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cowgirlcasanova · 2 months ago

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LIQUOR & LONLINESS

pairing | arthur morgan x fem! oc

summary | arthur sees caroline alone by the fire and gives her some company. caroline can’t stand seeing him so exhausted and tries to take some weight off his shoulders

tags | fluff, flirting but everyone denies it, two idiots pretending not to be in love, fireside chat, massage, cute nervous arthur

word count | 2.5k

a/n | hi bffs! this is my first time ever publishing a fic! i’ve been trying to get back into creative writing again so here we are. please be nice to me ok? :)

i plan on publishing more arthur fics with this oc, building up their world/relationship & revealing her backstory. i just always think it’s so fun to read about ocs so i thought i’d give it a try! so this is a little introduction. hope you like it <3

A small sliver of the moon peeked through the clouds reflecting off the bay surrounding Clemens Point.

The glow of the moon and the dying firelight contrasted beautifully on Carolines face, something Arthur couldn’t help but take notice of as he gazed at her from under the awning of his wagon.

He couldn’t force himself to revert his gaze, completely enthralled by the way the shadows danced across her at the smallest of movements. He was already picturing the angle in which he’d have to move his pencil to even attempt at sketching the sight of the warm and cool light dueling on her face. Arthur cursed himself under his breath at the mere thought of filling another page in his journal with her face, something he’d found himself doing far too often these days.

“Arthur you miserable fool.” He muttered to himself, grimacing as he stretched out his overworked body and rose off his cot.

Caroline sat alone, unsure if the heat she was feeling was radiating from the ebbing fire or from the burn of the dark liquor making its way through her system. She stuck to taking small sips of her glass of bourbon, feeling a strange guilt for drinking it in the first place.

As the only member of the Van Der Linde gang to have advanced medical knowledge it all fell on her to heal their various ailments. She often had just enough supplies to keep everyone afloat, but having the law after you constantly made it a challenge to get your hands on much needed medicine. So, she’d save what she could and turn to liquor as her medicine of choice, trying to save all the expensive tonics and remedies for the traumas that really needed it. Bill complaining of a back injury? Whiskey. The days that Hosea's cough seemed to worsen? Whiskey. Even using whiskey as a last ditch effort to warm John after his wolf attack. She always tried her best to stay out of her own medicinal stash of liquor, But, some nights she wanted the peace that came with the burn of whiskey. Tonight was one of those nights.

“Hey there, Miss Caroline.” Arthurs gruff voice breaks through the unusually silent night. The smell of the burning fire filled his nose as he got closer. He approaches her with a courteous nod, running a hand across his growing stubble.

“Mind if I join ya?” He removed his banged up hat, holding it close over his chest, a small sign of respect toward the lady that did go unnoticed by her. Rarely anything he did went unnoticed by her.

She smiled up at him with the warm smile she always wore, but something about it made him feel like that sweet smile was just for him everytime. Though he’d never let himself believe something as foolish as that. When she turned to look at him the shadows on her face stopped battling and the warm light of the fire covered her completely. From Arthurs vantage point it almost looked as if she was glowing.

“Please do.”

He moves as gently as he can for his size, taking his seat next to her on the old log the gang has fashioned into a bench. His usual confidence was tempered by something softer while next to her. His leg brushes against her knee, as he sits down, a reminder of how close you two are. The weight of his knee was pushing the scratchy material of her skirt against her leg and yet, she can’t bring herself to move her leg away from the tiny space they share. In the harsh life she's suddenly found herself thrown into, although by her own actions. She finds herself craving affection and touch more and more everyday. A gentle touch. Not a casual pat on the shoulder from Dutch or a clap on the back from Sean. Something with meaning behind it, with care and tenderness.

When Arthurs leg stays planted firmly, their knees barely brushing, her heart aches at the thought that the ever so tough man beside her may be feeling the same.

"you doin’ alright this evenin’, caroline?” He asks, his voice softer than usual. His eyes moved across her face, taking in the closeness and her warmth that he was now admiring up close.

“Im doin’ just fine. How ‘bout yourself?” Her sickeningly sweet southern accent hits his ears, making him unable to stop a smile from tugging at his lips.

“I’ve been worse.”

“Long day I take it?” She asks, sipping from her glass, not diverting her gaze from him. Her face takes on a concerned expression. He has to glance away from the look she gives him, deflecting his eyes to the fire. Something about the way she looked at him always seemed so soft and genuine. It turned him into a fool everytime.

“Ain’t they all.” He drawls, letting out a self deprecating chuckle.

Arthur stretches out his sore, muscled arms in front of him in an effort to work out the constant deep ache that his overworked body feels. His biceps flex through the thin material of his button up shirt, the material looking like it could give way any moment, unintentionally drawing Caroline's eye. Her heart speeds up as she takes another sip from her glass, doing her best to quiet her thoughts of him with liquor. A quiet, painful groan slips from his mouth at the movement. He closes his eyes and rolls his neck to try and soothe discomfort.

“Did’ya hurt yourself?” She asks swiftly, her voice filling with immediate concern. Arthur scolded himself, trying to push down the warmth he felt over her worrying for him. It was her job.

His eyes warmed at her concern, making her wonder if it was the pain or her that caused the change. She hoped it was the latter. “my shoulder just been actin’ up on me. nothin’ for you to fuss about.”

“Well, if ya keep throwin’ your weight around it ain’t never gon’ heal.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as if she was scolding the tough and hardened man beside her.

He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, hating to be reminded of how often he seemed to be caught in some violent altercation nowadays. He hated it more coming from Caroline, the sweetest woman he knows. He couldn't help but feel like she should loathe him and this life. That she should turn heel and run while she still had a chance at a good life. Maybe even being able to settle down with a rich man somewhere, raise a family. The things a woman like her should be able to do. Not running with a gang of criminals.

“It ain’t the “throwing my weight around,” He says chuckling, repeating her choice of wording. “I’m just gettin’ old”

“Oh, you are not gettin’ old you silly man!” She whacked his arm playfully, the sound making a weak thump because of her carefulness, taking extra precaution to hit his forearm and not his sore shoulder.

All he musters out is a small lighthearted scoff at her strike, which felt more like a love tap.

“It ain’t age! It's all that punchin’ you're doing.” A weak attempt at chastising him, but she's not able to keep the smile off her lips long enough. “And yes, I did hear about that fight at the saloon.”

He looked over at her and the way she clicked her tongue in disapproval. She was still wearing that same smile. He couldn’t help but chuckle when she raised her eyebrows at him, the expression playfully reprimanding him and silently telling him that she was owed an answer.

“Yeah, I guessed you would’ve heard about it. But, they were was askin’ for it.” He felt an odd sense of understanding when she didn’t disagree with him but instead laughed and shook her head affectionately. “I'm sure they was.” Maybe she didn’t see him and his life as horribly as he thought.

“I guess maybe I can be a hotheaded fool sometimes.” He spoke, berating himself under the appearance of a good humored joke.

“That you certainly can be.” She chuckled, with a warm grin. He heard no malice in her words.

The way Arthur sits with his shoulders hunched forward, It's obvious he’s tired, sore, and overworked. It breaks her heart, the way he does so much for others here just to end up sitting here aching internally and externally.

“C’mere,” She gestures to the dirt ground under her feet. “Let me see what I can do for ya.” the pleading in her voice sounds like this is just as much for her as it is for him.

He doesn't want to. Making her work for him? No, it should be the other way. For a girl like her, he should be spending every waking minute running around making sure she has everything she could possibly want.

Before he can turn down her offer, she snaps her fingers, pointing at the same spot. She won't allow him to put himself last this time.

“Yes ma’am” He chuckles at her unusual assertiveness.

She carefully lays her hand on his shoulder, as if she was checking to make sure he wouldn’t flee like a wild horse the moment he felt her touch. Once certain, she rolls the pad of her thumb over his sore muscle, taking great care to be gentle. Like there was something she cherished under hands. The fabric of his shirt moves along with the movement of her thumb, stopping her hands from being able to touch his skin.

His broad shoulders relax under her touch, goosebumps rising over his skin when she touches him so delicately. He’s grateful for the shirt covering him so she can’t feel the way his skin reacts so easily to her touch. His head hangs forward as he lets out a quiet groan of contentment, relishing in the feeling. Whether it's the feeling of the sore muscle being worked loose or the feeling of being cared for so sweetly he’s not so sure. She peers down at his face and sees his eyes flutter closed as she continues her soothing movement. Her eyes were stuck on his face as he relaxed for the first time.

The smile lines around his mouth made it obvious he wore a warm expression often no matter how tough he looked at a moment's glance. His aging eyes were developing small wrinkles on the outer corners from years of squinting in the sun and all the times his bountiful laugh trailed up to his eyes. He always smelled of tobacco and ash, even his scent exuded warmth if you're able to get close enough to notice.

Arthur Morgan, The man who could make statues talk. He didn’t look intimidating to her, he rarely ever did but, especially not in the vulnerable position she’s seeing him in now. In their closeness, she could see the way the longer pieces of his growing stubble had a small curl to them, The way he had a few tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose, presumably from being in the sun his whole life. She realized he didn’t look so sad for once, he looked peaceful. And she was the one making him feel that way.

“That helpin’ at all?” She asks quietly, close enough to him that he feels her breath against his ear.

He nods sleepily, angling his neck to the left to stretch the muscle she’s working on. With the more exposed area, she runs her thumb along his neck, landing just under his jaw bone. He lets out a low, content murmur to answer her. “Mhmm” With her hands on him, she can feel the vibration of his rumble throughout her.

“Alrigh’, jus’ relax.” She whispers, her calm voice mixing with the sound of the crackling fire and the waves of the bay lapping quietly.

He lets out quiet, low groans here and there. The rumble in his voice suggests the sound is emanating from somewhere deep in his chest. His head hangs in his calm state, being enveloped in warm light.

Although this was meant to help him, she could feel it soothing her as well. She craved tenderness so deeply that this moment felt like a relief from all the toughness around her. She wasn’t just offering gentleness, she was receiving it. Arthur trusted her touch and surrendered to it. In this intimate moment, he let her be gentle and soft. For now that’s what she needed.

Even though his hands weren't on her at all, she felt as though they may as well could've been.

“That should help it at least.” She feathers her massage off, now just gently running a soothing hand over the muscle. “I don’t wanna end up aggravatin’ it more.”

He rolls his neck as he stands back up, positioning himself on the log once more. “Felt real nice. Thank ya” She feels his hand pat against her knee, gently squeezing it. Her leg felt cold after the loss of contact, even through a layer of fabric. A chill goes through her entire body. She's grateful for the long skirt covering her legs so he can’t feel the goosebumps across them.

“Don't mention it.” She says dismissively, although her heart is hammering in her chest. She takes a sip from her glass hoping he’ll believe the alcohol is the reason for the redness washing over the apples of her cheeks. “Just glad it did ya some good.”

“You’re a damn fine nurse, Caroline” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, looking almost jovial in nature. He doesn’t look so tense anymore. His shoulders fall in a more relaxed manner and the fire casts long bronze shadows over him, creating contours on his face that give his usually piercing eyes a new kind of gentleness.

“Well thank you Mr. Morgan” She beams at him, happy that her work is noticed. Especially by him. She’s constantly half exhausted with all she does in camp, fixing every small ailment that anyone complains of. And yet, shes not bringing in money or doing “domestic chores” so, Grimshaw sees no worth in her. “I do my best to keep you boys alive.” She laughs.

He scoffs with a lighthearted chuckle at her calling him “Mr. Morgan” He turns his gaze to the fire, watching it dance for a few moments before his eyes flicker down to his hands, looking at them with distant thought. “We’d probably be in a lot worse shape without ya…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She laughs bashfully. She’s never been one to accept a compliment easily. But, something about the sincerity his voice holds always manages to make her consider that it could be the truth. She laughs again, shaking her head as if she was physically shaking the thought out. “Now, any other ways you’ve gone and gotten yourself hurt that I should know about?” Her eyebrows raise playfully.

The same scoff leaves his mouth, along with a low chuckle. “No, nothin’ else. Not now at least.”

“Well stop goin’ and gettin’ yourself hurt and maybe it’ll stay that way.” A warm smile bloomed across her face. He couldn’t help but notice the way a small crinkle formed across the bridge of her nose when she laughed. The sight captivated him too much, she seemed almost holy to him.

“I’ll try. No promises” He said with a chuckle that sounded from deep within his chest. “But, I'll try for you.”

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #fluff

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outlawruben · 3 months ago

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Rdr2 modern Au: Family reunion (aka gang reunion) head cannons:

Abigail Marston- Primarily watching all the children, and building charcuterie boards. (She’s snacking on the berries and cheeses that don’t fit) she likes to make sure everyone gets plenty of fresh fruit and protein to go with the barbecue. And later, she sets up the kiddie pool for her daughter while the older boys play in the pool.

Arthur Morgan-If not playing with the kids, he’s drawing pictures for them as the requests come in. He’s also watching football with the boys. He’s eventually asked to play with Issac, Jack, and his niece. Sadie tells them to assault Kieran with the water guns, which Arthur does gladly. When Kieran turns around and notices him, he picks up his niece, and he and the boys book it.

Bill Williamson- screaming at the TV until he has to go to the corner store to buy sodas because they forgot them. He has to go to 15 stores because none of them have the sodas they want, he’s on and off the phone with Dutch, until Dutch yells at him to figure it out himself, to which he calls Hosea instead, who gives him better instructions. When he comes back he sees the score has changed for the worse so he rapidly interrogates John to ask what happened.

Charles Smith- mainly chilling with Arthur, and keeping to himself, but the children love him so they demand he and Arthur play with them all the time. Charles sits out the game when Arthur and the kids shoot Kieran in the back with the water gun. Arthur manages to outrun the boys, who end up splitting up and doing something else. So Charles and Arthur watch over John’s daughter, until she wants to go to the kiddie pool.

Dutch Van Der Linde- trying to make sure everyone’s having a good time (it’s required) and that plans fall into place. He’s also barking orders at people to help out, and desperately trying to keep his house clean. He’s also asking the score every time someone shouts “LETS GOOOOOO!” From the living room.

Hosea Matthews- mainly running all over the place. Going between: bossing people around with Dutch, helping Abigail with the charcuterie boards, tending to the grandchildren, peaking at the game, giving Dutch affection, and bringing everyone snacks/drinks. (He’s a busy man)

Issac Morgan- brought his game system that his cousins beg him to play, until it runs out of battery, then they do a whole bunch of activities that mainly Jack comes up with. He has a lot of fun watching his dad get up to mischief. Until he tells Jack to come with him to play tag in the front yard instead.

Jack Marston/his sister- jack wants to do a whole bunch of things, water gun, catch, tag, water balloons, and swimming. Marston girl (haven’t come up with a name yet) is just aimlessly following everyone, she’s too young to come up with her own ideas. The three of them manage to trail water and grass in the house every 10 minutes.

Javier Escuella- watching the game he’s not really interested in, so he’s mainly on his phone. He likes giving everyone the stink eye whenever they scream at the TV. Suddenly he gets really grossed out whenever he sees Bill lick his fingers and return to the popcorn bowl because he was eating it, so he gets up and wanders into the kitchen for something else.

John Marston- Shouting at the TV like a few others, and apologizing to Javier when he glares at him. Drinking several beers, and then asking Abigail for some more strawberries (she denies his request because it’s for the boards) Defending his graduation photo that Micah made fun of, which started a heated argument between them.

Josiah Trelawny- In and out of the house, he’s got errands to run. He’s there if you look close enough. (He shows up at the last minute for photos)

Karen Jones- Decimating the beers like John. Hanging out with her friends, Mary-Beth and Tilly, and making arrangements for personal hangouts with them to catch up. Thought of ditching the function with the 2 of them all together, but they know how much it means to Dutch, so they decide to stay.

Kieran Duffy- Was in the living room to begin with, but the screaming and loud TV started overwhelming him, so he left to go find Mary-Beth and her friends. Got squirt on his back with a water gun by one of the kids, but when he turned around, Arthur was holding the gun. (Arthur and the kids ran away laughing)

Lenny Summers- Similar to Javier, he’s mainly reading on his phone, until Sean comes up with his idea, so he gets up and helps him out. The kids like asking him to play since he’s a lot younger than Arthur and can last longer, which he agrees to. And in the evening he’s in the pool with the kids and Sean. (He’s winning at Marco Polo)

Leopold Strauss- Showed up late because he had to work. Enjoying the evening on the patio with Pearson and Swanson, and reading a book.

Mary-Beth Gaskill- Hanging out with the girls until Kieran approaches her to ask if he can hang out with them. The other girls say it’s fine and they stick together for the evening. She laughs at Kieran for getting water-shot in the back, but helps him get a new shirt to change into.

Micah Bell- Sulking in the living room with the rest of the boys. (He’s not the football type) either on his phone or scaring the kids that walk into the room. Eventually he gets bored, and looks at the family photos (this is Dutch and Hosea’s house, so the pictures are of John and Arthur). He makes fun of John’s infamous Grad picture, which starts an argument between him and John.

Molly O’Shea- Helping Abigail and sometimes Hosea with food prep, until she eventually gets overwhelmed with the living room screaming so she steps outside for a smoke break. She sees the other girls and Kieran and asks to hang out to which Karen immediately agrees. She and Karen share a whiteclaw in the hammock at the end of the evening, while they watch the sunset.

Reverend, Orville Swanson- Enjoying his time on the patio with Strauss and Pearson, and occasionally Susan. He interrupts his activities to grab another beer every so often, but he’s mostly just enjoying the weather and the conversations with them.

Sadie Adler- inspecting the Barbecue occasionally because she’s convinced that Pearson can’t do it right. Whenever you see her she either has a beer/cigarette (or both) in her hand. Definitely cool aunt vibes, and feeds the children with devious ideas (like squirting Kieran with a water gun) (which Arthur agrees to) and when she goes inside she likes to sneak up behind Abigail and watch her prep the food.

Sean MacGuire- brought sparklers for the kids, but also for himself. The kids love them and dance around in the front yard with them, drawing shapes and writing their names in the air with them. Sean likes watching them for a little while until one of the kid’s sparkler dies, and then he hands them the one he has. And when the kids ask Lenny to swim, Lenny invites him also. (He’s bad at Marco Polo)

Simon Pearson- Mostly on the patio cooking barbecue on the grill for everyone’s dinner. Sometimes he goes in the house for a beer, and to ask the scores. He gets annoyed at Sadie’s nagging, because he believes he’s doing a good job, to which she denies. He enjoys sharing his college and Navy stories with the boys, while they’re telling stories.

Susan Grimshaw- definition of “Multi-faceted woman.” She’s doing everything. Helping out in the kitchen with everyone else, Making sure everyone is fed, helping Mary-Beth get a spare shirt for Kieran, checking on the barbecue progress, splitting the argument between John and Micah, and making Deviled Eggs for everyone (they’re everyone’s favorites)

Tilly Jackson- Mainly hanging out with the other girls, or plucking off Deviled eggs behind Susan’s back. Abigail gives her charcuterie ingredients that don’t fit as well. She’s enjoying spending time with the little one, and braiding her hair before she goes into the kiddie pool. She also bought the boys the water guns, and some little toddler toys for the little girl.

Uncle- Napping. (And if he’s awake he’s drinking and asking when the food is done. Per usual, he’s not very helpful or active.

#sorry if some are longer than others #someone please name the marston daughter 😭#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 modern au #van der linde gang

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2x4plank · 13 days ago

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If I was in the RDR2 gang I would say something like "Your name is Dutch Van der Linde not Ditch Plan der Linde!" and immediately get shot

#rdr2

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peacockeryabound · 1 year ago

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The Last Honest Men - Part 1 (Reupload)

(From the Story of the same name on my Archive- Reuploaded to include all segments of Chapter 1.)

Synopsis:

"Have a little faith", that's what he always said. He, of all people, shouldn't have to worry about doubting himself. On the cusp of a new chapter in his life, cracking slowly under the pressures of his cause, Dutch Van der Linde begins to question whether his heart is in the right place, and with the right people.

(Pairings: Dutch/Grimshaw, Dutch/Molly, Dutch/Hosea)

There was something liberating, about standing at the cliff end of the camp to look out at the unspoiled frontier beyond. Horseshoe Overlook...it was still cold as sin and the camp assembly had staggered due to fatigue and hunger but what was important was they were out of Colter. This was the true spring lands, their little patch of haven in the spry woods. There was fresh wood, abundant game, berries and herbs...they had made it.

Not for long, not without sacrifice, but they made it. In celebration, Dutch perched upon the finest fallen log he could find and took to wafting a cigar while he enjoyed the beauty that the Heartlands offered. He could hear the girls behind him, fussing about with organizing, of Uncle sassing back over some unclean retort about his appearance. Pearson was preparing a stew that actually smelled halfway decent. It brought a smile to his face.

But only for a moment.

Prideful as he was, satisfied as he was, it was not easy to savor the entirety of the morning when Arthur was instigating a rundown behind him with Hosea over the losses they had sustained. They had to bury Davey up there in the mountains, forever alone in a land he had no choice to die in. Jenny had to go even higher, up near a frozen river with just two bits of wood to resemble her cross, miles away from any beaten road. Alone. At least Davey got to rest in Colter when they left.

The reverend gave him hell on that one, and that was a sermon coming from a man who couldn't say a straight sentence on a good day. It was pitiful, Dutch now remembered. Sean was still missing. Mac too, probably dead as well. Hosea nearly froze himself to death beside him on the wagon train. Little Jack, trembling against his mama in some broke down cabin in a godless blizzard...

He leaned forward, as if those few inches were enough to get out of earshot. Hand firmly cupping a knee, he indulged in his smoke again and licked the plumes rolling down his tongue.

Blackwater was a hot mess. It was the whole damn reason they were all here right now, running further into east territory when he had been scolded too many times by Hosea and Grimshaw about his original hard sell on settling west...southwest. Southern California?...all minute details in the big plan, unimportant right now. That he nodded too and exhaled through his nose, right down into the belly to savor the musk of the forest, all the pine and wood smoke that made his knees weak.

Losses had to happen sometimes. He had his time to mourn, but through sacrifice came victory, and they made it. He pushed himself back onto his feet and tightened his back, windmilling his arms to crack his shoulders into a pose that meant business.

"Friends," He started with open arms, "It's a fine morning." He took some steps closer to the two men, who each gave him tired expressions. "The birds are singing. The dew is fresh. It's a beautiful day in Eden, and we are its children." He slung arms around both of them, but only Arthur managed some semblance of a smile. Kid knew his place well; he had that faith in him. That could make any man feel like a powerhouse. Hosea...

There was one hell of a cold squint coming his way.

"You can talk of the Good Book with Swanson in a ditch. We are farther east now than the plan intended." The old man pulled out of the embrace. His nose curled to match Dutch's. "Arthur has the damn right to talk about Blackwater as it was what got us all into this mess."

Dutch stared for a moment until he gave a snort and drew Arthur in closer. He was mindful of the cigar as he gave the young buck a good smack on the back for his presence.

"And we can talk about Blackwater, later. Let's not spoil the good fortunes we find ourselves in this morning, eh Mr. Matthews? Mr. Morgan?"

There was something always charming, about the reception of Arthur's clueless stare and that exasperated sneer from Hosea that just made him want to grin. They both side glanced to each other, shared a sigh and both backed off to resume whatever duties had possessed them. He waited with a hand in his pocket and his cigar to his lips, smiling behind the smoke when the old man only took a few more steps before tensing his shoulders and pivoting back around.

Hosea pointed at him.

"You and me, tonight. We're going to have a talk."

Dutch raised his cigar and gave a proper head bow.

"Of course, old friend. Until then, go and take a walk under the warm sun. It'll do your legs some good."

Hosea made a dismissive gesture at him and stomped off, leaving him with his thumbs hitched into his belt loops while he surveyed the camp. It was coming together very nicely, not bad for a bunch of heathens on the run. With the majority of the tents set up, everyone was finding their own place amongst the chores. Jack was watching Javier tune his guitar. Strauss fussed over the log books under his tent. Susan barked orders for the girls to wipe down the tables while she smacked Bill upside the head in passing for nodding off against some crates.

A glance to his side took his focus back to his tent, where she stood there waiting for him. Dutch smoothed back his hair as he began to saunter close, performing a more appropriate bow when he was able to smell her perfume.

"Mornin', Miss O'Shea." He mumbled into the back of her offered hand.

-----

Yes, even a man such as himself could have doubts, but he would have been a poor and sorry fool if he had turned back on his own beliefs for a second. Times had been tough and supplies were almost bone dry for the next few days, but the Van der Linde gang was nothing if not tenacious. A few of his boys were already out scouting towns and stalking targets, and blessed be the angels who stayed behind to ensure the camp was comfortable.

He looked over his coffee cup, eyes following the shambling Uncle who stumbled by while digging for gold down his pants.

Alright...most of them.

Dutch took a swig as if it were a shot and perked from a heavy grunting that sounded off behind his tent. He recognized that unrepentant growl anywhere.

"Arthur! What in God's name-"

"Yeh, well..." the outlaw shifted to keep the drunk man over his shoulder. "God don't want him today."

They both shared a chuckle and he watched the good reverend be carried off and daintily dumped onto his bedroll like a bag of sand. Arthur was dusting his hands as he sauntered back, waving off Dutch while he was given an appreciative clap on the bicep.

"Much appreciated, for going out and checking on him, Arthur." Dutch smiled through a nod.

"Sure. Father Swanson told me all about his declarations of giving up the hard stuff." Arthur mused as he reached into one of his pockets. He deposited a stack of bills into Dutch's hand, returning the pat while taking pride in the stunned expression on the big man's face. "That came from his little confession at the poker table."

Dutch guffawed as he counted every dollar, glancing up as he watched his number one sauntering off with a whistle to his tune and a pep to his step. Arthur didn't seem any worse for wear after carrying an entire drunk over one shoulder, which would explain the energy behind his hat tip during his walk past both Hosea and the large rifle the man was cleaning.

Now, that was an interesting sight...

Dutch took a long drink while blindly dumping the bills into the collection box, observing the old blonde stand and mumble something to Arthur when they reunited. They both inspected the gun and Arthur made a jab about shooting elephants, earning himself a warm smile that wasn't too common these days. They walked off together, guns in hand and satchels slung around their shoulders, fat with supplies for some grand adventure.

He'd have to ask, what the big occasion was. In due time...

Dutch smiled at Mary-Beth when she sauntered past on her way to the cooking pot. She caught his eye and brought her book up to hide her face and the shy grin he swore he caught.

She ended up being on his mind for a good portion of the day, enough to distract from both the suspicious glances from Molly and thoughts of Hosea. It was only when Dutch sat down in his tent to draw up a pencil and his notebook that he truly knit his brows, licked his lips and really reconsidered his priorities.

As he scratched down unrelated notes, he thought back to their time in Colter. Blackwater was enough of a stress riding on his ass but the bigger priority of sheltering and feeding their family had allowed him to stuff down the guilt of it for a time. He remembered the half frozen lethargy of the women, of Micah cussing up a storm over the living conditions, of Pearson trying to take a cleaver through what frozen game Arthur and Charles hauled back. He remembered the skin of his own cheeks feeling like it was going to chip away from the biting cold as he led a few of his boys up the hillside to eliminate the nearby O'Driscoll competition.

Dutch realized he had been scribbling a growing circle around a freckle in the paper. He sighed, dropped the pencil into the center of the splayed pages and leaned back to stare up at the roof of his tent. He couldn't get Blackwater off his mind.

No, he was not going to spook the gang by admitting to the horror show in the presence of those who had not witnessed it. It was not right, to bring the ghosts of that botched job back into the minds of the survivors who had outrun the bullets with him. He closed his eyes. Try as he could, he couldn't shake the image of Hosea, shaking like a shitting dog in front of a pitiful fire in Colter.

He had overheard Arthur mumbling to Javier one night over a campfire dinner, that he had been concerned over that harsh weather which was going to do the old man in. Everyone had suffered during the storm in Colter, but Hosea's poor health had dipped into a terrifying low that had left him sluggish and slow on the up draw. It had gotten to one point where it was uncertain to distinguish the rattle of his coughs and the shivering from the cold.

Colter was the result of those Pinkerton dogs back in Blackwater...but it was also because of his own poor shots. That dead girl's face was going to haunt his mind for years to come.

"Dutch?" Molly's voice caused him to jolt. She was peeking through from a lifted flap, her expression suggesting she had been talking for a few seconds without him noticing. "Did you hear me?"

"Molly...Molly." He greeted back with a distant smile. "My sweet garnet from the Isles...c'mere, darlin'."

Her approach was slow, hesitant. This hadn't been the first time they got into it over his headspace lately, though she bit her tongue and sighed through her nostrils. Instead, the ornery thing folded her hands and cocked her head with all the presence of a scolding mother.

"You told me that you were going to take me to Valentine. For the picture show."

Dutch blinked. He might have been staring longer than he thought, as her nose was scrunching her face more and more into a tight glare. In the face of impending chaos, he did the sensible thing and closed his book. It strained a bit between his hands due to the pencil still trapped inside, but if bulging at the seams under pressure wasn't a metaphor that Hosea always lectured...

He grinned.

"The picture show! Yes, of course, Miss O'Shea I did promise you that." He stood up and looped an arm around her waist. The haphazard crash of the book behind him made the corner of his lip twitch. "This was...tonight, wasn't it- OW! Damn you, woman!"

Molly smacked him again, hard across his chest.

"Well, if it was next Tuesday, I wouldn't be harping on you now, would I?"

She huffed at him and gave his mustache a light tug, her expression fighting to remain bitter. The longer they looked at one another, his hand upon her own cupping his cheek, all that came out of her was a small sniffle.

"Darlin'..." His voice was soft as he moved, chest to chest with his free hand settled on her hip. "You know I would give you the world. Do you doubt me on that?"

Molly looked uncomfortable. "Dutch..."

"Mo-lly..." He was kissing along her knuckles.

"No, I don't doubt you, Dutch..." her voice became hushed at the end. She made a defeated gesture with her hands before she crossed her arms and looked elsewhere. "Even if you make me want to."

He watched her push by to take a seat on their shared cot. It had felt a bit cold these last two nights, despite the body heat shared between them. Something twinged inside of his gut during his approach, himself bracing for the tutting on the last time they had even made love during all of this mess. After he had taken a seat next to her, Dutch offered his palm to her back, noting her refusal to lean back against the sway of his stroking.

"I promised you a picture show." He repeated. She nodded. "I...got a little carried away, it seems."

If that wasn't a bullseye of an answer. Every member of this damned stubborn gang reveled in hammering that point in every day. Dutch Van der Linde, the dreamer, the fool (and all its variations), the huckster, the murderer.

That last one struck deep, as was the dirty price of freedom. That McCourt girl's face was back in his mind, overlayed on Molly's face. Young, big doe eyes, lips parted in dawning horror from the crazed look of a madman pointing at her...a small coo was made and he blinked. It was so simple a sound and yet it unlocked a memory he had desperately tried to keep smothered down inside of him; Annabelle's voice. She made sounds just like that, right when he would tuck a curl behind her ear or draw pleasure out of her from his mustache kissing her neck...he flinched from her hand suddenly stroking his jaw, wiping something wet that had settled down his cheek.

"Such a softie." The voice gave a small hum and her lips were pressing against his.

--------

"I heard that Arthur ran into his old girl back in town." Abigail mused while stirring her breakfast.

"Did he now." Dutch deadpanned. He had his bowl before his knees, elbows pressed on top as he leaned into the smoke of the morning fire. Normally, he would give a rat's ass about the daily affairs around camp. Rather, he had given that drawling idiot very precise instructions to go and fetch Micah from whatever disaster he had crawled into, out in some pokey little outpost called Strawberry. Needless to say, hearing about Arthur instead pulling a Romeo out in bum-fuck-nowhere put a bit of a sour taste in his mouth.

"Bad seasoning?" Pearson caught him rolling his tongue over his teeth to spit out some gristle. "I told Javier to get the good stuff in town, but I think he ran out on me to the saloon instead." The camp cook chuckled and continued chopping carrots.

Abigail glanced between the men, feeling a bit caught between the attitudes. Dutch could tell that she wanted to laugh over his puckering look but its persistence hushed her. She instead shoved her next spoonful deep into her mouth and chewed on it to keep quiet.

The next voice he heard made the hairs behind his collar prickle.

"And what's this about Mary?"

"It's nothing, Hosea. Don't you start fretting over him." Dutch warned him.

He knew he was about to get an earful when he heard that wheezy windup from the blonde. Dutch shoveled down a mouthful of his slop and blinked away the pain from the heat. It didn't distract him as he had hoped.

Hosea Matthews, his Old Girl...and with the shrewdness of one too. Only a true conman would just sit down without a care to another's frets and dig right into them. Dutch glowered at the man suddenly almost elbow-to-elbow with him, making a point to clear his throat as Hosea adjusted his hat and squinted up at the morning sky, watching where the smoke trail was billowing to.

"Yes, well, he sure as hell fretted over me many times. It must be like we're a family here." Hosea side glanced him, smiling. "He isn't a boy anymore, Dutch. We of all people should know what it is like to wander back into old arms."

Abigail was giving them a funny look, and he did neither of them any honors from the vehement snort he took. Damn them all, giving him looks and those shitty little side looks...it took everything he had to not just toss his bowl into the flames right there, but he couldn't stop the light bounce to his foot. A few "Mm." sounds came out of him, which were better to process with his eyes closed. Mm-mm-mmm....A nod here, a few shakes there and he was exhaling with a fixed smile.

"That we do, my friend." He stressed the last two syllables. "And that we do, to mourn the loss of great women that raised us up into honest men."

He maintained his stare with Hosea, who also was resting in the same position as him. The little shit glanced over him to hand wave Abigail, giving an apologetic smile when she took her cue to leave. Once they were alone at the fire, side by side, did Hosea's expression settle back into that so-tight squint it almost looked like his eyes were mere slits.

"What's eating you now?" He asked. "You've been chasing everyone off all morning with that rotten look of yours."

Dutch slapped a knee and leaned back, groaning up at the sky.

"Not you too. I already got a good cussin' from Molly."

"Trouble in paradise, huh."

Dutch glared at him.

"You would know, you incessant bastard."

Hosea maintained his agitating calmness. His smile was far too pleasant for the tone of the matter. He too sat up and fussed with his scarf, which had collected some wayward bits of ash.

"Yes, well, twenty-odd years of being your work wife certainly does that to one's intuition." He looked over his longtime partner and gave him a shoulder bump to help lighten the mood. "The best I can do, of course."

Dutch had to smile at that. He knew Hosea could never hold back his tender nature for long.

He clapped a hand on the man's back and gave it a rub, though it only took him a moment to feel haunted by how similar this gesture was compared to last night with Molly. The affectionate press against his palm made for a nauseating tingle to crawl up his arm and deep beyond his shoulder. Dutch glanced around them, but everyone else was content to their own morning routines.

"You do it well, I know." He conceded, head down. He dumped his stew into the fire and tossed the plate and spoon into the dirt. Pearson barked something at him from a distance, but all that mattered now was listening to the tranquil hum of his better half. "You're right, I...am just having a morning."

"You riled up more over Arthur, or Micah?" Hosea frowned. He was warming his hands, fingers almost getting licked by stray lines of smoke. "If it's the former then I wouldn't worry. He'll turn up sooner or later."

Dutch squeezed at his knees, thinking for a moment.

"And...Micah?"

It was Hosea's turn to twist his face into a sneer. He nudged a stray ember back into the fire with the toe of his boot.

"If I can project onto Arthur, I'd say he's dragging his feet in fetching that bullheaded buffoon for you."

Hosea was not a lying man, which was amusing in reflection of his trade. Dutch wanted to snort at the spiciness of that answer but to know there were multiple folk in his gang that were not fans of Mr. Bell prodded something twitchy inside of him. He leaned in to get a good look at that cracked old muzzle.

"Is there a problem with Micah, Mr. Matthews?"

Hosea was quiet for a moment, staring at the fire. His nose gave a sharp exhale as he wiped a palm down his face in a tired, exasperated tell.

"I have faith in you, Dutch." He hissed. "I would have walked away by now if I hadn't. I just fear he will get us into hotter water with that temper of his." His voice dipped into that emotional little rasp that always hurt them both to hear. It was enough to even crumble Dutch's resolve a bit, as they both wore the same concerned expressions for each other.

Twenty-odd years, Dutch repeated in his mind. Twenty-plus long, happy, agonizing years with this fussy old mare who matched him in every duel he could ever instigate. Wits, bullets, some stray hands in questionable places...their bond was their own, tested and fortified by fights like this, by tough choices they had to swallow down. Memories of Colter returned to him, those frigid old ghosts who coughed and shivered, struggling to not crack under the weight of his own pressures...

"Dutch."

He blinked. Hosea was giving him a funny look.

"Maybe you should worry more about your sleep, Dutch...or lack thereof."

--------

Micah was back, much to everyone's bitching. Rather, it was the news, of which Arthur kept his answers curt as he slapped a few more dollars into the collection box. The tired bastard looked more trouble than it was worth to prod, covered in dust, scrapes and a few questionable splattering along his face and jacket. Reluctant as Dutch was to ask just what in God's name happened in Strawberry, he was left to ponder while huffing and puffing away from the rumor mill around the stew pot.

He took to one of his favorite rocks over by the camp ledge, American Inferno in hand and a heavy exhale to calm his nerves. Micah would be back soon, bless him. A visionary, a no-bars-held sorta fella, so willing and eager to get down and dirty for the sake of progress. The only scrap of information Dutch could glean about Mr. Bell's whereabouts came from an offhand grumble from Arthur that the convict was out scrounging around for a sort of peace offering.

Now, that was loyalty.

Feeling a bit more satisfied, Dutch opened his book and thumbed to where he had left off. He read a few pages, half focused, as he was also listening to the reverend sounding sober enough to give his daily sermon:

"Yes, as it was said in the writings of good James, he said this- my brethren! If any among you strays from the truth! And one turns him back, let him know. That he who turns a sinner. A sinner! From the error of his way will save his soul from death! And, and, my good friends...will cover a multitude of sins..."

Dutch paused at his current passage. It warmed him to hear Swanson's voice, so full of life again. Even if it only was for the night, the man was free from his devils, free to speak with the zeal of Moses on the Mount, full of love he pleaded for his fellows. In a way, he figured they both weren't so different. He rolled his tongue in his mouth while he thought. Something about the passage just hit him in a funny way, but it was one he couldn't focus on for long.

His back hurt and his right eye had been twitching a bit these last few days. The tiff with Molly and the reminders from Hosea had kept him distant from them both. Sleep had not been a fair weather friend for years and especially not since Blackwater, or Colter...or resigning that he couldn't even go to a picture show in a little dump like Valentine. It had been a blue eyed miracle that he had been free to walk down main street with Trelawny to fetch his boys without being shot at on sight.

"Hi, Uncle Dutch." The sweet voice of Jack came up behind him.

He blinked and cleared his throat, exhaling to prepare a charming smile as he watched the boy step into view, playing with some stick he had found nearby.

"Hey, Jack." He smiled. "What's goin' on, little man?"

"Nothing." The child pouted as he tore some smaller twigs off. "I don't like the church talks."

Dutch watched him for a moment before he shifted his book to one knee and patted the other.

"Come here, son. Let's talk."

The little boy hopped onto his knee without hesitation, staring up at him with those big doe eyes full of wonder. Good kid.

He never had children of his own, but Dutch held pride in feeling that he helped raise plenty of fine men and women in this family he had built with Hosea. Jack was undoubtedly the first grandchild he could say he had, a product of their success for going so long against all the world's evils.

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, no, nothing of the sort." Dutch smoothed out the dust collecting in the kid's hair. "Now, you tell old Uncle Dutch why you don't listen to Uncle Swanson's stories."

Jack opened his mouth but paused and closed it, instead looking back down to play with his stick.

"I don't know what he says. They're all boring."

Dutch blinked and gave a nod. Made sense in the eyes of a four year old. But, this was nothing that a little conman magic couldn't fix. He stroked his mustache while feigning thought, chuckling a moment later.

"You know what, you're right. Even us grownups can find them a little boring." He looked down at the boy, who was now swishing his stick around like a fishing rod. "But, every story has a value, Jack, and one day when you are big and strong, I want to see you with your nose in a book and out of trouble. You understand?"

Jack looked at him funny, said nose scrunched.

"OK...uh...why?" Clearly, the idea of reading didn't seem too cozy with him.

Dutch mused and gave that little chin a light knuckle.

"Well, for one, you can learn a lot of things from a book." To prove his point, he picked up his own and situated it just right along his thigh to keep it balanced while he flipped through the pages. "You can...well, you can see new ideas, or you can picture a wild adventure in your head. You might even think up something new that you might want to make your own, one day." He tapped a random paragraph on a page, grinning at the gawking child. "This right here, Mr. Marston, is a whole different world."

Jack looked like he was reeling. His eyes were almost glazed over, that little putty mind working hard to shape everything that was just dumped onto him. This might have been a world of toxic order bearing down on them all, but Dutch would see to it that every child of his had the freedom to think, to challenge, to be.

"Do you understand now, Jack?" He asked, hushed.

"I...think so." Jack whimpered. He lowered his stick and looked up to the biggest man he knew. Dutch could see that obedient sense of wonder in those twinkling little eyes- that sort of look that was taken as gospel. "But...reading is so hard! I don't like it..." He played with his hands. "Mama told me no, but I wanna be a gunslinger!"

Dutch stared. His mustache twitched. Now...that was a proud thing to hear, such a vigorous claim for the cause...but he hesitated to say anything. Memories of Jenny flashed before his eyes. Such a sweet young girl, barely old enough to fill her boots, struck down before she could get the taste of his vision. Jenny...that McCourt girl...he wrenched his eyes shut for a moment to squeeze down the pain. The Adler Miss...too many young bloods, subject to so much loss, so very young...

Now he, he absolutely deserved every bullet for them in this crusade. He demanded their loyalty while knowing their fates. It was enough for him to wheeze and look elsewhere, trying to look past their faces in his mind's eyes. Jenny...

"Hey, Lenny." He croaked.

"Huh?" The young man lowered his axe.

"Stop hitting those logs and come over here."

"Uh, OK Dutch." Lenny was by his side a moment later. He smiled at Jack. "Hey."

"Hi, Uncle Lenny." Jack smiled back, though he looked more nervous than ever.

"What'd you call me over here for, Dutch?" Lenny now had his hands on his hips. As he waited, he took a deep inhale through his nose and looked up at the dandelion puffs floating in the breeze.

It was a very handsome visage. A true man, unshackled and unbothered. At home where he was happiest, but shrewd to philosophy. Agitating as the kid was for digging deep, Dutch appreciated their literary debates. He made a gesture at the young man and found his chuckle wavering a bit from the emotion that surprised him.

"Jack, this man...right here. He is strong, he is proud, he gets his way in this world because he does not listen to those fool men that are out there." His voice shook. "And he does it, right from the heart, with the help of books." He laughed in tandem with Lenny, who had raised his brows as if the old man had gone mad.

"What? I don't know about that, Dutch. The books help a lot but..." He gave pause when he saw the challenge in Dutch's stare. Maybe it was that fancy learning that made him catch on quick and change his tune. Maybe he just knew how to fight his battles, but Lenny wagged a finger while nodding, no doubt playing the same fake revelation game. "Yeah...you know what Dutch...I shouldn't doubt them. After all, they helped you too."

He bent down, hands on knees as he too smiled at Jack. "I overheard one day that your mama and Mister Hosea Matthews himself were teaching you how to read. It's a big honor to know how, Jack, believe me. Any big man can pick up a gun but a bigger man settles his problems right here." He tapped the side of his head and stood back up. "Dutch and I talk all the time about how great books are, don't we?"

"Right you are, my friend." Dutch mused.

His smile grew a bit bigger when Lenny stepped away to bring back a stool, took a seat and began to scratch at his chin while recalling some of his favorite childhood stories. Together they swapped old tall tales and nursery rhymes, laughing over the silliness of them while a wide eyed boy with twinkling eyes listened while clutching American Inferno close to his chest.

-----

"And what are you doing?" Grimshaw's voice made him sigh. He peeked around the neck of The Count.

"Just giving my horse some tender care, Susan. Calm your britches."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Being at camp for so long, Dutch knew his old boy was getting restless. The weather was pleasant today, the grass was fresh and dewy...and Arthur ran off to go hunting bison with Charles, which might have made him feel a bit jealous. Him, the poet, preaching of the whole country as every man's backyard...and here he was, stuck at home.

The old buzzard was staring at him with her arms crossed, always unconvinced.

"Then tell me why he has a fresh blanket and a saddle on, Dutch Van der Linde."

"For god's sakes, woman, you aren't my mother!"

She followed him right into his plane of view, staring down right over the horse's neck.

"Well, for what we used to do, I sure as hell hope not!" She reached for the bridle and began to loosen it. "Damn fool, you're going to ride out and get yourself shot, aren't you?"

Dutch dropped his brush and grabbed the other side of the beast's gear. The Count began to roll his ears back and snort vehemently, prancing in his spot.

"You want a kick in the teeth?" Dutch snatched the reigns out of her hand and grumbled as he began to tuck them back around the hitching post. "Won't be me this time..."

He turned around in time to see her pinching her nose. When Susan looked at him again, she sighed and shook her head.

"What were you going to do, Dutch?"

It was times like this that a stare-down felt more intimidating than just reaching for the holster. Twenty-something years too...Hosea wasn't the only one that could read him like a map. This was a woman who could tear down saloons back in her day with just the spite of charmed men itching to die for her. She had been the head on his shoulder around campfires, the confidante nipping at his ear and one of the few who made him sob for God, disarmed and exposed. As much as he wanted to scowl and sass, he could see the same troubled love in her gaze that came right back to him. He sighed too and rubbed at one of his eyes.

"Just wanted to get out for a bit. Get some fresh air."

He gestured to the poker table. As they walked together, he felt her arm looping around his. Once they took a seat, opposite of one another, did she shake her head at him, partly amused but mostly flustered.

"You've been a sour one all week, Dutch. Even Karen's been asking about you." She mused from behind threaded fingers. "Said she heard you and Molly going at it, and not in the holy way either."

The best thing to help with biting back his tongue was to grab the box of cards and pop them out. Even just shuffling was a good distraction- a good way to channel that control. Dutch Van der Linde was not falling apart. He just...had a lot on his mind. There was a plan somewhere to get them all out of this, just like...poker, he supposed. As he cut the deck and messed around with a spread on the table, he reckoned that his plans were like poker. He knew the outcomes, knew his cards, figured a little cheat here and there...

"I just got a lot on my mind, Susan." He mumbled, bouncing a Joker card between his fingers. Down it dropped, right into the ratty mess beneath it.

When he glanced up, he was relieved that she was polite enough not to stare at him like an animal. Her eyes too were cast down onto the pool of fading colors, as if there were some spiritual message waiting to be arranged. She nodded, a small breathy chuckle leaving her a moment later.

"That I can agree. Can't say it's been comfortable just waiting here for this long without action but...the people are fed and keeping the place clean." She used her elbow on the table to help pivot back, glancing around the camp behind them. Despite the creeping smoke wafting through the place at the moment, it was relatively peaceful. Jack was struggling through a reading lesson with Hosea and Lenny, Bill and John were arguing about something unimportant at Pearson's table...she watched her girls giggling over an inside joke as they walked by with buckets of water and dirty linens. It wasn't home, but it was a haven.

She turned back to look at him.

"What is on your mind, dear?"

It wasn't often that she talked like that, not these days. Not with them on the run, not with Molly or the ghost of Annabelle. The affection in her gaze loosened his shoulders and he blinked furiously, convincing himself it was just the smoke stinging at him. Dutch cleared his throat while distracting his eyes with the cards again.

"OK, fine...it is about Molly." He grumbled. "Got up in arms because I forgot to take her to the picture show in town."

Grimshaw snorted.

"Oh, just up in arms? Still the romantic, I see."

Dutch started, sneering as she shushed right over him.

"Listen, stop for a second." She continued, one elbow on the table now. "Get out of your head, right now. Look at her." She pointed to Miss O'Shea, who was the farthest possible distance between them, sitting at the same rock overlooking the cliff edge that he had been on just yesterday with Jack. "This life ain't proper for a girl like her. We all know she just sticks with us because of you, Mr. Van der Linde."

Grimshaw looked just a moment longer, shaking her head while turning back to knit her brows at him.

"Taking her halfway across the world, through a blizzard and bullets and the sticky dust here and you have the mind to think her a criminal for wanting one night of decency with you?" She squinted. "I know you better than that, Dutch. It isn't your nature to be so petty, but you sure like to act it when things don't go your way."

Dutch just stared for a moment. His brain struggled to catch up to her mouthing but there was something hot in his chest and wriggly in his gut. His jaw opened, closed, ground his teeth for a moment before a small growl pried them back open in a scrunched, toothy sneer.

"And what do you know about being petty." He said, in almost a whisper.

Grimshaw narrowed her eyes at him, staring long and hard. She shook her head and reached out, grabbing that Joker card and slapping it right on his hand as she stood up and walked away.

"You'll be the death of us all one day, Van der Linde."

It took a lot in his willpower to not rip the thing in half. He instead tossed it into the grass and brushed it out of his hairs as if he had been soiled. By the time he had returned to the comfort of his tent's front step, fresh cigar plucked and readied, he sighed and turned his head up to the sky.

He watched the clouds, taking note of the shapes and what they could mean. He was reminded of his younger days, when he used to cloud watch after a big heist to calm down or when he needed to lick his wounds. It had become something of a game between himself, Hosea and Susan back then, to try and one up each other with the most ridiculous finds.

And Arthur...lord, could that kid find a cotton ball through a knitted masterpiece across the heavens. So many times, he had to point out specific shapes to the kid back then, trying to instigate some sort of creativity beyond things at face value. Good times...

He looked down at his cigar and bit through the pain of the deeper puff he took from it.

"How ya doin?" Hosea's voice caught up to him faster than his boots. Dutch puckered his lips and parted them to waft out the smoke.

"Good, brother." He lied, as did his smile. "How are you feeling?"

After so much hush and questionable rips in his clothes, Hosea had confided in him over a game of dominoes as to what happened between him and Arthur on that big rush out of camp. To think this sensible old badger still had the ornery stupidity to charge out with all the confidence of Nimrod on the hunt for a great bear...it was admirable, but foolish. Colter nearly killed the man, who stood before him now with his sunken face and pained expression, trying to force down the cough that made everyone awkward. Hosea was giving him a small smile while he stepped up onto the planks of the grand tent, waving away the cigar smoke that was coming closer to him.

"Much better...thought those mountains were going to kill me." He admitted while surveying the camp. His chest puffed out as he looked to his friend. "Seems I'll live a while yet."

"Oh, I know." Dutch mused, but he kept his eyes to his boots. He didn't want to think it, but there was a sudden pull to not look his old partner in the face. It had been a sore topic for a while now, the idea of another loss to anticipate.

Hosea clearly recognized the tension, for he swayed in his boots for a few seconds.

"...Found a couple of things in town." He was fumbling for small talk. "Made us some money."

Dutch was staring hard at a tromped-in rock in the dirt. How nice it was, to keep hearing stories of everyone riding out into these escapades, making a mess in saloons and getting handsy with folk with no strings holding them back. Even Hosea, a bastard with one foot early into his grave, was telling him now without remorse of what swindles he had happily foxed his way into. In a way, equally hard to understand, Dutch found himself smiling. Maybe he was getting a bit jealous- stir crazy.

One foot in the grave, indeed, and still flipping the bird to the Judge. Never change, old girl.

"That you do." He mused, finally looking the blonde in the eye. The spark of light in those sweet old sights surely wasn't just the sunlight playing a trick.

"Yes, I like to think I am good at that." Hosea wheezed out a smile. It was kind and patient, just as it always had been; a sort of warm spell that spooked away the demons they both riled.

Dutch felt it again, that heavy writhing deep in the pits of his being, something indecent and rebellious that made his heart stamp like a race horse from the comfort he felt, just as he had stood there like a fool on the very first night he had been an audience to that gentle face and had reveled in that same sense of security ever since.

His eyes were stinging again.

"I..." The sound spilled out faster than he could catch it, but despite the terror of letting it slip, he didn't stop himself.

"I messed up in Blackwater." He admitted, glancing to Hosea and then to somewhere else. Damned him for just happening to chance on Grimshaw as she walked back to her tent that just happened to be in front of him. She gave a fleeting side glance and put up a faster pace to grab what she needed and leave his sights again. The knuckling he felt on his shoulder was enough to keep him focused.

"I made a...god damn fool, out of myself."

Another nudge to his shoulder. Hosea was chuckling, something that was much nicer to bear than Susan's hissing.

"Yes, well you've done that before."

It wasn't often that Hosea could laugh like this, to be so unburdened by his own well being or that of the others. The man was a natural fusser but now, without any context to go off of besides the same thing they had bickered over consistently since Blackwater...Dutch clicked his teeth and snorted.

"I know."

He knew. He was a damned fool, through and through. Maybe later, he'd have a go again at Molly, maybe sweep by and jaw a bit more to Susan. Kind and saintly patient these people all were, his kin- his family. He studied his cigar and tossed it into the dirt, crushing it with the heel of his boot while shrugging off the protest. These things weren't cheap, but...

"Don't want to hurt your lungs, is all." He finally pivoted to face his partner, chest to chest like a true man would. The other looked flattered.

"I ain't fragile, Dutch. You worry too much."

Dutch flared his nostrils and managed a grin as he returned the knuckle. A cursory look around to ensure that nobody was within earshot, he leaned a bit closer. Hosea's breath hitched.

"I want to believe that I do, old girl."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fanfiction #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #vandermatthews #arthur morgan #susan grimshaw #lenny summers #molly o'shea #abigail marston

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sankttealeaf · 2 years ago

Text

heavy is the heart

read on AO3 here ; posted march '23

fandom ; red dead redemption 2

characters ; arthur morgan, john marston, sadie adler, dutch van der linde

summary ;

"Arthur wondered whether or not he would have a dignified grave, or if he would be left behind on a job gone wrong, his body waiting for the ground to reclaim it - either that or chucked in an unmarked grave by the law. Or burned. Or thrown into a ditch. He thought about his death many times, too many for it to be normal." or, arthur starts wondering about life and what it could be, rather than what it is right now

other info ; takes place after 'horsemen, apocalypses'. arthur reflects on everything with various people. first time actually writing for these guys too ! 7.5k words

A moment's quiet. That's all Arthur wanted. Ideally, he would be by a lake or river, a camp set up on the sandy shore, a fish or two cooking over the fire whilst he looked up at the night sky, counting out all the stars he could see. An evening of reflection, a pause between running errands and following up leads provided by Dutch. Instead, the quiet moment happened at Shady Belle - the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air, as corpses of O'Driscoll men littered the camp ground. Kieran, poor Kieran, lifeless and headless lay on the floor - a reminder to all that no one turns on the O'Driscolls and gets away alive. The world had gone silent like it was in mourning. People had started to emerge from the house to assess the situation, wondering if the gunfight had finally ended, or if there were to be a second wave coming. Arthur could tell people were hesitant to relax, seeing it in the way Miss Grimshaw's face frowned, or how Hosea's shoulders were tense, squared up, ready for whatever came next. It was Dutch who broke the heavy silence, cutting through it with orders to get this place cleaned up and to get Kieran's body away and buried. Another soul gone. Another person lost. How many more would it take for this to all be over? He wondered if he was supposed to be added on that list.

Dutch's voice faded into the background as Arthur recalled a conversation he had with Kieran just days ago, right before he was heading off to Saint Denis to find Jack.

"I've seen some O'Driscoll boys around here," Kieran had said, confiding to Arthur as he tacked up his horse. "I don't think they've seen me, but thought you oughta know."

Arthur had said he would look into it, which seemed to relax Kieran a little as he then went on about his day. Kieran was one of theirs now, as much as it pained him to admit it. Deep down, a part of him would hate to see the kid hurt, or worse - dead, so it only made sense he would check into his claims. But, by the time he arrived back home from Saint Denis with little Jack back safe, the thought had slipped his mind completely. Thinking back on it now, he hardly saw the guy after the welcome home party they held for Jack…

A hearty slap on his shoulder brought him out from his thoughts as Dutch pulled him away from Kieran's body, where Charles and Reverend Swanson were moving the body with Hosea following close behind, Kieran's head in his hand.

"We gotta get moving again, Arthur," Dutch said, leading him away from the others.

"Kieran mentioned somethin' about the O'Driscoll boys being around here," he replied, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "Didn't know if he was telling the truth, but I guess he was."

"It's too risky being here. If Colm knows where we are, who knows who else could come knocking on our door." Dutch let go of Arthur's shoulder, looking around at the gang starting to clean up and repair the camp. "I knew we should've gotten rid of him the moment we could. Once an O'Driscoll, always an O'Driscoll. The rat told them everything - I know of it."

"I don't think he told them so quickly," Arthur said, his gaze catching those who were relocating Kieran's body. He made a mental note to find out where they were burying him. "Fella put up a fight at least. I don't think they'd chop his head off for nothin', or remove his eyes like that…"

Dutch shook his head. "Kid was weak willed. Had nothin' in him. I reckon he told them the moment they grabbed him. The display was just to spook us. Make us think and panic, and then do somethin' stupid."

Arthur wasn't convinced, but he wasn't about to argue with Dutch over whether or not Kieran ratted them out quickly or not. He wanted to believe that the kid had some loyalty to them. Kieran, who was more than happy to shine up their saddles and brush down their horses without anyone asking him to, who kept to himself, who had only recently started to come out of his shell to others, who apologised to Abigail for not doing as much as he could to help find Jack. Kieran, who Arthur thought that with enough time could fully be a part of this gang. It was frustrating that he was taken away so quickly.

He was broken from his thoughts when orders were once again yelled out for other people to start clearing up the place. Miss Grimshaw and Pearson took the lead on cleaning up the O'Driscoll blood that now lined some of the tent and supply crates while those a little stronger dealt with removing the bodies. It was times like these that Arthur was glad for the large amount of gators that roam these parts. The bastards spook his horse to hell, but they were perfect at getting rid of a mess. With a firm but gentle pat on the shoulder, Dutch excused himself, making a comment on planning for something while giving Arthur a push towards John, who was beginning to help clean up.

Arthur watched him struggle to lift up an O'Driscoll for a moment before John let the body drop down on the floor and frowned at him.

"Well, ain't you gonna help me?" He asked, causing Arthur to chuckle.

"Thought I'd watch you struggle for a bit longer, just for the fun of it." He stayed still for a moment, hands resting on his gun belt and watched as John’s face scrunched up in frustration. Before he could complain anymore, Arthur grabbed the ankles of the body and lifted it up with ease.

“You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that, Morgan?” John said through a grunt, carrying most of the weight of the dead body. Arthur shifted his grip, trying to help relieve some of the heaviness. What were they feedin' these fellas?

"You'd miss me if I weren't here to keep you in line."

"You ain't even doing that! You're just laughin' at me all the goddamn time."

Arthur shook his head. "Not all the time."

"Most of the time." John stopped walking, having reached the bank of the swamp. He looked down into the murky water, like he had lost something in it.

"What're you looking for?" Arthur asked, noticing John frown in disappointment.

"Was hoping there was a gator nearby. We could give it a snack." He shrugged, giving the body a slight swing to get Arthur to let go and throw it into the water with him.

"And you wanted to watch it eat this?" Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief as he let go of the ankles and watched the body fall into the water, some droplets from the impact spraying up at them.

"I ain't seen a gator eat someone before," John replied, taking one last glance back at the swamp in hopes that one was nearby. Arthur waited for him to stop looking, before walking over to where the next body lay. "Thought it'd be fun."

"Almost got eaten by a gator a while ago," Arthur said as the two approached the next body. He gave it a kick so it lay flat and bent down, picking it up under its arms.

"Too bad you didn't," John replied with a laugh. "When was this?"

"A while ago now. Met some fella takin' pictures of animals. Albert Mason, or something like that." He waited for John to grab the ankles, and then they lifted the body up together. "Helped him a few times with his photographs, getting the animals in the right place. He was in the swamps, wanted a picture of a gator, so I had to lure it out."

"Y'know, when you head out for days, everyone thinks you're off being a tough outlaw, killin' people and stuff. But you're just out there… helping strangers take pictures of stuff?" John raised an eyebrow. "Who even are you?"

Arthur shrugged his comment off. "Folks need help sometimes. He gave me one of the pictures, if you want t' see it?"

"I don't believe this story for a second. It better be a good picture."

"It is. Wolves, I think."

The body was dropped into the water, floating away after the first one. The two stood there for a moment, waiting for something to happen. Perhaps the O'Driscoll was playing dead, and would rise out from the water and shoot them all down again. They both hoped not. When nothing happened, they both sighed and made their way to dispose of the next body. The cycle repeated, Arthur and John would switch places and then chuck the dead bodies into the swamp, watching them float down the river.

There weren't too many left on this side of camp, and as they threw another body into the river John spoke up.

"Has Dutch been actin' strange to you lately?" He asked, wiping his hands against his shirt to remove the O'Driscolls filth from them. That, and the mix of mud and blood.

"No more than usual," Arthur replied. The body of the O'Driscoll sunk under the swampy water, before bouncing back up, floating away from land. "Big ideas, big plans, whole lotta death." Too much death, he thought. Death came with the job, sure, but when deaths happen so suddenly in a short space of time, it makes people wonder. And Arthur had started wondering.

John nodded as the two turned to move another body away from camp - Arthur grabbing under the shoulders this time, while John grabbed the legs. They moved quickly, tossing the body into the swamp with the others. Arthur took a moment to count the number of corpses that now called the swamp home and sighed. At least it weren't any more of us, he thought, tipping his hat slightly - though if anyone were to ask, he was just blocking out the sun. At least his people got dignified homes for their bodies, or most of them did anyway. He wondered whether or not he would have a dignified grave, or if he would be left behind on a job gone wrong, his body waiting for the ground to reclaim it - either that or chucked in an unmarked grave by the law. Or burned. Or thrown into a ditch. He thought about his death many times, too many for it to be normal.

"We got one more over here, Arthur!" John called out from near the horses, already lifting the body under its arms.

"They just keep multiplyin'. Swear these folks are like rabbits, just never ending," Arthur grumbled, walking over to where John stood.

"You say something?" He asked, as Arthur shook his head, grabbing the ankles of the body and lifting it up.

They had gotten into a rhythm now, and soon they were back to standing by the water, various bodies scattered throughout it. If they weren't eaten by gators, they were sure to spook any passersby if they got too close to camp.

Arthur wiped his hands on his jeans, making a mental note to see how much money he had and maybe take a trip down to Saint Denis, rent a room and get a bath. As a little treat. He turned around and gave John a pat on the shoulder.

"How have you been since getting Jack back?" Arthur asked, noticing John's gaze fall onto where Abigail stood watching Jack run outside to grab something he left behind during the chaos.

John blinked, and looked at Arthur. "Good, I think. I've been real shit to him… he's just a kid, he doesn't deserve all this." He looked back. Jack was holding a couple of sticks in one hand and a large leaf in the other, and he ran back to Abigail with a grin. "He talks about what happened, y'know. Bronte had him loaded up with toys and fancy Italian dishes. I don't even know if some of the words he's sayin' are real!"

"No amount of toys or fancy Italian dishes could ever stop him from wantin' to be here, though," Arthur replied, looking at how softly Abigail interacted with Jack, holding his items for him and smiling at him. Such a different world… He gave John a nudge. "Go over there."

"Did we get all the-"

"Go. I'll sort 'em out if there's any left."

John didn't need to be told twice. He gave Arthur a grin and a nod before rushing over, interested in hearing about what Jack was talking about.

It was sweet to watch the family interact, John picking up Jack while Abigail fussed over the boy, and John, too (though she would never admit it). Arthur had to force himself to look away before he got caught up in what ifs. There was no point dwelling on the past - it couldn't be changed. He had made countless promises to himself that he would never think too much about what a life with Mary would have been like, because it always ended with an empty feeling in his chest and every mistake he had made on loop in his head. This was the life he chose, and that was that. He would live and die with blood on his hands and a bounty on his head, and he would be alone for it all. With a sigh, he turned and began to make his way towards the horses, deciding that a ride would do him good. It also meant he could scout the area and make sure no O'Driscolls were still lurking about and hiding in the trees.

Sudden gunfire was almost certain to spook the horses, and those that were skittish seemed very wary of Arthur's presence near them. He gave them soft shushes, gentle pats when they were calm enough, and felt sorry for them having to deal with sudden attacks like that. At least none of them were hurt. Some would whine and walk around frantically whenever the wind would pick up, or a bird flew from a tree, but Arthur knew they would all be back to normal in a few hours. Though, something felt wrong about the area - like it was missing something so important that even the horses could tell. The way some of them avoided a certain area, or others kept looking back for someone. Kieran. Arthur had seen him plenty of times sitting by the horses, cleaning tack and making sure they were all looked after. The space he used to occupy was empty, the faintest indent on the grass was all that was left, and even then that would soon be gone. Just like that, Kieran would be wiped away from the place and he thought that many people would most likely forget he was even a part of the gang. The horses would remember. They would remember the company and extra carrots and all the care that Kieran would give them. And Arthur would remember too - he made a promise to himself to remember Kieran for who he really was: part of the Van der Linde gang.

Gideon was still hitched up, having stayed relatively calm during the attack. Funny how gunshots had never bothered him, but spotting a gator that was minding its own business would cause him to get scared and refuse to walk any further. He gave Gideon a gentle pat on the neck, before moving to reach into his bag to fish out some peppermints for him. A reward for being so brave during the attack. He was running low on treats for him and added that to the list of things he needed to get as well.

He grabbed the brush out from his bag, giving Gideon a quick brush down. The swamps and surrounding areas always seemed to get him dirty quickly, though it was nothing compared to travelling through Valentine and Strawberry. He was pretty certain there was still mud on his boots from the last time he stopped by Strawberry. The saddle was also overdue for a good polish, and he instinctively turned to where Kieran would be sat to ask if he wanted to do it. But no one was there. With a sigh, he picked up the saddle from the post, lifting it over onto Gideon's back and taking a moment to adjust it and secure it in place. Once he knew it was right, he gave the straps an extra tug just to be sure, he pulled down the stirrups. Guns? Bag? Food? Check. He had everything, though it was only going to be a quick journey out. The sun was starting to lower itself down and the rays filtered through the trees, leaving the camp with a soft glow across it. He didn't want to go too far from camp before nightfall. Strange folk lurk in the swamps, or so he was told.

"You heading back out already?" A voice asked from behind him, causing Arthur to turn quickly. Sadie stood there, a hand on her hip, gesturing with her head to his tacked up horse. "There's just no stopping you, huh?"

Arthur laughed softly at that, shaking his head. "Just wanna check there ain't no more O'Driscolls lying about near us." He pulled himself up onto the back of his horse. "I ain't gon' be gone for long."

Sadie nodded, taking a step back. "The last time you said that you were gone for about a week. Charles had to come lookin' for you."

"If you're that worried, Mrs Adler, you're more than welcome to join me." Arthur nodded over at Bob, who was across the road from them.

Sadie thought for a moment, looking back behind her to see the state of the camp. Miss Grimshaw was rounding up the girls to bring things in to clean the blood off of, and hearing the voice of Susan echo through the area, she nodded. "Sure. Beats mopping up guts and stuff."

She was quick to tack up her horse as Arthur gently moved Gideon to walk out onto the path, waiting for her. Sadie lifted herself up onto Bob, and with a pat on his neck, joined Arthur and Gideon on the path.

The road down from Shady Belle was heavily guarded with trees, which made looking out for people all the more difficult. Arthur would stop Gideon a few times, trying to work out if he saw a person or a bush that looked suspiciously like a person. It was always the latter. Sadie scouted out ahead, and the two would meet in the middle when they were done.

He ushered Gideon into a slow walk, one hand on the reins and the other hovering over his holstered gun, just in case. A sudden rustling of leaves spooked Gideon, who took a few steps away from the right side of the path. Arthur gave him a gentle pat before dismounting, taking his gun out for good measure. The rustling continued as he made his way towards the bush, slowly pushing leaves aside to try and sneak up on whatever was making all that noise. When he broke through the bush he pointed his gun out, expecting to see somebody. A black squirrel scurried off from the place he was standing in, causing the plants it ran through to make the same noise that spooked Gideon.

"Find anyone?" Sadie's voice called out as she approached, gun in one hand as well.

"Nothin' but a damn squirrel," Arthur replied, holstering his gun and walking back out to the path in a huff. All that noise for a squirrel.

"Guess it's a good thing?" Sadie brought Bob to a halt. "Scared 'em off for good this time."

"I still feel on edge, like a whole cart full of 'em could come rolling down any minute now." Arthur looked up the path past Sadie and Bob, but nothing happened. No wagon full of O'Driscolls, no army of Pinkertons, nothing. Just a soft breeze and a bird flying by.

"Wanna look up the main road a bit more?" Sadie asked, patting Bob on the neck.

"Sure." Arthur rolled his shoulders back uncomfortably as he walked towards Gideon, pulling himself up and giving him a gentle squeeze to walk on. He still kept an eye open as they walked down the path, Sadie following close behind.

When nothing of note happened (a few squirrels ran out in the road, and a flock of birds flew off when the two passed the tree they were in), and the duo made it out to the main road leading elsewhere, Arthur was half expecting a surprise encounter with someone. But nothing happened. No gunfire, no lawmen, just a guy passing by who tipped his hat at the two and wished them a good evening. He let out a breath, relaxing a little.

"You alright there?" Sadie asked, pulling up beside Arthur. "You weren't itchin' for another fight, were 'ya?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I was," Arthur replied, scratching at his chin. "Thought there'd be more waiting for us if we left suddenly."

"If any were waitin' around, hopefully seeing none of their brothers come back spooked 'em off," she said with a shrug, though Arthur could tell she was on edge still as well. The way Sadie sat in her saddle made it seem like she was on guard, her hand only a moment away from reaching for the gun and shooting at anyone who looked at her funny. He decided then that he would never get on her bad side. At least not on purpose.

They continued on down the road for a little while, just to be on the safe side. Arthur mentioned something about there being camps set up and wanted to investigate, but no O'Driscoll's were found. He did walk in on a hunter who had just set up for the night and spooked him, which Sadie found amusing. But other than that, no one. It looked like they were in the clear.

They reached a grassy overlook, far enough to be away from camp but still close enough that it would only take a few minutes to ride back. The horses were still a little on edge, so the open space would do them good, the two thought. Arthur and Sadie dismounted, and the horses looked around cautiously, though it didn't seem like they were going to bolt. He gave Gideon another pat to relax him, and rummaged around his satchel for a wild carrot for him.

"That satchel of yours seems endless. Does it even have a bottom?" Sadie asked with a smile, noticing how Arthur had to pull out a couple of things before getting to the carrot.

"It's all about the organisation. Everythin' has its place," he replied, putting the small pouch of ginseng and a pack of cigarettes back in their rightful place.

"You gotta teach me someday. My stuff is always getting lost because I can't recall where I placed it." She tilted her hat back, making her way over to find a place to sit and rest for a moment.

"When you're living out of one or two bags your whole life, you get used to makin' the most out of storage," he added. With a final pat on Gideon, he walked over to Sadie, taking a seat on the ground next to her.

"How long have you been riding with these folk?" She asked, looking past him for a moment to check on the horses. Gideon and Bob were grazing happily.

Arthur scratched his chin as he thought back, trying to pinpoint specifics off the top of his head. "All my life. Dutch 'nd Hosea took me in when I was about fourteen? I had nothin' but the clothes on my back and a bit of bread I stole from someone," he said, mindlessly picking up some of the dry grass and fiddling with it as he spoke. "'Course, when you're a kid, anything sounds better than sleeping on the streets. They helped me, turned my life around… well, gave me a different outlook on life instead of just being angry all the goddamn time." He threw the grass in front of him, giving her a look. "Then, y'know, time went on and we grew and got more people, eventually got you, and here we are."

"Living the big life, huh?"

"Beats bein' dead."

A comfortable silence fell over the two, as Arthur would pick up small rocks that were in front of him to keep his mind occupied, while Sadie just sat, looking out ahead of her. It was funny to see how times had changed, and how big the gang had grown since he joined Dutch and Hosea all those years ago. He looked back on those early years with a soft fondness towards the memories, holding them close to his heart - protecting them.

He gave a quick look at Sadie, who seemed deep in thought. How quickly life can change, he thought. How quickly the tide could turn. How quickly everything could rot away. It was like building a house, though he had never built an actual house before, a good foundation was needed to support the weight of the walls. Without it, the house would collapse under its own weight. He wondered who was the foundation of this group, who kept it from crashing down… who keeps them from their own downfall. Arthur thought it would be Hosea, who balances out Dutch’s impulsiveness with his own more organised impulsiveness. Dutch and Hosea were two sides of the same coin, and no one could convince him otherwise. Without Dutch, there was no Hosea, and without Hosea, there was no Dutch. Perhaps both of them were the gang's foundation?

He felt a gentle nudge come from beside him, as Sadie was the one to break the silence. "What're you always writing about in that journal-"

"No." Arthur cut her off, knowing where this conversation would eventually end up. He had had the same talk with everyone: Mary-Beth asking if he was writing anything interesting, John standing directly behind him as he sketched something out, even Molly had made comments about his nose being in that journal of his.

Sadie raised her hands up defensively. "Alright. I was just askin' out of curiosity."

He pulled his satchel to his front, rummaging around for something. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sadie lean over, expectantly. He frowned. “I ain’t gettin’ it out.”

“I didn't say anything! I was just… admirin’ the organisation skills in your bag,” Sadie said, causing Arthur to turn away to look through his bag. He took out a pack of cigarettes, gesturing the box to Sadie to see if she wanted one. She took one out, giving a nod of thanks to Arthur as he did the same, placing the cigarette between his lips. The small box of matches were kept right beside the various cigarette boxes and small tin of chewing tobacco, so it was easy to find in his bag. He took out a match, striking it against the heel of his boot and held the match out for her.

“Next time we move, I’ll have to’ teach you how to make the most of small spaces for your stuff,” he said, as Sadie lit her cigarette and took a drag.

“I’ll hold you to that, Mister Morgan,” Sadie laughed, as Arthur lit his cigarette up, waving the match to get rid of the flame. “D’you think we’re going to be moving again soon? After the O’Driscolls attacked us like that, it would make sense to pack up and go…”

“Dutch seems to think we should. No clue where to, though. We can only go so far east ‘fore we end up in the goddamn ocean.” Arthur shook his head, partly in disbelief that they had to potentially move again, and partly because he didn't quite understand how they kept getting found by someone. First it was because the Blackwater job went to shit real fast, then they were chased out from Horseshoe Overlook and Clemen’s Point by the Pinkertons, and now the O’Driscolls? Was running really worth it at this point?

“I don’t want to leave until every one of those bastards is dead.” Sadie flicked her cigarette, staring at the space on the ground where the ash fell. “Even if I have to do it myself, they aren’t getting away with what they did to me and my husband.”

He understood revenge. He understood the feeling of it consuming every thought, and he understood that Sadie meant what she said. He had seen it in himself when he was younger.

“Well, if you ever need someone to go shootin’ O’Driscolls with, let me know.” He gave her a nod.

"They're a real nasty bunch." Sadie tipped her hat forward, blocking out the now setting sun. "I will make sure they all get what they deserve.”

Another silence fell over them, as the last of their cigarettes were used up, the butts tossed aside. The sun was close to disappearing below the horizon, lighting the sky up in hues of pink and orange.A soft breeze blew past them and Arthur readjusted his hat on his head to keep it from accidentally getting knocked off if the wind picked up again.

“You’ve been real quiet about what happened with the O’Driscolls, back in Horseshoe Overlook,” Sadie spoke, leaning back on her hands.

“Oh, I was…” Arthur paused, thinking about whether or not he should tell her everything. “I was hangin’ around.”

She blinked. “Hanging around? With the O’Driscolls?”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m just messin’ with you. I was hanging around, but not with them.”

“Oh. Right.” She then frowned. “Hanging, like…” A hand went across her neck, mimicking a noose.

“Upside down.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Talking about his feelings and experiences was still something he held back from doing - though times when the offer was there for him to do so, he happily cracked open the bottles of emotions, allowing others to take a sip and closing it back before they could take too much. Words were hard to speak sometimes, which was why he found his journal to be more and more useful as days passed by. Crossed out words, pauses in the writing, taking breaks when he needed - he couldn’t seem to allow himself to do that out loud. No, his thoughts were reserved for him and him alone. There was no need to drag anyone under the murky water of his life, he was fine to drown alone.

He felt a nudge against his leg, and blinked out from his thoughts. Sadie stood, having tapped his leg with her foot. Bob’s reins were in her hands, and she nodded with her head to the direction of camp.

“Bob’s getting antsy, missing the others I reckon. Want to head back with me?” She asked.

Arthur shook his head. “Nah, I think I might sit here for a little while.”

“I’m comin’ out to find you if you ain’t returned by dark,” she teased, which got a smile from him.

“I promise I’ll be back by dark, Mrs Adler.”

“I’m holding you to that, Mister Morgan.”

Sadie led Bob out the field they sat in, and Arthur watched her mount him, clicking her knees into his side gently to get him to trot off. With a wave, she moved down the road back towards camp, leaving Arthur and Gideon alone in the field, the sun now dipped below the horizon. He looked up into the sky, watching the stars fade into existence. How wonderful the view must be from up there, he thought, eyes scanning the sky for the brightest, and then searching for any constellations he could remember. Spending time camping under the open sky meant he often found himself looking up there, wondering what else could be up in the sky. He vaguely remembered seeing pages of a book discussing the night sky when he was younger, but could not recall what was being said. Maybe he would need to invest in books about the night. He was overdue for some new reading material.

Arthur sat still for a little while, whilst Gideon continued to graze off to his left. Now that Sadie was definitely gone, he took out his journal, opening it up to a fresh page. There were many sketches of Gideon scattered throughout the book, and he thought that one more wouldn't hurt. He began making marks on the page, loosely sketching the basic shape of the horse before going in with more details. It was nice to get lost in a drawing, no matter the subject of it. Sometimes he could sit for hours and just draw, letting time tick away in front of him. Sometimes he did. The sound of the charcoal scratching against the paper was therapeutic, as he used his thumb to smudge out some of the lines to give the impression of Gideon’s mane and tail.

With the ever fading light now being replaced by the moonlight behind him, he told himself it was time to think about going back to camp. Last thing he needed was to be approached by someone with malicious intent - he really didn't want to go back covered in blood. Too much blood had been shed today, he was getting tired of it at this point. He lost count of the amount of times he was stopped by Lemoyne Raiders looking for a quick and easy fight. They seemed to always jump out of nowhere. Though, many didn't jump after Arthur was done with them.

He heard Gideon walk over, nudging his bag in search of food or treats or something to do, and Arthur took that as a sign that he should get going. He gave Gideon a gentle pat, as his horse nudged his shoulder now.

“Easy, boy. You want to head back too, huh?” He asked softly, as Gideon huffed in response, turning his head to look back out towards the road. “Alright. We’ll head back now.”

Packing away his journal and standing up, Arthur took out a stick of celery and fed it to Gideon, who greatly appreciated the food. Another pat on his side, and Arthur hoisted himself up onto his back, rolling his shoulders to stretch them a bit. His posture while drawing was awful - Hosea once compared him to a shrimp when he was younger, hunched over paper while scribbling away. It stuck with him ever since, and yet he always found himself doing the same thing whenever he got really into a drawing. He clicked for Gideon to walk on, and took a slow walk back to camp.

Camp was quiet, the air still heavy from the attack hours prior. As Arthur dismounted from Gideon and looped the reins over the hitching post, he noticed a few people sitting around the main fire, and the smell of the evening's stew filled the air. There were times when he was off doing his own thing where he would miss Pearson's cooking, which was saying a lot.

He made his way over to where the food was, giving a nod to those who had gathered around one of the fires, talking in hushed voices. Scooping what little remained in the pot into a bowl, Arthur sat down at a table a little away from the group, the heat of the fire being a little too much mixed in with the thick, swampy air. It was one thing he disliked about Shady Belle, everything felt heavy and murky, and sometimes it was hard to breathe properly. At least he was blaming that on the air. Breathing had been a little difficult recently, but he tried not to worry too much about it. He never gave himself enough time to catch his breath after running around, so that was probably it. Just needed more rest… He looked down at the stew, gently scooping some of the meat and vegetables up before dropping them back down. Bread. He needed bread with this. Rummaging around for the 'food and other goods' section of his satchel, he pulled out a small bread roll he had bought from… somewhere. It was a little stale, but still edible, he hoped. There were worse ways to go than eating mouldy bread.

He ate in silence, just listening to the sounds of the camp as the sky darkened some more, the night in full swing now. Tensions were still high, but he felt them ease a bit when the gentle sound of Javier's guitar filled the air, a soft melody that felt familiar yet Arthur did not recognise the song.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him away from his thoughts as Dutch sat down on the seat next to him, a cigar in one hand and a devilish smile on his face. Arthur raised an eyebrow, ready for whatever profound words were about to leave Dutch's mouth.

"Tomorrow, we get rich!" Dutch grinned, leaning back in the chair.

"From the trolley station?" Arthur still wasn't sure that a trolley station of all places would hold a lot of cash, but Dutch was committed now, and there would be no talking him down from this idea.

"Broaden your mind, Arthur! Think of all the people who pass through the station daily! Think of all the money they have," Dutch said, waving his hands around as he spoke. Arthur scraped up the remains of his stew, shaking his head.

"And you trust that Angelo Bronte is tellin' the truth about this?" He asked through a mouthful of food.

"Arthur, I am disliking this sudden pessimistic outlook. We need one more big score, and Bronte knows things about the city that we don't. We can't afford to not trust him, can we?" Dutch suddenly leaned in closer, a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "This is the one. I can feel it."

Arthur let out a laugh. "You've been sayin' that about the last few jobs. And look at us! Still chasing down money."

"What've you been eating to make you not have any trust in me, hm?"

"Maybe Pearson put something in the stew."

Dutch didn't find the comment as funny as Arthur did.

He frowned, shaking his head. "Faith, Arthur. Just a little bit of faith, and you'll be eating your words when we're in a tropical paradise eating nothing but mangoes and living the dream!"

"Sure, I'll believe it when I see it, Dutch." Arthur ripped the bread into two smaller pieces, using it to get the last of the stew from the bowl. He saw Dutch lean back out from the corner of his eye, watching as he assessed the area in front of them. Those by the main campfire were laughing and talking, others were getting ready to retire for the night. The mood was seeming to improve, but Arthur was sure that alcohol had something to do with it.

"Micah's not coming with us tomorrow, is he?" He asked, lowering his voice as he spoke. The last thing he needed today was an incident with Micah.

Dutch shook his head, pointing with his cigar over towards where Lenny sat. "Got Lenny involved, thanks to your recommendation."

That made Arthur feel somewhat hopeful for tomorrow's job. Lenny was good and very under utilised in the gang, he had thought, so it would be nice to get the kid out and about some more. Maybe he can slowly convince Dutch that Micah is never the best first choice for these things. He’d take Lenny over Micah any day. Hell, Cain the dog would be more useful than Micah on some missions.

“And you’re sure that this trolley station is goin’ to have enough cash for us to finally get out of here?” Arthur had never been on a trolley in Saint Denis, he had never needed to - a slow and careful walk on horseback was enough for him. “You don’t think somewhere else might be better?”

“I’m certain. Think of how many people use the trolleys, and how often they run, too.” Dutch smiled, taking a moment to pat himself on the back for this brilliant idea - though, it wasn’t entirely made up by him.

“Why not somewhere like the mayor’s house? Full of expensive items, could go for a pretty penny if we sell them to the right fella,” Arthur suggested, knowing how easy it would be to steal from the mayor’s place. Security seemed lacklustre every time he visited, and it could easily be achievable the next time he was called there.

“The mayor’s house?” Dutch raised an eyebrow, arm leaning on the back of his chair as he gestured for Arthur to say more.

He put his spoon down in his now empty bowl, and gave a slight shrug to Dutch. “Seems like an easy enough place to steal from. Each time I’ve gone back there there’s been-”

“Back there?” Dutch spoke slowly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Arthur.

“Yeah…? The mayor’s got me helpin’ him out with a few things. Normal stuff, beatin’ people, threatening ‘em.”

“I didn't take you for the kind who would be in the mayor’s pocket,” Dutch said. Neither did Arthur, yet here he was.

“Just business. Nothin’ personal. You know how it is.” Arthur stood, stretching his arms out in front of him. “Could be something there, could be nothing.”

“Same thing applies to a trolley station, Arthur.” Dutch gave him a look. “There’s money there. I can feel it.”

Arthur knew it was a useless task trying to get Dutch to think about this in a more reasonable sense. Or maybe he was the unreasonable one? Perhaps trolley stations were loaded with cash, and he was underestimating it all. He gave him a nod, signalling that he was going to leave, maybe turn in for the night. He was tired and all that fighting had caused his bones to ache and his heart to feel heavy. He just needed a moment alone.

The walk up to the door of Shady Belle was quick, passing by others and simply nodding at them. He would do the rounds in the morning, check up on everyone to make sure they were okay. He passed by Sadie, who was leaving the house as he was going inside. She gave him a smile, and he smiled back.

Arthur climbed up the stairs, taking a moment once he reached the top to catch his breath. He often found the stairs to leave him a little breathless, but put it down to him not being used to needing to climb up somewhere to get to his room. Never in his late night thoughts did he think about living in a proper house, especially with the gang. He dreamed of open skies, sleeping under the stars, a fire crackling away in the background. The walls were a welcomed sight.

He could hear the sound of John and Abigail talking in the room opposite his, and he was quick to walk towards his room, not wanting to overhear anything. The large gap in their wall was something that, if they were wanting to stay here for a long time, would need to be patched up. Arthur wasn’t sure if the plans to stay here were long, and felt like after the attack today, Dutch was itching to find somewhere else. A shame, really. He was just starting to get used to where everything was here.

The door to his room closed behind him with a creak as he walked in, the moon providing the only source of light in his room. Shady Belle was definitely up there on the list of places they’ve had to stay at. The walls, the actual bed, the security of it all - it was nice. The sound of Javier’s guitar continued, though quieter from up here. His window had been shattered from the gunfight, which wasn’t a bad thing. The nights could get warm and stuffy, the only drawback to being surrounded by the swamps.

He set his satchel aside, and sat down on his bed with a long sigh, exhaling until the weight left his shoulders. It never did.

He took off his hat, running a hand through his hair. It was getting longer, and he would most likely need to cut it sooner rather than later. That was a job for another day. For now, he needed sleep. He got himself ready for bed, making sure everything was in its place, and nothing was too far out of reach. As he closed his eyes, he let his mind drift off to someplace else, somewhere quiet to sit and take a moment. A forest. A stag. A sunset.

That’s all he needed.

#red dead redemption #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 community #john marston #sadie adler #dutch van der linde #rdr2 fanfiction #; tealeaf's writing

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southernlynxx · 4 years ago

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I keep writing Dutch as Ditch pls send help

#dutch van der linde #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #ditch van der linde

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sunshinexlollipops · 6 years ago

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Maybe it's just me, but I think Arthur would have been waaaaay more suitable and capable of leading the gang instead of Dutch. Arthur knows what's best for the gang, isn't selfish and didn't let Micah manipulate him, and is generally more good hearted than Dutch imo. Sorry for rambling, but I needed to share this and you understand Arthur so well 🙈

Oh, I totally share the same sentiment, anon. As for rambling, don't worry!

I'm about to do so myself, so rest assured you're alright!

I hope you're prepared, because I'mma 'bout to psychoanalyze the heck outta these two cowpokes.

Be warned: some feels lie ahead, alongside possible spoilers!

So, Arthur would've, without a doubt, made a better leader to the gang than Dutch.

One of the biggest differences between them is that Dutch is a self-driven man with no interest but his own driving him, and that he is willing to do whatever it takes to appease himself.

For Dutch, he believes that everything he does is for the greater good, that he has a right to do what he goes forward with. He claims that his choices are that to an animal just trying to survive— that he is a patriot of sorts because he is willing to deny the confines of "law" and "government" to craft his own future and destiny.

His refusal to comply with society is something he believes he should be idolized for, and he is consistently declaring that he is above those who follow into it blindly. He is "smarter," more aware than those who so willingly give up their freedom, as he sees it. The life on an outlaw for him is a statement and his identity, and he builds everything, especially his philosophies, upon that.

His philosophy for it is one of only black or white— of direct right or wrong.

There is no gray area with Dutch, as he includes it into just these two categories. He gives his crooked moral compass a wide berth, as what was once in that gray area is now given the leisure to be given a loose label of righteousness.

This lack of moral specification makes Dutch as dangerous and twisted as he is, as he often will excuse actions or words that others abhor or find to be wrong. His insouciance is intended, as it is his go-to defense for writing off the callousness that begins to grow within him.

His ideation of being a sole rebel, of rejecting society and its supposed control has Dutch warped into the idea that he is a messiah, much like Agent Milton accuses him of being.

Many have compared to how he runs the gang and treats its members to the likes of a cult— and it's true. The manipulation, brainwashing, guilt-tripping— he tries to keep everyone under his thumb, and where he wants them. Dutch only wants complete and utter faith, that those who follow him do so blindly and lose their conscience as they assume the man uses his. If you doubt him in any capacity, you're just as evil as what he detests. You are an enemy like everyone else who opposes him.

Because Dutch is insane, to the very definition. It is not simply his descent into madness and corruption, but rather his belief that the life of an outlaw is one that can still work despite everything pointing to the opposite. I believe that, after years of failure after failure, of barely making it out of his own messes alive and finding it harder and harder to make ends meet, Dutch was driven to a breaking point as his deluded dreams were never realized.

The lack of being sated soured the man to the point where he disillusions himself into believing that they can still continue on as they are, that all they need is "one more score." He could never walk away from this life— could never admit defeat or conform in any way, as he became so attached to his identity as an outlaw, and the pariah of his gang.

As for Arthur, he would've been drastically different had he taken on the helm as leader.

One of the bigger differences is that Arthur has always remained true to his own word, and that he is the most selfless out of the gang.

For Arthur, he constantly wages things on his conscience, wondering if he is making the right choices with both what he believes in, and what he knows is right.

Much like Dutch, he is set in black and white, but for Arthur, he will ponder where his star lies once or before he hitches it.

There is a constant weighing on a scale of personal reflection, and Arthur holds himself accountable and admits when he is wrong. Not once during the game did Arthur make a choice and not think about it in some way and wonder if it was the right one. He is not one for urges, or to not review over what he is doing or has done, and how he can do better in the future. His morals are what drive him, and he will stick to them, even if it means taking the harder route or having it cost himself something dear.

Which, Arthur has sacrificed so much for the gang.

Apart from being the spine of it all, Arthur has proved time and time again that he is the most loyal of all, and that he will always put the gang and its members first.

He could've had a family twice, but his decision to stick by Dutch's side cost him his engagement to Mary, and possibly saving Isaac and Eliza had he been there for them like he wanted.

He could've earned the freedom and second chance he longed for when he was offered it by Milton in exchange for Dutch, but Arthur remained true and refused all of Milton's attempts even when he was doubting and clashing with Dutch.

He also almost died multiple times during the game — from nearly being shot before Eagle Falls saved him, or being captured and tortured by the O'Driscolls for days without rescue or even being searched for — all of which were times made of Dutch's own design and refusal to come to his aid.

He even gave up his SECOND chance to be with Mary to make sure those he cared about were taken care of before the Saint Denis robbery. He intended to take his cut and leave afterward, but because of everything going completely wrong, as predicted by many in the gang, he ended up shipwrecked on Guarma, and lost the last chance to be with the woman he loved.

Dutch would not have considered half of what Arthur has done and given up for the gang, and it shows by just how far Arthur is broken and haggard by the time we pick up the controller.

His doubts of Dutch have been growing for some time— before the failed robbery in Blackwater. At what point his doubts truly began to manifest isn't given to us, but I believe it's something that has been happening for quite a while. Maybe even when Arthur was younger, but didn't want to admit that the man who saved him and gave him a better shot a life than that of a street orphan was less than stellar.

But Arthur comes across as obtuse— and as other gang members point out, he prefers to do so by "playing dumb." I feel like this is part of his denial of the situation, that not thinking is better than admitting that Dutch was rotting from the core and their lives were falling apart. It was easier, simpler.

He could just pretend that he didn't understand the world and its situations when its obvious from his journal alone that in reality, he is just as smart or even smarter than Dutch. I would say more than likely one of the smartest men in the gang, if he actually applied to and allowed himself to do such a thing. It's more than likely why Arthur feels as guilty as he does for letting Dutch take the reigns as he did for so long— that he knew better, but feigned ignorance.

If it came down to it, I know that he would've been able to handle stepping up and becoming the leader, as he has 20+ years of experience under his belt, and the plans and busts that he overlooks and plans usually go very smoothly and tend to do the best.

He isn't dumb as he purposefully tries to appear, and even then his unassuming nature plays out to his benefit in a lot of situations. He easily could've taken control of the gang and lead them to a much better conclusion than the one Dutch crashed them into.

I believe that Arthur would've kept a lot of what happened from becoming reality. I know for a fact that he never would've trusted Micah or let him into the gang, and I doubt that he would've allowed a lot of various behaviors from him if he did. Otherwise, he would've made different choices, and a lot that Micah and Dutch pushed for would've been left in the suggestive instead of becoming part of their story.

Arthur also would've also tried to settle the gang, unlike Dutch, and there's not a doubt in my mind that Arthur would've gotten them their plot of land to live the rest of their lives on in peace.

Which brings me to the key difference between them: Arthur would know that it was time to quit.

His own desire aside, a lot of the gang wanted out. Even as far as Hosea. They all realized that their way of "life" wasn't working anymore. That the days of the outlaws and Wild West were numbered, and already dwindling fast. A lot of them weren't happy, and they longed for something different — something more — and unlike Dutch, they knew that robbing and stealing wasn't the way they could go about it anymore.

He also would've seen the fissure in the gang from the others that wanted to continue, and he wouldn't have let it separate them as it did.

As for Bill, Dutch, and Micah— Arthur would've let them split off and continue on as they were, living and to die as savagely as Milton said, as that was their choice.

As for Javier, I feel like he would be conflicted. He would more than likely side with Dutch as he did in the game simply because of his want for a revolution, but there is a slight chance that I could see him joining up the others on a homestead if Arthur was able to make him see reason. After all, Javier is loyal to those who are just, and while he became infatuated with Dutch and the way the man functioned, if Arthur were leader, I could easily see some of Javier's loyalty falling to him from the stock he puts into being true and just alone.

Otherwise, Arthur would've taken whoever wanted to join him, and he would send the others on their way. They all could've chosen their ending — their destiny — and none of them would've been forced into any corners by Arthur.

As for Dutch, he was incapable. And that was his biggest flaw of all. The ending we saw was one constructed by his own decisions and lack of forethought, of his narcissism and egotistical confidence.

He pushed the gang until it fractured as it did, shattering it into irreparable, mangled pieces.

Dutch's ignorance and refusal cost everyone everything, even their lives.

And, in a futile attempt to try and fix it all, it cost Arthur his.

#arthur morgan #ditch van der linde #van der linde gang #rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red ded redemption 2 #anon ask #anon #ask #submission

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rattlingbrainbox · 5 years ago

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I hate my brain because this is such a serious moment, but when I first played this I immediately thought to myself "Mmmmm...lies. Arthur already knows John is the protagonist of game 1." 🤦🏻‍♀️😂

#Oh shit this is where they leave him!!#can't be serious for one second lol #i also shouted at my cat lol #cuz she was the only one home #rdr2 #rdr2 reference #arthur morgan #john marston #ditch van der linde #micah bail

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niki-chan15 · 5 years ago

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Dutch lost young Arthur

*Looking around town*

Dutch: Arthur? Boy, where are you son? Papa wants to go home and get dru- go to sleep

~1 hour in~

*Grabbing random people*

Dutch: Has anyone seen my son!?

*Thinking about what Hosea will do if he doesn't bring Arthur back*

Dutch: ....oh god, ARTHUR!!

~30 minutes later~

*In the dirt curled up*

Dutch: That fathers adrenaline is kicking in....

*Checking the private rooms in the saloon*

Dutch: ARTHUR!

*Leaning on the wall holding his head*

Dutch: I can see every equation...

~2 hours in~

*Hanging off a woman for dear life*

Dutch: Excuse me, ma'am have seen my son he this tall, *hand up to his shoulder* clearly gay but we haven't had the talk

*looking in a well*

Dutch: Arthur are you in here

*Shaking a women*

Dutch: HAVE YOU SEEN MY SON?!

Women*scared af*: No...

*Pushes her into a lake*

Dutch: FUCK!!!

~ 3 hours in ~

*Running through the woods*

Dutch: ARTHUR WHERE FUCK ARE YOU!?!?!

*Holding cocaine gum*

Dutch: I'll let you do drugs!

Dutch: ARTHUR!!

~4 hours in~

*On his knees holding his chest*

Dutch: I'm going to have a stroke..

*Realized that he hasn't seen John either*

Dutch: WHERE THE FUCK IS JOHN!!!

Source:

youtube

#Probably did too much #random thought i had #i hope this is funny #I wanna die in a ditch just tagging the people #forgive me for bothering you #rdr2 #rdr2 shitpost #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #young arthur #john marston #young john marston #brandon rogers #Dutch is having a hard time raising kids #Hosea is not pleased #never mind #lost my spine and couldn't tag any rdr2 blogs..#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two

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saxonspud · 5 years ago

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gotta love this man, but please really wish he had better taste in hats

#ditch the hat #dutch van der linde #those hands again

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redeadepression · 6 years ago

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My phone keeps autocorrecting to Ditch Van der Linde and honestly... It’s right.

#HE LEFT HIS SONS TO DIE #he DITCHED them #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde

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aleksikesa · 6 years ago

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#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde #red dead redemption #donut have me confused im posting this bc of the rainbow and the rainbow only #dont kno who that is blocking the view #ditch von der lease or some such #whatever #someone tell him to get out the way #my stuff

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jedi-mabari · 5 years ago

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Dutch seems almost, angry, maybe more just disappointed that Lenny looks up to his own father more that himself. And it's real off putting that Dutch feels like he can be the only inspiration to the people around him.

#dutch van der linde discourse #ditch van der linde critical #lenny summers

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peacockeryabound · 2 years ago

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The Last Honest Men, Part 1

(From the story of the same name on my Archive. Part 1 of Chapter 1.)

Synopsis: "Have a little faith", that's what he always said. He, of all people, shouldn't have to worry about doubting himself.

On the cusp of a new chapter in his life, cracking slowly under the pressures of his cause, Dutch Van der Linde begins to question if his heart is in the right place, and with the right people.

(Pairings: Dutch Van der Linde/Molly O'Shea, Dutch Van der Linde/Susan Grimshaw, Dutch Van der Linde/Hosea Matthews

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

But only for a moment.

He leaned forward, as if those few inches were enough to get out of earshot. Hand firmly cupping a knee, he indulged in his smoke again and licked the plumes rolling down his tongue.

There was one hell of a cold squint coming his way.

Dutch stared for a moment until he gave a snort and drew Arthur in closer. He was mindful of the cigar as he gave the young buck a good smack on the back for his presence.

"And we can talk about Blackwater, later. Let's not spoil the good fortunes we find ourselves in this morning, eh Mr. Matthews? Mr. Morgan?"

Hosea pointed at him.

"You and me, tonight. We're going to have a talk."

Dutch raised his cigar and gave a proper head bow.

"Of course, old friend. Until then, go and take a walk under the warm sun. It'll do your legs some good."

"Mornin', Miss O'Shea." He mumbled into the back of her offered hand.

-----

He looked over his coffee cup, eyes following the shambling Uncle who stumbled by while digging for gold down his pants.

Alright...most of them.

Dutch took a swig as if it were a shot and perked from a heavy grunting that sounded off behind his tent. He recognized that unrepentant growl anywhere.

"Arthur! What in God's name-"

"Yeh, well..." the outlaw shifted to keep the drunk man over his shoulder. "God don't want him today."

"Much appreciated, for going out and checking on him, Arthur." Dutch smiled through a nod.

Now, that was an interesting sight...

He'd have to ask, what the big occasion was. In due time...

Dutch smiled at Mary-Beth when she sauntered past on her way to the cooking pot. She caught his eye and brought her book up to hide her face and the shy grin he swore he caught.

Colter was the result of those Pinkerton dogs back in Blackwater...but it was also because of his own poor shots. That dead girl's face was going to haunt his mind for years to come.

"Dutch?" Molly's voice caused him to jolt. She was peeking through from a lifted flap, her expression suggesting she had been talking for a few seconds without him noticing. "Did you hear me?"

"Molly...Molly." He greeted back with a distant smile. "My sweet garnet from the Isles...c'mere, darlin'."

"You told me that you were going to take me to Valentine. For the picture show."

He grinned.

Molly smacked him again, hard across his chest.

"Well, if it was next Tuesday, I wouldn't be harping on you now, would I?"

"Darlin'..." His voice was soft as he moved, chest to chest with his free hand settled on her hip. "You know I would give you the world. Do you doubt me on that?"

Molly looked uncomfortable. "Dutch..."

"Mo-lly..." He was kissing along her knuckles.

"No, I don't doubt you, Dutch..." her voice became hushed at the end. She made a defeated gesture with her hands before she crossed her arms and looked elsewhere. "Even if you make me want to."

"I promised you a picture show." He repeated. She nodded. "I...got a little carried away, it seems."

"Such a softie." The voice gave a small hum and her lips were pressing against his.

#reddeadredemption2 #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #read on ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #dutch van der linde #molly o'shea #hosea matthews #arthur morgan #hosea matthews/dutch van der linde #vandermatthews #molly o'shea/dutch van der linde #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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