#he dies in the blackwater massacre

[protagonist-art]

he's dead by the time rdr2's story begins but i'm pretending he's not

[heavenlymorals]

Biblical References in Both RDR games.

I love biblical references so much. When it comes to literature, it's probably my favorite type of symbolism. Like I genuinely get so happy when I connect things to the Bible which is what I'm going to do right now 😊😊 I also like the way that religion is incorporated into RDR as a whole, including the main characters' reaction to it.

So yup, here are just a few references or connections that I was able to make in no particular order.

Also, some of these are complete reaches and I'm aware of that, but fuck it, it's my blog and I do what I want 💪🏼

- The character and tragedy of Issac. In the Bible, Issac is the child of Abraham who is asked to be sacrificed by God by his father as a test of faith. God eventually intervenes to save Issac because he only wanted to test Abraham's faith. Dutch is shown as a God-like figure to the gang, as their devotion is to him. Arthur, indirectly, sacrifices Issac by not being there and by following what Dutch wanted. Arthur, Issac, and Dutch are parallels to Abraham, Issac, and God.

- Leviticus is the book that comes after the book of Exodus. After the gang's escape or exodus from Blackwater after the Blackwater massacre, they are met by Leviticus Cornwall, who becomes the next obstacle for the gang. After the gang's exodus, they get in trouble with Leviticus.

- The image of the deer and a mountain. Psalm 18:32-34 in the Bible says, "It is God who arms me with strength, and makes my way blameless? He makes my feet like deers' feet, and sets me upon my high places." In Arthur's condemnation of Dutch, Micah, and their evil, he becomes steady in his identity and beliefs, like a deer's feet on a mountain, which is where he dies in the end. W symbolism.

- The mission "Sodom? Back to Gomorrah." In the Bible, Sodom and Gomorrah were two cities that were so morally depraved and evil that God decided to destroy the both of them, saying that if there was even one good person in those cities, he'd spare them, but there weren't. In those missions, you also do two evil acts, going from one and then BACK to the other. You rob the bank and then go BACK to collect the debt from Edith Downes. So you finish one evil deed and to straight to the next. This can also show how morally bankrupt Arthur's apathy made him at this point in the game.

- Micah's guns say "Vengeance is hereby mine." This could be a reference to Roman's 12:19 "vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord." Micah's violent nature makes him take his anger out on the world.

- "Your father is seduced by him with the forked tongue. It's no use hoping." The blind prophet to Arthur. Pretty straight forward symbolism, it's a nod to the snake that seduced Eve, just like how Micah manipulates Dutch.

- Dutch walking away from Arthur when he dies and though he realizes his wrong doing and feels shame, his pride forbids him from apologizing or saying he was wrong. This can be a parallel to how Adam and Eve run away from God when they feel shame over believing in the snake, but their pride won't allow them to apologize to God, hence damning them like how Micah damned Dutch.

- There were twelve ACTIVE gang members before the Blackwater massacre. When I mean active, I mean gang members who are canonically consistent (so not uncle, Swanson, Strauss, or the girls) on going on jobs for the gang. Micah, Bill, Javier, John, Hosea, Arthur, Charles, Sean, Lenny, Josiah, Mac and Davey Callender. Christ had 12 disciples and Dutch is portrayed as a savior to the gang, or a Christ like figure. And would you look at that, there is a traitor in both groups of twelve (Micah and Judas).

- Both John and Arthur's graves have scripture from Jesus's sermon on the mountain (Matthew 5:1-12). John's is blessed are the peacemakers and Arthur's is blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

- The go back for the money ending. If you go back for the money and have low honor, you'll see that the camp is engulfed in flames as you try to get the money. The fight with Micah is brutal and you die faced down in the dark. This death is an allegory for going to either hell and purgatory as you choose a final evil act of leaving your brother to possibly die just so you can get money as an act of revenge. If you have high honor, you are still surrounded by flames, but you still have a chance at heaven given that you die facing up seeing the light one final time.

- The help John ending has similar connotations. If you have low honor, you die by gunshot and are shrouded in darkness, which can symbolize the absence of God's light and how Arthur's final act couldn't absolve the lack of guilt he feels for the rest of the actions that he KNOWS are evil (click here for a my interpretation of Arthur's morality). In high honor, though, you get to crawl to the mountain side and see the rising sun, symbolizing heaven, warmth, and a new purity.

- In low honor, the coyote goes down to a dark cave, representing damnation and the rejection of holy light. In high honor, the deer steps into a heavenly field of light. Love that so much to be honest.

- Just the very Catholic vibe of Arthur's redemption. Doing good deeds, feeling guilt, all that.

- John's new life is basically this: "Let him who stole steal no longer, but rather let him labor, working with his hands what is good, that he may have something to give him who has need." -Ephesians 4:28. John gives up his old life to be an honest laborer, a rancher, and a proper man.

- The Strange Man in RDR rides on a donkey, which is pretty interesting because Jesus Christ also made his grand entry on a donkey.

- Just the Strange Man in general to be honest. Some say he's God, others say he's the Devil, and others say he's Cain from the Bible, which is my personal favorite theory but whatever.

- Dutch's horse could be a reference to Revelations 6:8- "And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And its rider's name was Death, and Hades followed him." Dutch's rash actions caused the death of the gang and RDR's incarnate of Hades or Hell was Micah, following him. Dutch is the only one, canonically, to have a pale horse.

- "Am I prepared for eternal damnation? Am I passed any kind of saving? Or is that just fairy tales?" Arthur in his journal. I love this line so much because of its very agnostic nature whilst still showing the Christian mindset of 1899 America. This line also shows that Arthur is canonically agnostic which is a yippee from me because it's like the only thing me and this man have in common lmao 😭

- "Bad news awaits you, sir. Sadly, sooner than you think. But beyond the news, paradise awaits. Paradise.." Blind Man Cassidy to Arthur. Sorry but I just love that. High honor Arthur lived such an awful life but he still has a chance at paradise and heaven? Love that so much.

- God (pun intended), I love biblical symbolism. Couldn't you tell?

[zarkishere]

Another rant:

RDR3 and my opinion on what it should be, a Zark Rant ™ (With spoilers)

(as always, I always value opinions, so feel free to rb or comment!)

People often talk about rdr3 and how they think Mac should be the main character. I don't agree with that. There's (At least to me) a clear line between the characters we get to play as; Arthur, John and Jack. Arthur is John's older brother, he's the only living (and mentally well) of the three that raised him, he's the person John looks up to. And so after Arthur gives his hat to John, and he dies, we play as John. We get revenge for Arthur. John is, obviously, Jack's father (if you disagree, I'm going to need you to leave right now) and the man that raised him (a little late but...yknow...). Even after he left and came back, it's obvious that Jack looks up to him (even if he's genuinely nervous John will leave again), and after John died we play as him. We get revenge for John.

They're father figures or mentors, someone the other looked up to, who dies...and leaves the other to pick up the pieces. To get revenge for them. Arthur is the one that says that revenge is a fool's game, but I'm sure he was taught that by someone else. The cycle of violence is long, and it won't end anytime soon. There are two routes rdr3 could take; going back in time, or continuing Jack. Here's the thing; you can only go so far back...and I think 1 more game would be it. So to me, it could be either; you play as Lyle, Arthur's father, and his story ends when he...y'know...gets hanged. And then epilogue is young Arthur within the gang. We get to see the gang being all well and happy, which is kinda yknow WHAT I WANT TO SEE. My problem with this route is that Lyle (at least according to Arthur) had no way to be redeemed. Which doesn't work for a game literally called 'RED DEAD REDEMPTION'. He was simply a bad man. And while I'm sure Arthur's trauma skewed his view, and perhaps Lyle wasn't all bad (given Arthur even keeps his hat), it makes things hard. OR Some other gang member, maybe even the one that betrayed them and got killed in camp (Y'know, the one Arthur mentions in That One interaction) and the epilogue is Arthur, ending when Micah joins. That way, the blackwater massacre is still a mystery. My problem with this one is that, well, this person was probably not someone important to Arthur....which would break the line. So what, no rdr3? Honestly, I think a video game can't explain everything. I'd love to see pre-1899 gang, other characters stories, Jack's future, etc...and you can't do that in a single game. Sure, you can make a billion games, but I don't think rockstar would want to do that. What's my solution? A book! or a comic, or even an animated series, if beggars can be choosers.

and uhm...thats all...stil dont know how to end rants...

[zanazirafanfic]

RDR Event Timeline (Canon + Headcanon)

This is the timeline I have constructed and use for all of my Red Dead writings. Canon event dates/ages are taken from the Red Dead Wiki, and headcanon estimations for more ambiguous events/characters are based on their approximate ages in-game by 1899 and what makes the most logical sense to me based on that timeline.

Please feel free to use this as a reference for your own works too, if it helps. (Canon events are noted as such, and my headcanons are labeled "HC.")

1839 - Uncle born (HC)

1844 - Hosea Matthews born (Canon)

1845 - Rains Fall born (HC)

1846 - Leopold Stauss born (HC)

1850 - Susan Grimshaw born (HC)

1853 - Orville Swanson born (HC)

1855 - Dutch Van der Linde born (Canon)

1857 - Josiah Trelawney born (HC)

1860 - Micah Bell III born (Canon) (newspaper clipping mentions Micah Bell Jr. robbing with his 17-year-old son in 1877)

1861 - Simon Pearson born (HC)

1863 - Arthur Morgan born (Canon)

1866 - Bill Williamson born (Canon)

1870 - Dutch leaves home aged 15 (Canon); Kieran Duffy born (HC)

1871 - Sadie Adler born (HC)

1872 - Charles Smith born (HC) (based on est. age of 27 in 1899)

1873 - John Marston born (Canon); Javier Escuella born (HC)

1874 - Lyle Morgan arrested and hanged, Arthur orphaned (Canon); Molly O'Shea born (HC)

1875 - Karen Jones born (HC)

1876 - Dutch and Hosea meet outside of Chicago, IL (Canon); Sean MacGuire born (HC)

1877 - Abigail Roberts born; Arthur joins the gang, aged 14 (Canon)

1878 - Eagle Flies born (HC)

1879 - Tilly Jackson and MaryBeth Gaskill born (HC)

1880 - Lenny Summers born (Canon)

1881 - John Marston's father dies, John orphaned (Canon)

1882- Annabelle and Bessie join the gang (HC)

1883 - Bessie and Hosea marry and leave the gang (Canon); Arthur meets and begins dating Mary Gillis (HC) (Jamie Gillis references both Annabelle and Bessie during the mission in Chapter 2, so IMO this would've been the most likely time for all 3 to have met one another.)

1884 - Dutch kills Colm O'Driscoll's unnamed brother, Annabelle killed by Colm in retaliation; Hosea returns to the gang (HC)

1885 - John Marston and Susan Grimshaw join the gang (Canon); Charles Smith leaves home, aged 13 (HC) (based on est. DOB 1872)

1886 - Arthur proposes to and subsequently breaks up with Mary in the springtime; Arthur meets Eliza (19) later in the year, and Isaac is conceived (HC)

1887 - Lee & Hoyt Bank Robbery, April (Canon); Isaac Morgan born (HC) (According to Arthur in-game, Eliza only knew who he was after she got pregnant. Based on this they most likely met in late 1886 or very early 1887, with the bank robbery in April '87 and Isaac born that autumn.)

1888 - Death of Bessie Matthews (HC) (based on the assumption that she passed some time before Arthur lost his son. Her cause of death is never specified in canon, but I HC it was a fairly quick battle with pneumonia over the winter.)

1891 - Isaac Morgan (4) and Eliza (23) killed in a home robbery (HC)

1892 - Bill Williamson dishonorably discharged from the U.S. Army (Canon); Uncle joins the gang (HC)

1893 - Bill Williamson joins the gang (Canon)

1894 - Abigail Roberts joins the gang, introduced to them by Uncle (Canon)

1895 - Jack Marston born; Javier joins the gang (Canon)

1896 - John Marston leaves the gang; Jake and Sadie Adler marry in September (Canon)

1897 - John Marston returns to the gang after a year (Canon)

1898 - Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Lenny Summers, and Jenny Kirk join the gang (Canon)

1899 - Blackwater Massacre; dissolving of the Van der Linde gang; deaths of Jenny Kirk, Mac and Davey Callender, Sean MacGuire, Kieran Duffy, Hosea Matthews, Lenny Summers, Molly O'Shea, Eagle Flies, Susan Grimshaw, and Arthur Morgan (Canon)

1907 - Construction of Beecher's Hope ranch; John and Abigail marry; death of Micah Bell III (Canon)

1911 - Kidnapping of Abigail and Jack Marston by the U.S. Government in exchange for John's cooperation; deaths of Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Dutch Van der Linde, Uncle, and John Marston (Canon)

1914 - Death of Abigail Marston; Jack Marston kills Edgar Ross to avenge his father's murder (Canon)

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: I have absolutely loved reading all of your replies and messages, it makes my fucking day! Here we are, the reader finally has her dragon... I will be trying to write a new Aemond POV for you all soon x

Chapter 44: War creates monsters of us all

The sun was high in the sky as you steered Vermithor east, across the ocean away from Dragonstone, and back to the mainland. Each beat of his wings carried you swiftly across the ocean. 

It was a strange thing to be flying again, on a dragon so foreign. So unknown. 

Unfamiliar.

Despite his age, and his sheer size, he heeded your commands as you felt him faintly through the bond. And then it hit you all at once. 

You were riding the famed Bronze Fury. 

A dragon that had made men bend the knee out of fear. 

A dragon almost as famous as the Black Dread.

But it would never be enough.

You had lost so much already, and with every moment, you felt yourself losing pieces that made you, you. You were not the same woman that you had been before you returned to the Red Keep.

War did that to people. 

So did grief. 

It mangled you, and mauled you, and created something new. Something unrecognisable.

A monster.

The day Viserys had died, you had changed.

The day the succession was given to Jacaerys, you had changed.

The day Lucerys was killed. 

You had changed.

Today, with the news of Helaena, and the massacre of Strong’s. 

You had changed.

You felt Vermithor grumble beneath you as he sensed your fury, coursing through your veins. His loud growl pierced your ears, as he continued forward towards your destination. You had only hoped that once you got there, Aemond would still be there too.

As you flew, the sun sunk lower, and lower into the sky. You passed over the ocean, and back over the rolling hills, and cliffs of the shore. Then soon you passed over the waters of Blackwater Rush, and then, and only then, did you know that you were nearing your destination. 

Your anger did not once settle within you. 

Those hours you spent atop the now claimed dragon, let your mind reel with thoughts and memories, fuelling your fire. You felt it boil, and turn, and twist inside you like a blade. Sharp and vicious, ripping you apart from within, no possible way to stem the bleeding. 

Loss is a powerful motivator. 

As the sun got lower, it shone brightly on the dragon's bronze scales, their warm colour glinting in the light beautifully. Such a wondrous colour to behold on a dragon. Not golden like Syrax, nor red like Caraxes, but its own unique bronze, unlike any other.

You smoothed your hand along the scales in awe, and as you stroked along his back, a crackling purr broke forth from his chest in appreciation.

“Sȳz, Vermithor.” (Good.) You cooed on his back, channeling all of your emotions into the dragon you sat atop.

You pushed that rage, that anguish, the sorrow and grief through your body, and into your hand. You did not know if this was how to properly bond or not, and no one truly knew the truth behind it, but you tried it anyway.

Vermithor did not react, except the most diminutive twitch alongside the thick, corded muscle of his neck. So small, so almost ephemeral, that if you had blinked, you would have missed it. 

But hope was a fool's ally, and you did not need hope in a time like this.

You needed rage.

And rage, you had.

The sun had begun to lower behind the horizon when you first saw it. 

Off in the distance, was the subtle burning of fires. Tiny little orange dots, surrounding each other in a large encampment, on what you knew now to be the Riverlands. The flames flickered as you flew towards it, the men unaware of your approach. 

You leant forward, pushing your weight down upon Vermithor’s back, willing him to move with you. The Bronze Fury swooped down closer to the ground, so that you could see clearly as the small dots came closer.

Below you now; a trail. 

The grass sat green alongside the dirt track, in which thousands of feet had walked across, where horses had trotted, and wagons and rolled. As you flew closer, the larger those flames became, and now the sight of tents and wagons and the tiny figures of men came into view. 

“Sōvegon, Vermithor.” (Fly) You called as you came closer.

To the figures on the ground, if they were to look to the sky, they would see a large bronze speck, slowly coming towards them, wings spread as he approached, until finally they could make out the form of the large dragon.

As you swooped above the camp of men, you looked below, watching as they faltered in their steps looking up at you. Others ran to their tents, unsure. The tents were beige, and the wagons were dark. You struggled to discern whose men these were.

You felt your chest begin to heave as you looked down at them all. 

Vermithor let out an almighty cry into the sky, deep and grumbling as you grabbed at his back, whilst peering over his side down at the ground below. Horses and men, and carts and tents. That was all you could see with the sun setting upon the horizon, a lazy blue hue settling over the land.

Your breath caught in your throat. 

There below you, was a flag. 

A signet of a house. 

Your breaths became ragged and all too suddenly, that blinding rage was back.

A three headed green dragon stared back at you.

You pulled roughly against Vermithor, pulling him to fly higher into the air above them, circling the camp. 

You watched as the men began to scramble below you like ants, upon the realisation that you were not one of the Princes, nor the King. No, your dragon was not Vhagar, or Sunfyre. You were not here with them.

You were here for them.

A cruel smile cracked across your face as you watched them desperately mount horses and prepare themselves. These numbers were small, perhaps the rest of the men were at Harrenhal, not too far away.

Such a bitter taste in your mouth to see the men below you, who had gone against your mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. How they had supported your usurper uncle. How they supported the Kinslaying Prince. 

How they support Alicent and the Hightower’s thirst for the throne, subsequently thrusting the realm into war.

As you looked around in search of a large green dragon, you became disappointed to know that Aemond was no longer here. If he was here at all. 

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as Vermithor felt the rage within you, his cry calling out into the sky as he turned back around to fly towards the tents. You leant forward, and thought of Lucerys. You thought of the fall. 

Of your uncle's hands. 

Of your Grandsire. Visenya. Helaena.

And then you snapped.

“Dracarys.” You commanded.

Vermithor flew closer to the lines of tents and carriages, men crawling about underneath before opening his mouth, his whole body beneath you vibrating, as he pushed out an almighty gush of fire, incinerating the tents and men below you.

The screams of fear and agony curled up into the air, and you could find nothing but delight at the sweet music. 

Vermithor kept flying above and onwards as you looked back, watching the tents burn and crumble beneath the flames, and the bodies of incinerated men laying in the rubble. The smell of smoke, fire and ash curled its way around you.

You inhaled deeply.

Vermithor’s chest expanded slowly, before another long plume of fire barraged against the Greens army below you. The sound of the flames was deafening in your ears, alongside the screams and cries of the men, and horses who crossed paths with the flames. 

Flying forward, you came to the end of the camp, watching as the men began to flee in all directions, the smart ones anyway, whilst others stood rooted to the ground, swords drawn, ready to fight.

Foolish really. How were they to fight flames?

Once turned around, you could see now how the tiny little flames of their camp were now swamped by the larger ones of your dragon. Their tents fell to the soil below them, and horses ran away in fear. Small figures of men, their bodies alight, ran frantically, desperate to outrun the agony of their bodies, before they dropped dead to the floor.

You pushed down on the Bronze Fury’s neck again, and he slunk close to the ground where you sucked in an excited breath. 

This was for you, Lucerys. 

This was for everyone that has been lost. For Visenya. For you.

Helaena. 

“Dracarys!” You screamed out into the air, as the old dragon reared his head backwards, hovering above the camp, before large flames licked down at the army below you, their cries lost in the waves of your laughter as you watched.

You could feel the heat of the flames licking up your body, casting a warm blanket, of almost comfort, around you, as you watched Vermithor land roughly onto the ground, talons digging into the soft earth, as you watched men run from him.

The sky had turned dark, but now the earth was lit by the flames all around you.

The smell of burning flesh rose under your nose. An odd smell. Something you had smelt before, though nothing like this. Nothing so, pungent. It was almost a sickly sweet scent, comparable to when pork was cooked. 

Vermithor let out a mighty cry into the air as he stalked through the camp, blowing flames at any man, or horse, or tent that he saw as he walked. You watched as you felt the rage lick at your face and your chest.

You had not even realised that tears had begun to fall, until you felt the wet of your neck. Your breaths were shallow and stunted, heaving as you pushed through your fury. 

They did this. 

They killed them. 

You blinked.

Behind the flames was a figure, who smiled at you.

Lucerys was here.

Vermithor’s head snapped down to where Lucerys had been, and you jerked back in shock. You almost cried out, but then the dragon jerked its head and bit the man who had been there, arm poised with an arrow. Directed at you. You blinked as you watched the Bronze Fury tear the man in half, before swallowing him.

Time blurred so strangely. 

Who knew how long you spent stalking through the camp with Vermithor. Who knew how long it had been since you had started. By the time you felt aware of your surroundings, it was eerily quiet in the camp.

The only sounds you heard were Vermithor’s deep rumblings as flames poured from his mouth, and the crackling of burning flesh and wood. The camp around you was flattened. Every tent, every cart, every post and every man was burning beneath high flames, ash falling around you and into your hair.

Lining the dirt ground were the ashes of men, or corpses burning gently in the soft night's air. Some had fallen where they had tried to run, their legs and arms splayed in unnatural positions. Others were caught underneath the burning flames of tents, or hiding places. Horses lay on their side dead, much to Vermithor’s delight, who would pick them up, eating their cooked bodies greedily as he passed through.

Piles of ashes and bones lay about the Greens camp, and all you could do was sneer and smile. Laughter rose from your chest and fell from your lips almost unnaturally. You couldn’t stop it. 

You wouldn’t stop it.

They deserved this.

They reaped what they had sown. This was on them. What they had done to you? That was on them.

Such a feral excitement was inside you, as you turned your head, looking in search of any survivors you had not found yet. You almost struggled to breath from the smoke and ash that curled its way around you. It waa thick and suffocating, but invigorating. 

Such destruction.

Now you knew why all had feared the Bronze Fury.

But it was not enough.

It would never be enough. 

They needed to pay. They needed to all burn for what they did. 

You thought of Alicent, and Aegon and Aemond. 

Aemond. 

His face. His hands. His sneer. 

You leant forward, hands gripping roughly against Vermithor’s back as you thought of it all. The pain that he had left between your legs. The sorrow that he had gifted you when he took Lucerys, and Syndor. 

It would be a short flight. 

Almost half of what it took you to get here. 

You could end this all. 

You could end it, right where it began. 

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing.

A familiar cry called out into the air, the bronze dragon's head pulling up away from the horse below his claws. The sound of flesh tearing and bones crushing beneath his jaws filled your ears, and the metallic smell of blood settled on your tongue. 

The cry came again, and you turned your head.

In the sky, not too far from you was a dragon, flying steadily towards you.

You breathed deeply, in and out, as you watched the scales light up from the flames of destruction around you. A familiar shade of dragon. A comforting one. The bright red scales of Caraxes shone in the night sky as he and your father approached you.

You lifted your chin as Vermithor called out to your father and his dragon, a most commanding call. 

The King of the Dragons. 

A King’s dragon.

Caraxes flew above you before turning around, wings slowly beating, so that the long necked dragon could land nearby in between the flames of a tent, and open bare path of the once Green stronghold. 

The dragon's long neck stretched into the air and cried out in recognition of you. You could see your father upon his back, looking around at the destruction desperately, before his eyes settled on yours. 

His body relaxed at the sight of you.

He still wore his robes from when you had last seen him, and he did not wear his riding gloves that he almost always wore. It looked as though the Rogue Prince had come to you in a rush, and had been searching for you for some time. 

Daemon’s face was a mixture of shock and awe as he looked at you, and then back down at the dragon he had tried for so long to be readied to be claimed, never once guessing that the new rider would be you.

Movement caught your eye. 

To the side of Vermithor, a man had begun to run from his hiding spot. The presence of two large dragons caused him to forfeit his hiding out of sheer shock. He might have survived if he had stayed hidden. You watched as the man ran, pushing his legs against the grass and dirt, ashes and bodies, desperate to get away.

Might have.

You looked at your father as he watched you before you leant on Vermithor. The dragon began a slow stalking chase of the man, like a cat plays with a mouse. The man gazed back at you briefly, realising he had been spotted, before he ran with more desperation. 

You lazily watched him run and channelled that rage inside of you, letting it burn you from the inside out.

Vermithor took three large steps forward rapidly, before his head snapped out, biting down on the man. His cry of pain was short lived, and soon replaced by the sickening crunch of bones and wet sound of flesh. 

The Bronze Fury lifted his head, throwing the mans body down his gullet. 

But you were not done. 

You would not be done until you killed each and every one of them. Until you would reach King’s Landing and burn them all. 

“Tala.” (Daughter) Daemon called into the air.

Vermithor turned beneath you, walking back to Caraxes and Daemon, the smaller dragon chirping out towards yours.

You looked at your father, your chest heaving as you readied yourself to fly.

“Gaomagon daor sagon doru-borto.” (Don’t be stupid.) He called out.

He knew.

He always knew.

“Nyke jāre naejot mōris bisa.” (I’m going to end this.) You called back, teeth clenched.

Why was he stopping you?

“Ȳdra daor.” (Don’t.) Daemon growled, and for the first time in your life, your father made you nervous. 

The Rogue Prince was here.

“Pār māzigon lēda nyke.” (Then come with me.)

Caraxes began to circle you, his neck stretching up, and then low to the ground as he watched, purely reacting to Daemon through the bond. 

They looked nervous. On edge. 

Unsure.

“Tala.” (Daughter.)

Your laughter rang out into the cold air. What was happening? He had been the one to always remind you of what you were, of who you were. He had always been the first to jump to action in court. 

What had changed?

“Y/n.” 

“Issi ao jāre naejot keligon nyke?” (Are you going to stop me?) You joked mirthlessly. 

“Lo istin.” (If I must.)

What? 

You grunted angrily, staring Daemon down, who only reacted to your action by tightening his hands on Caraxes’ reins. 

“Don’t think I won’t.” He threatened. 

Vermithor called out into the air agitatedly, and Caraxes responded in a high pitched screech. Daemon swayed side to side, as his dragon began to move more rapidly on the ground, the flames around you illuminating his bright red scales.

They knew something you didn’t.

“Our Queen commands it.” Your father called out.

You jerked your head to the side, looking at the camp around you, razed to the ground, flames licking the corpses and ruins. Fire was mesmerising. Beautiful. It was cleansing. So very cleansing. Fire could rid the world of scum, and allow for new growth to come forth. 

You knew of certain trees that could only bloom with the assistance of fire. 

Targaryens bloomed in the flames too.

If you went to King’s Landing, Daemon would no doubt try to stop you. And at what cost? 

Would you really fight your own father? 

Would you hurt him? 

Kill him?

No.

You ground your teeth, and tightened your legs around Vermithor’s back, ignoring the twinging pain in your side. Your chest rose and fell in short angry breaths as you looked at your father. 

His eyes glowed in the flame light, and Caraxes had not stopped moving from side to side, readying himself to fight if he needed. The Rogue Prince watched your movements closely, almost cautious of you.

Gritting your teeth, you nodded, and saw Daemon visibly relax.

“Sōvegon.” (Fly.)

Unbeknownst to you, beneath the rubble of the Brackens camp, Alicent’s youngest son Daeron, laid beneath the ashes. Your youngest uncle had died amongst a sea of his men.

The young Prince’s body lay at an ungodly angle. Half of him had been burnt to a crisp, legs and arms splayed in an unnatural position, in his hand, the blade of his sword. 

A pained expression permanently sat on what was left of his face.

And although you did not know of his presence, the Greens certainly did.

And would.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[vids-rdr2-artblog]

Undead Nightmare 2 Headcanons

CHARACTERS: John Marston, Arthur Morgan, Sadie Adler, and Charles Smith

Now, I know that the first Undead Nightmare didn’t follow the timeline, but this one sort of does for the second game.

THESE ARE FOR FUN AND MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS!

General Headcanons:

The plague reached Blackwater around the time of the massacre however the gang didn’t realize it right away

People were rising from the dead in the streets as the gang made their escape

Davey Callander was the first zombie encountered in Colter when he passed away/Luckily the cold made it hard for him to move before he could bite anyone

When the gang reached Horseshoe Overlook, they began to see how the infection was spreading through New Hanover

Gang quickly becomes suspicious and paranoid of each other

People outside of the gang were trying to keep civilization together even though the world around them was crumbling apart

At some point, the gang stole a train and tried to use it to keep moving around, but it became too dangerous when supplies were depleted and some areas were just more dangerous to pass through

John Marston:

Recognizes that if the plague had reached the wolves before they mauled him, he would have died in Colter

For a while, he worried that he would still become infected and suffers with nightmares of eating his family alive

Was taken to Sisika because he and the others were caught trying to steal supplies, and mostly escaped thanks to Arthur and Sadie risking bringing the undead on the island to cause a distraction/The outbreak that followed helped mask John’s escape

After a close call of Jack almost being bitten, he becomes very protective over his family

At some point he tried to leave the gang WITH his family but was threatened by Dutch and Micah

Arthur Morgan:

Had to put an infected Boadicea down/He thought she was just sick but realized later that it was the plague

The gang’s brutalist and main protector/He’s often sent out on the supply runs

Is sleep deprived and suffers from constant insomnia from many nights of being asked to watch the camp at night

Was bitten by an undead somewhere in the end of chapter 5 because of the Pinkerton encounter in the Lagras camp

His honor determines whether he comes back as the undead or not/Low honor he gets shot and does not come back/High honor means he dies peacefully but comes back as the undead

Sadie Adler:

Watched her husband get bitten by an infected O’Driscoll that they tried to treat after robbing her and her husband’s house

Wanted to give her husband mercy herself but was denied when the O’Driscolls killed him themselves

Because she hated seeing her own husband turn, she takes bounty missions where she hunts down family members who weren’t able to be given mercy in trade for supplies

She constantly finds Arthur half asleep while on guard duty and takes over/She refuses to rat Arthur out to the gang and after a while convinces Arthur to let her take some of his shifts so he can rest

She refused to let Colm die peacefully so she left him tied to a tree where he was eaten alive by zombies

Charles Smith:

Became the gang’s main tracker and hunter and helped Pearson cook

When he returned, he found a zombie Arthur and had to put him down before burying him (High Honor ending)

Second in command when it comes to guarding the camp at night

He too also tries to take over some of Arthur’s shifts so he can rest longer

He is the one who mostly has had to put the gang down after they reanimated

[dalekofchaos]

Red Dead Redemption 3:Mac Callander's story

While I'd prefer the third game would be about either Landon Ricketts or Sadie, Charles and Jack, I do see the potential of Mac Callander as the protagonist of the story.

Rockstar gave many clues. Even though we never see him, everyone remembers him with love and longing, Bill calls him both a good person and heartless (this may be the honor system), and the fact that he was on the ferry during the Blackwater robbery is another reason.

Arthur was not on the ferry so we could not observe the events there. On the ferry were Dutch, Micah, Sean, John, Javier, Davey and Mac. Names like Arthur, Jenny, Hosea, Lenny, Bill and Charles were only present in the Blackwater massacre but not on the ferry, and this is definitely a reason for Mac to be the main character. We can see the Blackwater massacre and the failed robbery on the ferry through Mac's eyes.

In an interrupted dialogue, it is said that when Arthur's horse was shot at Blackwater, Mac gave him his horse to escape. This is a fitting ending for the main character of RDR. Arthur helped John escape.

John also helped Jack escape. If Mac helps Arthur escape, as in this dialogue, he will definitely complete his atonement before he dies, and we already know what happened to Mac. He gave Arthur his horse and was later killed by Milton. We will see Mac and Davey's brotherly relationship, just like Arthur and John's brotherly relationship. Mac is not the wild guy he is made out to be.

It seemed to me that Davey was the crueler brother, while Mac was the softer one. Milton told Arthur that Mac taught him philosophy, which shows that Mac was a philosophical character like Arthur.

Some people say the Callander brothers can't be the main characters because they're wild, but everyone except Lenny and Charles loved them. Lenny and Charles hadn't been in a gang long enough to like them. One of our main characters abandoned his 1-year-old child and the other beat a man with tuberculosis to death.

So Mac and Davey are no better or worse than Arthur and John. Mac could be the main character because no one talks bad about him. If someone talks bad, they either badmouth Davey or say "Callander brothers." Mac was probably disliked by Lenny and Charles because he sided with Davey, because Lenny and Charles never spoke ill of Mac. But Lenny specifically guesses that Davey started the Blackwater massacre.

Also, Charles said that the brothers were wild, they never talked bad about Mac, they only talked bad about Davey because according to the dialogue, Davey is a professional poker player, a brawler and a drunk, but there is no evidence that he is a bad person. And honestly I think it would be cool to have the brothers be duel honor siblings. Mac is high honor, while Davey is low honor.

Everyone in the gang, including Hosea and Arthur, misses the Callander brothers. Believe me, the people Hosea loves can never be bad. Maybe we can switch between Davey and Mac like in GTA 5. Some say we should play Jack's experiences after RDR1 or Dutch's story of establishing the gang. But neither of these are redemption stories.

There's no redemption for Jack and Dutch, but there's still redemption for Mac. At the same time, the Wild West was already over in 1914, so it would be ridiculous to play Jack. It would be ridiculous to play a character like Dutch who has no redemption story and is also the villain of the first two games

Some people ask how Arthur can be a playable character in the epilogue of the game if Mac is the main character and the last mission of the game is the Blackwater massacre, because there are 3 days between the Blackwater massacre and the beginning of RDR2. You remember, Arthur had a saying like this: "A friend of mine used to say: Revenge is a fool's game." In the Epilogue part of the game, the dead main character is avenged, but if Arthur says revenge is absurd, there is no need for him to take revenge.

Arthur doesn't have anyone he can take revenge on anyway. He can't kill Milton because Abigail kills him later. In a newspaper in RDR1, it is said that a character of the game, Landon Rickets, took part in the Blackwater Massacre in 1899. Maybe in the Epilogue, we can play out how Landon escaped to Mexico after the massacre.

We saw Davey for a total of 20 seconds, and we also saw Jenny in a drawing in Arthur's diary. And these two characters have graves, but we have never seen Mac, and Mac does not have a grave, and this adds extra mystery to it. It's like we are being given a sign by not having a grave for the 3rd game

[twola]

Devil's Backbone - Owanjila II

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila II: A Path Laid Clear

The gang regroups at Owanjila - but recollecting themselves after the abject failure of Blackwater is more challenging than first perceived.

CW: Injuries, death, traumatic stress, panic attacks

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

Smoke curls upward through the pines, wafting away into the morning breeze as if it never existed. He blows another cloud of smoke skyward, sighing as he glances through the branches overlooking the small glen, its disturbed dirt obvious on the hillside.

Lenny sits on the ground, back against the trunk of a pine tree, an empty bottle hangs limply in his hand. He stares at the dirt - far too recently dug and far too much resembling the shape of a body. His eyes, bloodshot, seem far away from this place - distant in their muteness, their sadness, their grief.

“She was a sweet girl.” Arthur’s low timbre rumbles.

Lenny doesn’t respond, his eyes still trained on the ground.

“They’re makin’ a tombstone back at the camp for ‘er.”

The boy nods slowly, and Arthur rubs his forehead beneath the brim of his hat before plucking the cigarette from his lips and tossing it to his feet, where he crushes it underneath his boot.

“C’mon kid. Ain’t gonna do you no good to be drinkin’ yourself into the ground next to ‘er.” Arthur steps closer, holding out his hand for Lenny to take. Lenny takes it, and Arthur pulls him to stand, he stumbles slightly, but regains his balance within a step. He drops the empty whiskey bottle to the ground, it rolls a few feet downhill. 

Lenny sighs, his shoulders falling. “Didn’t even tell her how sweet I was on her.”

Arthur nods, staring at the dirt - the pile of earth that was all that was left of Jenny Kirk. Poor girl. So full of energy and life and spark. She died as the camp was moving north, bleeding out in the back of a wagon.

He sighs, placing his hand on Lenny’s shoulder. “C’mon now.”

Lenny nods, sadly, looking back over to the earthen grave for a moment before turning away and silently following Arthur back toward the camp.

-

“There’s nothing I can do for him.” You sigh, looking at the ground. Susan Grimshaw frowns, but places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“I know, Missus Shaw. Best we can do is make him comfortable.” She says without a hint of the sharpness her voice usually has.

The two of you stand just outside the tent erected as a makeshift sick bay, and since you’ve arrived atop Arthur’s stolen horse, you’ve been assisting Susan and Abigail in changing bandages, cleaning wounds, and salving burns. While most people were able to escape Blackwater with minor injuries, Davey lay in a cot with a raging fever, having taken a shot to the gut that had become infected over the two days since the failed heist.

You rub at your eyes tiredly before ducking back into the tent, where Abigail grimaces as she pulls back the stained linen bandage over his stomach, wet with a clear sheen, his skin reddening in deathly spiderwebs from the wound. Davey winces at the movement, groaning out in pain, his fingers clutching at the side of the cot. 

“Ruth, go get the Reverend. At this point, we just need to ease his pain. I’m sure the man has some morphine on him.” Miss Grimshaw moves past you in the tent, taking a linen cloth from the small tin bucket on the side table, wringing it out, and placing it gently on the man’s forehead as he moans.

You nod, exiting the tent. Surveying the campsite on the hill of the large lake, you wince slightly as a pain shoots up your side. Ever since you and Arthur were thrown from Boadicea three days ago, the pain and aches in your side have only grown. But you don’t have the luxury of slowing down. Not amongst this group. Not when people were injured and dying… not when you’ve sold a fair part of your usefulness on your small medical repertoire.

Off a ways from the tent, you see the hob-knob lean-to where some of the men have taken up - usually where the old man only known as Uncle was, Reverend Swanson was not far behind, the two of them usually holed up with bottles of hooch getting blitzed while the sun was shining.

Speaking of which, you spy the old man sitting against a tree trunk. Your hurry in that direction.

“Uncle - do you know-” You step toward him.

“Why, if it ain’t the lovely Missus Shaw. Want to join me for a drink? The hooch is miiighty fine this morning!” Uncle shakes a half-empty bottle at you as he reclines against a tree trunk.

“No- no thank you. Do you know where Reverend Swanson is?”

Uncle snorts, rolling his eyes, he points the bottle towards the lean-to, where you look in and see a pair of feet just within the shade of the tent. You step over Uncle’s outstretched legs, sighing, and move over toward the tent.

“Reverend?”

You’re met with no response.

“Reverend.” A little louder. A little sterner. Your patience is growing thin.

“Wha- wha d’ya wan-?” Swanson slurs from within the tent, making no hints of moving.

You stoop down on your knees at the opening of the tent, a lance of pain going up your side, and you swear under your breath. 

“Do - do you have any morphine on you, Reverend Swanson?”

Swanson looks at you with a suspicious air around him. You can tell he’s intoxicated - but he is certainly still functioning, sitting up within the canvas.

“No, Missus Shaw. I do not.” He says, narrowing his eyes at you as he moves to crawl out of his tent and stand. 

Cursing under your breath again, you stand up as the Reverend crosses his arms.

“Reverend please, it’s to ease the man’s pain before he passes-”

“It don’t matter no more, Ruth.” 

You turn around to see Abigail walking toward you, she stops when she sees that she has your attention, “Davey’s dead.”

You sigh, running your hands down your face. You step over Uncle’s splayed leg, joining Abigail on the walk back to the sick tent. As the two of you approach, Grimshaw exits the tent, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

“I’ll go tell Dutch. You girls go on and clean up. I’m sure he’ll have the Reverend bury the body.”

Abigail sternly nods, turning to you, “Do you mind beginning? I need to check on Jack. Feel bad that Hosea’s been stuck with him the whole time.”

“Of course, go ahead.” You say as Abigail touches your arm in thanks, and you duck under the canvas of the sick tent once more, the air heavy with the stench of death.

You sigh and begin collecting used supplies - linen bandages, empty bottles of tonic - and tossing them into a pile at the end of the bed. Several minutes go by and Abigail and Susan wordlessly join you, the matriarch of the group rebuttoning the shirt on Davey’s cooling body and pulling the blanket from the cot. Outside the tent, people start to gather, the word traveling fast in this campsite on the hill.

Dutch pulls the hat from his head, closing his eyes and setting his jaw. He turns to see who has gathered here: several of the men, nearly all of the women. His eyes settle on Swanson, who has stumbled his way over to the group.

“Reverend. Bury Davey. Somewhere the sun’ll shine on him. Bill, Javier - assist the Reverend on this.”

Nods and grunts of affirmation are met in return, and Dutch surveys the group - outlaws and thieves, brigands and highwayman - these people, living on the fringes of a society that doesn’t accept them - scorns them even - they look worn down, beaten, scared.

“Look, I - I know it's been hard. Lord, do I know that. But we’ve been in these rough spots before. We’ve lost good men,” Dutch looks at the women on the periphery of the group, “and women, but that can’t mean that we stop. If we stop livin’ the way we do, that means the forces that want us dead-” He pauses, looking at the group and all of the sets of eyes upon him.

“That means they’ve won. And we will not let them win. We won’t let them take our freedom, or our dreams, faith, ideas. We won’t let them take any of it. We do the taking.”

There are a few rumbles of agreement at the end of his speech, and Dutch breathes out heavily. He nods his head back toward the tent, and the three men he addressed earlier step inside.

Dutch sighs, rubbing at his temples as Bill and Javier carry Davey’s body from the tent, wrapped in linen sheets, with a suddenly sobered Swanson following behind them. The Reverend paces toward one of the wagons, grabbing a shovel from it and quickly following the two men as they take the body away from camp.

The silence is nearly deafening. 

Arthur slowly makes his way toward Dutch, standing at the entrance of the medical tent. The older man glances inside at the empty cot, while you and Susan and Abigail move about the tent, pulling together soiled linen, and medical supplies, and clearing the space for its next occupant, with the way things were going, someone was bound to end up there soon.

“So... Do you think it was a trap? In Blackwater?” Arthur asks as he runs his hand down his beard, taming errant stray hairs as he lines his jaw. He stares down at the ground, his eye on a rock under his boot that he kicks at absentmindedly.

“That many men? Oh, they knew we were coming. Goddamn Pinkertons. Blackwater was overrun with those prim-suited bastards.” Dutch sneers as he stares ahead, his knuckles popping as his hands pressed together.

You freeze, in the middle of throwing dirty, bloody linen bandages into a bucket. Right outside the tent, you can hear the conversation between Arthur and Dutch, with the leader of the gang railing on about how the Pinkertons must have known about the ferry job, that someone slipped up, there were just too many of them.

“Ruth.” 

Grimshaw’s voice cuts through the stale air of the tent, and you shiver slightly, coming back to your senses. The woman holds out a stained bandage, waiting for you to take it.

“ ‘M sorry, Miss Grimshaw. Mind just went away for a second.” You mumble, taking the linen bandage and tossing it into the bucket at your side.

Her stern brow softens slightly. “Go on and get some air. Don’t think we have any more dirty linen to get rid of. Might as well burn it at the scout fire.” 

You nod, picking up the bucket and placing it on your hip. You wince as the pain in your side flares, hiding your discomfort from the women in the tent by turning around quickly, gritting your teeth against the groan welling up in your throat. 

Pushing through the flaps of the tent, you come face to face with Dutch, who looks over from gazing down the hillside to the lake. Arthur glances up also, before looking back down at the ground, placing one of his hands on the buckle of his gunbelt.

“Thank you for what you did for him, Missus Shaw.”

“It wasn’t much.” You mumble, unable to keep eye contact with the man. Your thoughts immediately return to what you heard the two men talking about - the Pinkertons in Blackwater. Dutch going on about how many Pinkertons were in Blackwater.

You walk past the two men, eyes on the ground, praying that they couldn’t tell there was a cold sweat breaking out at your temple, down your neck, down your back. You’re praying that they don’t ask you why you look pale - hoping that they think your demeanor has to do with the man who just died in front of you, rather than the truth.

The Pinkertons were in Blackwater for you.

And you didn’t say anything .

People are injured and missing and dead because you didn’t say anything .

All that’s left of sweet Jenny Kirk is under a pile of dirt on a hillside. Davey Callendar was about to be covered in cold dirt as well. Mac and Sean, who knows where they were or if they were even alive. John and Charles swathed in bandages.

You make it to the scout fire and Micah grumbles some off-handed greeting you refuse to respond to. Dumping the used linen on the fire, you watch as the flames slowly curl around the fabric as the pile begins to burn. You place the bucket on the ground and move to walk further away from the camp as your heart continues to race uncontrollably.

“Don’t go too far out there, Missus Shaw. Bears and wolves would love to eat somethin’ small and sweet as you.” Micah drawls with a mischievous glint in his eye.

If Dutch finds out you’re the reason that there were more lawmen in Blackwater during the heist and people died because of it…

You’d rather take your chances with the wild animals.

-

“What the hell happened out there?”

John lights a cigarette behind cupped hands and breathes out heavily, watching the smoke’s tendrils float between the needles of the pine he stood under.

“It… it went south. Dutch shot a girl… in a bad way. Then there were more damn Pinkertons there than…”

Abigail crosses her arms over her chest in exasperation, “Christ, we got Pinkertons after us?”

“Abigail. It's fine. We got away.” John replies, trying to calm the woman down before their conversation fell into the argument it was always bound to be.

“John-” Abigail sighs, rubbing her forehead, “We - we got more to think about than…”

A high, female cry breaks the hushed voices of John and Abigail, the former of whom grabs Abigail and quickly ushers her behind him, hand on his gun. He peers around, looking for the source of the noise. He and Abigail had purposefully stepped farther from camp, to keep the inevitable argument between themselves, for once. 

“There, shit!” Abigail curses, pointing over John’s shoulder, ducking out from behind him and running in the direction she pointed, further south on the hillside, toward where the lake edged the mountain cliffsides. 

“Abby-!” 

It was only a moment more until he saw what she was running toward, a figure leaning heavily against a tree, in obvious pain.

“Ruth!” Abigail calls out, coming steps closer.

“Hey - hey, what’s wrong, are you okay?” Abigail slowly edges toward you, hand timidly reaching out as if you were a skittish dear.

You pant, your breathing heavy as pain shoots through your side again. One of your hands, white-knuckled, grasps at the trunk of the tree to steady yourself. Tears stream from your eyes uncontrollably. Clutching at your ribcage, you moan, voice high in pain, sinking to collapse on the ground.

“Shit!” Abigail yelps, running the rest of the way over to you, falling to her knees next to your crumbled form. 

She presses on your side and your eyes fly open as you scream in agony. 

“John, John, get over here!” Abigail turns back toward where she and John had been arguing, and for once, the petulant man did not put up a fight, striding quickly over to the two women on the ground.

“We gotta take her back to camp-” Abigail brushes tendrils of your hair off your pallid and sweaty forehead, “Ruth, honey, can you walk?”

Your teeth and eyes are clenched as you try to stifle the sounds escaping your throat. Abigail looks expectantly, pleadingly up at John.  John rolls his eyes back at her but pulls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows before stooping down on one knee.

“Alright - c’mon, up you go.”

John winds his arms beneath your knees and behind your back, heaving you up into his arms as he stands. The jostling movement smacks your ribcage against his sternum, and you swear in a cracked voice.

“John!” Abigail yells at him at your gasp of pain.

“Woman, ain’t no way to do this that ain’t gonna hurt her.” John retorts, starting to walk back toward the camp. 

Abigail follows John’s fast steps, her skirts hitched in one hand as they burst into camp.

“Grimshaw!” John yells out, stalking toward the tent with all the medical supplies. Christ, Davey's body was probably still warm in the ground, having so recently vacated the tent.

Tears continue to roll down your cheeks as John tries to jostle you the least amount possible, but his efforts are in vain as you whimper, each step jolting through your side.

John ducks into the shed, with Susan quickly following, tuttering like a mother hen. 

“There - on the cot, yes, gently, please, Mister Marston.” Grimshaw moves around John quickly, guiding him to lay you on the cot. He does, unlacing

“Thank you, we will take care of her.” Grimshaw nods, moving to grab at the bottles of tonic on the table.

John simply grunts in reply, moving to leave the tent. As he dips to step out, he comes face to face with the mother of his child, his one-time paramour.

“Thanks, John,” Abigail says lowly, eyes darting past him to where you lay on the cot. She looks back up to him, guiltily, “I’m… I’m glad you’re alright after Blackwater.” Without waiting for a reply, she pushes forward, into the tent, to assist Miss Grimshaw.

It's in a near whisper, and he almost has to strain to hear it. Bewildered, he looks back at her figure, eyes remaining on her a second longer than he knows they should have. 

John leaves the tent and nearly stumbles into the towering frame of his adoptive older brother, built like a brick house. Under his black hat, his mouth is pulled in a tight line.

Arthur narrows his eyes, “Marston.”

John does not feel like having one of Arthur’s ‘talking downs’ now. He steps past the older man, “Morgan.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Arthur nods toward the medical tent.

“Could be dyin’ for all I know. You’re the one who’s been around her the most.” John retorts, not turning around as he moves further away.

Arthur turns and stares at the flap of the tent, and the canvas shifts ever so slightly in the breeze.

-

“Ruth, dear, Ruth, what’s wrong, what happened?” Miss Grimshaw asks, trying to get you to calm down, stifled sobs wracking your small frame.

She looks up at Abigail, “What happened to the girl?”

Abigail shakes her head, “I don’t know…”

Grimshaw shakes her head, “Well - come on now, looks like somethin’ on her side.” She waves her hand toward you and where you squirm in the cot.

Abigail stoops down on her knees next to the cot and sighs as she reaches toward your torso. You groan and try to squirm away from her hand as she grasps at your shirt.

“Ain’t no time for bein’ embarrassed,” Abigail mutters as she begins to unbutton your shirt, your chemise becoming more and more uncovered. You are in so much pain at this point you can barely do anything but whimper with eyes squeezed shut as the woman above you starts pulling on the fabric of your chemise, untucking it from your skirts and pushing it up your torso.

“Jesus Christ…” Abigail mumbles, then turns her head toward Susan.

“Wha-” You gasp as she presses her hand against your ribcage, and pain sears up and down your side.

Miss Grimshaw quickly peers over Abigail’s shoulder. “God - how did that happen?”

“Wha-“ You grimace again, “What is it?”

“You definitely have some broken ribs there, Ruth. Your whole damn side is one ugly-lookin’ bruise.” Abigail says, quite manner-of-factly.

You suck air in through your teeth as another deluge of tears spills from your eyes.

Grimshaw frowns. “Let me get her something, poor girl.”

The older woman leaves the tent for only a few minutes, coming back with a half-drunk bottle of whiskey and a dirty glass. Abigail stands from where she was kneeling next to the cot, her lips drawing into a tight line. She turns and storms out of the tent, narrowing her eyes when she finds the target of her ire lurking a few steps away.

“Arthur!” She yells, stomping toward him, catching him off guard as he smokes a cigarette. She reaches him and stands right up in his personal space, completely unfazed by how foreboding and fearsome the gunslinger looks.

“The hell you let happen to her?” Abigail sticks her finger in Arthur’s face accusingly, “The poor woman’s probably got broken ribs and her whole damn side is one big’ ol bruise.”

Arthur pushes her hand away and scowls. “I didn’t do anythin’ to the woman. Probably got it when we were bucked when Boadicea got shot.”

Abigail’s furrowed brows soften at the revelation, but the glower remains as she breathes loudly through her nose before stomping back into the tent.

Arthur steps closer to the medical tent and can hear your soft crying from within as Abigail murmurs something. Grimshaw exits through the canvas flap, holding a now-empty bottle of whiskey. Her sternly-set eyebrows do not falter as she takes Arthur in.

“She should be fine. Surprised she was walking around with injuries like that. A week or two of rest and she’ll be back to herself. Y’dont need to worry bout her.” Susan remarks, moving past Arthur.

“I ain’t wo-”

“Mister Morgan, you best remember I’ve known you since you were a boy. You’re an excellent shot, but I know you’re a terrible liar.”

Arthur glances back at the tent as Miss Grimshaw walks toward the center of camp and Pearson’s wagon.

Through the barely open canvas flaps, he can see your still form laying in the cot - the cot so recently occupied by people who were now dead.

-

A few weeks later…

-

“Ginseng, actually. I know it's not the most delicious of brews, but it certainly helps.”

You sit on a folding chair in the shade - your side still giving you some pain, but time to rest had made it more bearable. Hosea took it on himself to be your nursemaid - though more time was spent retailing tales of old days than anything else.

You thank him quietly, reaching for the cup that he holds out to you. A murky liquid swirls in it, unappetizing to say the least.

The sound of horses' hooves breaks through the quiet of the afternoon. A few hoots and hollers, and from the north, the men who had left before the sunrise burst back into the camp, Dutch leading the crew atop his snow-white stallion. Arthur and Javier, Bill, Lenny, and Micah all thunder back into the camp. 

Hosea glances back to you, handing you the cup he was holding. “If you’ll excuse me, my dear - I’ll be back.”

You nod, taking the cup and sipping at it slowly. As Hosea walks away, you cringe at the bracing drink, close to spitting it out.

The elder outlaw continues down the hillside, where the men and horses have gathered from their outing. Hosea adjusts the brim of his hat against the sun.

“I’m guessin’ by the mood you were successful?” He asks Dutch as the leader swings down from his mount.

“Successful, old girl?” Dutch chuckles, “I would say more than that. That ranch on the way to the train station? It was an O’Driscoll camp.”

Hosea frowns. “Colm’s that close?”

“Not anymore he ain’t.” Bill sidles up with a grin, “Arthur over here was able to nab one, some lilly-lickin’ fool.”

As if on cue, Arthur grunts as he walks by, a bound and gagged man over his shoulder. He tosses him to the ground as if he were a heap of refuge. The man rolls over onto his back, his eyes wide and fearful. 

“Eh, looks like Colm’ll take just about anyone these days.” Hosea looks over the man with disdain.

Dutch claps Hosea’s back, “Indeed he does. Has a lot less now,” He turns to Bill, “Mister Williamson, go on and show our guest how hospitable we are to O’Driscolls.”

Bill smiles with a heinous gleam in his eye, He yanks the man up from the ground where Arthur dumped him, and starts dragging him away. 

“Dutch, should offer the little widow a shot at ‘im too - considerin’ was O’Driscolls who killed her husband.” Bill guffaws as he drags the captive toward a tree on the edge of the campsite.

“Any other ill-gotten gains from your venture?”

Dutch smiles, staring at the ground, “Ruining Colm’s day is always a gain in my book. But yes - supplies, and a lead on a job that Colm was planning in two weeks.” 

“Job?”

“Train robbery.” Arthur wipes a bit of dust from his brown leather jacket sleeve.

“Oh,” Hosea laughs, “Back to those again? Haven’t done one of those in a while.”

“Back to our roots - a return to simplicity,” Dutch says as he turns, a wide grin gracing his face. It had been far too long since Hosea had seen Dutch in such spirits - before Blackwater even. The raiding group goes their separate ways as the excitement from before dies down. Hosea looks back up the hill, where you still sit in your seat, watching the blue waters of the lake below. 

Hosea returns to his seat, the folding chair next to yours under the bower of mountain pines. He peers into the cup you hold, still quite full.

“Ah - I see you’re not a fan of the brew.”

You try to keep the smile on your face as you hand the cup back to him, a blush overtaking your features.

“I’m sorry-”

Hosea laughs, shaking his head as he sits down, placing the cup on the ground. 

“Missus Shaw.” 

You look up, shielding your eyes from the sun, squinting before a large shadow blocks out the sun.

“Mister Morgan.” You say, with a smile, “Looks like y’all were busy.”

Arthur lowers his head, his face obscured by the rim of his old leather hat. He places his hands on his gun belt and sways ever so slightly.

“Was, uh, wonderin’, y’know, after that whole run-in with the law on the road…”

He trails off. Hosea raises his eyebrow amusedly.

“Well,” Arthur waves one of his hands in the air, “If you’re up to it at some point, maybe I could, uh, teach you how to shoot.”

You snort, “Mister Morgan, are you saying my aim was that bad?”

“Well, I’m sayin’ you can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

Hosea guffaws in his seat as you wrinkle your forehead in mock irritation.  You look at Hosea before looking back at Arthur, who looks extremely uncomfortable.

“Alright, Mister Morgan. I’ll take you up on that sometime.”

Arthur nods his head, taking his leave, “Ma’am.”

You watch his retreating figure. Hosea lights a cigarette and smiles.

-

“What are you doin’?” A small voice interrupts the methodic cleaning of the revolver set on the table in front of him.

John looks up, and frowns, making eye contact with the child across from him. A child with wild brown hair and his dark eyes.

“Cleanin’ my gun.”

“Are you almost done?”

John sighs loudly, placing the revolver on the table. He rolls his eyes toward the sky before they land again on the boy, who stands patiently waiting for attention. Not that he wants to be outwardly mean to the child, but he knows that what the boy is looking for is something he isn’t willing to give.

He looks back at the gun.

“Go on, I’m sure your mother is lookin’ for you,” John says, not looking up at Jack as he feeds bullets into the cylinder’s empty chambers.

“But Pa-” Jack pipes up, his small hands reaching toward John.

“Don’t… don’t call me that,” John says lowly, his hand letting go of his gun and taking the boy’s, gently pushing him back.

The poor kid looks like he wants to cry.

Christ, he didn’t ask for any of this. Why was Abigail so damn obstinate? Why did she keep the damn baby? Was the boy even his? Abigail was visited by most men in the camp…

John Marston didn’t know who he was kidding. Himself, perhaps, he was trying. Everyone, including him, knew the boy was his. Everyone knew that he was chasing Abigail’s skirts like a madman for a while there - they were obnoxious , according to Hosea, rutting like rabbits. Anywhere and everywhere he could get his hands on her, he had her.

Something about those sultry eyes of hers, the way her hair fell around her face when he pulled the ribbon holding her bun in place. Christ, the way she moaned his name when he slid into her….

John kicks at the ground angrily. It’s been years, at this point, since they’ve touched one another. A few times after the boy was born, once she had healed from the birth - but once he left when the suffocating reality of being a father settled in - that was the last time she looked at him with anything other than derision. 

Whatever. 

John Marston could get his dick wet if he wanted to. Wasn’t anything stopping him. Abigail sure wasn’t. They weren’t together - the extent of their togetherness at this point was the five year old boy standing in front of him.

Jack frowns, turning around and pacing away slowly, his shoulders slumped. John looks back to his revolver, spinning the cylinder to the last empty chamber, shoving a bullet in it before spinning it and locking it shut.

“C’mere, kid. How’s about we go see the new horse, huh?”

John glances over his shoulder. In the periphery of his vision, he can see Arthur Morgan leaning over, his hands on his knees, talking to Jack at the boy’s level. The boy’s shoulders raise, and he happily follows Arthur away, giddily talking up to the gunslinger.

Marston glares at the retreating figures through the strands of his long hair. The smoldering flame of frustration in his gut flares up, and he can barely hold back a snarl as he shoves his revolver into his gunbelt. 

Would probably be better for everyone if Jack was Arthur’s son. He’s much more adept at dealing with him - John knew Arthur had a son years ago, before Jack was born, but that the boy and his mother died in a robbery. 

But again, the flare of anger roils in his gut when he thinks of Abigail cozying up to Arthur and being one stupid, happy family together.

He paces toward Dutch’s large tent on the hillside, high above Owanjila. Dutch sits at the mouth of the tent, across from Hosea.

“I heard talk in Strawberry ‘bout a ranch up north in the Grizzlies. Think I’m gonna head up there to check it out.” John rasps, the char from the cigarette he just finished making his voice hoarse.

Dutch nods, not looking up from his book. He takes the cigar from his mouth and snubs the edge into the plate on the side table next to him. Hosea, sitting on a folding chair opposite Dutch, looks John up and down before giving him a wry grin. 

“Be sure you bring your coat, boy. This time of year that area can still get snow.”

John rolls his eyes as he leaves, stalking toward the horses.

[rise-my-angel]

Its interesting to me how many people still put the blame on Robb for the red wedding, when the reality is that never should have happened. Regardless if Robb broke an oath or not, the betrayal at the red wedding was so heinous because in one fell swoop, Tywin Lannister and Walder Frey broke an ancient agreement.

Guest Rights in Westeros is incredibly important. Meaning that no matter the times, if you offer hospitality and break bread with a guest, guest rights is invoked and you cannot harm neither the guest nor host while you are under their roof. It's why it takes only when the doors shut and the Rains of Castamere start playing does Catelyn realize something is terribly wrong. Not a single person in Robbs camp had any reason to suspect danget that night beacuse to do otherwise would be an incredibly horrific offense.

Remember Walder Frey did not organize this. Walder Frey did not come up with this war ending plan. Tywin Lannister did. Twyin was the one who secured Walder Freys involvement by offering protection under the crown and the rule over Riverrun. But the plan was Tywins. It's why theres a discussion after that even Tyrion, who orchestrated the massacre with the wildfire explosion at Blackwater, considers his a henious act.

It's why Westeros breaks after the red wedding. Not only does it grant the power over Westeros to the Lannisters because by this point Stannis begins moving his army to the fight at Castle Black but now no one is safe. Guest Rights in Westeros allowed the strict safety of hospitality even between enemies, and by Tywin breaking it in a massive and horrric manner it means that there will never be an expectation of protection anywhere. It means no one can trust anyone that isn't their own people and destorys fair negotiations as well.

Westeros is in a desolate state after Robb dies, because he was winning the war. For all their numbers, Tywin Lannister could not defeat Robb in battle and EVEN with incidents like with the Karstarks, Robbs army was incredibly loyal and dedicated and the north was unified in a way Lannister forces never were. Tywin had no plan to beat Robb in the battlefield, because he wrongfully assumed that his youth and inexperience would mean he was rash and over eager. He underestimated that even with dissention in his ranks, Robb Stark held his kingdom together and his own prowess in battle was invaluable. Tywin could not beat him on fair terms because he was failing at every fair turn.

The Red Wedding broke Guest Rights and thats why he lost. Walder Frey is not a man who upholds his own oaths, and Robb breaking his isn't so egregious that the response is murder. Walder was simply an easy hire for Tywin because he is greedy and lacks a moral compass. Walder did not do the Red Wedding because of Robb he did it because Tywin assured him both no punishment and control of riverrun. Robb did the right thing by going to him to make amends and the entire breaking of oath was forgiven once they were offered safety and food by the Freys. Thats when it was forgiven.

Guest rights are an ancient tradtion in Westeros, especially in the North (hence why Robb who knows the Lannisters tried to kill Bran under the Starks own roof, refuses Tyrion hospitality). And by Tywin breaking Guest Rights he destorys any semblance of peaceful meeting or negotiation by murdering a monarch and his people all under the hospitality of anothers roof. Its why when Davos hears of whats happened, he considers House Frey to be cursed because they so openly broke guest rights.

Robb Stark didn't lose the war. Robb make a choice to break one oath to protect the more vulnerable honour of an innocent woman which was forgiven directly by Walder Frey when they made peace before the wedding.

Walder Frey never would have touched a hair on Robb Stark's head if Tywin didn't come to him with an offer first.

Robb didn't lose the war, Tywin won the war through breaking ancient traditions which leaves many character afterwards in fear of the Lannisters because now they know they will not let a single thing get in his way.

By blaming Robb for losing a war he was activley winning up to the time he died, is to buy into the very propaganda that Tywin Lannister would prefer you believe in order to keep the blame off of himself.

Robb made mistakes, but he made far less and far less severe ones than others in the same war that we don't scrutinize as much.

Robb didn't lose the war through actions of his own, Robb lost the war because he was winning against Tywin Lannister on every playing field except the ones that broke a sacred valued tradition.

The show doesn't expand on it, but in the books ancient traditions and customs are extremely important in Westeros and breaking those so dishonorably has always left stains on those who commit them. Tywin breaks guest right and it leaves the kingdoms in subjugated fear, Jaime commits regicide and hes forever named Kingslayer, Tyrion commits kinslaying/patricide and he is left in mind altering disgust of himself that causes him to lose part of his mind at times. I know the show tries blaming Robb but the show writers by that point don't even grasp that kinslaying is even a thing in Westeros so I don't expect Benioff and Weiss to even know what Guest Rights are.

Breaking sacred values and tradtions in Westeros is seen as a high form of dishonour and the blame for the Red Wedding is not on Robb. You should be putting it on Tywin.

[whateverthedragonswant]

Dany was always "Fire and Blood" - ever since Season 1

We kind of all know this at this point but I found something very interesting.

In 1x10, when Dany has Mirri Maz Dur executed, the latter is tied to her Drogo's pyre and set on fire. Mirri dies screaming (blood). The dragons were not yet born so there was no Dracarys. (justification/framing: Mirri murdered Drogo and Dany's unborn child)

In 2x10, when Dany is taken hostage alongside her dragons, the latter kill Pyat Pree (blood). Though the dragons are very young and small, Dany says "Dracarys" and Drogon sets Pyat on fire, with Rhaegal and Viserion following suit. (justification/framing: Dany and the dragons were being held hostage by Pyat Pree)

In 3x04, Dany commands "Dracarys" and Drogon sets Kraznys on fire (blood) which leads to the conquering of Astapor. Rhaegal and Viserion are not present. (justification/framing: Kraznys and Co were slavers)

In 5x05, Dany delivers one of the Nobles to Viserion and Rhaegal in response to Barristan Selmy's murder. Viserion (mind you, Viserion was the one the NK rode later on) sets the man on fire (blood) and then the dragons eat him. Drogon is not present and Dany does not say "Dracarys". (justification/framing: the Sons of the Harpy just murdered Barristan Selmy)

In 6x04, Dany has been taken by the Dothraki and she is being threatened by the Khals. The dragons are not present so she has no need to say "Dracarys" but she sets the Khals on fire and they die (blood). (justification/framing: the Khals were going to do worse to her had they lived)

In 6x09, Dany rides Drogon over Slavers' Bay towards the Masters' Fleet. On her way, Viserion and Rhaegal break out of their holding place and join them. When all three dragons are flying above a ship, Dany commands "Dracarys" and Drogon sets it aflame, killing all aboard (blood). The other two dragons join in. (justfication/framing: the Masters are attacking all of Mereen & trying to force her out)

In 7x05, Dany executes the Tarlys after the Battle of the Gold Road. She commands "Dracarys" and Drogon sets both of the men aflame (blood). The other dragons are not present. (justification/framing: neither Tarly would bend the knee to her after she defeated them in battle)

In 8x05, when Varys is executed for treason, Drogon is commanded by "Dracarys" from Dany and he sets Varys aflame (blood). The other dragons are gone at this point. (justification/framing: Varys turned on her and committed treason, after pleading with Dany not to massacre KL)

Later on in the same episode, we see Dany and Drogon take on the Greyjoy Fleet in Blackwater Bay, and then the Lannister army as well as the Gold Company. We never see or hear Dany commanding Drogon "Dracarys." (justification/framing: Euron killed Rhaegal, Cersei killed Missandei, this is the Last War who will determine who sits on the IT)

So it absolutely should have been no surprise that things would eventually lead to this (we don't see or hear Dany commanding "Dracarys", we don't see or hear her at all once the massacre begins & there is no justification/framing for this one):

They literally showed us Dany with all dragons, with Drogon solely (the dragon she was most bonded to & who represented her), without Drogon but with the other dragons, and by herself. They even showed us examples of her using the command verbally and not using the command verbally. To show us that this was always Dany. It wasn't the dragons. It wasn't the grief of losing those she loved. It wasn't bad writing (meaning this massacre not the timeline/execution of her dark turn) or an "incorrect" ending for her character. This part of her has always been there.

Just as "A dragon is not a slave" has always been about Dany herself (shown to us through some of these scenes above where Dany and/or the dragons were either locked up or she herself was being held prisoner - what frees/unleashes her/them? fire + blood), so was "fire and blood". It wasn't just the words of her house or the Targaryen legacy; it was foreshadowing for the choice she would make later on in the series. The choice that she has been itching to make for many years running but was always prevented (or talked down) from making in the name of the image of the benevolent queen and special savior she wanted to be seen as by all people.

So is it any wonder that her polar opposite as the other threat in the show represented ice & the undead (meaning the NK)? Who brought the storm with him? Not to mention that the NK (King in the very name) destroyed The Wall on a dragon; Dany (the Dragon Queen) destroyed KL on a dragon. Both wanted destruction and death but used different means of bringing that about.

It gives a whole new meaning to Dany's phrase of "Fire cannot kill a dragon", doesn't it?

It was always going to be Fire and Blood when it came to her.

[michaelcosio]

Erik Prince on Blackwater's Nisour Square Massacre, 100K Missions in Iraq & Afghanistan (Part 4)

Sep 29, 2024

Erik Prince, founder of Blackwater, discussed the Nisour Square Massacre. Prince confirmed that a car bomb went off near a USAID building, causing Blackwater's 19-man team, Raven 23, to leave their post. Ordered by the State Department, they used heavily marked Suburbans, which made them visible targets. While in a Baghdad traffic circle, the team was warned about a suspicious white Kia but mistakenly engaged a civilian vehicle, firing at a woman and her son, inciting a larger firefight.

Controversy surrounds whether Raven 23 faced hostile fire, with conflicting reports of grenades used and helicopters firing. Prince emphasized Blackwater’s broader impact, mentioning over 100,000 missions in Iraq and Afghanistan without losing a single protectee, though 41 Blackwater personnel died. He underscored the complexity and danger of war zones, attributing much of Iraq's chaos to Iranian influence post-Saddam Hussein’s fall. Despite tragic events like Nisour Square, Prince defended Blackwater’s performance in a heavily hostile environment.

[heavenlymorals]

Hey there!! I would like to know what your opinion is about Arthur's redemption and what it is based on and what Arthur's big change was in terms of his mentality at the end. Do you think he died being a bad person despite having done good things in the end? Do you think he hated the old Arthur and all the violence and the outlaw life he had lived?

On Objective Morality

Hi anon and thank you so much for the ask ❤️❤️

The thing about Arthur's redemption is that it is different for everyone. Some people think that despite everything, Arthur is still a bad man. Others believe in the opposite.

My perspective is a little different in the sense that I don't really believe in objective morality for MOST things. There are always exceptions and there will always be things that are evil no matter what, but what I've come to notice is that most crimes can become "good" if the reasoning behind it is acceptable to our morals standards. This can go for murder, assault, robbery, etc. Hell, one time, I read a story about a man raping another man for wanting to rape a girl and people were reluctantly praising him for his actions.

I guess my point is that in the vast majority of cases, no crime is evil just by the action. No, crimes are evil by the intention of them.

Now let's look at the VDL gang. The VDL gang started as these Robinhood figures. They stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They tried to stop the destruction of industrialism and unregulated capitalism. They only became desperate AFTER the Blackwater massacre.

"And here I was believing in Dutch's bluster about helping folks." Arthur to Strauss.

And even after the massacre, look at the people who they actively rob. They are either criminals, rich people, robber barons, industrialists, slavers, the government, and/or the army. They target those people because they hate them and what they stand for.

Does this not sound familiar? We hate them too. On the Internet, I always see things that are anti-capitalism, anti-industrialism, anti-billionares, anti-government, etc. Pretty much the same things that the VDL gang fights against but is the VDL gang evil because they actually fight by force? Is violence more evil than the systems that grind people to dust? So many historical figures become controversial because they use violent means to reach their end goals, but people end up condemning them more than the system they fight against because of the violence. Think people like the Luddites, John Brown or Malcolm X.

It's a complicated question. Some people will say yes. They will say that violence against such systems is sometimes the only correct and honorable way to change the world. However, those same people are also very likely to shy away from the same violence once they see it in front of them.

And no doubt about it, the VDL gang is violent. We know canonically that they try their best to not have people die during the jobs they pull and we can also make the argument that the vast majority of kills in the game are for gameplay purposes only and they don't actually kill that many people, especially if you play high honor. But despite it all, the VDL gang was violent.

But those ideals that they had is what separated them from other gangs and what made them "good" or at least better than the other gangs and Arthur believes in this morality too because of his redemption. Arthur's redemption isn't realizing that the outlaw life is bad or that violence is bad or that pacifist mindsets are superior.

No, his redemption was about the same humanity that the gang was started for. Arthur's apathy is what made him so violent to debtors. Arthur's apathy and bitterness regarding himself is why he was so against people leaving the gang to live their own lives.

His redemption was doing a 180 and chosing humanity and the original ideals that Dutch lost in his insanity. That is what his redemption is about because he lived and died a fighter.

I don't think Arthur hated the violence of his life. He hated himself for letting the bitterness of the world get to him and not have him care.

So do I think Arthur died a good person? For what it's worth, I go back and forth. Did he redeem himself? Yes, he redeemed himself from his apathy. Did he die a good person because of that redemption? Well that depends on whether or not you believe or don't believe in objective morality. I usually don't, so in the world that Arthur lived in and the philosophy that he believed, be died becoming a Robinhood once again and that made him better than what he once was.

The question of Arthur's redemption is one of philosophy. Does violence destroy a cause? Does redemption actually exist? Is forgiveness real? Do I need to shut up (I do know the answer to that, it's yes)?

In any case, Arthur's redemption is just as complex as he was.

(Also, to all my other anons, especially the Arthur x reader anons, trust me, I will answer them, but I'm busy and depressed lmfao 😭😭)

[zarkishere]

tw// suicide

been thinking a lot about Mario (Elurio x Mac)

thinking of them meeting, falling in love, Elurio finally trusting someone and starting to believe perhaps life isn't all that bad, and he's not just destined to suffer then the blackwater massacre thinking of Elurio ordering everyone in his gang to look for the van der lindes. frantically riding back and forth to places they'd been to.

him growing anxious and puking from pure fear thinking of Kiko finally finding the gang and telling Elurio Elurio storming in yelling and threatening people

thinking it's the first time they see Elurio's scars. or his face, for that matter. them being weirded out.

thinking of Dutch eventually calming him down

thinking of Elurio's reaction when he's told the only person who's ever told him he was beautiful and the only person who he truly trusted has died

thinking of Elurio's downfall

wondering if he'd either kill himself or simply become numb

[westrelics]

Dutch - Hallucinations

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

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

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

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

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

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

[charredhare]

IN MY PERSONAL OPINION, I BELIEVE AT A POINT WITHIN THEIR RIVALRY THAT DUTCH TRULY WASN'T LIKE COLM — HE DESPISED COLM AND PEOPLE LIKE COLM. BASED OFF OF WHAT WE HEAR OF A YOUNG DUTCH IT DOES SOUND LIKE HE TRULY WAS WHAT EVERYONE DESCRIBED HIM AS.

OVER THE YEARS I FEEL LIKE THEIR FUED LOST A LOT OF IT'S MEANING, ESPECIALLY WITH DUTCH'S ONLY MENTION OF ANNABELLE BEING IN RELATION TO COLM. SHE WAS NEVER MENTIONED OUTSIDE OF BEING A REASON FOR HIS HATRED. IT FEELS MORE OF DUTCH GRASPING AT STRAWS TO VALIDATE HIS HOSTILITY TOWARDS COLM THAT DID NOTHING FOR THE GANG.

ALSO I DON'T REALLY BELIEVE THAT HOSEA'S DEATH AND HIS CONCUSSION WERE THE TWO REASONS HE ENDED UP HOW HE DID. REPLAYING THE GAME, (HANGING AROUND IN CHAPTER 2 SINCE I FINISHED THE STORY) YOU CAN SEE HOW STRESSED HE IS FROM THE BLACKWATER MASSACRE AND THE FAITH OF HIS GANG MEMBERS SLOWLY WITHERING FROM AS EARLY ON AS CHAPTER 1. HIS FRANTIC TALK OF FAITH (WHICH I DIDN'T PAY ATTENTION TO UNTIL CHAPTER 4) IS NOTICEABLE BACK IN CHAPTERS 1 AND 2.

THIS ISN'T TO SAY HIS CONCUSSION OR THE DEATH OF HOSEA DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, BUT I FEEL THOSE TWO THINGS ARE MORE OF A NAIL IN THE COFFIN, RATHER THE FULL REASON FOR HIS DESCENT.

LETS NOT FORGET ABOUT HOW HE THOUGHT ARTHUR WAS DEAD, RIGHT AFTER THE MAN HE RAISED HIM WITH DIED.

(NOT A JAB AT YOU FOR THINKING THAT OR ANYTHING, I JUST LOVE DISCUSSING THINGS.)

LOOKING AT COLM FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A WHILE MAKES ME NOTICE THE SIMILARITIES IN THE WAY HIM AND DUTCH DRESS.

LIKE... VERY SIMILAR. FORMAL CLOTHING COMPARED TO OTHER GANG MEMBERS, A MOSTLY BLACK LOOK WITH RED/GREEN ACCENTS. (NOT TO MENTION THE PRACTICALLY SAME SHIRT.)

I THINK IT'S A SILLY PARALLEL BETWEEN THE TWO. THE GAME DOESN'T MAKE IT HARD TO POINT OUT THE SIMILARITIES WITH DUTCH AND COLM, WITH KIERAN'S TALK ABOUT HOW SIMILAR BOTH GANGS ARE AND THE CAMP INTERACTION WITH HIS TELLING ON HOW COLM ACTS AND THE ALMOST IDENTICAL WAY DUTCH ENDS UP ACTING IN CHAPTER 6.

(I LOVE LITTLE DETAILS LIKE THIS. I EAT THEM UP AND CHEW THEM IN MY MOUTH UNTIL THEY'RE ALL SOGGY WET AND SQUISHED LIKE A CHEWED UP PIECE OF PAPER.)

[dalekofchaos]

What's with the retcons in RDR2?

There are a lot of retcons in RDR1 and RDR2. Something that bothers me that a lot of what John says about the circumstances that leds him to leaving the gang in RDR1, feels like it was retconned in RDR2.

To start out simple, John going to New Austin. In the first game, John tells Bonnie that he and his gang never went to the New Austin state. While true for the gang (except for Dutch and Hosea), John has canonically been there twice, once with Sadie and once with Jeremy Gill.

John also tells Bonnie that he has been farming for three years (1908). The GOTY guidebook for RDR1 states that he has been trying to farm for three years. Yet in RDR2, he gets his farm in 1907.

John asks what Tumbleweed is, despite RDR2 allowing him to be a bounty hunter for the sheriff. How can Tumbleweed even become that dilapidated in only 4 years from RDR2 to RDR1?

The mess that is the Armadillo plague. You'd think something as big as a Cholera outbreak and burning bodies would have been news worthy in the events of the first game. I don't remember Cholera being mentioned in the first game, if it was I don't believe it was to the extent of what RDR2 portrayed it as.

The MacFarlane barn is not there in RDR2, despite Bonnie telling John that her father built the barn when she was a little girl. Even if you say that the New Austin map was made for 1899, that would make her 15, hardly qualifies for a little girl.

In the first game, a couple of newspapers mention that Dutch was thought to have died in a fire after a bungled robbery in 1906. Yet in RDR2's epilogue, which takes place in 1907, this bungled robbery is not mentioned. The newspaper also mentions that he has been on the run since 1899 and that law enforcement is still searching for him, even though he is thought to be dead according to the first game.

The Strange Man implies that the robbery where Dutch shoots the girl was the same robbery John got shot and left behind on, judging by the tone of his voice when he says "same one you got shot on". Yet in RDR2, the ferry robbery happened at the beginning of the game, and John was left behind during a train heist.

John tells Landon Ricketts about an event where Dutch went out and "shot a bunch of people unfair like". This event is never seen nor mentioned in Red Dead Redemption 2.

During "Gates of El Presidio", John's says something to Javier along the lines of "What you and Dutch did was wrong, and the way you left me was wrong". Not "You left me and that was wrong" but "What you and Dutch did was wrong". What exactly did Javier and Dutch do? Did it have anything to do with the event above?

In the same mission, Javier alludes to John's daughter by saying "I hope you, your wife and your children rot in hell", suggesting that she was alive during John's time in the gang. She is never seen nor mentioned in RDR2.

John implies that no one in the gang cared for him and that they left him as soon as they had the chance. John even tells Landon Ricketts that "they all gone crazy anyhow". Yet in RDR2, Arthur and Sadie help John and his family get out of the gang and Charles even helps John build the house in Beecher's Hope. Hell, Hosea cared for John like a father and tried to get John to leave with Abigail and Jack. John even left on good terms with Pearson(unless you rob him, you sick bastards) Mary-Beth and Tilly. They only gang members who opposed John were Micah, Dutch, Bill, Javier, and if you stretch it, Joe and Cleet.

The wiki for the Blackwater Massacre states that 37 people died during the massacre, 22 outlaws and 15 police/civilians. However, I read all the newspapers in the first game, the only references to the massacre are from the articles concerning Landon Ricketts, who survived the massacre.

Javier's complete change in character. In every returning character, there are shades to who the character would become. Dutch was always crazy and Bill is...Bill. But Javier seems completely different. He's loyal, he's charismatic. He's a drip god and he's so likable. That's not like Javier in RDR1. Javier in RDR1 is a coward who will sell anyone out and stab them in the back for his own freedom and we don't see any hint of that in the Javier in RDR2. Yeah he changed after Guarma. But he was still loyal to Arthur and John, to the point that his voice actor adlibbed to not have Javier pointing his guns at Arthur and John.

John and Abigail's daughter. In RDR1, John mentions he had a daughter. Originally I assumed that John and Abigail had her sometime after leaving the gang and before heading to Pronghorn ranch because of the distinct name of John's Thoroughbred "Rachel" but that's not the case because there's a tease after we beat the game of the daughter, yet somehow Javier somehow knows about their daughter.

Let's not even get started on the graphical error that is epilogue John Marston "look at how they massacred my boy"