by catherine lacey

ty, what a cool list!

recs:

Fifteen Dogs, André Alexis

Tender is the Flesh, Augustina Bazterrica

Chouette, Claire Oshetsky

Bonus: My Sister, the Serial Killer, Oyinkan Braithwaite