#former van der linde gang

[nevadancitizen]

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

synopsis: After a deal goes wrong, you wake up in an abandoned building with an outlaw-looking man pointing a gun at you. To your surprise (and disbelief), you're in 1899. Much like the rest of your life, you didn't sign up for this. But, like the rest of your life, you'll learn how to deal with it. Maybe you'll even learn how to survive -- maybe even thrive -- in this new... predicament you've found yourself in. (inspired by @heart-of-gold-outlaw )

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

tags: Time Travel, Slow Burn, Found Family, Van der Linde Gang as Family (Red Dead Redemption), POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Modern!Reader, reader is from the year of yahweh 2024

AO3 link, if you prefer to read there

note: reader is a former addict and comes from a family of addicts and deadbeats. it is mentioned sparsely, but is still mentioned. if you're gonna comment on it, please be respectful.

note, continued: also, the reader in this fic is gender neutral. please do not refer to them with feminine or masculine pronouns. instead, please address them by they/them pronouns. this fic is all-inclusive and not meant to alienate anyone -- it's meant to be written so that everyone can read, no matter their personal pronouns!

PROLOGUE

COLTER

CH. 1: Somewhere (Far, Far) East of the Mojave

CH. 2: Charles Smith, the Man That You Are

HORSESHOE OVERLOOK

CH. 3: Of True and False Memories

CH. 4: <currently being written...>

[cowboydisaster]

Hey could you write a little fic about Arthur hearing fem reader crying and comforting her? Really pile up the fluff if you decide to write please 🩷🩷 love your stuff so much xxx

A Shoulder to Cry on

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1000

a/n: Thank you for this sweet prompt, nonny! I was looking to write some fluff and this was perfect.

beta read by @margowritesthings

You feel foolish for even crying, but you can't bring yourself to stop the glistening tears from streaming down your face. You’re petrified, miles away from your former camp, stuck up in the Grizzlies. The Pinkertons are on your tail like a cat on a mouse, and you know it’s only a matter of time before they inevitably catch you. Your time is running out. You’ve had a good run with the van der Linde gang, but it’s time is nigh on done. It's a daunting realization, especially after losing so many folks back in Blackwater. 

Because of your position in the gang, you’ve been given your own bedroom in the same cabin as Arthur, Dutch and Hosea. It's a cold room, but better than what most of the gang have. The wind whistles outside as thick snowflakes land on the roof, causing ice cold water to drip repetitively from the ceiling above. The wind and the leak intertwine with your cries, forming a sad, sad song. 

You sit on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest, sobbing into them with no sign of stopping. You try to keep quiet as your breathing comes in shudders, and your shoulders shake violently. There is an ache in your ribs from the sobs erupting from your chest, but it pales in comparison to the ache in your heart. You hiccup, catching your breath, and unknowingly alerting Arthur who is walking by to catch some shut eye. 

With his eyebrows pulled together in worry, he gently nudges your door open. You don’t even look up, and he stands in the doorway for a moment, glancing over your curled up, crumbling form. Of course, he knows what's wrong, and his heart shatters at the sight of you looking so broken. His heart– it’s been longing for your own for so long, and seeing you like this breaks him. 

“Oh, darlin…” He murmurs, stepping forward in only a few strides. You hear his boots clicking against the floor before the bed dips under his weight, and then his big, warm arms are around you. 

“I'm so sorry.” He whispers.

There’s something about his arms around you. They are sturdy and unmoving, and yet piece by piece, they begin to build your broken heart back together. There’s so much safety and comfort in his arms, you’re sure that he could protect you even from the storms raging in the Grizzlies with his hugs. You wrap your arms under his, hands on his back as you sniffle and cry into his shirt. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Arthur asks quietly, swaying you lightly in his arms as he shields you from your pain and the cold. Arthur doesn’t push you. He knows exactly how you feel, and opening up about these things is far from easy in his own experience. The gang– it’s coming to an end, and you both know it. Now you just have to find a way to exit peacefully, hopefully taking those that you love with you. 

"Shh, shh. You're okay." He coos, tucking your head under his chin.

Arthur is radiating with warmth, and you feel the frostbite leaving your nose as you nuzzle into his chest. His thumb reaches up to wipe away a fresh tear as he frowns lightly at the sight of you so upset. Your skin is soft against Arthur’s calloused hand, and your eyes slip closed as you savor the feeling of his touch.

“I’m scared, Arthur.” You admit, lip trembling as silent tears slide down your frozen cheeks. 

“I know you are, I know, but I will get you out of this mess. I promise you.” Arthur swears, resting back against the headboard as his mind runs rampant. He can’t let you die for this gang, and he’ll get you out safely if it's the last thing he does. 

“You just rest now, alright? You don’t gotta worry no more. I gotcha now.” Arthur murmurs, laying down with you nuzzled into his side. You cuddle against him as tightly as you can manage, placing your head on his chest as you nod your head. For the first time since Blackwater, the trails of tears from your reddened eyes cease.

Arthur’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back as he makes sure you’re comfortable and taking deep breaths. He wishes he could take this pain away from you, but he knows he can't. All he can do is hold you. 

Your eyes slip shut as you nuzzle against his blue wool coat, your cries dying down to soft sniffles. 

"Feelin' any better?" Arthur asks, watching as your breathing settles back to normal. Your cheeks are red from the cold, and your lashes stick together from sticky tears. Arthur pulls the blankets up over the two of you, not wanting you to catch a cold. 

"I am now that you’re here." You whisper, feeling a heavy tiredness fall over you. Arthur is so comfortable, and you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms. Arthur can tell you're drifting off, and he wraps his arms around you tighter for it. 

"It's okay, get some sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up." Arthur murmurs. Seeking more of his comfort, and taking another step towards telling him how you feel, you unwrap one of his arms from your body. Arthur's eyebrows pull together, and at first he's worried that he's crossed a line until you intertwine your fingers with his own and hold your joined hands against his chest. 

Arthur smiles down at your hands, watching your face relax as you finally drift to sleep. He'll hold you the rest of the night, making sure you're okay. 

"I'll get you outta this mess." He reiterates, "If it's the last thing I do, I won't let you die for these fools." 

He hopes that you'll go with him, run away to some place far. Arthur's never been one to daydream of pleasantries, but you make him want a home, a family. He'd leave the gang for you, he'd buy a home and work an honest job just so he could come home to you. He'd make you proud. 

But for now, all he can do is hold you, comfort you from the storm outside alongside the one raging in your mind. Now the only sounds in the room are the leaking roof and your light snores as you take comfort in the first safety you've felt in days. Arthur will always be that comfort for you. 

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony

[allzelemonz]

Boys’ Night: The Van der Linde Boys X Male Reader

Dutch Van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, Sean MacGuire, Kieran Duffy, Javier Esquella

Fictober Prompt: Day 31, Orgy Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Orgy, threesomes, kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, oral sex, blow jobs, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Sean’s drunken mind, marking, viagra-esc tonics, almost everyone is passed around to everyone else, Reader takes both top and bottom roles Summary: Sean has an idea that leads most of the boys in the gang to a damn fun time.

Sean, in his mildly drunken wisdom, decided that a boys’ night needs more than just poker, five finger filet, and songs. With most of the older folks and women out of camp for a special con, Sean knows his only hindrance might be Dutch. So he enlists the best sycophant he’s ever met.

“Can’t tell me it won’t be fun.” Sean grins. “All a’ us-“

“I ain’t gonna be a part a’ some invert orgy.” Micah mutters.

Sean leans closer. “Oh, really? Even if a certain cowpoke’s involved?”

Micah glares up at Sean from his seat by the scout fire, then follows the Irishman’s eyes to the filet table. There you stand, arms crossed as you watch Morgan and Marston play. And Micah might be able to turn it down, let his senses say no again, but then Dutch leans a little closer and whispers something in your ear. Micah’s head swims with lewd images of the two men he finds himself pining for in his alone time despite his best efforts.

“Fine.” He snaps, holstering his gun and glaring at Sean. “But ain’t no one ta know ‘bout this, understand that?”

Sean grins with a little chuckle. “Ya mean ‘side from the boys fuckin’ ya?”

Micah’s fists clench at his sides, but he stops himself from punching Sean. He’s in too deep at this point, half hard in his pants and more frustrated than he’s ever been. “Shut yer damn mouth, cowboy, ‘for I decide ta leave ya with blue balls.”

Sean puts his hands up, giggling to himself. “Got it, big man.”

Micah stomps off and Sean watches him carefully. The blond makes his way over to Dutch, coaxing him away from the table and back to the fire. This might be easier than he thought.

Dutch is skeptical at first, concerned about how the gang might take such a proposition. But with Micah’s easy words, Sean watches the gang leader become so much more comfortable with the idea of the gang doing this for bonding and morale.

And the word spreads fast.

Folks are a little nervous at first, shuffling and unsure. Plenty of pining goes around camp on the average day, but being given the green light is a little daunting. So, Dutch being Dutch, he makes the first move. Shedding the hat from the blond’s head, Dutch pulls Micah into a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Most of the gang watches as he walks Micah back into the filet table and lets his hands wander. Sean gets the next burst of confidence, practically lunging to kiss Lenny. John bursts out laughing when they fall onto the ground together, but he’s silenced quickly by Javier. Then Bill sheepishly cups Kieran’s face before the former O’Driscoll puts his arms over Bill’s shoulders and kisses him as if he’s been waiting to for years. It’s only yourself, Charles, and Arthur left standing in the midst of the mess, looking around at the others of the gang in various states of intimacy and undress.

Arthur clears his throat, the red of his face only getting worse as he glances around. “Well… suppose…”

You look over at him, those pretty eyes staring back at you. “You…uh, you wanna…?”

There’s a weight on your shoulder and you turn to see Charles, his other hand held out towards Arthur. The workhorse dips his head, his hat hiding his face as he steps forward and takes Charles’s hand.

“We could go somewhere a little private.” Charles suggests, nodding towards Arthur’s tent.

The thought is comforting, making your pounding heart calm a bit. Most others have simply started at their partners where they happened to fall. Only Bill and Kieran have moved behind the chuck wagon. Sean nearly has Lenny out of his pants on the ground, Javier is shamelessly grinding into John against the tree, Dutch has Micah surprisingly whimpering at the attention he gets, Charles simply leads you and a bashful Arthur away from the others.

Arthur sits on his cot, rubbing a hand down his face as he takes a breath. You don’t blame him given the circumstances.

“We don’t have to.” Charles says, sitting next to him with a kind hand on his shoulder. “Just because Dutch said it would be a good idea, doesn’t make it true.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No… I been…” He sighs. “Been wantin’ somethin; fer a while.” His hand reaches up to hold Charles’s on his shoulder, his eyes finding yours as they scrunch from a smile. “Guess I got a dirty mind.”

You chuckle lightly at the joke, happily taking Charles’s hand again as he pulls you into his lap. Charles kisses you softly, one of his hands on your waist. You gasp, pulling back slightly, when he starts to rut against you with a half-hard dick. Arthur has moved behind Charles, kissing at his neck while his hands lift up his shirt. Charles’s chest is broad and built, firm to the touch when you rest your hands on him. You watch Arthur’s hand move, twisting into your shirt to pull you forward. You’re pressed flush against Charles as Arthur kisses you over the other man’s shoulder. It’s Charles’s turn to give neck kisses now, his hands firmly holding your hips so you grind down into him.

“I want ya.” Arthur mutters against your lips. “Ya wanna fuck me, partner?”

You nod, kissing him again.

“What do you want from me?” Charles asks, his hand tilting Arthurs head so they can look at each other over his shoulder.

Arthur’s breath hitches as he looks at the man. “I… I wanna suck ya off, Charles.”

Charles smiles and that in itself is a slight. “Of course you do.”

The three of you move, hands guiding and wandering as clothes are shed. In the distance, Sean can be heard begging and groaning, there’s some curse shouted in Spanish, and the camp echos with skin slapping skin and the slurping, popping, and smacking of spit. It’s all overwhelming and you try to focus on what’s in front of you.

Arthur’s on his back, Charles nearly sitting on his chest as his dick is sucked. You’ve already spread Arthur’s legs, the tube of gun oil feeling heavy in your hand. You open it quickly, spilling half of it before getting your fingers covered and entering Arthur. In front of you, Charles throws his head back with a deep groan as his hips begin to stutter and fuck into Arthur’s mouth. You can’t help your free hand pumping yourself as you watch, your other scissoring Arthur open. It’s premature, you know it is, but you can’t take it anymore. You should stretch him more, but your dick aches in your hand and you retract your hands to grip Arthur’s hips instead.

You press into him and hear a muffled moan as Charles shivers from the vibrations it brings. Both of you still, giving Arthur time. You watch his hand grip at Charles’s hip, pulling him forward. Charles sits up, propping himself on the box behind Arthur’s cot so he can get the proper angle to fuck down into Arthur’s mouth. You start your pace, rough and fast like Charles. Arthur’s legs shake as he wraps them around your waist, his hand squeezing at Charles’s ass. You wish you could see their faces, but you can imagine. Charles’s is likely twisted in pleasure and concentration, Arthur’s might be slobbery and tear stained.

It’s Arthur that comes first, his dick untouched as it releases a flood of cum onto his stomach, a few spurts hitting Charles’s ass. Arthur’s body goes still as he whines, being used as a set of holes by now. Charles is next and you watch the bounce of his ass lose its nice rhythm as he shoots his release down Arthur’s throat. Charles seems to bury himself deep and Arthur grips his hips as he swallows what he’s given. You double your efforts, wanting to fill Arthur from both ends. You gaze falls downwards to watch yourself fuck into Arthur’s tight hole. Charles catches you off guard, tilting your head up for a kiss as he straddles Arthur’s stomach. His hand reaches down, passing your furious thrusting to fondle at your balls as they bounce off of Arthur. The heat builds fast and you release just as Charles bites at your lip.

When you let go of Arthur’s hips, he falls back down to his cot completely. Charles continues to kiss you as you pull out, smiling into it. You can hear Arthur’s labored breaths beneath you and you’re so in your own head that you don’t register the footsteps.

“Mind if I try somethin’, fellas?”

You turn from Charles to see Micah leaning against Arthur’s shaving stand. He only has his red shirt on, half buttoned, and a smirk rests on his face. Charles’s hand has yet to leave your balls and you feel him squeezing slightly as his other turns your head back to him for another kiss, silently telling you to ignore Micah.

“Aw, come on, Smith.” Micah drawls. “Lemme have a turn.”

Charles pulls back, his lips wetted and dark from all the kissing. “A turn?”

You hear Micah take a step forward and Charles moves fast. He leaves you and you nearly fall onto Arthur, only just catching yourself before collision. You look over your shoulder to watch Charles push Micah down to bend over Arthur’s weapon’s chest. A new pool of heat starts when Charles sucks on his fingers before shoving them into Micah, eliciting a moan from the older man.

“Shit…” Arthur mutters under you.

You turn to look down at him, chuckling. “Don’t think it’s what he had in mind.”

Arthur smirks. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

His hand finds the back of your neck and pulls you down for a kiss. Micah’s whimpers and curses fill the tent and you feel yourself getting hard again. Arthur grunts against you, pressing up until he brushes his dick to yours.

“‘m gettin’ too old fer this.” He mutters, blushing at his still soft dick.

Behind you, Micah gasps and you look back to watch him bury his face in his arm as Charles enters him roughly. Charles thrusts like a beast, fucking every last pathetic noise he can out of Micah. Kind of serves him right.

“C-Charlie…” Micah gasps, his voice light and breathless. “Ah! Fuck…”

Arthur hisses, his hand wrapping around his dick and trying to get himself going again. You trail your hand down, helping him stroke himself, but to no avail. After a few seconds a bottle lands beside Arthur on the cot, a tonic bottle. You look up as Arthur cranes his neck in the same direction. Standing to the side is Bill, a timid looking Kieran right behind him. Both of them are bare besides a blanket draped over Kieran’s shoulders.

“It helps.” Bill mutters, his eyes trailing over to watch Charles and Micah for a moment. “Works fer whiskey dick at least.”

Arthur looks the other outlaw up and down strangely. “Thanks.”

Bill clears his throat. “Ya wanna trade, Morgan?”

You look down at Arthur who glances between you and Kieran. He catches your nod before looking at Bill. “Sure.”

Kieran steps forward, a sheepish grin on his face. You give Arthur a final kiss before standing. As you pass him, you chance giving Kieran a kiss and he accepts it, melting into you for the few seconds it lasts. When you pull away and turn to Bill, the large man has taken himself in his hand at the sight. Your eyes catch on that motion, swallowing thickly at the size, nearly as big as Charles. You find the sense to step closer to Bill and kiss him. Behind you, Kieran squeaks from something and Arthur mumbles an apology. Bill’s hands find your hips, pulling you against him well enough to smush your dicks together between your stomachs.

Charles practically growls behind you and you hear Micah gasp again. “How’s that for a darkie, Micah?”

There’s a thud and you imagine Charles let Micah go or maybe even threw him on the ground. A few beats later, Sean calls out to Charles with a drunken shake to his voice. Bill pulls you with him, keeping his lips busy on your neck until he turns you around to bend you over Staruss’s little table. Bill fumbles, finding a tonic on the ground and pouring it over his hand before he pushes his fingers inside. You spread your legs for him, raising your ass a bit now that you’ve lost whatever care for shame you had at the start of all of this.

“Gentlemen.” Dutch greets, settling himself against the tree behind the two of you. “Don’t mind me.”

Bill’s finger’s stall for a moment, likely nervous about fucking someone in front of his boss, but he continues after a few seconds. You try not to think about Dutch watching you, feeling that same set of performance nerves. Bill fumbles more as he moves, spreading your ass cheeks apart with one hand as he guides himself inside. Both of you groan as he enters and pushes himself in fully. Bill leans forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he starts thrusting. You fix your feet steady on the ground when the table under you shakes from the combined weight. Bill’s thrusts are moderate and steady, hitting deep and brushing heavenly every time.

There’s a small groan, sounding like Kieran, that makes you shiver when you think about what Arthur is doing to him. A few more thrusts from Bill makes you grip the table tighter as your legs feel shaky. Then there’s a shout of Spanish with Charles’s name mixed in. Bill’s hands wander up your body a bit, caressing your sides as he keeps up his steady fucking. A low groan reminds you that Dutch is watching and you have half a mind to look back at him, but Bill picks up his speed and you bury your face into your arm instead. Bill’s climax pumps you full, the trickling feeling distinct as his dick already starts to push the excess out with a few final thrusts.

Only a moment after Bill has stepped back there are hands on your hips. Sean pulls you to him, falling to his knees in front of you and taking you in his mouth too fast for you to think. Your hands go to his soft hair and he relents immediately, letting you fuck his mouth without question.

“Arthur!” Kieran cries somewhere in the background.

Behind you, hands grip your hips as kisses are pressed to your neck. The tickle of a mustache tells you it’s likely Javier, but you’re too occupied with fucking Sean’s willing mouth to think further. You release for the second time, letting Sean take everything you have. In the midst of your high, Javier presses inside of you and starts fucking without inhabition. His hands on your waist hold you still, his lips beginning to suck in a mark to your neck. Sean stands, grinning at you before he runs over to Arthur and all but jumps on the older man’s dick. Javier wraps his arms around you, filling your ears with mumbled Spanish that is slurred by ecstasy.

Your eyes move around camp, finding several things to admire. Bill has Micah in his lap, stroking him with one hand and fingering him with another. John and Lenny each have each other in hand as they kiss, Charles watching them from the campfire. Dutch has Kieran on the ground, fucking him roughly as he mutters about O’Driscolls but Kieran moans all the same. Arthur stares from afar, Sean bouncing on his dick as he watches the sight of Javier finally burying himself deep and mixing his cum deep inside of you with Bill’s.

“You’re so warm, cariño.” Javier mutters in your ear before he chuckles. “Who’re you seeing next?”

“Not sure.” You take a few breaths. “Haven’t seen half of them yet.”

Javier pulls himself out, causing the mixed cum to leak out. “John’s a good hole, dirty mouth too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You turn in time for Javier to kiss you before he heads over to Arthur, teasing words spilling out as he climbs onto the older man’s lap to replace a spent Sean. When you turn back, Dutch is a few feet away. He beckons, gesturing to the ground and some part of wanting to please your boss makes you sink to your knees without question. Dutch guides his dick to your lips and, once again, you don’t hesitate. You only get a few bobs in before Dutch clutches at your head, beginning to use you without care.

“Shit!” Bill yells, not sounding pleased. “Wagons!”

Dutch pulls you off and you turn your head to peer through the trees. Glimpses of horses, a few colorful dresses… shit indeed. Everyone scrambles, hiding in tents, pulling clothes back on, trying to clean up cum from various surfaces. You all but fall into your tent, rummaging for at least a union suit or some kind of underwear. Pants, you find pants and pull them on.

“Dutch…” Hosea calls. “What’s gone on here?”

From your tent you can see Bill hiding behind a tree, not a thing covering him. Dutch comes out of his tent, somehow fully dressed, and greets Hosea as if he hasn’t fucked half of his men in the last hour. Miss Grimshaw looks around, sniffing with a crease in her brow for a moment. She’s distracted by Tilly asking a question and you take the opportunity to grab the union suit you know to be Bill’s on the ground in front of you before running over to him in the trees.

“Owe ya.” He mutters, pulling on the covering.

You nod, turning to leave, but Bill catches your arm and pulls you closer to kiss your cheek. You give him a smile before circling around the trees, acting like you’d gone out to piss. Passing Lenny and Sean hiding out by the lake with a single fishing pole as an excuse, you sneak as best you can to Arthur’s tent. As if expecting you, a half dressed Arthur with a bulge in his pants, hands you the clothes you’d shed earlier. You dress the rest of the way next to the munitions, eyes checking for onlookers on occasion.

The camp settles, the secret kept. Everything is well and most of the boys have elected not to bring it up, others whisper and snicker about it. It’s dark when Micah sits next to you and you look at him, finding flushed cheeks for only a moment before he kisses you. It’s surprisingly soft despite the chapped and bruised lips. He pulls back, glancing to see if anyone saw before looking back at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Didn’t get the chance, cowpoke.”

[cowboysanddragons23]

While the Van der Linde gang is an outlaw gang, it operates more as a cult:

-Zero tolerance for criticism and questions: Dutch can't stand when someone questions or doubts him (ex. When John starts questioning him at Clemens Point, Dutch tells him that doubting means the end, aka weakness and forces him to say "Yes, Dutch." or when Uncle calls him out in a humorous manner, he threatens to kill him under the guise of following the joke).

-A belief that former followers are always wrong for leaving and there is never a legitimate reason to leave: Javier and Bill call John and Arthur traitors for abandoning them and Dutch, even though it was clear that Dutch was losing his sanity, he was going to get them all killed and both of them were trying to salvage what's left of the gang, a train of thought that lasts even after the gang disbanded.

-Lack of meaningful financial disclosure regarding money: Dutch constantly prattles about the fact that they need more money and at one point, he hid a box of money in one of the gang's hideouts.

-Abuse of members: While Dutch is not physically abusive of members, he is an abuser of the psychological variant (ex. When Molly raises legitimate concerns about how he is ignoring her and not paying her attention, he always dismisses her as delusional, even outright saying "I never met a woman with so many needs.")

-Absolute authoritarianism without accountability: If there is one thing that Dutch shows the most is his inability to take responsibility for his actions (ex. When he blames John for being the reason why the Saint Denis Bank heist went wrong, accusing him of being a rat, even though the main reason it went wrong was because Dutch was too reckless with his robberies to the trolley station and the boat, along with his kidnapping and killing of Angelo Bronte, the most powerful man of Saint Denis).

-Unreasonable fears about the outside world that involve evil conspiracies and persecution: Dutch fears civilization because it represents everything he hates and instills very irrational fears amongst them (ex. When Dutch tells John the law chases them because the gang represents everything they fear, yet ironically, after the gang disbands, Tilly has a happy life married to a lawyer and John has a normal life as a member of society).

-Cult of personality: The most obvious one. Dutch is seen like a father and a messiah amongst the gang (ex. In Red Dead Redemption, John tells Reyes that Dutch saved him, Bill and Javier.)

-Illegal and dangerous behaviour: The van der Linde are a gang of outlaws at first, but they ended up becoming the Wild West equivalent of domestic terrorists, with their attacks on the Cornwall Train, the Saint Denis Bank, a US Army Train....

-Charismatic leader: Dutch oozes charisma anytime he speaks, albeit of the superficial kind that has an iron hand on the people of his gang, which Kieran lampshades.

-Us VS Them mentality: Dutch enforced a very black and white view about their enemies, even outright admits so when he killed Bronte ("It is us or him.").

-Isolation and love-bombing: Once again, Molly is the biggest victim of this, with Dutch charming her into going with him and making her feel isolated on the gang, in order for her to depend on him and him alone.

-Time and energy: In the camp, you are expected to upgrade Dutch's tent first before upgrading the rest of the camp. And Dutch demands that money is put on the box, yet he himself never contributes to the box.

[dyingbuck]

Arthur’s tuberculosis will always make me sad 'cause I cant help putting myself in his shoes and imagining what it would be like to feel your body giving up on you and knowing that you're going to die soon.

Especially when you consider that Arthur was one of the strongman of the Van Der Linde's gang. Just imagining that after being seen as an intimidating force, people look at you with sorrow or cruel amusement. People aren't afraid of you anymore, see you as a weak and feeble guy (like the miners in the mission Don't seek absolution). Knowing that you aren't as strong, one of your biggest asset, anymore and that people treat you accordingly (like Sadie in the last mission) by trying to keep you away from work and fight.

It just breaks my heart to imagine how Arthur must have felt during his last few weeks, knowing he's withering away into a ghost of his former self.

[2demondogs]

Hi! Could I get some domestic Charles headcanons? Like if him on his own ranch with his partner and children?

Sure!! Gender-neutral reader! Sorta hit a block on this one bc while I want to wife Charles up 100%, I am very much destined to be a Cool Gay Uncle, so I hope it's okay lol.

Charles does most of the hunting, slaughtering, and cooking. He's good at the former, doesn't mind the rest, and he likes that you compliment the latter. If you want to join him catching dinner or cooking it, Charles is usually more than happy to have company. He'd also love the opportunity to teach you whatever he can; once they're old enough, teaching the kids is his favorite way to bond with them.

He does need alone time, and wants to give you yours. There's only so much interaction anyone can take, and Charles is a naturally reclusive man. Normally, he'll take hunting trips or repairs around the place as an excuse to be on his lonesome for a while. If you're not someone who frequently needs to recharge on your own, he'll probably worry that he's stressing you out being so... around.

For a quiet guy, he rambles at night. Charles tends to talk pre-sleep anxieties out with you when he's tired enough — and he has a lot of them, for living such a slow life nowadays. Things from the past, what comes in the future, what that hide will fetch. By the time kids come along, he'll wear his brain smooth on one side worrying about them. Especially the girls. He is a Girl Dad for sure.

Charles is not very good with young kids. He's good at respecting them as their own tiny, more chaotic versions of adults. Patience is a virtue, and he can put up with their nonsense — though that's more affectionately thought than anything — for a long time, as long as they're satisfied in committing it. Once they start crying, though... let's just say that approaching a child the same way he approaches wounded animals worked until he spoke too hard on accident, and the kid burst into tears again.

Kids love him regardless. Usually, anyways. There was a period of time where babies tended to cry whenever he looked at them, and neither of you really know why to this day. But he's quiet, so they can talk all they want; he's tall and sturdy enough to climb; very firm hugs, and doesn't mind giving them; and once they're old enough, his advice is solid without being too kind. He's kept his physique if only because, for some reason, every single kid has loved being swung around like a feed sack. Like most things, he doesn't get the appeal, but whatever makes the critters happy, y'know?

Despite the difficulties, a family was never a bad idea. Charles likes the idea of having roots, and having them with you. Anything stationary is a grace in his life. To think the rest of it could be nothing but that is at once suffocating and comforting. He'll probably drag you all on a few trips and wander off on some excursions to sate the drive to run around, but beyond that, he's just fine being a homebody now that he's got a home.

One of his more sentimental insistences is a yearly family portrait. It's an expense, but ranching is good enough money to warrant it. Beyond expressions of contentment, he doesn't often make gestures or say much in the vein of this— but it says enough about what you all mean to him that he gets a few prints of each one.

He doesn't tell the kids much of his history. Of course, he connects with them as deeply as he can because they're his babies. Charles is the master of dropping absolutely horrific lore on them over a beer once they hit their thirties, but before then? Good luck. It's dangerous, sure; he wasn't always a good man, no, and sometimes he's ashamed; most of all, what happened in and to the Van der Linde gang — and the world they sprouted from, and where that world is buried, and where the world is going nowadays, and everything else — still scares him. He would be happier if you didn't know a lick of it, either.

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

How can I make it OK?

Arthur Morgan x reader

PART 1 🌀 PART 2

Summary : you're homesick.

gender neutral reader, no use of y/n, not explicitly romantic unless you wanna read it that way, 3K words

Warnings : swearing, mentions of suicide, panic attack described in semi detail, not the jolliest thing i've ever written

A/N : first post that's actually writing in 2025 ! wrote most of this on the train while listening to house in nebraska by ethel cain and more than this by wolf alice so yeah. also this isn't arthur heavy in the sense that it's reader rambling about being homesick mostly. to be read in a southern accent as god intended

Of all the places I have travelled with the Van Der Linde gang, I think this is my least favourite. 

Living- or rather, camping- in the ruins of some plantation, bodies of the former owners stagnating in the pond. Sometimes I hear ‘em- the ghosts, in the walls, screamin’. I know it’s my mind, playing tricks on me; but it’s harder to have that rational thought when you’re lying alone in the middle of the night, wind whistling through broken windows. It’s not that I don’t like having a roof over my head. Shit, everyone in this godforsaken gang is happy to have a real shelter from the weather, even one as flimsy as this house. So I shut my mouth, hunt as I’m expected-which is what I am doing now, borrowed bow over my shoulder, quiver resting comfortingly between my shoulder blades. 

Hunting is familiar. Back in the Grizzlies, where my daddy raised me, we’d go out any time of day, in any weather, hunt for the coming storms. I’d do everything the way he taught me to- lay out traps, wait behind a boulder, bow in hand. It builds patience, he told me when I asked why the hell we didn’t just track the damn animal, instead of waitin’ in the cold for it to find us. 

Now, it’s not cold, and dear old daddy ain’t here to help. 

I left my horse hitched by a lake, with enough grass for him to be fed and well until I bring back something worthy of Pearson. It’s near sunrise; already, the heat is uncomfortable; my skin is sticky, my clothes uncomfortable. It’s moments like these that I long for the snow. 

I wipe my forehead with the back of my head. I’ve been walking for a little while now, waiting for a pack of deer to pass by. There’s something that bothers me about killing them- maybe it’s their eyes, so big and brown, caught frozen as they stare at you. Or maybe it’s their resemblance to this little girl I knew, at a local village at the base of the mountain where I grew up. 

I shake the thought of her big brown eyes and twitchy nose as I spot a herd of ‘em, grazing near a small stream. There’s enough light for me to count them- seven, big enough to feed us. 

I get on one knee, like my daddy taught me. Notch an arrow in the bow, pull it back. One of the poor animals raises its head, looks in my direction. 

Before I can hesitate, I let go, and the arrow flies; a fraction of a second later, it has notched itself in the animal’s throat. It falls; its friends, the rest of its herd (its gang, I think, almost laughing) scamper off, into the woods. I don’t go after them. Pearson will have to do with this, and whatever herbs or mushrooms I’m able to pick up. 

The doe is dead by the time I reach her. I kneel. Pull the arrow from her neck; thick, sticky blood gets on my hands. I almost reach for snow, to clean it off; curse myself when my fingertips meet grass and mud. The doe’s dead eye stares up at me, brown and empty as the sky. I resist the urge to close them. 

“Sorry, sweet.” I whisper it as I hoist her up, put her over my shoulder. She’s heavy. I must be getting blood on my shirt- it’s a shame, because it’s my favourite colour, and I’ve just bought it. 

I swallow any regrets I feel as I walk back to my horse, the weight of the doe uncomfortable against my bow and quiver. 

You’re the reason she won’t come home, a little voice whispers in my head. I stop, then, because my chest is tightening and I can’t really breathe. I say something incoherent. The fields around me are empty- it’s just me and this doe. 

I drop her into the mud and loosen my shirt, gasping for air. I want cold, I want crisp mountain air; not this thick, humid, barely-air that clogs my throat and makes my lungs heavy. 

I dig my fingers into the mud and grass, as I would have done in the snow, back home. Home. What a weird thought. I catch the dead doe’s eye again, and that’s when the tears come, thick and hot and nasty, blurring my vision. So stupid, I think, as I force myself to stare at her. She- no, it- is just an animal. She doesn’t have a home, not the way I did. Do. 

I think of crying out for help, but that’s pathetic, and I’m a lot of things, but pathetic ain’t one of them. 

I think I stay there, on my knees, fingers deep in the mud, for a long time- when my vision clears again and I’ve stopped gasping for air, the sky is clear, clear blue, no traces of sunrise left. If I focus hard enough on it, I can almost pretend I’m back in the mountains. 

I get up, teeth digging into my tongue to prevent any new feelings from resurfacing. I’m not in the goddamn mountains. All that’s left for me there is two frozen bodies deep beneath the snow, and a hut that’s probably been raided or taken over by some other gang. 

I pick the doe up, this time careful to avoid looking at her face. Its face. It’s an animal, not my goddamn sister. 

I make it back to my horse without another incident; strap the doe across his back and climb onto his saddle. His name is Coal, ‘cause of the colour o’ him- black and charcoal grey, a streak of white down his face. 

“Hey, boy,” I murmur to him as I flick the reigns. My voice is shaky, hoarse; it’s obvious that I’ve been crying. 

Coal begins to trot back to camp. I think of changing direction, of going to Rhodes, clear my thoughts. But I gotta bring this back to Pearson, or he’ll skin me. 

The camp is still there when I return, which is a relief. I don’t think I’ll forget the moment when I came back after a hunt and found everyone gone, everything burned to the ground. 

I shiver at the memory and get off Coal. “I’ll come ‘nd fix your saddle later,” I say to him, scratching his neck. He grunts, in a tone I hope is affectionate. I remove the doe, put her back over my shoulder. Make it to Pearson’s stand, where he’s angrily chopping vegetables. 

“Hey,” I say, dropping the doe in front of him. I angle her head- her eyes- away from me. “Got some meat.” 

“I can see that,” is Pearson’s kind answer. 

I ignore him and walk away again, into the derelict house we’ve been callin’ home for the last few weeks. My room is on the top floor; I wish I shared it with someone, but I got lucky (Dutch’s words) and got my own, private room. 

I tug off my bloodstained shirt and drop it on the floor. There’s nothin’ to be done about my trousers- they’re the only pair I’ve got (the others have just been washed, and hang soaking wet outside) and I don’t plan on walking around bare-legged. 

I change quickly. Sit down on the bed, stare at the wall. 

I don’t know how long I stay like that; starin’ at the peeling wallpaper, trying to pretend it’s the same white as the snow I used to see out my window. Obviously, the pretendin’ don’t work, because it’s not the snow, it’s a crumbling fuckin’ wall in a crumbling fuckin’ house. I stand, take a deep breath in (of hot, hot, humid, thick air), push it out. It ain’t cleansing- I don’t feel better once I’ve tasted the surrounding bogs- but it’s enough to calm my heartbeat, and make me feel somewhat human again. 

For the rest of the day, I help around camp, doing stupid, mind-numbing tasks. I try not to think of the mountains, and how much better than this godforsaken swamp they were. People talk to me, and I answer, polite and all. I eat Pearson’s stew, listen to another grandiose speech about Dutch’s plan (or, as far as I’m concerned, concepts of a plan). I finally find a moment of quiet sitting on a log, staring out at the swamp. Not the prettiest sight; all brown and green, with hints of yellow dust. 

I’m alone for only a few minutes before I hear footsteps. I turn, and find Arthur approaching, taking his cigarette packet from his satchel. I shift on the log I’m sitting on, making the split second decision that his company is something I want right now. 

He sits next to me, silently. Offers me a cigarette (I decline with a shake of my head and a wave of my hand) then lights his own with a match. He stays quiet for a little while, blowing smoke from his mouth, tinting the world blue and grey. 

It’s strange, sitting next to him. He don’t mind being quiet; seems to like my company well enough, ‘cause he keeps coming back here to smoke. 

He’s the one who found me, all that time ago, on a solo hunt in the Grizzlies. It was at the edge of the mountains, where it starts to get warmer; where the sun melts away most of the snow. Was from Blackwater, he said- I asked if I could go back with him. Promised I’d leave ‘em all alone when I got there, I just needed a job, as far from my daddy’s corpse as I could get. He’d said yes, maybe reluctantly. 

Turns out, I’d found somethin' better than a job. Not quite a family, but a gang, people to rely on, people to distract me from the emptiness created by my father’s death. I suppose it’s these people keeping me here, in this swampy nowhere, sweating my socks off. Here, I’ve got people- back in the mountains, I’ve got two dead bodies and an empty house. 

My chest tightens again, and wordlessly, I take the cigarette from Arthur’s hand, take a long drag. I hand it back, still silent, and dig my fingernails into my knuckles. 

“You miss home?” Arthur asks me, his words marked by the smoke curling from his mouth. I take the cigarette from his fingers again, press it between my teeth, inhale ‘till I can blame the burning in my eyes on the smoking rather than whatever has grabbed hold of me; whatever old, buried feeling I’d thought long gone had chosen to make an appearance. Guess it must be more obvious than I thought, that I’m feelin’ odd, ‘cause he clearly smelled it on me. 

“I don’t know, I guess,” I say, softly, fiddling with the dirty fabric of my trousers as I hand the cigarette back; as if I don’t know the answer, as if I haven’t spent half my goddamn life thinking about this. I exhale, blowing out smoke from my nose.  “Never really thought about it.” The lie burns in my throat, so thick I can hardly breathe. 

It’s not the stability that I miss. The weather in the Grizzlies was nothin’ permanent, not in any sense- one minute it’s a blizzard, the next you’re standing staring at the bright blue sky, knee deep in snow. I guess it’s the wolves howling, it’s the comfort of a fire as wind rattles against the window panes; it’s even the way the stars look after three days holed up inside. There’s no one thing I miss or don’t miss- I just know I miss it, so much that my chest tightens at the thought. 

When my daddy got shot, three- no, four- years ago, I thought the one answer was to leave that place behind; pack up my clothes and go out into the Wild Wild West, make my own future away from the smell of his freshly dug grave, right next to my mama’s frozen bones. And when I came across Arthur, and later his gang of gung-ho outlaws, who seemed ready to take on the world, I thought that was it- my life was set. 

But I don’t like the constant moving like I used to. It don’t feel like adventure anymore; it feels like escaping, like we’re always running from something. 

“I don’t…” I hesitate, reach up to dig my nails into the dip of my collarbone, try to dig the feeling out, hold it up to the light to examine it. “I guess it’s different.” A veiled confession. Away from the Grizzlies (away from home) it’s hot, stiflingly so; I can’t climb onto my horse without breaking a sweat. It’s already too warm by the time the sun rises- clothes sticking to your skin uncomfortably, flies buzzing above, drowning in the smell of swampy nothingness as soon as your eyes open. I don’t hate it- it has become familiar, but familiar in the way the weight of a revolver at my hip has become familiar; the way the constant paranoia that clogs my throat has become familiar. 

“Different how?” 

Another pause, as I scuff the yellow dust ground with the toe of my boot. Different in a whole lotta ways, I want to tell him; even the colour of the sky isn’t quite the same back home. 

Home. I think of the snow as I stare at the yellowed leather of my shoes. Where there’s snow and wolves and no people to shoot at you unless you really look for it. 

“I don’t know,” I say, even though my whole body knows; it courses through me, the knowledge that a few days ride away is the mountains, and the snow. “It just is.”

The answer dissatisfies him, I think. “C’mon,” he says in that gruff voice of his. “You gotta be able to find one difference between here and the goddamn Grizzlies.” 

“’S warmer,” I say, the words followed by a short, slightly forced laugh. “Don’t snow as much.” 

He snorts, shaking his head. “Alright,” he responds, maybe a little condescendingly. “Think o’ anything else?” 

“You got less wolves down here,” I add, after a few moments. I don’t say that I miss the sound of them howling; that when I close my eyes, I try to picture it, try to pretend I’m back there instead of here. 

“Alright.” He says it kinder this time, like we’re getting somewhere. 

“The sky looks different.” I dig my fingers in deeper. He offers me the cigarette; I take it, repurpose the burning in my throat. The smoke flickers around me as I exhale. “It’s- clearer, up there. More blue.” Here, the sky is tinted almost yellow. It ain’t ugly, but it ain’t home. 

He doesn’t answer, now, staring out at the swamps. I don’t know how he feels about this place- about Rhodes, and the foreignness of Saint Denis, with its factories and smoke and cobbled roads. I wonder if he misses home- if he ever had one to begin with. “I guess I do miss it,” I say, to fill the silence more than anything. “But… I don’t know, I don’t think I wanna go back.” Alone is the word I don’t add. I think- maybe- if I had the gang, my new family, I’d go back to the Grizzlies. After we escaped Blackwater, and hid out in that abandoned town up in the mountains; that was the happiest I’d been for a long time. 

But alone isn’t something I want to be. Not the way I was alone, the few weeks after my father passed- just me and the freshly dug grave, me and the wolves, me and the gun that killed him, sittin’ on the table, an unwanted temptation. 

“I don’t wanna be alone again.” It comes out soft, hoarse, pathetic, the words grating in my throat, like sandpaper on my tongue. 

It’s true. Yes, home is in the mountains; I know that now, when my chest clenches at the simple thought of the snow. But home is also with these people- with Arthur, and Mary-Beth, and Pearson, and the rest of them. Hell, even Kieran, the O’Driscoll boy, has become home, in a way. Home is not just the place where I grew up (the place where my daddy now lies); home is also the people that have become my family; who have embraced me so kindly and warmly. I know deep in my stomach that if I were to leave now, take a horse back to the hut, I’d end up like my daddy, a bullet in my head and a gun in my hand. 

He did it ‘cause he was lonely. So lonely that even I wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the trigger. Lived in the mountains his whole life, but he had my mama then, and his parents. I guess fifty years of snow and not much else can drive you insane. 

My hand goes to my temple; I dig my fingers into the skin, right where I found the bullet in his head. 

“Y’won’t be,” he responds gruffly. He’s finished his cigarette, and yet he’s not made any attempt to get up, leave me with my thoughts. I snort, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. 

“Don’t know that,” I say. “With the Pinkertons on our asses, ‘nd all.” It’s meant to be lighthearted, but it comes out quiet, rough. 

“Yeah, but they’ve always been on our asses.” He puts a hand on my leg; it engulfs my entire knee. “Tell you what.” He hesitates, clearin’ his throat a little. Squeezes my knee. “I’ll take you huntin’, once a week- or twice, or less, if you want.” 

“I go huntin’ anyway,” I answer. “Not in the mountains, y’don’t.” My chest both tightens and loosens at the same time. I swallow; my heart is thumping in my chest. I put my hand to my collarbone again, digging my nails in. “C’mon, it’ll do you good. Cold air and all that.” 

I know there’s a deeper meaning to that. Cold air- he’s giving me the chance to go home, and not by myself. Even if it’s not for long, it’s enough- to feel the snow again, to hear the wolves. Maybe once I’ll camp overnight, ride back to camp in the morning. The idea fills me with hope- a feeling we’re all starved of, these days. 

“Really?” Is all I manage to croak out. 

“What, you don’t wanna?”

I laugh, and it’s genuine this time. “No, I- I wanna.”

“Alright then.” He gives my knee a last squeeze, then stands. I stand with him, smooth my shirt with the flat of my hand. “Tomorrow then?” Tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I’d sing, if my throat weren’t so damn tight. My eyes sting, and I wipe at my nose with my hand. 

“Thank you,” I say, quietly. He don’t respond, but he nods, and I think maybe he smiles a little. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll get to take a piece of my new home to the place I grew up- someone I love, to the place that holds my heart. 

I watch him walk away; and suddenly, the humidity don’t feel so bad anymore. 

[conkreetmonkey]

So Jack Marston was 4 in 1899. He was 19 in 1914. This has some truly crazy implications about the time periods Jack could reasonably live to see. Despite the low likelihood of it given his lifestyle, let's assume he lives to die of old age.

(it's a long one under the cut)

Jack Marston would be 25 in 1920, meaning he would be in the prime of his life during the roaring twenties. He would be 34 on Black Tuesday in 1929, and live through the Great Depression, coming out the other side at 46 years old.

He would live through both world wars, so if we're assuming he's somehow cleaned up his name and is no longer n outlaw, perhaps existing under another identity, he would be drafted into at least one world war, as he would live through both WWI and WWII. Let's assume he either dodges the draft or survives the battlefield; likely the former, as he'd still hate the federal government with a burning passion, and is no stranger to evading their grasp.

When WWII ended in 1945, Jack would have been about 50. He'd have seen both gunslingers and nukes in his lifetime. He'd have watched horses be replaced by cars, and airplanes become a mainstream technology.

Jack Marston would be 55-65 in the 1950s. He'd witness the development and popularization of plastic, TVs pop up in every home, and hyperconsumerism become the norm as wrinkles set in and his hair started falling out. At this point, especially for the time, he'd truly be getting old. Maybe he'd have kids, or even grandkids by thus point. Would he be happy, having experienced the best and worst of America? He was probably too old to serve in Vietnam; there's no way he wouldn't have some sort of disability by this point.

Jack Marston would be 75 in 1970. At this point, death of old age becomes exponentially more likely with every passing year, but let's be hyper-optimistic just to push this to its limits. Jack would witness hippies. Would he like or dislike them, these men who despise the government-mandated bloodshed he'd lived through, yet resisted through bright colours, bongoes and weed?

Old Man Marston, if still kicking, would be 85 in 1980. Probably going senile by this point, but if still mentally sharp and with nimble enough fingers, Jack could have played Donkey Kong at 86. He could have set foot in an arcade, assuming he can still walk.

Now, as egregiously unlikely as it is, let's assume Jack lives to 100. An obscenely old age, especially given all the things he's lived through. The stress, the bullets, the cigarette smoke and lead paint... let's assume his body remains functional despite it all, some defiant force deep in his soul refusing to let him die.

If he lived to 100, Jack would have died in 1995.

Think about how insane that would be. A man raised by the last remnants of the wild west, fading out as the internet begins. He'd have seen the moon landing, and eaten at McDonald's.

Six more years, and he would have witnessed 9/11.

Jack's great grandchildren, assuming he and every child afterwards reproduced at age 30, would have been about 10 in '95. They'd have been millennials. They'd be 35 during the beginning of the Covid lockdowns. They'd be alive today, and remember their great grandfather. Perhaps they inherited a few hats and antique guns. Perhaps they now live in sprawling urban environments like Saint Denis or Blackwater, watching electronic billboards and anti-homeless architecture go up, rent go up 20% per year, and a sandwich go from $5 to $15. Maybe they'd watch Jack's now-senile firstborn lose money that used to, long ago, belong to the Van Der Linde Gang, falling for a Nigerian prince or Google gift card scam.

Or maybe Jack Marston's kid(s) died to Covid. It's entirely possible, nay plausible given the timeline as it exists. Jack was one generation away from possibly living to read Homestuck or watch Space Jam in the old folks home.

What do you think Arthur, John and Jack would think if there was an afterlife, looking down upon what America had become in 12 short decades? Would they relate to John's great-great-grandchildren, to living in a time and place that doesn't want you? To the impossibility of making an honest living, of escaping America's newest model of the Orphan Crushing Machine? Would they see Dutch echoed in Trump, Cornwall in Bezos or Musk? An empire they watched grow up begin to slow down from age, never ceasing in its quest to ruin as many lives as possible?

How would they feel, watching Jack's 9 year old great-great-grandchild, still bearing the Marston name, do active shooter drills in her classroom as the air turned to poison and the summer to a kiln? As men like Dutch prod her along into a life of miserable servitude to a gang of thieves, elevated to untouchable American royalty with Pinkertons and the law as their knights?

Personally, I think they'd be quite upset.

[moeitsu]

Alright, we need to have a little chat about Dutch van der Linde and some of the truly bizarre discourse I’ve come across here recently. If you’re someone who ships Arthur and Dutch, that’s your business. Enjoy what you enjoy. But—and it’s a big but—if you’re going to ship them and simultaneously argue that Dutch isn’t narcissistic or manipulative, I’m going to need you to take several seats.

I just stumbled across a post where someone was upset about how the fandom "dogpiles" on Dutch because "he’s only human, and humans make mistakes." Fair enough, I thought—everyone is entitled to their perspective. But then I got curious and looked into their blog and realized this same person is reposting Arthur x Dutch dub-con content like it’s a casual Tuesday. Look, read whatever you want, it’s your life—but you can’t sit here and preach empathy for Dutch while simultaneously engaging with material that explicitly highlights his manipulative nature.

This kind of double standard? It's exhausting.

Dutch van der Linde is one of the most unique characters in Rdr2. He’s charismatic, intelligent, and passionate—qualities that draw people to him, including the members of his gang. But he’s also deeply narcissistic, manipulative, and utterly incapable of taking responsibility for his actions. These traits are the very foundation of his downfall, and they’re written so clearly into his character arc that it’s impossible to miss.

Dutch weaponizes loyalty. He preys on the vulnerabilities of people who trust him, especially Arthur and John. He creates an illusion of a "better world" to justify his increasingly erratic and self-serving decisions, all while framing himself as the misunderstood hero of his own story. This isn’t slander; it’s canon.

So when a big portion of the fandom calls Dutch out for being manipulative, it’s not because we’re "ignoring his humanity." It’s because we’re recognizing that his humanity is deeply flawed. That’s the point. You can empathize with his complexities without excusing his actions or demanding others do the same.

It’s wonderful that more people are discovering the game. Seriously, welcome aboard! The more people who experience this masterpiece, the better. But if you’re new here, take a moment to read the room. Dive into the rich narrative, explore the characters, and engage with the fandom thoughtfully. Don’t come in hot with takes like “disliking Dutch is ableist” or accusing people of lacking empathy for pointing out his glaring flaws. Not only does it derail meaningful conversations, but it also alienates people who are here to discuss the complexities of these characters in good faith.

Also, using heavy terms like "ableism" in a context that doesn’t apply? That’s not it. Critiquing a character’s actions isn’t an attack on their humanity—it’s an acknowledgment of it. Let’s save those terms for situations where they’re actually relevant, not for defending fictional characters.

Enjoy the content you like, ship the pairings that make you happy, but don’t expect people to turn a blind eye to Dutch’s faults just because you’ve decided to romanticize him. The beauty of Red Dead lies in its ability to spark debates about morality, loyalty, and the gray areas of human nature. Let’s not dilute that by refusing to acknowledge the darker sides of certain characters.

And for the love of all things, let’s stop accusing people of lacking empathy for engaging critically with the narrative. There’s a difference between analyzing a character and trashing them, and most of the fandom is doing the former.

If you’re out here dropping takes that don’t hold water, don’t be surprised when people disengage—or, in my case, hit that block button.

[lyinginahammock]

In GTA V, you can find a book entitled "Red Dead," written by a J. Marston. This has been used as proof that Jack Marston (son of Red Dead Redemption protagonist John Marston) wrote "Red Dead" in the universe of GTA.

But I want to take it one step further - I think that Jack also wrote Red Dead Redemption II in the same universe when he was an older, more experienced author, and that both of them act as historical fiction in honor of his father, with the supernatural elements added in by Jack.

Red Dead Redemption shows John Marston as a great guy - smart, clever, caring for his family, and well-meaning in general, who sets out on a quest to destroy the remnants of the Van Der Linde gang in order to save his family before being gunned down in an impossible last stand. He is an uncritical depiction of Jack's father.

Red Dead Redemption II features a more complicated protagonist in Arthur Morgan, a more morally grey character, in the final months of his life, as he's dying from TB (the result of his own actions). His last act is to save the Marstons, and the epilogues show John telling Jack stories about Arthur, almost certainly in a heroic light. I think that an older Jack decides to track down as many people who would have interacted with Arthur in order to get a more critical look at Arthur as a person, including his former lover and the family of the man Arthur kicked the shit out of, resulting in Arthur developing TB.

Dutch Van Der Linde's portrayal as almost cartoonishly stupid and evil in Red Dead Redemption II is explained by this idea. The only surviving people who knew Dutch would've seen him as a villain - Sadie, Rains Falls, etc - and Arthur as a flawed hero, and Jack would've already talked to these people about his father. That, combined with watching Dutch abandon John a number of times (and Arthur bailing John out), would've cemented Dutch as a major villain in Jack's life as well.

As I said before, this theory also explains the more...fantastical elements of the games - vampires, time travel, robots, etc. I don't think that John or Arthur actually, in-universe, encountered those things, nor would they have claimed to. In Red Dead Redemption II, Jack is seen reading about King Arthur, much to his father's approval, and John seems to be supportive of Jack's dreams of being a novelist, so I don't doubt that in the year between the two Redemption games, John would have spent a good amount of money buying books for his son, loving father that he is. Thus, as part of the homage to his father that I believe these in-universe novels were, Jack would've put in those elements of science fiction and fantasy he read about with his father's approval.

Tl;dr - The Red Dead Redemption games (I and II) are historical fiction novels in the universe of GTA, written by Jack Marston, and the supernatural elements are additions made by Jack to honor his father's support of his reading habit.

[rockscanfly]

Sometimes I write things! Usually if there's a fandom I love and I don't see the specific kind of stuff I'm interested in reading that's when the writing bug will hit me. Hence, a lot of rarepairs or rare dynamics. Sampler of works I'm proud of below, sorted by fandom:

Red Dead Redemption 2 (currently most active fandom. i'm engaged in an ongoing campaign to bring more bottom!Charles Smith to the world)

the stars are not wanted now: Charles Smith, Sadie Adler, and the two deaths of Arthur Morgan.

Snow Bunny: Three years after the dissolution of the Van der Linde gang, Arthur and Charles pass a long winter together. Arthur calls Charles something new in bed, to rave reviews. Later, he earns a new nickname of his own. (or, Arthur Morgan-Smith's Guide To Surviving The Canadian Winter, Cowboy Style)

Once Bitten, Twice Shy: Running it alone for over a decade doesn't tend to make you very good at communication. When Arthur's un-buried ghosts darken the doorstep of the home he and Charles have built together, Charles’ instinct to pull away ignites a conflagration that threatens to burn that home to its foundations. (or, Arthur considers reconnecting with his former mentor. Charles loses his fucking mind)

Young Justice (pretty much every fic is about Kaldur, my forever girl. My oldest and most prolific fandom, have some WIPs but TBD on if they see the light of day. )

Recovery: No one's really been okay since the invasion ended. Artemis is back on the Team and back to school in Central City, M'gann and Connor are helping the Team stay afloat, Roy's quit the business to take care of Lian, and Dick has retreated back to Blüdhaven. With all this, everyone can't help but notice how Kaldur's reacting to the last year of trauma, and to it finally being over. (Or, in better words, how he's not reacting.)

Gallows Humor: Five jokes that only Artemis and Kaldur laughed at. (or: A Treatise On the Effects of Exposure to Organized Violence in Early Adolescence)

and four a.m. knows all my secrets: (five beds Kaldur has lied awake in and one where he found rest)

Atlantean Cryptanalysis For Beginners: Concept: the little eel faces on Kaldur's hands change their expression depending on his mood (or, Artemis is great at detail, and everyone else is a moron. Nothing is new)

I Saw The Harbor Lights (They Told Me We Were Parting): It’s Kaldur’s last night before he puts his and Dick’s plan into action. And he’s going to spend it with his boyfriend. (or, In Which Kaldur And Roy Go On A Date And Everything Is Beautiful And Nothing Hurts)

I have other fics that I've enjoyed writing, but these are the ones I want to pin for easy access.

[yanderes-galore]

yandere Dutch concept?

I'll do some horror with RDR1 Dutch, but if/when I do a RDR2 Dutch concept. I'll try to make it connect into this one

Yandere! RDR1! Dutch Van Der Linde Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Sadism, Kidnapping, Possessive behavior, Paranoia/Trust issues, Cannibalism, Blood, Biting, Murder, Delusional behavior, Manipulation, Forced relationship.

While RDR2 Dutch is gradual with his obsession...

RDR1 Dutch wastes no time.

Dutch by this point is ALL unhinged.

He's lost everything yet still fights like a feral animal.

Truthfully he was never the same when Hosea and Arthur died... really everything went to hell when the Saint Denis bank robbery went wrong.

Now there's always a chance you were in his gang and simply left like many others.

But imagine how scary it would be if you just... didn't know him?

Imagine if you merely heard of him as an infamous gang leader and met him under unfortunate circumstances?

Maybe you were in a saloon one day at the wrong time... Only to be abducted by the infamous Dutch Van Der Linde in his unhinged state.

That's one way to look at this.

Another is when you knew him as a fellow gang member.

You both had an interest in each other at one point in time.

Although as things got worse with the gang and Dutch began to slowly lose it... You left.

Maybe he was always possessive, but when he started getting reckless, you knew you needed an out.

You haven't seen the man in years except for Wanted Posters.

You moved to New Austin for a new life...

Only to meet Dutch one day... Again, at either a saloon or maybe even a robbery in the area.

Dutch remembers you... Of course he does.

This time he isn't going to let you go, either.

If I had to see who is worse, RDR2 or RDR1 Dutch?

It's RDR1, no doubt about it, as he's lost it by this point.

Dutch doesn't give a damn about those around him.

He used to garner loyalty, be a charming con man.

Now he's just a murderer.

Dutch would stalk you like an animal, tracking you with his new gang.

Then, when you're vulnerable, he'll pounce.

An animal is the best way to explain him, he's feral with no humanity.

Not anymore at least.

Even if you knew him before, you can tell he's a changed man.

It's no longer really manipulation he uses as his main weapon.

It's all violence.

Dutch would kill to have his obsession in his grasp.

He'd even do it in front of them.

Doesn't matter if they were innocent or a threat.

Dutch has killed many at this point...

As long as he gets what he wants, he'll do whatever it takes.

Dutch would follow you anywhere.

He'd slaughter countless until he's covered in blood and gunpowder just to have you.

Sometimes he'll chuckle at your fear... Other times he's eerily cold with his gaze.

Dutch may not even bother with a lasso.

He could, sure, but you'd listen if he pulled a gun on you, right?

If not... He'll shoot your foot to prevent you from running, watching the blood trickle and you scream.

Then he'll drag you to his current hideout, threatening to kill anyone if they touch you...

Even his boys in the gang if he has to.

Dutch is a husk of his former self, now just an instinctual beast desperately trying to cling to his obsession.

If you were a former gang member, he claims you were the only person who kept him sane.

There may be some truth to this... but it could also just be his delusions.

If you were merely some poor soul he fell for...

Well, he treats you more like a fascination.

A forced companion meant to please him.

Dutch is still manipulative.

But he's more willing to pull a gun without Hosea's voice of reason.

I mean... Does he even have reason anymore?

Dutch wouldn't trust anyone with you.

Honestly, before he lost it he had similar thoughts...

Yet he clings to you now like you're his last chance of anchoring himself.

You may be simply trying to chat to one of his boys to occupy yourself during your captivity...

Only for Dutch to drag the man away by the neck...

You never see them again, either.

Not unless they became Dutch's next meal.

Speaking of which, regardless of how canon it is or not, Dutch may be a cannibal in this state.

There's deer to hunt, yes, but sometimes he can't be caught hunting...

Luring poor souls in for him to feed off doesn't happen often...

Yet it does, much to your dismay.

Dutch may even want to nibble you.

Like it's some way to keep you to himself.

Dutch, in his delusional state, may just think drinking your blood or nibbling your flesh is a way to keep you with him.

He may even eat a finger if you kept trying to pressure him.

RDR1 Dutch has a higher chance to murder his obsession.

He's paranoid and scared you'll leave him.

That or you'll sell him out.

With your constant escape attempts... You may just push him over the edge...

Imagine Dutch snapping and either accidentally killing you... or doing it on purpose as some twisted way to keep you to himself.

Then, of course, he can't let anyone else have you... Not even your meat or bones....

Dutch would probably cry the whole time once he realizes what he's done...

But he'd probably eat you to keep you with him.

Oof... The sight...

One of his boys hears Dutch crying in his cabin.

They go to check on him...

Only to see that man chowing down on his lover like an animal.

Blood is streaming down his mouth like his tears, murmuring about how you two will be together forever now.

Now you can't leave him...

Now you're all his...

He'll even keep your bones until the day he dies.

Dutch is willing to do anything to survive... to get what he wants and keep his freedom.

He misses you at first, but... Then he realizes he shouldn't.

Now you'll never betray him...

You'll be forever his, right inside him, and he'll never love another like you....

[08melancholie]

Hello! As the Micah Bell HQ and CEO do u have any hcs/analysis on his dynamic & backstory with cleet + joe? How they met, their interactions, reaction to cleet running off, etc. Have a nice day xoxo

Joe, Cleet and Micah.

As the Micah Bell HQ and CEO, I have a few ideas and headcannons about them and the relationship between Micah, Cleet and Joe and their backstory.

And of course, a warning; spoilers for RDR2 and RDR1.

1. Meeting.

2. Backstory.

3. "Joseph" Joe and Cleet

4. Micah's gang

5. Epilogue.

6. Headcannons and Thoughts.

I'll also add information about the topics I talk about, so you can actually use this as another info post like my 'writing Micah' one.

First things first; my analysis and sum of the canon information.

1. Meeting.

We meet Cleet and Joe in the final chapter as Arthur, which is Chapter 6: "Beaver Hollow" at the start of the mission "My Last Boy".

Around Dutch's tent are Micah, Joe, Cleet and Dutch himself when Arthur interrupts, asking who the two men are. In response, Micah say that "We need guns for what's coming", that Cleet and Joe know how to fight and how "it's lucky Micah bumped into 'em". Arthur's response to this is asking Dutch what's going on and what's happening to them; what's happening to Dutch himself. Micah asks Arthur to "show Dutch some respect", and before things can escalate, Eagle Flies interrupts the conversation to ask Arthur, Dutch and anyone that would like to join in to ride with him into their war—which starts the mission gameplay and ends the cutscene.

We don't find out anything about these two men when we meet them, other than their names and skills with firearms, and that they're needed "for whats coming".

2. Backstory.

Per Micah's word, he only came affiliated with Joe and Cleet recently in Chapter 6, having 'bumped into them' and deemed them good enough to help out with whatever next was coming for the gang. Joe and Cleet however, don't seem very close to Micah at all. They don't talk to Micah in camp, seemingly just doing their own thing and practically ignoring the other man. I think that's a very interesting and overlooked detail, seeing as they're supposed to be at least kind-of close to each other if there really is trust between Micah, enough to invite the two men into the gang, but maybe not.

3. "Joseph" Joe and Cleet.

Joe, full name Joseph, is recruited by Micah for the US army train robbery, like Cleet. Joe was definitely more loyal to Micah in comparison to Cleet, seeing as he stayed with Micah until his end; being shot down by John while he was climbing up Mount Hagen to get to Micah. I don't have much more information, as the two of them are very minimal characters in the game.

Cleet wasn't as loyal as Joe and he had more empathy than Joe did, seeing as he left Micah after the killings of that one family with the little girl he had tried saving. If his whole story about that is true, then we know that Cleet was a lot more 'human' than his companion Joe.

With that out of the way, a small fun-fact to fill a gap;

Cleet and Joe each have a tattoo on their chest which says "tout me fait rire", French for "Everything makes me laugh". Cleets' tattoo is a bit more hidden by his neckerchief, but Joe's is more open. This is very interesting and it actually gives us a bit more about their characters; Joe seems more proud of it whereas Cleet hides it, which makes me think it was the formers' idea to get those, and it also shows that they had a strong enough bond for a matching tattoo. Also, they might know French! So that's really cool tbh...

4. Micah's gang.

After the fall-out of the Van der Linde gang, Micah starts up his own gang which includes Cleet—for a while—and Joe. They commit a mass of crime in their path like robbery and murder, which sometimes included dismemberment. Micah himself has taken a massive amount of lives, estimated to be up to two dozen people. His gang becomes very feared by that time, and you can find newspaper talking about it; saying that Micah's horrid actions "rival that of Van der Linde himself".

Cleet fell out of Micah's gang when he killed an entire family during an attack on a homestead at some point between 1899 and 1907. Upon trying to murder a little girl in that assault, Cleet attempted to save her; to which Micah responded by attempting to kill Cleet himself, before Cleet got away.

At some point around 1907, Dutch Van der Linde joined hands with Micah once more to retrieve the money in Blackwater from the botched ferry robbery in 1899.

5. Epilogue

After finding out about Cleet's whereabouts, Sadie visits John at Beechers Hope and gets him to go with her to finish Micah off. Sadie leads Charles and John to the town of Strawberry to find Cleet, who they interrogate while threatening with the rope. He's made to talk by John and Sadie as they stand close-by the level which leads to Cleet's death, if the player chooses to go down that path. He tells us that Micah is up on Mount Hagen, and how he's got a whole gang now. Cleet pleads his case by telling us he tried to stop Micah murdering a family containing a little girl which let to Micah attempting to murder Cleet, before he 'luckily' got away.

Depending on the player's choice, Cleet either gets hanged in front of a small crowd of Valentine residents, or is shot by Sadie.

With the information from Cleet, Sadie, Charles and John set out to into the snow and mountains once more, where the events of RDR2 start. They ride to Mount Hagen when Sadie and Charles get injured, which then leaves John—the player—to fight off Micah's gang on his own. John is almost immediately confronted by Joe and two unknown gang members. After a short talk, John shoots all three down before continuing his way towards Micah. John climbs up the mountain, shooting down any and all of Micah's gang members in the process until he finds Micah at the top before a cabin, and the two quickly get into a shootout where Sadie manages to surprise Micah from behind and holds him at gunpoint. Micah holsters his guns in surrender, but before anything else can happen, Dutch exits the nearby cabin to reveal himself, and aims his revolvers at Sadie and John. In a moment of surprise, Sadie is overpowered by Micah, and the only thing that 'saves' them is Dutch's betrayal of Micah by fatally shooting him in the torso to which Micah says his infamous line: "You shot me pretty good", before being finished off by the player/John.

By the end of the mission, Micah is shot to his death by the mutual effort of Dutch and John, with the former leaving the scene alive until the events of RDR1 transpire.

6. Headcannons and Thoughts.

Finally, what you've been waiting to hear; my thoughts.

First, I want to start at the background—I have a hard time believing Micah didn't know Cleet and Joe prior to events of Beaver Hollow. It's hard for me to even imagine Micah so freely and carelessly introducing two random men he just met into the gang; which is why I'm even more surprised by Dutch who allowed it. It feels very uncharacteristically stupid and risky for Micah's persona, which is why I feel like he already knew Cleet and Joe, but for some reason kept everyone in the dark about it. Maybe he didn't want to be accused of 'doing things behind Dutch's back' like he did for Arthur once Eagle Flies said so during "My Last Boy".

As far as the backstory between the two men and Micah goes, I think there was a lot more to it than randomly stumbling into them one day in 1899—I personally think Cleet and Joe were somewhat similar to what Norman, known as 'Skinny', was to Micah; old acquaintances he used to run with. The only difference was that Micah knew they wouldn't rat on him like Norman did, and so he probably got them in on his entire plan with Dutch and the rest of the gang, maybe even paid them because he knew that, in the end, things would have gone his way, regardless of what happened in-between or as result of his choices of action.

Another detail, one I already mentioned; Cleet and Joe aren't around Micah much inside camp. As I said in my second point, "Backstory", Joe and Cleet spend little to no free time with Micah like you'd expect them to be. That's another part which confuses me. If my previous theory were true, of them knowing one-another beforehand, then I'd expect them to actually be talking to each other and not doing their own stuff. So, why does it seem as if they're ignoring each other? That's where I wish Cleet and Joe weren't minimal characters, because I'm very curious about them and how their relation to Micah was in the game and story.

As far as Cleet running off and leaving Micah's gang goes, I don't think it bothered Micah too much. His gang was full of strong, capable men—just like he's always envisioned for himself. Losing one member over murdering one person, albeit an innocent little girl, just showed Micah that Cleet was more 'weak-minded', and I think that that was actually a positive in Micah's head; it showed him who was too 'weak' in his gang. You could almost call the action a small test. Again, they didn't seem to be so close to Micah, so both Joe and Cleet running off/dying likely didn't mean so much to Micah, at least not after he knew he had the backs and lives of an entire gang in his hands.

Thank you for the lovely ask, anon! I had a lot of fun with gathering all the information and with sharing my own thoughts about Cleet, Joe and their relations to Micah. It's been a pleasure answering, as always.

Sources <3

Joe and Cleet — Villains Wiki

Joe — Separate Wiki

Cleet — Separate Wiki

"My Last Boy" Mission

[allzelemonz]

RDR Multi Pairing Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption Masterlist

For You: Micah Bell/Reader/Kieran Duffy

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘sir’, ‘mister’, ‘feller’, ‘boy’, ‘man’. Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Violence, References to Sex Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, Micah is an asshole, Kieran is repressed and shy, Kieran is injured, Micah actually likes his horse, Micah is injured, Baylock is injured, they’re all fine it’s okay, crime, death Summary: Kieran watches you from a distance, but things get bad when Micah notices and even worse when a job goes bad.

Not So Hidden: Bill Williamson/Reader/Kieran Duffy

Pronouns: None mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Voyeurism, accidental voyeur, anal fingering, anal sex, m/m/m, threesome, established relationship with a new third, kissing, cuddling, poly ending Summary: Things seems to be a normal night between you and Kieran, albeit more intimate than initially planned, but then you hear someone watching you.

His Boy: Dutch Van der Linde/Reader/Colm O’Driscoll (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9)

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘boy’, ‘son’, ‘handsome’, ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, dub-con, language Warnings: Mentions of non-con of another character, dub-con, kidnapping, possessive behavior, possessive sex, past relationship, forced cheating, Reader is an asshole O’Driscoll, mentions of past sex, begging, fisting, anal fingering, anal sex, biting, marking, choking, blow job, kissing, lap sitting, dancing, gang family, past relationship, forced cheating, torture, mentions of past Dutch/Hosea, Dutch/Susan, and Dutch/Annabelle Summary: A former flame of Dutch’s is returned and a lot has happened over the years.

No Good, Twisted, Fucking Day: O’Driscoll Boys

Pronouns: he/him Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: E/Smut, rape Warnings: Rape, wound fucking, dead dove do not eat, possessive behavior, outdoor sex, gang bang, anal sex, blood, gore, stabbing, loss of consciousness Summary: Stabbed, hardly aware, and surrounded by strange men that use whatever you have.

Flipped: Sean MacGuire/Reader/Kieran Duffy

Fictober Prompt: Day 16, Gentle threesome, Double penetration Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: threesome, rimming, kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration, fluff, smut, guys being dudes Summary: Sean’s big mouth ends up with you taking both he and Kieran at the same time.

Dare: Van der Linde Boys

Fictober Prompt: Day 17, Multi Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘fella’ and ‘man’, heavy masculine implication Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: (have you ever been in a men’s locker room and things got a little weird), smut, background relationships, masturbation, hand jobs, kissing, oral sex, blow jobs, dirty talk, facial, cum swallowing, Micah being an asshole, flirting, casual sex, everyone is gay but especially Bill Summary: Drunk Sean wanting to get off prompts a dare to jerk off and last longer than anyone else at the fire. Gay chaos of a sort ensues.

Boys’ Night: Van der Linde Boys

Fictober Prompt: Day 31, Orgy Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Orgy, threesomes, kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, oral sex, blow jobs, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Sean’s drunken mind, marking, viagra-esc tonics, almost everyone is passed around to everyone else, Reader takes both top and bottom roles Summary: Sean has an idea that leads most of the boys in the gang to a damn fun time.

An Omega’s Place (A/B/O)

Pronouns: he/him Primary Sex: AMAB Secondary Sex: Omega Rating: E/Smut, language, noncon Warnings: Noncon, Alpha Colm O’Driscoll, Omega Kieran Duffy, a/o/o, mating cycles/in heat, scenting, kissing, anal sex, hand jobs, forced mating, forced bond, mentions of breeding Summary: O’Driscolls never have treated their Omegas very well, especially not during a rut.

Caught (A/B/O)

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ and some Spanish things that might be masculine-ish Primary Sex: AMAB Secondary Sex: Omega Rating: E/Smut, language Warnings: Alpha Micah Bell, Alpha Javier Esquella, Beta Sean MacGuire, a/a/o, threesome, b/o, mating cycles/in heat, scenting, slurs, kissing, anal sex, hand jobs, mentions of breeding, Spanish pet names, Alphas fighting over an Omega, possessive behavior, admission of feelings, open poly ending Summary: Your heat sets in during a job, causing the Alphas to act aggressive to the point of being unable to control themselves. Sean does his best to help out as a Beta, but it’s not quite enough.

[verdemoun]

how would rdr1 change if everyone survived? If the gang still fell apart and John was still forced to hunt down his associates, what would happen now that there were more to hunt?

cracks my fingers if EVERYONE survived? oops i hit the tumblr word count who knew that was a thing

The list John has to hunt down is heavily based on notoriety. Assuming Charles, Sadie, Pearson, Orville, Mary-Beth and Tilly were still alive in rdr1 - Ross only tasked him with hunting down the members of the gang still considered the scourge of society.

His new list includes: Mac and Davey Callander, Sean Macguire, Karen Jones, Hosea Matthews, Bill Williamson, Leopold Strauss, Josiah Trelawney, Micah Bell, Dutch van der Linde, and Arthur Morgan. Javier has been considered MIA since Beaver Hollow, and never resurfaced in Mexico (to John's heartbreak, who was very in love with Javier and genuinely believes he is dead).

In hunting down the old gang, he incidentally runs into a lot of the former gang members while looking for the rest.

Lenny took Hosea's advice, and with a forceful shove from Arthur, took off before the shootout at Beaver Hollow and became a lawyer. John goes to him first to try and get his family back legally without needing to hunt down the gang - no dice. But Jenny's looking well! She eventually agreed to Lenny's constant 'please, please, please, please-', and they're very happy together. Very modern marriage for the time period: she's technically his receptionist, but does PI work when he's stuck on a case.

Davey's the first target John locates. Despite being injured, he ran off in Colter to try and find Mac. While missing the plot of rdr2, he built up a decent gang of morons for himself. Easily taking enough out to send the last few running, John tries to insist he can take Davey in alive. Davey refuses, and they end up in a stand-off that John effortlessly wins. One down.

Pearson (for entirely selfish reasons - their coach robberies are driving up prices) gives John a tip that Karen and Sean are believed to be hiding out in a shack somewhere in Lemoyne. Despite them putting up a hell of a fight, with many fire bottles involved, he's able to take both alive. Sean's already contacted Lenny to try and avoid the noose, and Karen's going to play the helpless little lady at the whims of a madman to escape charges. The bureau is forced to be a bit more law abiding than the pinkertons, so John is cautiously optimistic they'll actually be okay.

Next, he finds Strauss running a scam in the slums of Saint Denis. Strauss surrenders much more easily, due to not understanding how many of his crimes have been traced back to him: if he doesn't hang, he'll die in jail anyway.

In Saint Denis he also bumps into Tilly, who merrily invites him over for dinner. Grimshaw, and shockingly, Molly, are there: employed by the Pierres as nannies. Tilly already heard from Arthur about him hunting down the gang, but is surprisingly supportive Only because if it was her family, she would do the same. Despite knowing Arthur is on the list, she gives him a very stern younger sibling talk about not visiting him in over a decade. John makes a lazy excuse.

Next comes Trelawney. John expects the old con to come quietly, but instead ends up in a shootout with his sons Tarquin and Cornelius. Bandits in their own right, they're not willing to let their last surviving parent surrender. John, regrettably, ends up killing both to save his own skin. Trelawney is left broken, and says he will turn himself in if John gives him the chance to bury his children himself. John agrees.

In Valentine he runs into a delighted novellist Mary-Beth and significantly less delighted Kieran, working at the stables. Kieran actually stayed in Beaver Hollow after Mary-Beth left, and helped John escape at Arthur's insistence when Arthur thought he wasn't going to get off the mountain. They advise him to go west if he wants to find Bill, who Kieran still dislikes more than John.

Bill's gang isn't nearly as terrifying as it is in rdr1: a small band of deviants (read: homosexuals forced to become criminals because society wouldn't let them to live in peace). Bill still shoots John, and he ends up at the MacFarlane's ranch.

Where he hears a familiar voice - and finds out Javier is still alive and has been working for the MacFarlane's as a vaquero. Javier is incredibly bitter about how the VDLs ended and shows nothing but resentment for John for abandoning Dutch, and hunting the gang down all these years later.

It's romantic tension, fellas. Obviously they end up having sex before Javier agrees to help John find whoever's left - so John can go back to 'playing happy little family' and leave him the hell alone.

The two of them are more than enough to wipe out Bill's gang. In the back room, they find Bill very softly patting Mac Callander's hand, explaining he's got to 'go away for a bit'. Mac survived his encounter with the pinkertons in 1899, but was left with severe brain injuries and Bill had secretly been caring for him ever since. Bill agrees to surrender, only for Javier to shoot him realizing Bill had a trigger in his hand and enough dynamite to leave Fort Mercer a smoldering crater.

They take Mac to a hospital, where he can live comfortably for however long he has left. John tells the bureau he died in the shootout.

Following the natural progression, they find Hosea living in the little cottage he once shared with Bessie. Age has not been kind to him, but he's delighted to see John, and even more delighted to see John and Javier riding together again. Without a word of protest, Hosea packs his bag and comes willingly. It's a few days' travel to the nearest station: they pitch tents around a campfire, drink and tell stories just like the old days. Hosea convinces Javier to play guitar again. But the ride proves too much, and Hosea passes away in his sleep. John very quietly hands over his body over.

Dutch and Micah are next. They have been riding together ever since Beaver Hollow: completely unhinged. Typical rdr1 Dutch behavior but worse, encouraged by Micah who is as conniving and vile as ever. Javier is shot non-fatally by Micah, John kills Micah with no remorse, and Dutch, cornered again, still jumps to his death.

Javier has to stay in hospital, leaving John to face the last surviving VDL alone.

John rides up to the tiny, falling apart house with two wooden crosses in the yard and a third grave pre-dug. Arthur greets him at the door and welcomes him inside as warmly as a social call. John agrees, but keeps some distance between himself and the figure he's meant to recognize as his brother.

Despite surviving his first brush with TB-induced pneumonia, Arthur still very much has TB. He's grotesquely, sickly thin, with blemishes and sores over his skin. His arms shake with the effort of pouring a cup of coffee. As much as he was in love with Charles, he wouldn't let himself risk making Charles sick too. His voice cracks with the chronic dryness of coughing, but also disuse. Other than his horse, and the occasional visit from Sadie or Tilly, or Hosea when the old man could still travel, he's been completely alone.

Before he lets himself be turned in, Arthur asks him how he's been. They just talk: mostly about John, about Abigail and how Jack's doing, whether he's thinking about colleges or following his 'pa' into ranching. He tells Arthur about how the ones who got out are going: Pearson's shop, about Tilly's children, Mary-Beth and Kieran, Javier, that he heard Swanson's in New York. Arthur tells him Charles still writes, that he's happy in Canada, and still helps Rains Fall.

John stays the night. In the morning, Arthur says his good-bye to Eliza, and Isaac. He mounts his horse for the last time, and follows John to where Ross is waiting. The bureau, visibly disgusted at the sight of him, alow Arthur to climb into the back of the car himself. Arthur says it was nice seeing John after all these years.

Abigail and Jack have been released, and are waiting at Beecher's Hope.

The bureau decide to make good on their promise and leave him be. Honestly, they just forgot about him. Sean doesn't escape the noose. Despite Tilly trying to help her after her release, Karen drinks herself to death with grief. Josiah, with nothing left to lose, accepts his execution with relief. It only takes a month in prison for Strauss to ask to be hanged instead.

Javier comes to Beecher's Hope for work for a bit, before it hurts too much seeing John with Abigail and heads back to the MacFarlane's. John tries to visit, but Javier insists they go separate ways.

And the only time Abigail has ever seen her husband cry is reading a tiny article that announced Arthur Morgan died of natural causes in prison.

[cloggedarteri]

i love hosea with every fiber of my being

i love him so much that i think he deserves to have a chubby outlaw whos grizzled and slightly greyed waiting on his arm👀

♡reader who's a former van der linde gang member

♡you met the two outlaws fairly early, perhaps a month or two following the fated "campfire robbery" that led to the inception of the gang we know now. it wasnt glamourous, your meeting with them. in fact, had it not been for the attempted robbery of the kind barman that for some reason tolerated you, dutch and hosea would have mistaken you for another sloppy drooling fool lost in his cups. and to be fair, their assessment of you wasnt wrong, but you proved to be a capable shot

♡so for about 2 years, you'd play as 'the muscle', that is until 1877 roles by and with it came a lost young man by the name arthur morgan—you love that boy, you really do. but until then you three continued on the only way you knew how—lie, cheat, steal, the usual outlaw business. and its nice working with the two, you have to admit. you got two sets of eyes watching your back, the food is bland but warm, and you have a purpose you suppose...the whole robin hood shtick is noble enough though on the best of days you couldnt give a damn about 'saving others'

♡but hosea was...nice. probably nicer than you'd deserved but you reveled in the time he'd spent with you. he read to you, ya know. he read aloud to you during your watches and he'd lean his head upon your shoulder when you'd inch yourself closer to his heat...he'd take your hand without hesitation when you'd brush your pinkie against his....its almost laughable how easy id been for hosea to stake a claim to your heart just by giving you a morsel of companionship youve been deprived of for years...but it was nice all the same.

♡but then hosea found bessie and oh did he fall hard. he found a good women in her, a good loving women who's more than capable of expressing the thoughts that consumed her, wants and dreams...she wasnt like you who was paralyses by the fear of the unknown. you are a vicitm of your own inaction...and the only thought that crosses your mind is

'I need to go away'

so you do.