#rdr2 ask blog

[the-van-der-linde-gang]

Question for the gang members awake right now (such as John, Hosea, Lenny, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚝, Arthur, and Dutch)

For Dutch or Hosea: Have y'all ever done a whole camp fishing trip?

for each individual gang member: who's your favorite to fish with?

[Art above by @marttapav for anyone wondering :3

For Dutch and Hosea:]

“Of course we’ve tried.” [Hosea seems to cringe a bit at the mention.] “…As it turns out, it isn’t a good idea to go fishing with a large group of people when half of the them can’t swim.” [He shoots a light glare at his husband.

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THEY’D JUMP IN—“

[For everyone:]

[Arthur hums and takes a moment to think.] “I usually fish alone, but if I had to pick… I liked fishin’ with Kieran. Or Jack. Probably Jack.”

“Javier.” [John smiles a bit.] “I ain’t very good and he does all the fishin’ for the both of us no problem. Besides… He’s kinda cute when he’s all excited.” [Biased bastard—]

“Hosea and I either like fishin’ with each other or with Arthur… Which reminds me!” [Dutch grins.] “I need to schedule another trip! Hopefully, we don’t get interrupted this time.”

“I don’t go fishin’.” [Micah was whittling at the moment.]

[Lenny stares at him, briefly before glancing off.] “I don’t do a lotta fishin’, but I’d probably say Hosea. I like listenin’ to his stories.” [He smiles.]

[Javier grins.] “I like fishing with people like Arthur and John. They get so confused— It’s hilarious.”

[Kieran lights up a bit at the question and blinks.] “Oh! Uh—“ [He hums.] “…I dunno if this counts, but I like havin’ Branwen ‘round when I fish.”

[thevandercircusau]

*gives u freshly baked lobster* ^3^ ✨

“We never usually get the time to buy fancy stuff like this! ¡Gracias, chico!”

[bigbearwilliamson]

It's so sweet seeing your soft side for animals, you seem like a really nice guy to be around :)

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away a little, a soft red tint appearing on his cheeks. "'m not soft― but, I guess you could say that." He huffs a bit.

[ask-the-van-der-linde-gang]

V Ask these freaks

^ Ask these freaks!

- probably takes place around horseshoe overlook but that doesn't make much of a difference

- I will do Micah too, I just didn't want to draw him <3 - Asks will not be answered with colour - I am only one guy who has stuff to do, so I may be a little slow! - Don't be too freaky please 😨 - I will be sticking to ships in this blog! (Javier x John x Abigail, Charles x Arthur, Hosea x Dutch) - I *might* get a little out of character sometimes, so sorry

!!!THIS BLOG IS JUST FOR FUN!!! - Main blog: @fritzthesilly -

[bluejayoutlaw]

What kinda things did ya hunt on that trip o' yours? Get any good catches on it?

Nothing special, just a deer and two pheasant. I was lucky to get anything honestly, on my way out I saw a mountain lion prowling about, so if I was just a little later it would’ve scared away my targets

[ak319]

(AN: Reader is 13-15, Arthur, 23-24)

Warnings: Not incest, strictly platonic, angst, fluff

You watched Arthur’s every move as he settled in, his face weary yet hardened, scrubbing off remnants of dirt and whatever else he’d encountered in the washing barrel. You lowered the clothes you were folding, feeling the slight twinge of nerves as you reached for his stew.

He liked it hot, which meant you had to reheat the pot. You realized you hadn’t eaten all day, but you brushed the thought aside. Taking the bowl in hand, you crossed over to him as he finally sat down, visibly exhausted.

“Here, Arthur." You said softly, extending the bowl to him.

He grunted in response, the closest thing to a “thank you” he would offer, and took it from you, his gaze giving you a quick once-over before returning to his meal. Routine checkup as you called it.

Trying to bridge the silence, you ventured, “So...how was it?”

Arthur barely looked up. “Was what?”

“The job…” You tried not to sound too eager, but the truth was, you were starved for any scrap of conversation, any glimpse into the part of his life that stayed cloaked in secrecy.

“Went well.” He replied curtly, still focused on his food.

A brief silence followed as you fiddled with a strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear. You felt a familiar ache bloom at the base of your skull and then another one at the abdomen, a dreadful sensation. Just then, it hit you, your period was due.

You froze, holding the empty tray as the realization dawned. Arthur looked up, stew mid-bite, and raised a brow at your sudden stillness, your gaze into space.

“What’s got you standin’ there like a ghost?” he muttered.

“Huh? Oh… nothing,” you managed to reply, trying to appear casual, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint flush that had spread across your face.

“Need... anything?”

"Um..." You started pondering which perhaps went on for a minute.

Arthur’s gruff voice interrupted your thoughts. He reached into his pocket and, with a casual flick, tossed a few crumpled bills onto the tray. “Your pocket money. Now, go brew the coffee.”

The whole thing felt like a bad joke. Arthur tossed you a few bucks every so often, calling it "pocket money," like you could waltz into town and buy whatever you wanted. But he was always right there with you whenever you went to the market, keeping a close eye on everything. Or you had to give him the list.

“Uh? Um... th-thanks.”

Arthur's brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening. "What’s wrong with you today? Why are you actin’ weird?”

You forced a chuckle, shaking your head. “I’m fine, actually. You’re the one who is wei-, um looks tired. I’ll get on with the coffee.”

Before he could question you further, you hurried off, trying to shake the unease settling in your stomach. As you set the coffee pot on, you remembered the stew you’d set aside for yourself and turned toward the wagon, only to see Pearson ladling out the last bowl for himself.

A pang of frustration mixed with the ache of hunger, you’d been so careful, setting everything up, and now even that small comfort had slipped through your fingers.

First, the looming sense of dread that seemed to haunt your every step, and now this, a missed meal because Pearson snatched up the last bowl of stew without a second thought. Emotions churned, thick and heavy, clouding your mind as you went about your tasks in a haze.

You delivered Arthur’s damn coffee, scrubbed his dishes clean, and finished up the rest of your chores, all while running on nothing more than stale biscuits and the last dregs of (tea/coffee). Asking others for food? You didn’t want to be seen as Arthur’s sister, the one mooching off his work, asking for scraps, felt cheap, when he practically carried the camp on his shoulders. The thought made your stomach churn with resentment and embarrassment. Yeah, not something a Morgan does. Although in your opinion, you shouldn't be doing anything if he earns the most...but whatever. Asking from your brother? If he found out you skipped lunch. He’d be livid, calling you reckless or worse for not managing the basics, you couldn't handle a scolding at the moment.

Frustration gnawed at you. It wasn't just the hunger, it was the constant grind of chores, endless and thankless, all because you were one of the few women in the camp. Susan wielded her age like a shield, always finding ways to rest while you and Annabelle picked up the slack. But even Annabelle was too busy, neck-deep in whatever business kept her hands clean of the daily tasks. And so, it fell to you.

You flopped onto your cot, hiding your face in the pillow as the pains of hunger and period mixed with a deeper ache, one of loneliness, exhaustion, and memories you could almost taste. You remembered your mother’s gentle hand on your forehead when you were ill, the comforting smell of warm food she’d bring, and the luxury of rest she allowed you. It felt like a distant, lost dream now. Here, rest wasn’t an option, it was a rare privilege you couldn’t afford. Great, now your pillow is also wet with tears.

⋆⋆⋆

You were knee-deep in a mountain of laundry, your temper simmering with each aggressive scrub against the washboard. The clothes bore the brunt of your pent-up frustration, wrung and scrubbed with a vengeance. Suddenly, something light and obnoxious hit the basket, a boy’s underwear. You knew immediately who the culprit was.

"How. Dare. You?" you snapped, eyes narrowing.

John, already a few steps away, stopped and turned, a lazy smirk creeping across his face. "What? You’re the one washing."

"Yes, I am the one washing, you jerk." You grabbed the offending article and chucked it back at him, hitting him square in the face. His eyes widened, and he gasped, genuinely taken aback.

"But I am not washing that!" you said, pointing at the ragged underwear as if it were a symbol of all your grievances. "Those are for you to wash, understand?"

John held the underwear in his hands, clearly bewildered. "What? Why? Is it not… a cloth? And why would I wash it? I’ve got way more important things to do." His voice grated against your headache, every word echoing like a drumbeat in your skull.

"Important huh? Okay. Then let's solve this problem another way."

You could feel your patience unraveling, and, without thinking, you yanked a pair of scissors from your belt and snipped through the fabric with one swift motion.

"Hey! That was one of my two pairs! What the hell is wrong with you?!" he yelped, clutching the scraps as if they were made of gold.

"Then maybe you should think twice before tossing them my way! Now go and cry." you shot back, but the anger and heat were taking their toll. Your vision blurred slightly, the world beginning to spin.

John’s voice rose in protest, but it sounded muffled, distant. You took a step back, steadying yourself on the edge of the wash basin, blinking rapidly to try and clear your head. "Damn heat… and damn you, John…" you muttered, but the words seemed to tangle and drift as darkness crept in at the corners of your vision.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first sight that met you was Ms. Grimshaw, her familiar face creased with concern as she fanned you gently with a worn-out piece of fabric.

"Ah! You are awake, quite the theatrics you put on out there..." Her voice was both exasperated and relieved. You let out a soft groan in response, turning onto your side, trying to escape the brightness of the day that felt too harsh against your feverish skin. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and the heavy weight of your head pressed down against the pillow.

"T-time...?" you managed to croak, the words feeling foreign in your mouth.

"It's four," she replied, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

Your eyes shot open wide in panic. "T-the clothes? I-"

Susan rolled her eyes, cutting you off. "I washed them, don't worry. But tomorrow you gotta do them, got it? And what’s with you tearing that boy’s underwear?"

"Huh...? What?" Confusion clouded your thoughts as you reached for your canteen, the bitter taste in your mouth only worsening your discomfort.

"Forget it," she huffed, shaking her head. "Oh, I hear him. I think Arthur's back."

Panic surged through you as you struggled to focus, the realization hitting hard. Arthur. You had to see him, make his coffee, bring him his food, and make sure he knew you were at the camp and doing your part in the camp. But every instinct in you rebelled against the idea, your muscles weak and senses dulled as if they’d given up the fight.

Your vision blurred, and you sank deeper into the cot, eyelids heavy, your body refusing to cooperate. You barely registered Susan’s faint, dismissive muttering as she left the tent, her words blending into a haze of disapproval. For now, making sure Arthur was taken care of was the least of your worries.

Meanwhile, Susan spotted Arthur sitting by his cot, his irritation palpable. Freshly cleaned up from his last job, he seemed expectant, perhaps wondering where you were with his usual meal or coffee. Sensing an opportunity to stir up trouble, she approached him, her tone casual but dripping with judgment.

"Mr. Morgan," she began with a sly look, "your sister did nothing today. Not a damn thing. And right now? She’s sleeping in, like she's royalty or something."

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Why would she do that?”

“Who knows?” Susan shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “She had some spat with John, then just sulked off and refused to lift a finger.”

The moment the words left her lips, Arthur was on his feet, his expression hardening. Without a word to Susan, he strode to your tent and pushed open the flap, not bothering to knock. His gaze swept over you, expecting to find you feigning sleep, or maybe just ignoring the day’s tasks.

"What the hell is you-"

But the sight of you, lying pale and motionless beneath the blanket, immediately stopped him in his tracks. A faint flush tinged your face, and your breathing was shallow. His agitation shifted to alarm in an instant.

Arthur knelt beside you, his hand reaching to press gently against your forehead, feeling the unmistakable heat of fever radiating through his palm. “Damn it,” he muttered, guilt and worry flooding his face. He’d been ready to scold you for shirking camp duties, and instead, here you were, worn down to the bone.

Your eyes fluttered open, barely focusing as you tried to mumble something. “Arthur... I meant... to get your food… just…”

His jaw tightened, frustration directed inward. “You’ve been pushin’ yourself too hard,” he said, his voice low but edged with anger, at himself, at Susan, at anyone who’d failed to notice what you were going through. “You’re coming with me to the clinic, no arguments.”

You nodded weakly, relief and exhaustion settling over you. Without another word, he slipped his arms beneath you, lifting you up with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

As he carried you to the stables, he did not forget to throw a bloodthirsty look at Susan making her gulp. It clearly stated.

'You are dead if something happens to her.'

The air in the clinic was thick with the smell of antiseptic and the soft rustle of the doctor’s coat as he examined you. Arthur sat beside you, his brow furrowed with concern, his hand clenched into a fist resting on his thigh. You lay on the cot, shivering despite the blanket wrapped around you, your pallor alarming him even more than before. The doctor’s voice was a distant murmur, but the words echoed in your ears.

“She’s suffering from dehydration fever. It’s left her weak, but with proper treatment, she should recover. Make sure she stays hydrated, and she’ll need rest, here's the prescription and you can go home if you want once the drip is finished..” The doctor turned to you one last time with a gentle smile. "Rest well, alright? Lots of it."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the doctor, Arthur turned to you, his expression shifting from worry to something sharper, more intense. “What the hell were you thinking?!” he snapped, his voice low but edged with anger. “You could have told me you weren’t feeling well. Instead, you’ve been pushing yourself like this?”

You flinched at his tone, the weight of his words mixing with the guilt that already gnawed at you. “I--but you said...that I gotta...work...” you started, but the words caught in your throat, and instead of explanations, tears began to prick at your eyes.

"FUCK WHAT I SAID!- "He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I also said to take care of yourself, I am not always around! And just--look at you..."

“I--I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I thought I could manage...”

“Thought!?” he echoed, incredulous. “You can’t just think you can handle it all when you’re this sick! You’ve been working yourself to the bone! Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you ask for help?” His voice rose with each word, frustration spilling over as he paced the floor, refusing to meet your gaze.

"And what did you just tell the doctor, huh? That this wasn't the first time it happened?! Are you kidding me?! Are you tryin' to waste yourself?!"

The harshness of his tone cut through you, and you couldn’t help the tears that began to spill down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your throat tightening. As you looked into his furious eyes, the dam broke. The tears spilt over, hot and unrelenting as you remembered all the times, you put him and others first, in fear.

In fear of being left with strangers while Arthur is away and thinking that they might say or do something to you if you don't do the work properly.

"Damn it,” he murmured, his voice softening. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I was...scared and I-I--miss her,” you sobbed, clutching the blanket tightly around you as if it could shield you from the pain. “I miss Mama. She would know what to do. She would take care of me…please take me to Mama...” Your voice cracked, the memories of her soothing presence and the comfort she always provided weighing heavily on your heart.

Arthur’s anger faltered as he watched you break down. hearing you call for Mama again and again was agonizing. He felt his heart twist painfully at your words, the memories of your mother hanging heavy in the air. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice losing its edge. He reached out, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks, his own frustration melting away in the face of your grief. “I miss her too. But you can’t go on like this. You need to take care of yourself for her, for both of us. And why the hell are you scared, you are my sis' and as long as I am alive, no one can touch a strand of yours,” He pulled you in a side hug carefully.

"And listen here, from now on, you only do my chores. Fuck the camp." You pulled away slightly, in shock.

"W-what?"

He nodded with a playful smile. "Damn right. You get better and you do my work only. Susan can surely handle the others, right?"

You blinked up at him, your surprise turning into disbelief. “Arthur, you can’t just tell me to ignore everything else... I can’t put that on Susan. She-”

He interrupted you with a firm squeeze of your hand, his eyes softening. “I can and I will. You need to rest, and if that means I have to play the tyrant for a bit, so be it. Besides, Susan can manage. She’s been slacking off more than you realize. And if someone has a problem with it then they can come to me. Anytime.”

A small laugh, almost devilish, bubbled up despite your exhaustion, the tension easing slightly. You snuggled back into the hug to calm your shivering.

“That's...that would be fun to watch."

He nodded and you decided to press your advantage. “Um…so tell her to do your chores too-”

"Don't get too ahead of yourself now."

I hate you.

“Get well soon, and you better take your meds and all when I ain’t around.” Arthur’s voice held a rough tenderness, though he masked it with a gruff tone. Beneath his impatience, you sensed a genuine worry, a hint of eagerness for you to recover, not that he’d admit it, of course. His true motive, or so he told himself, was purely practical.

Pearson’s stew lacked the warmth and care you added to every meal, and coffee was never quite right unless you made it.

He groaned inwardly, imagining another week of choking down meals without your touch. But the look he shot you as he spoke was more protective than he probably intended, softening just enough that you knew he was looking out for you.

“Did ye’ even hear me, missy?” he muttered, noticing your eyelids drooping, his words somewhere between annoyed and fond.

You jumped, startled out of the drowsiness that was starting to creep over you, and gave a hum of acknowledgement.

⋆⋆⋆

John rushed up to Arthur as he emerged from your tent, having just ensured you were well-fed and rested.

"What is it, you rascal?" Arthur asked, turning to face him with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“Um... I was looking forward to a compensation…” John trailed off, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“For?” Arthur raised an eyebrow amused, the impatience creeping into his tone.

“(Y/N), tore... she... tore my underwear, which is not fair...I only asked her to wash it...I mean....”

A smirk crept across Arthur's face. “She did the right thing, I am proud of her.” He grabbed John by the back of his neck, pulling him close with a playful yet threatening grin.

"My sis ain't your maid, boy, got it? In fact, nobody's maid here. Wash your shit yourself.” The playful banter vanished, replaced by a weighty silence as Arthur's gaze hardened. He gave John a firm shove, sending him stumbling back and casually walking back to his own tent, chuckling at the boy's foolish request.

[buckybarnesss]

i often don't like wider fandom's ideas of what happen to jack after the end of red dead redemption. it's all always so goddamn nihilistic. we know approximately nothing about his life after the moment he kills ross.

i know there's the easter egg in gta but that's all it is. an easter egg. though i personally love the idea of writer jack and have a lot of my own personal headcanons that use that idea.

one could literally do anything with him, you know. plus the sheer amount of projection onto him as if the entirety of jack's character is erased. he's still jack marston not john or arthur or dutch. low honor while sometimes entertaining isn't often considered canon either.

also him calling a horse a nag is basically just calling it useless, old and worn out. the word has been used in connotation to horses for a very long time. so he's saying c'mon you useless horse but you think the way i've seen posts about it over the years he was being abusive.

jack marston at 19 is an angry young man holding onto a lot of hurts. truly the last victim of dutch van der linde but the player is invited to imagine what happens to him after that. does he continue the same cycle of violence or does he escape with edgar ross being his one and done?

[arthur-himbo-morgan]

I've grown my hair out! I like it!

Think Mary will like it?

[askmovieslate]

I mean seriously, what is with that?

I just want to saddle my...well my horse (in the video game), why do I have to go around this way and do the thing like this? Why am I getting a Game Over for sneaking inside a building through the wrong window? Why giving me the sandbox and then taking it away? It's so frustrating, they might as well just turned it into a TV Show.

It's like The Last of Us. Works so much better as a TV show than as a video game.

By the way, welcome to Tumblr, pardner. We sure ain't normal 'round 'ere.

[doubtsnscars]

*proceeds to teach John modern slang*

err… howdy sigmas.. hope you’re having a skibidi day! …. Rizz..

[the-van-der-linde-gang]

I see no difference

"I don't either." "I need the cat that looks like me."

[the-van-der-linde-gang]

Kieran you look irresistible like this.

"...what"

"Oh he DOES!"

[thevandercircusau]

May I disrespectfully and sincerely hit Micah in the face with a peanut?

“AUGH—!!!”

[thevandercircusau]

lenny do a trick

[the-van-der-linde-gang]

javier where were you going in this image?

“I think I was playing a game with Jack? Hide and seek, probably. At one point, John jumped out from one of the bushes and knocked me over. It was.. Not very fun playing with my clothes all muddied.”

[the-van-der-linde-gang]

Bill, Javier, Sean. How much do you want to dress up as mariachi and start singing together?

"It'd be fun." "YES YES YES YES YES YES YES" [ Sean's still a little upset from that one ask. ]