#hosea being a regular dad

[azures-bazar]

FACT - When he gets drunk, Arthur might get scared of heights (he isn't scared of anything).

And since I LOVE making memes (sorry)

(yes, John is already dead by making fun of Arthur)

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #brothers #just picturing a drunk arthur crying made my day #hosea being a regular dad #meme #shitposting

[alwaysupatnight]

Send you a character impressions ask: Arthur Morgan (so you can talk about your soft cowboy) and Seth Gecko, Kate Fuller, and... OH let's hear about Daryl Dixon too!

Seth Gecko

First impression: I’d never seen the movie okay. I didn’t know what to expect from him at all!! I honestly wasn’t sure I even liked him that much until like that scene where he punches out Chet at the Twister.

Impression now: THE TRASHY AF LOVE OF MY LIFE. I have so many feelings about Seth Gecko it’d be impossible to list them all here. I think about him nearly every damn day.

Favorite moment: I think it’d have to be in s3 when he’s trying to stop Kate from going after Amaru  with the shotgun and how he’s like “easy, easy” at her for getting too riled up. XD SHE IS RUNNING HEADFIRST INTO DANGER ALREADY AND HE IS TRYING TO PROTECT HER. But there’s honestly so many favorite moments. But also jfc that shotgun... all the phallic symbolism there. 👀

Idea for a story: SO MANY IDEAS. THEY JUST NEVER STOP. My latest one is this one where he and Richie are both coyote shifters. And I’ve had this idea for YEARS, but I’m just starting to explore it now.

Unpopular opinion: Seth is not the smooth mfer everyone thinks he is. He is awkward and dorky af and just really great at hiding that. XD And he is not adventurous in bed. AT ALL. HE DOES NOT WANT ANYTHING UP HIS ASS ALRIGHT. Unless, of course, if Kate is suggesting it…

Favorite relationship: SethKate obviously. :P

Favorite headcanon: SETH HAS A PRAISE KINK. LBR HE LOVES TO BE BOSSED AROUND BY KATE. HE JUST WANTS TO DO A GOOD JOB.

Kate Fuller

First impression: MY SUN AND STARS. I thought she was precious. Although maybe that was me projecting on Madie because I loved her as Ethel in Shameless so much. I really only watched FDTD because of her.

Impression now: MY SUN AND STARS. I LOVE THIS GIRL SO MUCH. UGH. JUST HER HEART. HER GOODNESS. HOW PROACTIVE OF A CHARACTER SHE IS. HOW SHE’S ALWAYS LIGHTING A FIRE UNDER ALL THE BOYS’ ASSES BECAUSE WITHOUT HER NOTHING WOULD EVER GET DONE. She’s definitely one of my favorite characters of all time now. I love that she’s not afraid to go toe-to-toe with some supernatural assholes (and a couple of regular ones too) even though she is TINY. She is cute, but she WILL FIGHT. I just love that about her so much. And how every action of hers comes from a place of love. But she’s not perfect, and she may be good, but she is NOT nice and WILL ABOSLUTELY WRECK YOU.

Favorite moment: There are so many, honestly. idk how to pick. But I love during the Mexican Honeymoon how she’s giving Seth so much shit for bungling the bank heist and then making excuses later. She’s not just gonna sit and take it okay. She’s giving him an earful about it and he’s gonna LISTEN DAMMIT.

Idea for a story: Well, I already mentioned the coyote shifters thing… There’s also the Yellowstone road trip thing I’ve been working on. And then the two alternate scenarios of Seth running into her at Jed’s that @yossariandawn persuaded me to write that we were coming up with ideas for yesterday. XD So I started working on a couple little ficlets for that. One where Kate is shackled, and another where Seth walks in on Richie and Kate holding hands during the blood bond, and it’s an awkward little parallel to the Twister “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” bit. XD

Unpopular opinion: idk that this is an unpopular opinion necessarily, but some people don’t like to acknowledge or just don’t realize how much of a shit stirrer she really is!!

Favorite relationship: Sethkate.

Favorite headcanon: Okay, so I’ve definitely mentioned before that I headcanon that she is a Cancer sign. But after learning more about astrology, I think she’s definitely also an Aries moon. She can be really impulsive when she’s emotional, and she’s also got an anger streak lbr!!

Send Me a Character!!

Arthur Morgan

First impression: SERIAL KILLER!! Literally the first video I saw of someone playing him he was running people over in Saint Denis with his horse and racking up a huge bounty on his head. XD I really thought this game was just Grand Theft Horsey. :P

Impression now: LISTEN. I AM STILL CRYING OVER HIM THREE YEARS LATER OKAY LEAVE ME ALONE. XD

Favorite moment: There’s lots, but one of my favorites is in this scene with his friend and French artist Charles Châtenay where he’s watching a brawl break out at an art gallery over some risqué art that Charles painted. Charles gets a beating and Arthur is just laughing at him and being entertained by it all. XD I LOVE HIS LAUGH THERE SO MUCH. ONE OF THE FEW TIMES HE ACTUALLY ENJOYS HIMSELF. ARTHUR DESERVED HAPPINESS.

[Here] is a video if you wanna watch that scene for yourself. XD

Idea for a story: I did have an idea for a kind of time travel/fix-it fic that is also an Arthur/OFC story… I probably won’t write it now, but it’s like after his death in the game he time travels to the present day because of this talisman he got from a Native American chief and he meets a woman named Emma and they fall in love and get married and are expecting their first kid. BUT THEN. EMMA GETS SENT BACK IN TIME TO BEFORE THE BLACKWATER CATASTROPHE. AND PAST ARTHUR DOESN’T KNOW HER. BUT HE FALLS IN LOVE WITH HER ALL OVER AGAIN. lmfao it’s complicated which is why I never actually wrote it because I couldn’t figure out how to tell that story… But it was supposed to be like Outlander in reverse kinda...

Unpopular opinion: MARY LINTON IS TOXIC AF AND ARTHUR DESERVED BETTER

Favorite relationship: I think that has to go to Arthur & Hosea. THAT’S HIS REAL DAD OKAY. IDGAF. I just love how patient he is with Arthur, even if he teases him sometimes. It’s always really affectionate and playful. And I didn’t really ship Arthur with anyone in the game, but if I did it would’ve been with Charlotte!! I loved their scenes so much!!

Favorite headcanon: He didn’t actually die… and he lived out his days to the age of 100+. He was around for the invention of microwaves and television and pop music. He and Jack hung out sometimes and they celebrated the release of Jack’s first novel together. lmfao

Daryl Dixon

First impression: Umm I think I thought he was kinda cute. XD Him throwing the squirrels at Rick was funny too.

Impression now: idk I stopped watching that show years ago. But when I quit the series, he and Beth were my everything so I know I had a lot of feelings about him.

Favorite moment: The white trash brunch and “Oh” scenes. He was just so soft and open with Beth. He was TRYING.

Idea for a story: I don’t write for that fandom anymore and never will again. But I did have a couple stories in the works though. One was a ZA fic where he and Beth are married with a newborn at the start of the apocalypse and it just follows the first few episodes with some changes because it’s also set a few years later. And another story I had was a singer!Beth au where she’s just getting famous and is dating Daryl and they have to keep their relationship a secret. And there were definitely fights with paparazzi planned. lol And a lot of sneaking around.

Unpopular opinion: I can’t think of anything.

Favorite relationship: Bethyl. There was a quote by NR where he said something like when Daryl loves, it’s for life? I still maintain that there will never be anyone else. Even if there is later in the show, there isn’t. lol

Favorite headcanon: That Merle is actually his biological father... lol

#replies

[kieranducky]

I am dying to hear about your Sean and Dutch content tbh

Oh jeez okay well uh

... I’m gonna put it under the cut because I’m embarrassed. Warnings for like, obvious (legal) age differences and Horny (Dom/sub dynamics, mild feminization, and just general roughing up Do Occur). And just fyi I’m not trying to set up like, a perfect model of how to have that kinda sex and negotiate kinks so please don’t come for me for stuff not being realistic or accurate, I know it’s not ajfhkjgf

It’s a modern au where Sean’s in college (like 21? 22? He took a gap year and ended up studying abroad in the States), probably an aspiring comic but taking Gen-Ed or History because his dad wants him to get an education. Dutch is a recent regular at the college bar Sean and all his friends go to every weekend, and he’s an absolute miserable fuck in his.... 40s?, who’s recently broken up with his fiance (Molly of course, wink wonk). It’s just the closest bar to his house, of course, and that’s the only reason he frequents it so often. Of course. 

So they meet there, Dutch takes Sean home and it’s... Absolutely a rebound fuck. Sean’s young and Irish and peppy and bratty and reminds Dutch of Molly (Molly's much older than Sean, probably in her early thirties, but still) so of course he ends up getting a little bit obsessed.

And Sean’s like, well aware of how gross and creepy this situation is, and Dutch is, but Dutch is Not Unattractive and absolutely simping for him and Sean’s kind of... Into it. Sean ends up spoiled and get’s whatever he wants out of Dutch because he’s infatuated and doesn’t exactly strictly enforce the rules he tries to set. (It’s more like “oh you broke a rule you have to suck my dick” vs “you broke a rule you can’t cum for three days”, so for Sean it isn’t really a punishment).

And they’re not dating, just fucking around, which is nice for the both of them. Sean calls Dutch up for rides home from class (he shares an apartment with Kieran, Mary Beth, and Tilly) and sucks his dick in the parking lot. Sean learns pretty quickly that Dutch likes calling himself Daddy and whips that one out whenever he really wants something (calling Dutch at 9pm on a Tuesday like “Daddy I’ve been thinking about you all day, I need you to come over, oh and bring a pizza on your way, pepperoni extra cheese”), and Dutch is... A little bit in love with Sean’s ass, and calling it a pussy and feminizing him (hahaha I wonder why that is). 

There’s a side plot where Arthur works at that college bar and Sean also hooks up with him sometimes, but they’re much chummier with one another and it’s less... Transactional? I guess? Sean annoys him and gets in his way during his shift so Arthur roughs him up as soon as he get’s out of work, get’s his big hand around Sean’s neck and fucks him out back behind the dumpsters, grips his hips so tightly there’s bruises after. Then Arthur walks Sean home with his arm over his shoulders and Sean snuggling into his side as best he can standing up, and Arthur makes sure someone tucks him into bed.

Uhh and there’s another where Hosea visits Dutch to check in on him, probably a month or so into him and Sean seeing each other. He and Dutch have been in love for a really long time but have never been in a... Proper, formal, monogamous relationship, even though they’ve been seeing each other for decades (even when Dutch and Molly were together 😬 which probably contributed to their uh... Relationship problems). But Dutch is still a mess, of course. His sink and counter are covered in dirty dishes, his place is a mess, he’s been wearing the same shirt covered in pizza grease and cum stains for the past week. Hosea brings him breakfast and they’re eating when Sean comes out of Dutch’s room in one of his shirts, leans right over Dutch and steals half of his bagel, and when Hosea greets him (with a very curt “um. Hello.”) Sean’s just like “’sup” and goes back to what he was doing.

Hosea decides that this will absolutely not do, tells Dutch to do his dishes, and has a little sit down with Sean.

And Sean’s like... An absolute brat to him, probably even more than Dutch, because Hosea’s trying to be strict and authoritative and Sean has a problem with authority. Eventually Hosea just... gives him a safeword, brings him into Dutch’s bedroom and puts him over his knee. He spanks him just bare handed (no riding crop or anything, even though I. Definitely would like to see Hosea with a riding crop), and counts, and every so often stops to ask Sean if he’s had enough and he’s ready to be good, and at first Sean’s like. Fuck this guy, this isn’t so bad. But soon enough his ass is red and he’s overwhelmed and crying a little, and begging and promising that he’ll behave, and Hosea’s very pleased. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

And Hosea takes really good care of Sean after... He gives him a shower and washes him really gently, and then let’s Sean take a nap with his head on Hosea’s chest while he reads. Dutch comes in after cleaning his living room and finally taking a shower himself and is like “haha how the fuck did you do that.”

And that’s what I’ve got so far, feel free to ask me more about any of this!! I like talking about this stuff a lot

#sean macguire #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #arthur morgan #nsft #mind the warnings #and please be nice to molly she is living her best life #rdr2 #look at me being brave and putting fandom tags... #daddy kink dutch au #is what i've historically called this #you get to suffer with me #Anonymous

[squidproquoclarice]

About Arthur's kidnapping in chapter 3: considering he suffered a direct shotgun blast (which later went septic), multiple beatings, a head injury, days without food or water, was hung upside down, and rode god knows how long in that condition, he would have realistically needed A LOT of care after his escape. He might have been bedbound for a while and needed help feeding and dressing himself. Not to mention he'd need the Victorian equivalent of physical therapy to get his shoulder working.

2. It recently occured to me after reading yet another fanfic interpretation of "blessed are the peacemakers" that the whole gang royally dropped the ball during that arc. You can imagine how bad Arthur felt after learning no one was looking for him. What's your interpretation of how the gang reacted to Arthur's near-death experience and having to take care of and protect him for weeks as he recovered? Sadie came across as a bit harsh considering how protective she got later when he got tb.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah, I strongly quibble with that shoulder injury and him shaking it off with no effects after “a few weeks”.  He had sepsis to the point there was actual concern he would die.  He might recover from that within a few weeks, but he’d be pretty weak at the end of it.

The big issue is the shoulder injury.  He took a shotgun slug to the shoulder, and fortunately, it apparently missed both significant bone injury and significant blood vessels, so it didn’t kill him.  But much like how TB left some lingering effects, that doesn’t mean that he’ll heal up quickly and perfectly.

Ask @mearcatsreturns and others in Timeless fandom about my rants about Garcia Flynn’s injury, and how “shot in the shoulder” being treated as an injury that’s not really life threatening and that you bounce back from quickly is a trope with incredible longevity in fiction, and it’s also incredibly wrong.  I can apply that here with Arthur.  (Seriously, tall, green eyes, loves a good journal, snarky, Dramatic Disaster Bi, Sad Dad who lost a lover and a child to violence, self-loathing, done things he hates himself for--Flynn’s gotta be descended from Arthur.)

I wrote Flynn weeks and even months later going to regular PT, and struggling with the injury and extensive rehab.  He also has the advantage of modern medical care plus a smaller-gauge bullet.  I don’t have that luxury with Arthur, but he becomes an unusual case of not noticing it quite as much as a normal, healthy man would.  The gunshot wound and TB are already comorbid since it’s the post-injury weakness that let the TB take root, but they become even more entwined because the GSW effect sort of disappears as his entire body is rapidly weakening.  Even in his recovery in Mexico, the shoulder wouldn’t show up as much after so much forced bed rest and slow rebuilding of his body and strength, because his entire body is very weak at that point. 

But I’m careful to write him having some lingering weakness in that shoulder in the months and years that follow, and even in 1907, it aches when he’s pushed himself too hard physically for the day, or it’s cold.  It’s pretty damn good again, but it’ll never be exactly what it was pre-injury, particularly as Arthur is getting older besides.

I’m guessing in the gang, there was a lot of guilt from some people at not looking for him.  You know Dutch (via Micah instigating it) had to have provided a good explanation, or else Hosea and others would have ridden out raising holy hell.  Tilly and Susan are specifically cited in his journal as taking on a lot of the nursing duties.  Others ask him how he’s doing when he’s up and about again.  Dutch pays some lip service to guilt, but much like his pre-scripted speech in Colter, it feels pretty hollow if he so easily dismissed Arthur.  They’re aware Arthur is not good at being taken care of, given his perception of lack of value except as a tool means he feels he’s not entitled to being cared for.  So I think the wisest among them managed to do it carefully in a way that didn’t make him feel feeble or needy, even as yes, he was weakened and in need of help.  

As for Sadie, yeah, that’s a big ouch, and I think she realized quickly enough how harsh it sounded that she demanded to know whether he got Colm rather than asking after his well-being.  I’ve had her cringe at that in Sunrise more than once.  

Her anger plays a part in it, of course, and there may be some struggling with understandable resentment and rage against fate that he survived the O’Driscolls when Jake didn’t.

But I do think a lot of that is her fear talking.  She watched men there at Colm’s behest murder Jake, and suffered several days of captivity, including almost definite sexual assault.  Now the one man (though I’d argue maybe Hosea also) she really has let herself start to trust and befriend is kidnapped by Colm O’Driscoll.  He comes back after several days, nearly dies, and has been tortured and subjected to any number of things in his captivity that like her, he likely will be reluctant to speak about.  

She lost Jake.  She’s almost lost this man she’s let herself start to care about, and watched his suffering in the days after he came back to camp, which has to bring back some terrible memories.  Colm O’Driscoll just proved again with one casual gesture how much he can fuck up her life, how he can still threaten her.  She has to feel like she’s absolutely not safe until Colm is dead.  Hence her demand to know whether that’s the case, before saying anything else.

Honestly, she’s not wrong in that fear.  Colm’s coming for the Van Der Lindes.  He does it again, and her berserk attack at Shady Belle again has as much to do with her fear as her vengeance, I think.  And after being attacked in her home again by the O’Driscolls, yeah, it’s actually sort of reasonable for her in her panic to be going to go after them full bore saying to herself, “I’m not safe so long as any of these motherfuckers are left alive.”  Ergo, some of her Chapter 6 actions.   

So yeah, that “Did you get Colm O’Driscoll?” is not her most admirable moment, and Arthur’s right to call her out on it with his snarky reply of something like “I’m doing fine, thanks for asking.”  But when you dig into it, it’s a pretty understandable reaction to someone with massive PTSD who’s had the everloving fuck triggered out of them by Arthur’s ordeal.  And clearly she shows very shortly after that where her care and loyalty lie, and they’re 100% with Arthur all the way.

#arthur morgan #sadie adler #rdr2 #thank you for coming to my red talk #Anonymous

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 8

Finding Courage

Warnings: Swearing, angst, grief, fluff with an extra serving of fluff! 

Word count: ~10,000

**Author’s note: A book is mentioned that wasn’t published until 1999, but humor me. It’s fiction! 

It’s been three weeks since Arthur brought you back to camp. Your ribs and head have mostly healed and cause little pain. Your leg, on the other hand, still has a ways to go. You are starting to get bored and stir crazy, trapped in camp. Strauss determined, shortly after you came back, that you would need around 6 weeks of recuperation, and Grimshaw is hell bent that you don’t leave Arthur’s tent until you can walk again. 

Nearly everyone in camp has come to your aid in relieving the boredom. Mary-Beth will sometimes come and sit next to you, discussing books as the two of you knit. She brings you the materials so you don’t have to leave the cot. Javier occasionally sits next to you and plays his guitar or tells you stories about Mexico. One day Jack even comes, offering you a string of flowers to wear around your head that he made himself. You feel extraordinarily grateful to all of them. However, no one can light a candle to Arthur’s efforts.

He’s hardly left camp, determined to take care of you. He brings you coffee every morning and Pearson’s stew every night. As much as you appreciate it, you also wish he’d go out and do things for himself the way he did before you left. He has done one thing for you that you have greatly enjoyed. Nearly every afternoon, he comes into the tent with a book and he reads to you. Sometimes, he’ll hand you the book and have you do it, but you secretly adore it when he’s the one reading. You love hearing his deep, gentle voice. His face softer when he reads, brightening his eyes. 

You feel bad for taking the man’s tent and cot. A week after you returned, you tried to offer it back to him, saying you could go sleep in your own tent and bedroll, but he refused, stating you needed it more than him. He’s been spending his nights sleeping close to you, usually on the ground propped up against the crates. 

It’s nearly afternoon now and Arthur’s been in camp all day. You’ve been keeping an eye on him, watching as he does chores during the morning. He approaches you, smiling.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he greets, sitting down in the chair that’s remained in the tent. “I need to go huntin’ again, Pearson’s gettin’ real low. But listen, I ain’t gonna go far. When I get back, we can read some more if ya like.”

“Sounds good. I hope Hosea has a new book, think we’ve breezed through his collection already.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure he has one ya ain’t read. ‘Sides, I’m shoar Mary-Beth would be more than happy to lend ya one of hers.”

You sigh, a soft smile on your lips. “Wish I could go with you,” you admit. “I’m getting so bored! If only this damn leg would get better.”

“I know, ya just gotta be patient. Anyways, I need to get goin’.” 

He stands up and heads off. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been careful with your emotions around him. You’ve done nothing to show you’re still interested, despite it being completely true. If anything, your feelings have gotten stronger, but so has your friendship, and you refuse to let anything ruin that again. He climbs onto Artemis’s saddle and leaves after waving to you.

You wave back, feeling your heart sink. A few days after you had returned, you remembered what happened to Rain. The pain from your leg has been nothing in comparison to the loss of your horse. You tell yourself she was just a horse, an animal. Still the pain of losing such a close friend and companion is so deep sometimes you feel like you’re drowning. You’ve been trying your best to hide it all from Arthur and everyone else, but there are few things you’ve done that are more difficult than suppressing them. Now that no one is around to see you, you lie down on your side, facing the wagon. You silently acknowledge the pain now and let the tears stream down your face, soaking the pillow. It feels like someone shot you in the chest, leaving a gaping hole that cannot be filled. You wish you couldn’t feel anything, it would be so much easier. You purposefully clench your leg in a way that you know will force it to flare, the physical pain is a great distraction and far preferable to what you feel in your heart.  

You must have fallen asleep; someone shakes your shoulder gently.

“Y/N, ya awake?” Arthur quietly asks. 

You turn, rubbing your sore eyes, looking up at him and sitting up. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya. I have somethin’ for ya, though.”

You look at him as he sits down and reaches into his satchel. “I stopped in Valentine, needed to get somethin’ from the store. Found this, thought ya might like it.” 

He hands you a thin book. The green cover has a sketch of a horse’s head, framed in gold ivy. You read the words above the sketch. “Black Beauty,” you say.

“Yeah, thought it might be different. I ain’t never read it before. Figured we could try it.”

You smile as your eyes begin to water. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He smiles sadly at you. “I know ya miss her, darlin’. Rain. She was a good horse.”

“The best,” you say, wiping your eyes. He grabs your hand, running a thumb over it. “It’s hard, sweetheart. I still miss Boadicea. Every day, ‘s matter of fact.”

“But you have Artemis, and I know how much you like her.”

“I do, but that don’t mean I don’t miss Boadicea. What I’m tryin’ to say is it’s okay to miss her, but that don’t mean ya can’t get another horse and care about it, too.”

You can’t prevent the tears falling again. “I just… it makes me feel so weak to feel this way. Sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand. “But to be honest, if ya didn’t feel this way, I’d be more worried about you.”

You sit there in silence, trying to wipe the tears from your face, which seems pointless since they keep falling. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thin cloth, handing it to you. 

“You wanna tell me about her?” he asks softly, taking hold of your hand again. 

You smile, despite the pain. “Yeah” you sniff hard, composing yourself enough to talk. “When I was about 10 or so, my grandma had this big, black mare. She got pregnant. I was staying in her cabin when the horse went into labor. My grandma was one of the toughest people I ever known. She had me help her with the foaling. While we were in the barn, a huge thunderstorm came on us. Rained like the devil. My grandma handed her to me right after she was born. I held her head in my lap while we waited for her to start breathing. She was so goddamn cute! We stayed up for hours, cleaning her up, petting her all over. Then she finally stood. When she started nursin’, my grandma told me to name her. I remember listening to the rain outside; that’s how I named her.”

You wipe your eyes as a new wave of tears hits you. Arthur rubs your hand encouragingly. “My grandma told me that she wanted me to take care of the foal. I didn’t live with her, but I visited her every day after that. She showed me how to train her to take a halter, bridle, saddle. Then she taught me how to groom her, clean her feet. When she was about a year, she taught me how to ride on her. We learned together. I can’t tell you how many trail rides I went on with my grandma after that. She used to tell me how Rain would pine for me when I wasn’t there.”

You smile fondly at the memory, your chest clenches painfully. “Then my grandma died a few years later. My dad sold every horse she had, including Rain’s mom. Made a lot of money, too. He tried to sell Rain as well. That was the scariest time of my life. I thought I was gonna lose her. Somehow, though, I convinced him to let me keep her with his grumpy old gelding. She came with me when I got married. I remember one time my husband was outside. He was real drunk, stumblin’ all over the place. He somehow made it inside our pasture. Rain walked over to him just so she could kick him!” you chuckle, Arthur joining in. “Probably a good thing he was drunk; he couldn’t remember a thing about it later on. I’ve always been able to trust her. Knew she’d never let me down. She was the only thing I could depend on after my grandma died. And now I’ve lost her!” 

Your voice gives out as the pain overtakes you, forcing your knees to your chest. Arthur lets go of your hand and places it on your back, rubbing gently. He stays silent as you sob into your hands. When you begin to quiet down, he speaks up.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I never knew you had that kind of connection to her. Makes me and Boadicea seem like a regular pair of fools. But I want ya to know something.” He takes his hand and places it under your chin, turning your wet face to look at him. His thumb wipes away a tear from your cheek. “She’s happy, I’m shoar. She’s up there in a great prairie, where she can eat, drink and play all day long. She still remembers ya, though, and no matter what happens, she’ll always be with ya. Don’t ever doubt it. She wants ya to be happy because ya made her so happy.”

You close your eyes, fresh tears dripping from your eyes. Arthur’s face is so close you can feel his hot breath on you. You open your eyes and see yourself reflected in his blue ones, the scar on his chin. His scent envelopes you; that smell of pine and leather. He’s starting to lean in, you can’t stop looking at his lips. 

Reverend Swanson stumbles over, waving around a bottle. “One night when I was frisky,” he starts singing loudly. Arthur and you dart away from each other, startled by his sudden presence. “After drinkin’ some potent whisky!” He continues on. His red, puffy eyes find the pair of you and he smiles broadly, making his clumsy way to you. 

“Hey, you two! I want ya to know,” he stumbles, leaning against the pole that holds up the canvas above your heads. “That you are children of God! Children of God!” 

He suddenly slumps onto the ground, unconscious. 

“Damn it, Swanson,” Arthur grumbles as you giggle. He stands up and picks up Swanson, kicking his empty bottle away. You wipe your eyes as he heaves the Reverend back to his own cot. You hear someone calling his name after that, asking him for his help.

Sometime after the incident with Swanson, you’re lying in the cot still. You’ve managed to compose yourself after your meltdown, but you still hold the book Arthur brought you. You haven’t opened it, waiting for him to return so you can read it together. 

Charles enters the tent, holding a long, wooden cane. He looks at you; he seems nervous. “Hello, Y/N,” he greets.

“Hey there, Charles,” you smile. 

He holds up the cane. “I, ugh… I made this for you. I know you won’t be able to walk for a bit, but I thought it could help you.”

You look closely at the cane as you take it from him. It’s made of dark wood, the handle has been carved into the intricate form of an owl. You run your thumb over its orb-like eyes. 

“Charles, this is amazing!”

He gives you a rare smile. “I just wanted to let you know how much this camp’s appreciated you. Ya know, Pearson’s stew hasn’t been this lean on meat since Colter.”

You chortle. “Well, that means a lot to me, Charles. Thank you so much.”

He nods and leaves. You glance back at the cane, admiring the delicate carvings. You feel honored to receive such a beautiful gift, despite the fact that you and Charles have rarely even spoken to one another. 

Arthur returns, followed by John, Bill and the O’Driscoll prisoner, whom you learned a while back is named Kieran Duffy. He looks around nervously, particularly at the tree he’s been tied to since the gang arrived here. You’ve spent hardly any time around him since you yourself were a prisoner of sorts until recently and didn’t want to be seen interacting with a known enemy. You come to a decision, determined to pull it off. 

You throw off the blanket, swinging your legs so they dangle off the cot. Your thigh complains at the movement, but you ignore it. You press your feet to the ground, basking in the feeling of grass against your skin again. You grasp the cane as hard as you can, using it to begin lifting yourself up. 

“Woah, woah!” a voice calls out, getting close to you. Lifting up your head, you see it’s Arthur. “What ya doin’, girl?”

He approaches you so quickly you sit back down on the cot. 

“I’m bored, Arthur. I been layin’ here for weeks! I wanna get up, see the world. Even the other side of camp would be a welcome sight.”

He huffs, standing in front of you. “I know. I don’t know if yer strong enough, though. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yer leg again.”

You straighten up. “I can handle it just fine, Arthur. Besides, I have this to help me.”

You lift up the cane. Arthur grabs and inspects it. “Where you get this from?”

“Charles. Said he made it for me.”

“Well, that’s real fine,” he says, smiling as he hands it back to you. “Tell ya what, ya can try standin’ and walkin’, but I ain’t leavin’ yer side.”

“Deal.” You situate the cane again, using it to pull yourself up. Arthur offers you his hand, which you take. He helps lift you up, letting you put a good portion of your weight against him as you slowly start to press down on your leg. Although it hurts like hell, it seems like it will hold your weight. For now, at least. 

Arthur takes a step away from you, still holding onto your hand. He gestures to you, telling you to walk forward to him. You take a hesitant step, moving the cane with your leg. You can tell instantly by the shaking and the pain that if Arthur weren’t there, you’d have fallen already. You look down, shaking your head.

“Maybe you’re right, Arthur. I don’t know if I can do this.”

He sighs heavily. “I ain’t surprised. Well, can ya stand on it at least?”

You slowly nod, a little unsure. 

“Good. Ya mind if I…” he gestures his arms towards you, wrapping one around your waist while the other approaches your knees. You realize he’s offering to pick you up. You nod your head and drape an arm over his shoulder before he sweeps you up effortlessly into his arms. You hold on tight to your cane; it dangles from your grip as he swings around and walks towards the hitching post where Artemis is tied. You see Hosea and Grimshaw looking at the two of you, smiling. You try your best to prevent the blush in your cheeks as he carries you over to the large grey horse, setting you down close to her. He stands behind you, letting you use him as a pillar to lean on in case your leg gives out.

You test your aching thigh, finding it capable of holding you up. You reach up with your arms and pat Artemis’s neck. She rumbles softly, the sound low and deep, swishing her tail. Her ears point back so she can hear you, her eyes soft as she chews slowly. 

“Ah, knew she’d remember ya,” Arthur says softly behind you. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a treat, handing it to you. You take it and offer it to the large horse. You continue to pet her as she munches on it. 

After a few moments, your leg begins to remind you that it’s still wounded. You do your best to turn to Arthur. “Thank you for this,” you say, smiling up at him, limping. “You’ve no idea how nice it is to pet a horse again. Even if it’s not…”

His hand reaches up and settles on your upper arm, his thumb tracing lines. Without a word, he sweeps you up into his arms and towards the tent. You hear from the direction of the campfire the sound of Javier playing his guitar. 

“Arthur, wait. Will you take me to the campfire?”

He stops and looks. “Shoar, why not?”

He changes directions and takes you over, setting you down carefully on one of the logs. You adjust your leg so the pain is hardly noticeable. Arthur sits down close to you, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. 

Javier stops playing, looking up at you. “Hola, Y/N,” he says.

“Hi, Javier. Please don’t stop playing on my account.”

He smiles as his fingers expertly pluck at the strings again. “Glad to see you finally out of that tent.”

“Me too. Arthur here’s too kind to let me use it, but I’m ready to leave.”

The two men chuckle. Arthur hands you his cigarette. You take it and drag from it as Javier begins singing in Spanish. The sound of the guitar and his voice washes over you. You’d take this any day over Dutch’s gramophone, especially since you swear Dutch likes to play it either late at night or unforgivably early in the morning. It’s amazing it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared. You hand Arthur back his cigarette, trading smiles with him. 

A few days later, you’re standing in camp, leaning against the table where Lenny and Micah play five finger fillet. You’ve been standing up each day, even taking a few steps, trying to gain the strength back in your legs. You feel particularly proud today since you managed to walk all the way to the table by yourself, despite the pain. You had to use the cane, of course, and it took an unimaginably long time, but you did it. Your leg throbs painfully now, having been strained by the walk. 

Arthur’s not in camp. Dutch had sent him out early this morning to go meet with someone named Trelawney with Charles and Javier to retrieve Sean. Word is that Sean is being held near Blackwater by bounty hunters, so the group left to go and get him back. You have to say you’re looking forward to seeing him again. He always has a way to lighten up the mood in camp. You just hope nothing goes wrong.

Hosea approaches you as you lean up against the table.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says as he uses a mortar and pestle to grind up some herbs. You recognize it instantly. After Grimshaw and the others had you cleaned and stitched up, Hosea made a highly useful combination of grounded herbs to help with the pain. Swanson had given you a dose of his morphine previously, but you didn’t like how fuzzy it made you feel. It also tended to make you feel nauseous and sick. You wondered how he managed to take it so frequently. Soon afterwards, Hosea introduced you to the herbs. They didn’t knock out the pain as effectively as the morphine, but at least they didn’t make you sleepy. 

“Keep on giving me that stuff, Hosea, and I’ll live to be a hundred,” you joke as he leans next to you. 

He laughs. “That’s the idea. How’s that book you and Arthur been readin’? What’s it called again?”

“Black Beauty,” you say fondly. You and Arthur have been reading from it nearly every day since he brought it to you. You’ve grown fond of it, even though it makes you miss Rain. 

“That’s the one. Ya mind if I borrow it when yer done?”

“Sure. Don’t know if it’s really up your alley, though.” Arthur mentioned that Hosea was more of a mystery fan when it came to books. 

“I’m always open to new stories,” he says with a sly smile. “Arthur tells me yer gettin’ real good with readin’ and writin’.”

You smile. “Yeah. Hard to believe only two months ago, I couldn’t read. Seems like a lifetime ago that I was runnin’ on my own.”

“It’s lucky Arthur found ya. You’ve been good for each other.”

You smile wider, staring off into the camp as Hosea continues to grind the herbs. Lenny, standing in the trees, shouts that someone’s coming. Javier prances in on Boaz, his silver paint; Sean sitting behind him. He hollers loudly, calling the entire camp’s attention to him. Charles follows behind, rolling his dark eyes.

“Fear no more, ladies and gents!” Sean yells loudly in his thick Irish accent, spreading his arms wide open. “The life of te party is back!”

You can’t help but laugh as he hops off Boaz; you can tell by Javier’s face that he was quite the companion. Javier dismounts, muttering in Spanish, stalking off to the campfire. 

“Ol’ Grimshaw!” Sean yells as Susan walks past, holding a cup of coffee. “Don’t ya worry, lass! I’ll get these girls whipped up into shape again! Pearson!” he yells at the cook, skinning a rabbit. “That pot o’ yours will never ‘ave been fuller now I’m back!”

Pearson and Grimshaw laugh. Sean turns and sees you next to Hosea. He notices the the way you hold your leg, cane in hand.

“Ah, it wouldn’t be right if ya didn’t have some new injury to show off!” he guffaws, approaching you. You can’t help but chuckle with him. “You and John could be best mates! Ol’ Scar Face and the One-Legged Belle!”

You guffaw, “Yeah, ‘cept I still have my leg, ya dolt!”

He stands next to you and drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, not noticing your attempts to gently shrug it off. 

“Ah, o’ course, o’ course. Bet ya gave te bastard who tried rippin’ it off quite a time, though. Hardly known a better butcher than you, ‘cept for old Arthur maybe!”

You giggle, finally pulling his arm off of you. Hosea walks off, shaking his head fondly. Just then, Arthur trots in on Artemis. You turn to face him, smiling widely. He smiles back as he dismounts. 

“Ah, and if it isn’t ol’ grumpy Morgan now! Don’t know why ya hang wit’ him so much. Such a downer, that one!”

You laugh, waving him off. Sean struts away, calling to Uncle. Arthur comes and stands in front of you, hands on his gun belt. 

“Ya manage to get over here on yer own?” he asks.

You smile proudly. “I sure did! Only took me half an hour. Glad you got Sean out of there, even if he talks too much.”

“Yeah, he might be a loud mouth and a braggart, but he’s a good kid.” He smiles, reaching into his satchel. He pulls his hand out, which is clenched around something. 

“I, ugh,” he begins before clearing his throat loudly. “Found this when I was headin’ back. Well, after I helped some wildlife photographer get his bag back from a greedy coyote. Reminded me of you.”

He opens his hand and reveals a necklace made of a silver chain. Dangling from it inlaid in a silver clasp is a small sapphyre. You look up at him after admiring the stone.

“Arthur, you didn’t have to get me this,” you say. “How much this cost you?”

He huffs. “Technically, it didn’t cost me nothin’. Some guy on the trail bumped into me, then demanded I apologize.”

You laugh. “I imagine that didn’t end well for him.”

“No, it didn’t. He’s fine, though, if yer wonderin’. I only took his money and found this in his pocket. I was gonna sell it until I saw it proper. Thought you might like it.”

Your heart swells as he puts it around your neck, latching the chain to the hook. You admire it as it rests on your chest, then look up at him again. 

“Thank you, Arthur. But seriously, you should have sold it. Bet ya could’ve gotten twelve dollars for it, if not more.”

“Nah, I think I prefer it this way. Looks nice on you.”

His hand comes up to settle on your upper arm. You find yourself placing your hand on his chest, feeling the stamped leather of his red vest. He starts pulling you closer, shrinking the gap between you. His eyes are mirroring yours. 

You hear someone yell Arthur’s name. John walks up and the two of you split immediately, hoping he didn’t see you standing so close to one another. 

“Morgan,” he says again. The look on his face says he didn’t notice your close proximity to one another, and if he did it doesn’t show. “Mary-Beth said somethin’ ‘bout that train goin’ south to Saint Denise. I think we oughta start plannin’ on it, see if we can take it.”

Arthur sighs in frustration as you lean back on the table. “Robbin’ trains are a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but she did some diggin’. The take should be real good. ‘Sides, I have a few ideas for it.”

“Fine,” Arthur says. He glances at you before leaving with John, heading for the other side of camp. You clutch your cane and start preparing yourself to walk back to Arthur’s tent. 

“Well, well,” says a greasy voice from behind you. “Looks like Ms. High-and-Mighty decided to grace us with her presence and leave her cozy little tent!” 

You turn and glare at Micah. 

He sneers at you. “Was wonderin’ when you’d finally leave Morgan’s cot. Not that I’m surprised. I thought you’d have invited him into your bed a long time ago.”

You stand up as straight as you can, ignoring the pain. “I ain’t that kind of girl, Mr. Bell. Besides, I’d let him or anyone else in this camp in my bed before I’d ever let you even come close.”

He snickers. “Ya always did have a soft spot for him, didn’t ya? Well, I hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but he’s still got somethin’ for that Mary girl. Now I bet she’s a fine woman. The kind that could make a man wanna kill another man. Doubt anyone would even look twice at you if she were around.”

Your temper flares. You know he’s just trying to upset you. “How would you know, Micah? Ya ever seen her? I doubt it, the sight of you is enough to make anyone nauseous.”

Laughing again, he approaches you. “Because Morgan only goes after pretty girls.” He grins nastily at you as he leaves. You wish your leg was stronger, you’d already be giving him a good beating. Instead, you turn away and stare off into camp, trying to ignore what he said. The warm feeling you had before is gone. You clasp the cane again, heading back to the tent.

Night has come. Pearson, Karen and Uncle have pulled out bottles of alcohol to celebrate the return of Sean. The Irish man stands on a box, giving an almost taunting yet endearing speech about how everything’s going to be okay now he’s back. You can’t help laughing with the others as you lean on Pearson’s wagon. Karen approaches you with a bottle of whisky. 

“Here, girl!” she proclaims, handing you the bottle.

“Nah, I really shouldn’t. I just took some more of those herbs Hosea’s been givin’ me, I doubt they’ll mix well with that.”

“Ah, don’t be so worried! ‘Sides, it can’t hurt too much.” She winks and shoves the bottle in your hand and you take a sip. She walks off, swaying a bit. 

You grasp your cane and walk over to the campfire slowly. Uncle, Sean, Javier, Pearson and Arthur sit around it, drinking and joking. As you sit next to Arthur, Uncle breaks out into song.

“When I was just a lad, you know, I met a gal from Blue Bordeaux, she had blonde hair and blue eyes too,” he starts and the others join in the song. You can’t help but laugh at the heavily inappropriate song, drinking more. 

“That’s what ya call the ring dang do!” the men finish, roaring with laughter. 

“Yer a dirty man!” Arthur chuckles as you hand him the bottle. He takes a long drink as Dutch calls from his tent.

“That’s all well and said, but how about something a bit more civilized?” He turns around and switches on his gramophone. Classical music sweeps over the camp. Arthur gets up to go and speak to John and Charles. You stand up, too, leaving your bottle behind. You don’t really want to drink anymore, despite the fire in your belly. You find yourself limping past Dutch’s tent and stop when you see the man dancing slowly with Ms. O’Shea. They laugh sweetly when Dutch twirls her around. You can’t help but smile.

Arthur wanders past you, finishing a bottle of beer. You call his attention to Dutch and Molly.

“They seem so sweet together,” you mumble, your head feeling a little misty. “Y’know, I never known how to dance.”

He looks at you curiously. “Well, I ain’t much of a dancer neither, but ya wanna try?”

You stare up into his eyes, unsure. “I don’t know, Arthur, with this leg…”

“Ah, don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll help ya.”

He offers you his hand. You toss your cane a few feet away and take it. You reach up and place your hand on his sturdy shoulder as his hand hesitantly slides onto your waist. He starts leading you around in a slow circle. The mixture of herbs and alcohol has greatly dulled the pain from your legs as well as your regular inhibitions, although you still limp. He takes his hand from your waist, bending you down backwards and pulling you back up, releasing a giggle from you. 

“Well, Mr. Morgan,” you laugh. “I never knew you could be so graceful!”

He huffs. “Turns out I’m just full of surprises.”

He leads you in a circle again, breaking it up every once in a while with a dip or a flourish. Your heart flutters every time, you can’t help but breathe in his scent and gaze into his blue eyes. 

The pain in your leg is starting to flare, making you long for the bottle of whisky, when Arthur grabs your hands and twirls you around delicately. He spins you back towards him and pulls you in close, enveloping you in his strong arms. You wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your head under his chin. The sound of his heart pumps fast in your ears. You feel your own beating a thousand miles a minute. His arms wrap tighter around you as he sways you back and forth, no longer circling. Despite all the efforts you’ve made to not let him know how you feel, you revel in the feeling of his skin against yours, the feeling of his cheek resting on your head. You never want this moment to stop as you close your eyes. 

The music suddenly ends, you hear Dutch compliment Molly. Arthur’s arms relax, releasing you. You have to adjust your leg quickly so you don’t stumble, taking your weight back and feeling somehow colder. His eyes are hidden beneath his hat, but he’s wearing a smile. 

“Sorry if that was a little too close for comfort, Y/N,” he sighs. “I just… been wantin’ to do that for a while now.”

You giggle, unable to hide the blush crawling up your cheeks. “No, Arthur, that was… well, it was nice.”

You stretch up as much as you can and kiss him on the cheek, turning away to watch Karen lead Sean into John’s tent.

Two weeks have gone by since Sean’s party. The ambience in the camp has shifted; it’s become lighter and happier. At night, the sounds of laughter often echo from the campfire. Your mood has greatly improved as well, now that you’re no longer restricted to Arthur’s tent. You’ve been moved back into your own for nearly a week after Grimshaw declared your leg is healed enough to withstand lying on the ground. You still have to walk around with the cane sometimes, but you can go for a period of time without it. 

You’re standing at the washbin, scrubbing at some dishes when you hear a familiar snort. You turn and see Arthur riding in. He smiles widely at you when he sees you, and you return it without hesitating. Ever since the night Sean came back and the two of you danced together, your friendship has blossomed. Of course, it has also deepened your feelings for him, although you’re still reluctant to mention or even show it. You’ve become conflicted by his behavior though. When the two of you are hidden from the eyes of the others in camp, Arthur will usually grab your hand or put his hand on your shoulder or back. Sometimes he’ll even pull you into a quick hug. 

He approaches you, rubbing his hands together. 

“There she is!” he says happily. You return his greeting.

“How’s yer leg?” he asks, putting his hands on his gun belt. You turn your face back to the water, blushing. Nothing makes you want to wrap your arms around him more than when he stands like that. 

“‘S doin’ good!” you say, continuing to scrub. “I’ve hardly had to use my cane today.”

“Well, good, I’m glad. Say, ya wanna go into town?”

You look back at him. “God, I’d love to. So sick of seein’ this camp.”

“Let’s go then,” he says turning away and going back to his horse. You begin to follow, limping a bit, but then stopping as he hops onto the saddle. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know if I can ride a horse yet, Arthur, with my leg.”

“We’ll go slow, darlin’,” he says, reaching his hand towards you. “Just let me know if it gets to be too much.”

You grab his arm and he lifts you up behind him, not letting you go until you’re situated. Your thigh twinges a bit, but the pain is manageable. You nervously slither your arms around his abdomen. He turns Artemis down the trail, walking her slow. When he gets to the main trail, he turns to you.

“How ya doin’?”

“Good. You might be able to go faster, actually.”

He kicks Artemis into a trot; she picks up the pace, swishing her long, black tail. He keeps her at that pace all the way into town. 

You almost admit that you’ve missed seeing the muddy town and its simple folk, but then you realize that even after six weeks, nothing can really improve this dump named Valentine. He slows Artemis to a walk as the two of you pass the train station and livestock yard. You see a large, white tent to the left up ahead.

“What is that?” you ask, never really having paid attention to it before. 

“Think it’s one of them movin’ pictures I been hearin’ folk talk about,” he answers, pulling up to it. 

“I never seen one of them before,” you admit, taking one of your hands away from his waist. 

“Well, let’s change that,” you can hear by the tone of his voice he’s smiling. He stops Artemis outside the tent and swings his leg over her head, slipping off. He puts up his arms, helping you off. Your stumble a bit as your leg adjusts to the weight, but he doesn’t let go of you. Once you’re balanced, he offers you his arm and walks you up to a man standing behind a desk, offering tickets. He pays $2 for them and walks you inside. 

Inside, the tent has a projector pointed at the opposite wall, rows of seats filed under the projector’s beam. You pick two seats; there’s only a couple of other people in the tent. Just as the two of you sit down, the show starts as the electric lights dim. It consists of nothing more than some images with some type of moving element. A man narrates over the scenes, telling the tale about why the bear hibernates during winter. You’re fascinated; you’ve never seen an image move before. 

As you’re watching, Arthur lifts up his arm as he scratches the back of his neck. He then drapes it behind your head, resting his hand on your shoulder. You lean into him, feeling your cheeks grow hot. You’re glad the tent is dark so he can’t see. 

The show ends, the lanterns glowing again. Arthur removes his arm as the two of you stand. He smiles at you as he hides his eyes under his hat again. You take hold of his hand as you both walk out and back to Artemis. He lifts you back onto her then climbs up in front of you, carrying on to the middle of town. 

He hitches Artemis outside the saloon, helping you off. The two of you head inside and he buys you dinner, despite your comments that you can buy your own food. 

“Ya think ya might be up for a huntin’ trip soon?” he asks as you both eat. 

You pause, chewing. “I dunno, I hope so. Be nice to get out again for a few days. I just… don’t know if…”

“I know, yer worried about yer leg. But ya seem to be doin’ good. I bet ya can handle it. ‘Sides, ya deserve to get out. Been cooped up in Horseshoe too long.”

You smile at him. “Well, there’s that then. Only problem is I don’t have any weapons anymore. Those damn monsters took ‘em when they… after I got captured.”

“Well,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gun smith is right ‘cross the road. Bet we could get ya another bow, maybe some guns.”

“That’s a fine thought, Arthur,” you say, taking the last bite of your lamb. “‘Cept, I doubt I got enough money. And before ya say it, I don’t want ya spendin’ anymore money on me.”

He laughs softly. “A’right, fine.”

You nod your head, happy that’s settled. The two of you head out of the saloon. 

“Ya mind if I go get a bath? I haven’t had a proper one for far too long,” you say. He nods his head, saying he’ll go back into the saloon and order some drinks while you’re gone. You go and order a bath. Before you enter the water, you take off the bandage from around your thigh. Grimshaw showed you weeks ago how to change it, which must be done every couple of days. You go to a tall mirror in the corner of the room, turning around and twisting your neck so you can inspect the wound. It’s ugly, but at least the stitches are gone. You frown at the angry red line that marks where you were shot by the arrow. You tell yourself it could have been a lot nastier; at least the wound didn’t get infected. 

You sink down into the tub, sighing happily as you scrub the old sweat and dirt from your skin. You get up, dry yourself off, and redress your leg. You head outside, thanking the hotel clerk as you exit, and see Arthur standing next to Artemis, holding a Springfield rifle. You approach him, wondering what he’s up to, when he hands you the rifle. 

“What’s this?” you ask, taking hold of it. You realize it’s brand new. The metal’s carved with intricate, weaving patterns, and there’s an engraving of a wolf in the handle. 

“‘S for you,” he responds. 

“What? Arthur! I told ya not to buy me anything!” 

He guffaws. “”S too late now! ‘Sides, I wanted to. Also, got ya this.”

He hands you a bow and a quiver of arrows. You blush, sighing deeply. You feel frustrated yet grateful. “Why are you doin’ this, Arthur? I coulda gotten these myself.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” You sigh, defeated before leaning up and place a kiss on his cheek. You notice the red on his cheeks, but say nothing. 

He hops onto Artemis, offering to take your new weapons back to strap onto Artemis. You hand them to him, resigned and hop on behind him with his help. The two of you trot back to camp as the sun begins to descend. When Arthur hitches Artemis and dismounts, he speaks up.

“So, tomorrow sound good for huntin’?” He helps you off again, not letting go of your hand. 

Smiling, you answer. “Of course. One question, though. I… obviously don’t have a horse anymore. How are we going to work around that?”

“I’m shoar ya could borrow a horse from camp. Plenty a people here ain’t gonna be usin’ theirs for the next few days.”

You shrug your shoulders. 

You’re lying in your tent, the singing of birds and the cool air gently waking you from your sleep. You hear someone walking towards your tent. Arthur’s deep voice calls your name. You sit up and peak out of your tent. 

The sky above his head is still dark but the horizon is fading into a soft, light blue, rivaling the color of Arthur’s eyes. 

“Ya ready to go?” he asks.

“Now? This early?”

“‘Course,” he smiles. “We can get more time in if we leave now.”

You stand up, stretching and putting on your hat. You’re glad that you had approached Hosea the night before asking to take out one of the draft horses that usually pulls the wagons. He also offered you a spare saddle and bridle to take. You go groom a large dun Belgian Draft, strapping the saddle to her and fitting on the bridle. She stomps her foot, making you a bit nervous. You swallow, gather your courage and mount her, your leg only twinging a little. Arthur comes up, strapping on his satchel, smiling. 

“Got on yer own just fine, did ya?” 

You smile and nod, patting the mare’s neck. 

He hops onto Artemis and the two of you head down the trail at an easy trot. You’ve no idea where he’s leading you, but you follow him obediently, enjoying the sweeping views of New Hanover: the distant river, the wide canyon, the orange that is beginning to take over the sky. He leads you up into Valentine and passes the stables, trotting merrily down the faint trail which winds down the hill and towards the river. The two of you cross it, glancing at the sound of a man in a nightgown standing waist-deep in the river, screaming at some invisible being to get away. 

You both continue on until you reach an intersection in the trail, heading up the mountain. The temperature begins to drop slightly, and far up ahead on the mountain you see distant trees topped in snow. 

The trail levels out and you head down the left side, travelling along it until a pond comes into view. Arthur slows to a stop and you do as well, admiring the sight. The wide pond is beautiful, rippling calmly, its far banks flanked by deer and ducks. You spot the arching antlers of an elk in a nearby copse of small pines. On the other side of the pond, the land rises up into a tall mound, topped with a ram and multiple bighorn sheep, browsing among the trees. You look to the left, to the open grass sloping down the hills and towards the train tracks tucked into a gorge. 

“Arthur, this place is beautiful,” you say.

He turns back to see you. “Found it right before we left Colter. This the place we tried robbin’ that Cornwall train. This is Cattail Pond.”

You lead the dun mare to the water. She dips her head and drinks as you dismount, removing the bow and quiver. You adjust your gunbelt slightly, making sure the knife is still in place. You’re happy these things got saved, along with your sawed-off shotgun. 

Arthur pats Artemis, telling her to stay put. He approaches you, situating his own bow.

“Now, if ya need anythin’, ya just call me.”

You nod, the both of you wandering into separate directions to hunt.

By midafternoon, you approach the large mare, heaving an elk pelt onto her bag. She snorts as you strap it down, swishing her tail. You glance up the hill towards the main trail and you see silhouettes of horses, grazing. You pull out your binoculars and zoom in on them. You spot a pure black saddler, a palomino, and a dun Appaloosa stallion, his hindquarters heavily spotted. For some reason, you can’t take your eyes off him. You study him as he raises his head, snorts and then goes back to grazing. Arthur approaches you, a white ram pelt tucked under his arm. 

“What ya lookin’ at?”

You point ahead at the stallion. “That horse. He’s real pretty. I always had a soft spot for Appys.”

He pulls out his binoculars and looks with you. He lowers them and turns to you.

“Well, go get it then.”

“Huh?” “Go get it!” he says, gesturing to the horse. “Go get on his back and tame him. Bet ya won’t even have to try hard.”

You look at him doubtfully. “Arthur, even with a good leg, I don’t think I could do that. No way I’m coordinated enough. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t even know the first thing.”

“Ya even been bucked off before?”

“Oh yeah. Rain’s mom bucked me once. Flew off and landed like a sack of potatoes.”

He chuckles. “It really ain’t that hard sweetheart.” He goes on to explain how to break a mustang, to maintain your balance until the horse tires out. 

“C’mon, girl. How ‘bout I lasso him, ya get on his back. We’ll work together.”

You hesitantly agree. Arthur pulls out his long rope, already knotted. He gestures for you to follow him, hunching slightly. The two of you sneak up the hill slowly, walking as quietly as possible. When you’re close enough, you call out to the stallion, Arthur stopping behind you.

“Easy boy!” you call. “Easy.”

His head launches up as he snorts heavily. He stomps his feet, his ears darting in every direction. You walk towards him slowly, your arms slightly raised. 

“Stay calm, boy. I just wanna make friends. You’re real pretty.”

Surprisingly, the stallion doesn’t run but he continues to stomp, tail flicking. You get closer, almost within patting distance, when he rears up. You quickly take several steps back when Arthur’s lasso flies up and over his head, wrapping around his neck. 

“Now, Y/N!” he yells.

You dash over and launch yourself onto his back. The stallion begins bucking and plunging, roaring in anger. You grab hard onto his mane, twisting and turning your body to maintain balance. He rears again, nearly throwing you. You clutch to his neck as Arthur yells at you to hang on. He slams back into the ground, you feel yourself start to slide over his side when Arthur catches you, pushing you back onto him. 

“There,” he says, breathing hard. “Think ya wore him out.”

The stallion stomps his feet again, tossing his head. You straighten yourself up, patting his neck.

“There,” you pant and pat his neck. “We’re friends now.” You reach into your saddle, offering him a treat.

“That was real good, Y/N,” Arthur praises. He tells you to stay on his back as he leads the horse to the other two. For the next few hours, the two of you work together with the horse, getting him used to being touched. By the time the sun sets, you’ve managed to get the bridle and saddle from the Belgian onto him. You hitch him to the tree as Arthur sets up his tent, spreading out your bedrolls. You pat the horse fondly before turning and kneeling next to the fire. 

After cooking a few hunks of meat, the both of you decide to call it a night. Your thigh is sore and achy from the strains of taming the appaloosa. You limp over to the tent, sighing as you lie down. Arthur settles himself behind you. You twist your body so you’re lying on your back. You face him, your eyes already growing tired. 

“Night, Arthur,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You feel his hand takes yours as he bids you goodnight. 

It’s still dark when you wake, but you can tell by the songs of the birds that morning is near. Your leg hurts quite a bit, which is probably why you’re awake so early. You force yourself to get up, going to Arthur’s grill where the fire was, even though all that is left is a pile of smoldering coals. You reignite it with some nearby dried pine needles. You add some grounded herbs for the pain to a tin cup, adding some hot water from Arthur’s percolator to it. You drink it quickly, despite the awful taste. You add some coffee to the percolator, drinking that as well. 

Despite the early hour, you’re wide awake. You hoist yourself up, grunting a bit, and approach the appaloosa stallion still hitched to the tree. You feel a tightening in your gut when he grumbles a deep, happy snort at you, reaching for your outstretched hand with his muzzle. You offer him a treat, patting his neck. You admire the fine white hairs on the back half of his body, the smattering of brown spots. You suddenly feel inspired.

You turn away and take a seat by a large log near the water of the pond. You pull out the journal from your satchel and turn to a blank page. You start to sketch the horse, trying to match the delicate lines of his neck, his slender legs, the long tail. You can see in your head how Arthur would have drawn it since he’s shown you a number of his own drawings. You stop and see your work, feeling unimpressed and dissatisfied. You sigh, disappointed.

“How ya doin’ with that?” Arthur says, plopping himself next to you. 

You smile. “It’s crap.” You show him the sloppy lines. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Let me help ya,” he says, putting an arm behind you. You flip to a new page and he takes your hand in his, guiding the pencil along the page. Every now and then, he’ll point to the horse, drawing your attention to certain details. He shows you techniques to bring out different textures and patterns. After only a few moments, the shape and details of the stallion begins to appear. 

The sun is well-risen now, illuminating his face, his scruffy beard turning gold. He’s so close you can see the scar of his chin once more, the specks of green in his blue eyes. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” you almost whisper. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you.” 

You can’t stand it anymore You don’t want to hide your feelings for him. So what if he doesn’t feel anything for you? All you want is to show the entire world how you feel about Arthur Morgan. You take your hand from his, reaching up and placing it on his cheek. You almost expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t. You glance briefly at his lips before you stretch up and place your own against them. You breathe in deeply, absorbing his scent as he stiffens to your touch. You pull away. Well, he knows what you think of him now.

You open your eyes; his face is unreadable. You let your hand slip from his face, feeling a sinking in your chest. You fool, you think. Of course he wouldn’t want this, your kiss. You distance yourself more from him, looking down.

“I… I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say. You snap your journal shut, sliding the pencil back into the leather strip quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

As you begin to stand up, his hand suddenly reaches and gently touches your neck, pulling you to him. His lips crash into yours as his other arm wraps around your shoulders. You reach up and loop your arms around his neck, memorizing his lips with your tongue. His hand leaves your cheek and knots into your hair. 

You pull away from him, panting heavily. He places his forehead against yours. 

“Ya’ve no idea how long I been wantin’ to do that, darlin’,” he mutters deeply. The sound of his voice sends shivers up your spine.

“You don’t have to want anymore, Arthur Morgan,” you sigh. He leans in and kisses you again. You kiss him back hard, pressing yourself into him. His arms pull you into his broad chest. You kiss one another until you’re forced to pull back again by the need to breathe. He guides your head to settle onto his shoulder and you cuddle into him, your arms still wrapped around his neck. 

You both sit there, watching the sun climb higher into the sky. His hand traces patterns into your back as you brush your hands through his hair. 

After a while, he pats your back.

“Ya ready to go hunt again, sweetheart?” he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Mmm. Do we have to? It’s perfect here.”

He laughs softly, the sound reverberating through you. “I know, darlin’. I don’t want this moment to end either. But camp’s gotta eat.”

You sigh heavily. Arthur Morgan, the outlaw who would break his own back to make sure the people he cares about are taken care of. You reach up and place one more kiss to his lips before standing up. He follows your lead, grabbing his hat from the tent before wandering over to Artemis to remove his bow. You grab yours as well, scanning the environment for signs of animals. 

For the next few hours, the two of you go about, bringing down animals and butchering them. You aren’t as smooth with the bow as usual. You keep getting distracted by the memory of Arthur’s lips against yours. 

You stalk a whitetail buck near the train tracks. You hide in a clump of bushes and see him grazing. You notch an arrow and take aim for him. You let the arrow fly; it plunges into his side. The buck falls, but then stands up again, running off. You follow as quickly as you can, ignoring the pain in your leg. He falls again after a few yards, brought down by blood loss and shock. You approach him, trying to ignore his cries. You kneel down, pulling out your knife.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” you say, knowing how painful it is to be struck by an arrow. You plunge the knife into his heart. You skin the carcass and start heading back up the hill towards the pond and the horses. By the time you reach the top of the rise, you’re panting heavily; your thigh burns. You sit down to give yourself a break. Arthur calls to you from across the pond in the trees. You can’t understand what he’s saying, but you wave your hand to show you heard him. He calls again, and again you wave.

You start massaging your leg through your jeans, trying to soothe the pain. You hear splashing and look up. Arthur’s wading across the pond up to his calves, coming towards you. He calls to you again from the bottom of the hill.

“Ya a’right?” he yells.

“Yeah, leg’s just being a pain.” 

He climbs the hill, approaching you. He kneels next to you, looking hard at your leg. 

“I’m a’right,” you say. “Like I said, leg’s bein’ difficult.”

He looks up into your eyes. He sighs heavily. “Maybe we oughta head back. Ya ain’t much use huntin’ if ya can’t walk.”

“I can walk, just need a break, Arthur,” you say indignantly.

“I know, darlin’. Ya have to remember yer still healin’. Do this for me?”

You sigh, defeated. “Fine. Let’s just see if we can bring back something whole for camp.”

He nods, helping you stand up. He takes the pelt from you then grabs your hand as you both wander over to the horses. He throws the pelt over the stallion.

“Ya thought of a name for yer boah?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, maybe.”

He looks at you, waiting for you to say. When you don’t, he speaks. “Well?”

“Rannoch,” you finally say. “His name is Rannoch.”

He raises his brows. “Rannoch, huh? Where’d ya get that?”

You shuffle your feet. “My grandma used to read me a story. ‘Bout a stag named Rannoch, born the night his dad was born. I wish I could remember the name of the book. I’d love to read it again. Was my favorite.”

“I like it,” he says, putting a finger under your chin, lifting your face. “Suits him.”

You smile, glancing over to Rannoch. He flicks his tail, eating from a bush, completely uncaring about his name. 

“Well, let’s do a bit more huntin’,” he says. You agree and the two of you head back out, away from one another. After several moments of stalking, you bring down a bighorn sheep. You bend down to pick it up, but as you start standing your leg gives out. 

“Shit!” you yell as your knee slams into the ground, the carcass slumping back down. You feel your wound quickly, determining that it’s fine. Turns out your leg just isn’t strong enough to carry the extra weight. Arthur comes dashing out of the trees, attracted by your yell.

“I’m fine,” you holler as you stand up, testing your leg. “Will you help me? I can’t carry this thing.”

Arthur approaches, smiling mischievously as he lifts up the sheep onto his shoulder with ease. You follow him back to the horses, where he straps the sheep onto Rannoch. 

“I’ll be back,” he says, walking back into the trees. You brush Rannoch while he’s gone. After several moments, he returns, hauling the body of a doe. He straps it to Artemis. You both saddle up the horses and mount up. Arthur puts a lasso around the Belgian Draft, pulling her along behind him as the two of you leave Cattail and head back to camp.

The sun has set when you both enter the trees to Horseshoe. Karen’s on guard duty, she calls to you.

“Nice horse!”

You thank her as the two of you go up the trail, approaching the hitching post. You dismount, then turn to Arthur. The two of you are standing between the horses, blocked from view of the camp.

“Arthur?” He turns. “Thanks for takin’ me out and for… everything else.”

He smiles, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Anythin’ for you, darlin’. Can I ask you a favor, though?”

“‘Course.”

“D’you mind if we keep this between us for now?” You pull away, surprised and even a little hurt. He must see your emotions on your face.

“It ain’t that I’m ashamed,” he scrambles, pulling you close. “I just… want to keep this quiet for now. Besides, we both know how the others will talk. And maybe I like the idea of havin’ ya to myself for now”

You chuckle, relaxing in his arms. “Yes, I do know. But promise me it won’t be long?”

He smiles, pulling you into a tight hug. “I promise.” He leans down to kiss you, shielded from the others by the horses and the darkness.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x oc #Van Der Linde Gang #rockstar games #r* games #it's so fluffy i'm gonna die! #i'm awkward #second chances

[amodicumofdutch]

Dutch and Hosea parenting roles headcanons!

Hosea:

Is definitely the Strict Dad™

Dead serious when it comes to curfews, chores and the like

When Arthur and John came back to camp later than expected, they were definitely more scared of Hosea than of Dutch

Hosea can be really intimidating sometimes (think of that camp interaction where he finds Sean sleeping on guard duty)

That being said, he is also incredibly reliable and consistent

As in, he’s probably the first person in Arthur’s and John’s life that actually provides stability in the sense of being a principled and predictable authority figure

Would never snap at them out of temper or because he’s having a bad day

Will say sorry later if he thinks he’s been too harsh on them. In these cases, he comes over to Arthur’s/John’s tent to talk because he knows they’re not used to talking about problems so he has to be the one who initiates conversation

In general, Hosea is all about talking things out. So much so that John coined the phrase “the Famous Hosea Talk” when he and Arthur were younger. At first, they’re really baffled and annoyed by this habit of Hosea’s but later on, they come to love it and rely on it a lot. It’s the main reason why Arthur is so thoughtful and reflective as a grown-up. (Talking to Hosea is like free talk therapy, really)

That’s the other great thing about Hosea: He’s ALWAYS there. Like, even when he has problems of his own, you can always go to him and talk to him and he will do his best to help you

So. Much. Good. Advice. (Also, he will totally follow up on his advice and kick your arse if you ignore it)

When one of the boys gets sick, it’s mostly Hosea who cares for them, making them tea and herbal medicine and staying by their side day and night if they have a fever

Hosea only ever reads them bedtime stories when they’re sick (normally, reading is Dutch’s domain)

Will tell them All The Stories however, ranging from clearly invented, outrageous tales to real stories from his own life. And everything in between. The lines tend to become a bit blurred because Hosea is a masterful narrator.

Freely talks about his own childhood when they ask. Sometimes he even talks about his dad.

Takes the boys on hunting trips and teaches them everything they need to know about nature and survival skills. (Arthur is a lot more interested in this than John who tends to zone out when Hosea lectures them on plants and herbs. Once fell asleep in the middle of a monologue about creeping thyme. Hosea did not react kindly to that.)

Also teaches them how to lie convincingly, how to come up with a fake identity and backstory on the spot and how to win at poker. He even teaches them some basic maths- and account-keeping skills (because let’s face it, Dutch is probably shit at maths)

Is not one for overly emotional displays of affection, but he loves both of them deeply, as if they were his own sons.

Dutch:

Dutch is the Fun Dad™. At least at first glance.

Is a lot less strict than Hosea when it comes to stuff like chores and curfews. (You know that camp interaction where Dutch tells Mary-Beth ‘relax, I’m not Miss Grimshaw’ when striking up a conversation with her? This is how he talks to Arthur and John, sometimes letting them off the hook and making them feel like they’re part of almost a small conspiracy against Hosea and his strictness)

That being said, he does not encourage slacking off on chores in general. In fact, he frequently bemoans that Arthur and John should work harder for the camp, for the cause, for their family. Will give them impromptu motivational speeches along these lines if he’s in the mood. (Arthur takes this way more serious than John. Arthur’s intense work ethic as an adult stems in large part from these speeches when he was a teen. They always instilled him with a sense of pride, purpose, and direction but also with a vague sense of lingering guilt he can’t really put his finger on)

As far as drinking and smoking go, Dutch is a lot more relaxed than Hosea. In fact, it is Dutch who buys Arthur his first shot of whiskey at age sixteen, much to Hosea’s dismay (just two weeks earlier, Hosea had firmly refused Arthur’s request to be allowed to try whiskey, telling him he’d have to wait at least two years for that and to better not try and get some in secret or else) Now, Hosea huffs and puffs as Dutch hands Arthur the glass. Arthur will never forget Dutch’s laugh as he coughed the burning liquid back up.

In general, Dutch simply loves to introduce the boys to new things they never had before. He’s the one who buys them their first cigarettes (never cigars though, although one time he let John take a drag of his cigar as a kind of reward for a job well done. Arthur did not like this one bit because he had never been offered that)

More likely than not, it is Dutch who arranges for Arthur’s first brothel visit, possibly as a kind of birthday gift. As with all of Dutch’s gifts, he doesn’t ask what Arthur or John want, he decides for them. And usually, the success proves him right.

Dutch is totally the one they go to if they need advice on anything, um, sexual. Like, if they have romantic problems or relationship problems, they’ll probably ask Hosea, but for anything more spicy they ask Dutch. Dutch is comfortable talking about these kinds of things.

Dutch also gives them (unsolicited) advice on fashion and personal grooming.

In a similar vein, Dutch is the one who gives them advice about how much whiskey is too much and on how to deal with hangovers. While being incredibly relaxed about all this, Dutch is not a fan of drunkenness. In fact, neither Arthur nor John can recall ever having seen Dutch really drunk or out of control. He talks a lot about how it’s important to always stay in control of your own senses, your own fate. So Dutch does not approve of Arthur’s tendency to just keep drinking until he’s a roaring mess. He lectures him about this, repeatedly.

So while Dutch, unlike Hosea, is not a disciplinarian, this does not mean that the boys are more relaxed around him than around Hosea. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Years later, John would try to explain it like that: Hosea could be stern and downright scary sometimes, but you always knew where you stood with him. Like, if you messed up, he’d punish you, but you always knew what kind of behaviour would lead to what kind of response. With Dutch, things were a lot less certain.

With Dutch, it always felt as if everything was at stake. It always felt like you had to perform, to do well, to impress Dutch.

Like Hosea, Dutch would talk to you when you messed up, but the kind of talk would be very different. More a monologue than a dialogue, though intersparsed with poignant questions that made you really think about what you’d done wrong.

All in all, Hosea spent a lot more time talking to Arthur and John. But John would later say that ten minutes of being lectured by Dutch were far more intense than a two-hour conversation with Hosea. Dutch had a way of making you feel deeply ashamed of your behaviour with just a handful of words.

While Hosea was not above using corporal punishment (it being the 1880s and all that), Dutch didn’t do that. Normally.

Dutch had a temper, however. He never liked backtalk, being disrespected. You could never be completely sure what would set him off when he was in a certain mood. (Arthur and John can recall only a small handful of instances over the years where Dutch truly lost his temper with them. But these sure were memorable.)

But usually, Dutch was a joy to be around. Arthur and John always basked in his attention. He had a way of making you feel so special, and valued, and seen.

Teaching and explaining things was as natural as breathing to Dutch, and John and Arthur picked up quite a bit of general education just by listening to his casual references to stuff he’d read. (Dutch used to read widely, his obsession with Evelyn Miller came later on)

Unlike Hosea, Dutch never told them much about his own childhood. John and Arthur didn’t ask.

Teaching the boys how to read was Dutch’s task, one he got started on within days after Arthur and John had joined, respectively. He taught them the alphabet first, then had them spell out words and sentences and finally had them read a number of beginner-level books.

For the first one or two years of their time in the gang, Reading With Dutch was a regular, unskippable activity for Arthur and John. Every Tuesday and Friday, it was time for a reading lesson, no matter what else was going on, no matter how tight camp resources were, no matter if Arthur/John were motivated or not. Dutch was dead serious about the whole reading thing.

For some reason, Dutch was also weirdly insistent that Arthur and John should have nice, elegant handwriting, and had them practice their penmanship until he was satisfied  (John hated that part of their lessons but Arthur didn’t mind, having always been way more skillful with pencil and paper than John)

Even after these more formal lessons had ended, Dutch would continue to gift them books and inquire about what they were reading. He would also read them bedtime stories around the campfire (even though the boys were technically too old for that, noone ever complained, and even Hosea liked to sit back and listen. Dutch had a really good reading voice and would sometimes even mimic the voices of different characters if he was in a good mood)

When the boys were sick or injured, they could not expect too much comfort from Dutch. In fact, Dutch was likely to poke fun at them for being clumsy or to dress them down for being careless. The boys learned quickly that Dutch didn’t like weakness, had little patience for it, so they usually turned to Hosea for comfort instead.

The most they would get from Dutch would be a speech along the lines of “get well, son, we need you strong”. It was almost like he thought he could make the illness go away simply by ordering them to be healthy again.

Dutch taught Arthur and John how to ride a horse, how to shoot, how to use a knife in a brawl. All the Fun Stuff, in short.

Dutch was an excellent teacher when it came to these more practical things but his speciality was shooting. Those early lessons with Dutch are the reason why both Arthur and John turned out to be such impressive shots later on.

He also taught them about killing, how it was sometimes necessary and sometimes wrong, and how to tell the difference. How to put a gun to someone’s head and mean it. How to feel an icy calm while pulling the trigger, and how not to lose your head over it later on.

Dutch was the first person who saw how deep Arthur’s anger went, and the first person to not like him any less because of it. Dutch taught Arthur how to use his anger, how to let it out when the situation called for it. He also showed him how to use violence more efficiently. (Hosea did not approve of these lessons, but Arthur loved them, and privately thought it was these kinds of lessons that saved him, more so than the reading lessons or the love and understanding or any of the other stuff)

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr 2 #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #arthur morgan #john marston #red dead redemption 2 headcanons #my headcanons #look I had more to say #but I'm exhausted #and sorry #like #I know noone asked to this and I know it's excessively long but #I had to get it out of my system #anyway #my writing

[yeetmetotahiti]

1-50

Anon I swear. To. GOD. 

What is your OC’s favorite color?                                                                         He likes orange

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect?                                       He collects some books and small things that remind him of home. Like he has a jar of sand he took from outside his house.

What kind of things is your OC allergic to?                                                          He doesn’t have allergies

What kind of clothing does your OC wear?                                                        The nicer clothing he can find in stores or when he rarely robs houses. Everything has to be fancy and real nice with him, he’s a diva, anon

What is your OC’s first memory?                                                                        Watching a horse at the neighbor’s ranch graze while the setting sun painted everything a hazy orange. 

WWhat’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite?                                          I don’t think he’d have a favorite, but his least is definitely vultures

What element would your OC be?                                                                     Fire

What is your OC’s theme song?                                                                         Something country like??? Idk, cowboy stuff. (I haven’t really thought about it and it’s midnight)

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC?                                           No to both, besides what he just looks like online

What deadly sin would best represent your OC?                                               Pride

What are your OC’s hobbies?                                                                            He likes to ride Ikaros out for nice strolls through whatever type of country they set up camp in. He also likes to stargaze and sketch. 

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they?                                        He can be patient with friends, but if it’s just a random person making him angry, they better be ready.

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.?                           He’s male, I still haven’t worked out his sexuality, he’s mostly white(one of his great grandparents was Native American)

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods?     He loves the simple things, like some bread, cheese, and meats for a meal. His least favorite is honestly Pearson’s stew but he tries to not let him see that

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why?                     He would want an iguana because he saw one one day while riding through the desert and thought it looked cool. 

What does your OC smell like?                                                                      Trail dust, old leather, campfire smoke, and whatever he puts in his hair

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job?                   He’s an outlaw with Dutch. He’s fine with this job, but he’d hate to do something tedious like working in a shop. He doesn’t have a dream job, he’s living it. He loves that job baby!

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths?                        He fears failure, he hates thinking he let people down. His greatest weakness is definitely his stubbornness and pride. His greatest strength is his determination.              

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song?            He listens to whatever is played or sung at camp. His favorite song is a lullaby he has long forgotten the words to.

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do?                                                                    This dumbass would be so excited by everything that he’d hurt himself immediately somehow. 

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves?                            He hates when people mock him, or when people are rude for no reason. He once shot a man on the spot because he said some suggestive things to some ladies near by. His pet peeve is heavy breathers. (it just popped into my head I have no idea why)

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school?                       He didn’t go to no highschool, baby! He’s a cowboah!

What is a random fact about your OC?                                                            He is actually a real soft boah, he just hides it well.

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living?                                                                                        They think life is for the taking, that it’s what you make of it. He doesn’t really have a philosophy on life, he just is out there to enjoy it.

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them?                                                                                          I literally just sat down online and made a character I thought looked interesting. Everything is still the same since I made him.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why?                                         Even though he left in a hurry and didn’t get to say proper goodbyes to her, his most important person is still his mother. She did everything she could for him, and always encouraged him to do what makes him happy. The least important person to him is probably the man he tried to steal one of his sheep from. The one that caught him and gave him his scar on his face.

What kind of childhood did your character have?                                               He had a pretty regular childhood minus the lack of a father. Just a kid having fun and being a kid.

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions?                                                                                     He just tends to fidget and move on his feet a lot. His only addiction is tobacco becaue….I mean, it’s 1899.

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose?                                                                                                             He lived the way he wanted to

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why?                                                                        This entire set of questions makes him nervous, but deep down he does want kids one day.

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory?                                                                                                             Definitely, as mentioned before, how he got his face scar, or when he got attacked by a mountain lion. Their favorite memory is probably when he got his first horse.

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be?                              He would want to meet his dad.

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why?                                   He…he’s an outlaw.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?                            I mean he’s in a gang, so of course he sometimes does that acting stuff with Hosea. He likes to play the quiet role because then it’s easier to scope out the score. He usually plays Hosea’s character’s friend/brother/cousin/son/etc.

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?                                                                            He has an ok one. He does tend to daydream a lot, especially on guard duty or when looking out on the landscape from horseshoe overlook. He’s usually never worried. He does think back to his time as a child a lot though, when things were easier for him.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?                      He wants to find his dad the most out of anything, he looks up to a man he’s never met and only heard a few stories of. Idk, he always likes new guns and knives. He would roam forever if it meant finding his father.

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do?                                                                                                         If he’s bored he usually unconsciously moves his thumb up and down a small section of his suspenders.

What would your character do with a million dollars?                                         He would spend it on fancy clothes and upgrades to his weapons, he’s vain af!

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can?                                                                                Well he doesn’t have a fridge obviously, but he has some shell casings on his tent floor along with some wood shavings from some small carvings he’s done. He has a picture of his mother and him and that jar of sand from outside his house on his nightstand. 

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with?                                                        He’s probably going into town for a mission or just with some of the guys or ladies from camp. He wears either his finest clothes or just what he has now depending on the situation. Oops, already answered that part.

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why?                                 He’ll just kick the dirt and probably go out hunting by himself. He likes to be alone to cool down and have time to think.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from?            I already mentioned his scars before, but I’ll mention his scar on his side again. It’s from one of his first days working on the ranch when he made a young bull mad and it’s horn got his entire side.

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said?                  Probably something when he was drunk. He can’t remember it but some of the guys in camp always joke about it to him while being vague enough that he doesn’t remember it.

How does your character react/ accept criticism?                                           If it’s done nicely he does, if it’s screamed at him from somebody then he won’t stand for it.

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza?                                                                                        He doesn’t even know what pizza is, so he would either eat it immediately because he’s curious or he would refuse because he just doesn’t know what it is.

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works?                                                                          He probably immediately pokes it with something sharp to see if it works.

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle?          He sketches all the time. He likes to draw wildlife and nature scenes. He doesn’t really doodle unless for practice.

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult?                                                                                                                His mother was very nurturing and caring. He only knows what he does about his father from the few stories his mother told him growing up and a few things he heard in town about the outlaw. It made him a caring person, he’s just a chaotic dumbass.

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush?                                                                                 Please don’t give him candy, the last time that happened he had so much that it took 3 men to restrain him during his sugar high.

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count?                                  He would be nervous, but he’s always wondered what was on the other side. He would still try to avoid it though. He would either make his last days with the gang his best or he would immediately race out to go on the few leads he had about where his father was last seen. 

#rdr2 #red dead 2 online #my oc #probably didnt think id do it but here it is #im way too stubborn not to carry through

[xihaveaplanxx]

Of Compassion and Violence (Chp 1)

“You are improving with your spells so well.” Hosea smiled at his daughter. She was practicing her healing magic on him , doing what he taught her and she was honestly doing well. She was working to become a teacher and he told her that learning some healing magic would be helpful because children are wild and children get injured all the time. She usually worked on her magic like to get her marker to write for her or to make beautiful sparkles and displays. Not a malicious bone in her body as she was raised. Her father, Hosea was an elder mage who had adopted her. More like he found her but he went through the paperwork and soon she was his. She lived with he and his wife Francine and her two brothers, John a werewolf and Arthur who was a regular human. He and Francine related on that level by being normal though Hosea had cast quite a few spells to keep them safe from others. They were his own little family and he adored it so much. John was a bit wild, and also tended to get into things, fights and other things especially if his boyfriend Farkas was involved. Farkas kept him calm, he tried to at least but sometimes John just wanted to do his own thing even if it drove him insane he loved him all the same. “Oh, I can’t wait for you to be a teacher. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks Dad” She smiled at him. “Class is fun...most times at least.”

“Most times? You aren’t having trouble are you?”

“No. No!” She told him not wanting him to worry. In truth, class was a bit tough. She didn’t want to tell him or Francine or her brothers as to not worry them. Her best friend, Dreama who was a vampire that was adopted by two mages, Teldryn and Erandur dealt with one of her issues. My killing them. Oh, the very image of that man's last minutes played in her head and it was a lot to try to push out her mind. How Dreama stalked him and broke his neck without a second thought. She didn’t bat an eyelash. She left the body there and kept moving. She was horrified. She loved Dreama, she did like a sister, like family but recently she had been very moody and very violent and she regretted telling her about that guy. Sure he made her feel awful and he hurt her feelings but...he didn’t deserve to die...not like that. Others picked at her and she was trying to cope with it on her own. She didn’t want anyone else dead. She didn’t want anyone to worry. Things could get better....she hoped so ... at least. “Things are fine.”

“Jenny, my dear....you don’t need to lie to me.”

“Dad....”

“Erandur told me what Dreama has done.” He said lowly. “I know you didn’t tell her to do it but....”

“I....she didn’t need to do that.”

“You know how she is.” Hosea shook his head “I know she meant well....Erandur wasn’t happy. Asking people to cover it.....I always told him...she was a bit wild. Teldryn always wanted him to be a bit tougher on her but Erandur loves her so much , he’s willing to turn a blind eye. As if this is the first time she murdered someone....she is dangerous.”

“You let us be friends.”

“You make her happy. One of the few things that do.” He shook his head. “And me. She’s super fond of me it seems. She just...she was doing good but she’s not been good lately. I guess since that mage she loved died she hasn’t been okay.”

“She loved Anders so much but what happened to him....I know he was insane but...that was....horrible.”

“And what she did to that town was the worst. So many beings died at her hand. A bloodbath. She was locked up and Erandur got her out and he never told me how. I...I fear my friend used his magic on those people. He did a spell or something...I know how he is. The idea of her being locked up he can’t take it. I know he’s strong and he’s on the council. Probably pleaded to Solas she won’t do it again if he could turn a blind eye on him using his magic to get her out. I didn’t want her sent off either but...she killed.....an entire town. That entire town got wiped off the map. She was barely locked up. I know she’s hurt. I get that I do but...”

“She was never the best with her emotions.”

“I know.” Hosea agreed “But also, she is so protective of you, I’m glad she looks out for you but again....I don’t want her doing all THAT.”

“I told her that and she apologized. Then cried over Anders again. She misses him so much and Erandur tried to save him but the humans in that town....what they did to him....there was no way.”

“I know. Poor thing. I want her to be better. At least so she can keep you safe. I don’t want her dragging you into things.”

“I get that. I haven’t seen her in days though. I’m a bit worried.”

“I’m sure she is fine.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned if she’s fine. I just hope....that she’s not hurting someone else. She is used to causing chaos when she’s in distress.”

In the woods outside of town

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck me yourself! You won’t!”

“Can you not? You are so annoying. I want to break your neck.”

“Go ahead.” He bent down so he was close enough for her to wrap her hands around his throat. It wouldn’t do anything to him as he was immortal, a vampire like her and getting choked to death wouldn’t do anything to him. “Don’t feel your hands around my neck. Maybe you are bluffing.” He taunted her knowing it would just make her madder.  She glared at him and then turned on her heel. She was in a mood. She was always in some type of mood. It was her thing. “What’s bothering you now?”

“As if you care.”

“Well I asked.”

“Mind your business.”

“This is why you have so few friends. You are mean to the ones you have.”

“You and I aren’t friends.”

“Damn right we aren’t. You don’t have sex with your friends.”

“Dutch! I swear....”

“You swear what? You're going to trip on me again in the park and end up butt naked the next day for the whole world to see. Go ahead and explain that to your dads.” He crossed his arms. “You are lucky we don’t burn in the sun like the stories humans write or we’d have died that way and that would be....bad....well I mean not a horrible way to go for me but you....you’d be so pissed because you can’t pretend you hate me if you burned to death, naked on top of me.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You think you can’t.” He sighed “But really...what’s the matter with you lately? You’ve seemed...extra mean lately.”

“People are being mean to Jenny at school and she won’t tell me who.”

“Well you killed the last guy. You know she’s not into that. Even if it’s coming from a good place.”

“But people are picking at her. IT’s not fair. All my life she’s always been so sweet and people are cunts. You see what they did to Anders. They died and those who bother her will meet the same fate. I won’t stop til I take out every last one of them.”

“That’s why she won’t tell you. She doesn’t want people to die. Maybe for them to leave her be....”

“If they are dead, that solves the problem.”

“Those people have families, Dreama...”

“That doesn’t matter to me. They let their family members be rude to her so them being upset doesn’t matter to me.”

“Dreama...I can’t believe I’m even going to say this but....acting like this isn’t the answer.”

“Acting like what? Say it with your whole fucking chest Dutch Van Der Linde. What am I fucking acting like?”

“Irrational.” He said and she looked like she would kill him with a look alone. “She doesn’t want people dying . It would look suspicious to people in her college if people that even spoke to her started dying.”

“She doesn’t need school. She’s smart enough.”

“She wants to be a teacher”

“So what. She knows enough to be a good teacher”

“And if one of those kids gave her lip....?”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“She doesn’t want you dealing with it because of how you get.” 

“I just don’t want people being mean to her. She is sweet and she’s never bothered a damn person. She doesn’t deserve it. I know Hosea is wary of me but to me if he was a decent fucking dad he’d handle this on his own!”

“She probably doesn’t tell him. Don’t you think if she did he’d address it or even John or Arthur...or Francine?”

“It doesn’t matter” She crossed her arms. “I want to help her and she won’t let me.”

“Maybe if you found a way beyond murder...she wouldn’t be scared. Reasoning is always an option.”

“As if you care about reasoning.”

“Usually I don’t but....for her...it’s different. For her and Hosea, he’s my best friend. He thinks you are terrifying.”

“Well....I’m trying to keep his daughter safe. She’s my best friend.”

“I know...but still...maybe...you need to calm down.”

“Did you tell Micah he had to calm down because if I remember you were there when he massacred a town.”

“I was there when you did too. So what’s the difference?  Try again.”

“He’s a loon.”

“So are you. So again, what’s the difference?”

“You know what, I hope you die out here.”

“I’d be hurt but you say it to me so often I'm convinced that’s how you tell me you love me. I’m not too bothered.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll happen....at some time....as it always does.”

At Hosea’s house

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want to worry you.”

“Well something must be done. People are being mean to you and that’s not okay. I didn’t know there was more. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Please don’t tell John or Arthur. Arthur might take it better but...”

“I’d never tell John anything. He’s a mess as is.” Hosea shook his head. “No wonder you’ve been changing your clothes too. Not wearing the stuff you really loved. I hope they didn’t make fun of you for being you...that’s awful. I almost understand Dreama...almost at least. That’s never a good thing. I will speak to the headmaster...anyone who will listen. This won't go on.”

“Dad....”

“I just wish you told me sooner.” Hosea hugged his daughter tightly. “Don’t forget how loved you are. Others might be awful but I know tons of people who think you are awesome.”

“Thanks. I just...sometimes it’s hard.”

“Oh I bet. Dreama doesn’t know about all these others, does she?”

“No! I’ve told her it’s over but she knows something is up. I feel bad but ... I don’t want more death”

“It’s understandable. I wish Dutch would talk to his girlfriend about this. Though maybe with him around she’s mellow out...”

“Dutch? Wait...your friend? The vampire who comes here and is always complaining about the books in your library that seems to have so many endless stories? The one that she threw a knife at? That...dad are you sure?”

“Oh, I am.” Hosea took out his phone and scrolled on it until he got to a photo and showed it to her. “He took this yesterday?”

“She...looks happy”

“She does. She just is difficult he tells me.”

“She probably doesn’t want anyone knowing about this.”

“Yes, but she is his girlfriend. She did threaten to murder his ex til she left so there is that”

“She told me she just thought Molly was stupid.”

“No, Molly had Dutch and she wanted him and now she has him and she’s upset...clearly.”

“That...makes alot of sense.” Jenny said giving her father back his phone. “But if they are together....woulld he really be able to keep her calm. After all...”

“I know...his track record of hanging with others isn’t thbest but whenever he tells me of her...he adores her quite a bit. Also without Micah spewing bs in his ear, he somewhat is more competent.”

  “That is a good thing. I hope he can get her to just be mellow. I know she misses Anders and i know she’s protective of me but....things don’t need to be like this.”

“I just hope that she learns that. I’d hate for her to get into something Erandur can’t drag her out of . He’d be crushed and who knows what he’d do in retaliation.”

“I don’t even want to think of that.”

“Neither do I” Hosea shook his head. “You know what, let’s forget all this for a while. Let’s go out to dinner. Just you and I. It’s been awhile since it was just us. I’ll even let you pick, what do you say or are you too old to have a little dinner date with your dad?”

“I’m never too old for that.” She smiled at him gently. “I’d love to.”

[automatismoateo]

A rant: I haven't spoken to my abusive parents in several years, and today I got an e-mail from my dad that was a random biblical verse. | Spoiler Alert: I got kinda mad. via /r/atheism

Submitted November 30, 2020 at 09:38PM by Obliterature (Via reddit https://ift.tt/2JdYlaY) A rant: I haven't spoken to my abusive parents in several years, and today I got an e-mail from my dad that was a random biblical verse. | Spoiler Alert: I got kinda mad.

My parents growing up were abusive and were the cause of various forms of trauma to my three siblings and I. My dad, a lapsed Catholic, decided he was a "Christian" again after Barack Obama was elected and started sinking into a far-right sinkhole of anti-intellectualism. My mother, is a right-wing Jew. What a combo, eh?

Anyway, I've been estranged from them for several years, because I couldn't handle their gaslighting, denial, and continuously crappy and toxic behavior. I told my Dad and Mom at the time that they would be back allowed in my life if they met certain conditions (seeking mental health treatment and committing to seeing through being the primary condition). Today, I get this e-mail quoting the Bible verse Psalms 95:6"

O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the LORD our maker.

I don't know what came over me, but I flipped out. I got angry. And I couldn't stop myself from writing him an e-mail back. This may be petty, but I just felt like I had to share it. Apologies if this doesn't belong here.

​

The E-Mail:

Oh, shit, are we trading favorite biblical verses now? Here’s a few of my favorites:

How about when Leviticus weirdly shames women for having periods?

" 'When a woman has her regular flow of blood, the impurity of her monthly period will last seven days, and anyone who touches her will be unclean till evening. 20 " 'Anything she lies on during her period will be unclean, and anything she sits on will be unclean. 21 Anyone who touches her bed will be unclean; they must wash their clothes and bathe with water, and they will be unclean till evening. 22 Anyone who touches anything she sits on will be unclean; they must wash their clothes and bathe with water, and they will be unclean till evening. 23 Whether it is the bed or anything she was sitting on, when anyone touches it, they will be unclean till evening. 24 " 'If a man has sexual relations with her and her monthly flow touches him, he will be unclean for seven days; any bed he lies on will be unclean. 25 " 'When a woman has a discharge of blood for many days at a time other than her monthly period or has a discharge that continues beyond her period, she will be unclean as long as she has the discharge, just as in the days of her period. 26 Any bed she lies on while her discharge continues will be unclean, as is her bed during her monthly period, and anything she sits on will be unclean, as during her period. 27 Anyone who touches them will be unclean; they must wash their clothes and bathe with water, and they will be unclean till evening. 28 " 'When she is cleansed from her discharge, she must count off seven days, and after that she will be ceremonially clean. – Leviticus 15:19-28

Or that one where God tells Moses that the crippled and handicapped aren’t fit for his church?

The Lord said to Moses, 17 "Say to Aaron: 'For the generations to come none of your descendants who has a defect may come near to offer the food of his God. 18 No man who has any defect may come near: no man who is blind or lame, disfigured or deformed; 19 no man with a crippled foot or hand, 20 or who is a hunchback or a dwarf, or who has any eye defect, or who has festering or running sores or damaged testicles. 21 No descendant of Aaron the priest who has any defect is to come near to present the food offerings to the Lord. He has a defect; he must not come near to offer the food of his God. 22 He may eat the most holy food of his God, as well as the holy food; 23 yet because of his defect, he must not go near the curtain or approach the altar, and so desecrate my sanctuary. I am the Lord, who makes them holy.' – Leviticus 21:16-23

This one ought to hit close to home: kill your sons who are stubborn and rebellious. Well, what are you waiting for, pops?

If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his father and mother and will not listen to them when they discipline him, 19 his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town. 20 They shall say to the elders, "This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard." 21 Then all the men of his town are to stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid. - Deuteronomy 21:18-21

Ohhh, looks like any many who’s injured his cock and balls isn’t allowed in church either…I wonder if emasculation from wife counts? Is that why you never go to church?

No one who has been emasculated by crushing or cutting may enter the assembly of the Lord. - Deuteronomy 23:1

Personally loving this one where men have permission to cut off a wife’s hand should she try to defend her husband.

If two men are fighting and the wife of one of them comes to rescue her husband from his assailant, and she reaches out and seizes him by his private parts, 12 you shall cut off her hand. Show her no pity. - Deuteronomy 25:11-12

How about the one where God condones bashing babies against rocks?

Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction, happy is the one who repays you according to what you have done to us. 9 Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks. – Psalm 137.8-9

Or the one where God condones ripping babies to pieces, looting their parents’ houses and raping their mothers?

See, the day of the Lord is coming -a cruel day, with wrath and fierce anger- to make the land desolate and destroy the sinners within it. 10 The stars of heaven and their constellations will not show their light. The rising sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light. 11 I will punish the world for its evil, the wicked for their sins. I will put an end to the arrogance of the haughty and will humble the pride of the ruthless. 12 I will make people scarcer than pure gold, more rare than the gold of Ophir. 13 Therefore I will make the heavens tremble; and the earth will shake from its place at the wrath of the Lord Almighty, in the day of his burning anger. 14 Like a hunted gazelle, like sheep without a shepherd, they will all return to their own people, they will flee to their native land. 15 Whoever is captured will be thrust through; all who are caught will fall by the sword. 16 Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes; their houses will be looted and their wives violated. – Isaiah 13:9-16

Hubba, hubba, Ezekiel!

There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses. - Ezekiel 23:20

Oh damn, what about that time in Hosea when God’s all about baby-killing AND violently murdering pregnant women? I thought Christians opposed abortion?

"But I have been the Lord your God ever since you came out of Egypt. You shall acknowledge no God but me, no Savior except me…"You are destroyed, Israel, because you are against me, against your helper… The people of Samaria must bear their guilt, because they have rebelled against their God. They will fall by the sword; their little ones will be dashed to the ground, their pregnant women ripped open." - Hosea 13:4, 9, 16

And no examination of the Bible is complete without some New Testament Exodus shenanigans about selling your daughters into sexual slavery.

"If a man sells his daughter as a servant, she is not to go free as male servants do. 8 If she does not please the master who has selected her for himself, he must let her be redeemed. He has no right to sell her to foreigners, because he has broken faith with her. – Exodus 21:7-8

Tell me, Dad. Do you really think you know more about the Bible than I do? I literally majored in literature and the “classics” of western culture. I graduated Summa Cum Laude with a 3.99 GPA. I’m halfway through a masters degree on these kinds of ancient texts.

You, on the other hand, are a fake Catholic who rarely goes to church and has mindlessly hooked onto far-right & conservative talking points in your old age out of your reactionary racism to the election of a black man to the presidency.

What the fuck happened to you? The [CENSORED NAME] I remembered when I was growing up was an marginally intelligent and moderate thinking person capable of critical thinking. The [CENSORED NAME] I’ve seen devolve into the anti-intellectualism of American-Christian nationalism & conservatism since Barack Obama took office in 2008 has been an embarrassment to yourself, to your Jewish wife, and to your children. Get a fucking grip.

Your politics and your religion are centered around greed, prejudice, and the marginalization of ethnic, cultural, political, and religious minorities. Your fetishization of your personal “freedom” and “liberty” over the health, safety, and human rights of others is vile and repulsive, and it illustrates that your ideology extends to only caring about yourself and your immediate circle, rather than for the common good of all people. (Not very Christian, bro.)

All that aside, you know my conditions for allowing you and mom back into my personal life. You must:

​

Be open and honest with our mother about her abusive behavior towards you and your children over the decades.

You must seek mental health intervention and treatment for her, to include medication and therapy. She is sick. She has been sick for a long time. She is long overdue for psychological help. Your enabling of her abusive and unhealthy habits is only going to further isolate you and her and compound her mental illness, as well as present detrimental effects to your own mental health, if they haven’t already.

She must commit to A.) Admitting the abuses she’s done to you, your family, her family, and all of her children and B.) Following through with her mental health treatment. No half-measures. No quitting. She is sick, and she has been sick for as long as I can remember. She will not ever get better or be better if she does not have your support and encouragement throughout what will likely be a very sordid and difficult treatment. She will not get better or be better if she doesn’t commit to seeking treatment for, what is likely, the rest of her life.

You need to finally own up to your own flaws, too. You have gaslighted us, your kids, and told us that the abuses and trauma we have endured from our mother and you have not happened; that we are liars and that are “ungrateful”. You have enabled your wife’s abuses by turning a blind eye to them. No longer.

BONUS: If you could at least try to understand that your politics are not only harmful to humanity at large, but to your children and grandchildren, as well, it’d be fucking nice to see you apply some critical-fucking-thinking to the ideology you’ve so mindlessly given yourself to.

Here’s the thing, [CENSORED NAME], I may be the only kid that’s cut you out of my life so far, but I can guarantee you: I will NOT be the last. [SISTER 1] and [SISTER 2] are tired of you, they are tired of mom, and they are ashamed of you. I tell you this not to hurt you or twist the knife, but to warn you. You have been dangerously close to losing them the way you have lost me for years. Every time one of your ignorant political rants shows up on their Facebook feed, every time you harass them about wishing mom a happy birthday, or harass their ex-husbands on Facebook, every little stupid and inconsiderate act you take, is pushing them closer to the ends I have taken to separate myself, my family, and my children from you.

As the status quo stands right now; you and mom are toxic. And I cannot in good faith bring people like you around my children. You did enough damage to me and my siblings. I won’t let you hurt my children, too.

You’ve already missed out on nearly the first two years of [CENSORED WIFE'S NAME] and I’s daughters’ lives, and [CENSORED SON'S NAME] has no idea who you people are. I am certain they cannot tell the difference without your influence in their lives. Can you?

I am not an unreasonable person, and I do not ask for anything that is out of your realm of capability or power; I am not asking for the clocks to be turned back and for you to undo the years of abuse and trauma you and mom inflicted on us. I am not the hateful and ungrateful son you have painted me to be. I may be stubborn and rebellious, but I am not without reason or compassion.

Your Stubborn and Rebellious Son, Take Him to the Elders at the Gate of Town For His Stoning,

- [CENSORED NAME]

#reddit

[quecomico]

Physical & Rational Competence

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19th century

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19th century

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Don't know what you'd think of this, but my read on Dutch is that his first concern is his own safety, and when his safety isn't a concern his talk is genuine. When everything starts going to shit his selfish nature comes to the forefront and he subconsciously ramps up the manipulation tactics. And I don't how Ch 6 Dutch would have behaved if he wasn't Post-Hosea and brain damaged.

I’m wrapping this into another Ask of “You believe Dutch never loved Arthur, John, or any of them?”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~To answer second Ask very directly, I’d say no, that Dutch never loved any of them.  But that’s due to asking “What is love?”  (Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more).  I’m saying that with the perspective that real, genuine love needs empathy, selflessness, concern for the other person first above yourself.  You can be very fond and affectionate and caring, but if you’re a narcissist who will always, always instinctively want to put yourself first, if you’ll sacrifice them for your needs, then yeah, you don’t truly love them.  You can’t.  But none of them knew it, including perhaps Dutch, because they weren’t pushed anywhere near that until 1899.  The only vague hint we have is his implied habit of going through women and treating them as somewhat dispensable.  (I do think he was fond of Annabelle, but if you dig into it, I’m going to guess at its core it’s mostly anger that something of his was taken from him.  He only talks about her in a sense of outrage that Colm killed her, not the grief for her as a person.  Contrast that to Hosea’s very real grief for Bessie.)To the first Nonny, I think you’re right.  I never would say Dutch is all a cynical act.  He does like and care about these people.  He’s taken them in when they’ve been lost souls and given them a family, and yes, there’s certainly an angle of self-interest in preying on their vulnerability–the ones he finds as kids are particularly painful–but it’s clear he also enjoys these people.  He likes them.  He’s not just seeing them as little toy soldiers who he has to fool by playing nice so he can use them.The trouble with Dutch is, as you say, when the good times are good, his better nature is there.  He can be kind, generous, funny, and it’s easier to downplay the darkest part of the reality, that he’s a silver-tongued egomaniac who’s drawn all these people together into an anarchosocialist cult with him as their godhead.  But there’s room for kindness.  There’s room for affection and pride.  There’s room for him to see Hosea as (almost) his equal and treat him and his opinion with great respect.  Though the fact that it’s very definitively the Van Der Linde Gang, not the Van Der Linde/Matthews Gang, makes it clear that Hosea may be a brother, but definitely subordinate.  There were other outlaw gangs with a more equal partnership definitely noted: the James/Younger Gang, for example, or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid getting equal billing in the Hole In The Wall Gang.  In this case, Hosea’s the quieter junior partner, and even he eventually observes how he’s fallen under Dutch’s spell.Most violently oriented cults don’t hold together for years on end.  I think there’s a reason for that.  Technically the gang’s been in existence for at least 23 (?) years, since I believe Hosea’s news article details him and Dutch breaking out of prison in Ohio in 1876.  They found Arthur in 1877.  Hosea had Bessie, and it sounds like Susan is also an OG.  But that was that for a while, until they brought John into it in 1885.  That changed things again, but I’d argue that the early days of the gang were very different.  It was a small group: Dutch, Hosea, Bessie as Team Mom, Susan leaving her role as Dutch’s lover and becoming Team Spinster Aunt, Dutch’s current lover in any given year, Arthur growing into manhood and his role as Annoyed Older Brother, and John as Little Brother.  That small core family of two kids, two dads, one mom and one aunt (though Bessie sounds to have died before the gang really exploded in size) and one revolving-door girlfriend, seems to have been a fairly set dynamic until c. 1892 or 1893.  It sounds to have been fairly stable, tight-knit, warm and affectionate.  I suspect Arthur’s anxiety settled down when he saw that he’d always be treated and respected as the eldest son, and he and John were actually pretty close until John fucked up with Abigail.  The closest that anyone came to leaving was Arthur riding off for a few days every couple of months to  go see Eliza and Isaac.  This also sounds like the best days of the gang in terms of charity—that article from the bank robbery from the mid-late 1880s that’s clearly Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur happened, and they promptly went and were handing out money to the local poor people and basically being giddy Robin Hoods.  Arthur remembers when they used to help people.  These were the good days.  So in 1892/1893 you have Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John, Susan, and Dutch’s Current Girlfriend (though I suspect nobody counts her that much since she’s prone to changing every couple of years).  I think Bessie is dead by this point since Hosea makes it sound like it happened before most of the gang members were there. So we’ll say this gang is effectively five people, with one more loosely attached honorary member.  Suddenly the gang population explodes.  It sounds like everyone else joined in the last six years prior to RDR2, probably many in the last two to three.  From Pearson’s pic of the stagecoach likely in 1895, given Abigail holding baby Jack, they had Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, Abigail, Susan, John, Pearson, and Bill, and we know Javier was part of it, Tilly sounds to have been.  That’s ten right there, maybe more.And I think that swapped the dynamic for Dutch too.  Suddenly they’re acquiring every stray, lost soul, and orphan in their path.  He’s not just the fond patriarch of a tight-knit family, he’s got to be the leader, the prophet, the Messiah of a Goddamned movement.  And I think that exacerbates his narcissism.  He has more people to look after, and more people to hold in his sway.  His personality becomes bigger.  His rhetoric and his plans become more grandiose.  He becomes more of the fire-and-brimstone street preacher.  The gang becomes less charitable, more insular, more we take care of our own first, because they’re becoming far more dangerously visible with the need to take care of ten, fifteen, twenty people, and the more constant stream of risk and crimes that comes with it. The population explosion pretty much doomed the gang, I think, because it pushed Dutch’s narcissism to deadly levels, and forced them to start taking on bigger and riskier crimes on a more regular basis.  By 1896 the clock was probably already ticking down, and the pressure of the next few years ratcheted that up until it finally explodes in the Blackwater Massacre and everything that happens after. So to backtrack: I think the Dutch that Hosea, Bessie, Susan, Arthur, and John knew from c. 1876 to 1893 was a proto-narcissist who would have looked out for ol’ Number 1 when pressed hard, yes, but the situation and dynamic they had was a lot more forgiving and brought out Dutch’s idealism, affection, and the like rather than his worst traits.  When the gang started getting bigger, he had more people to hold there, and more risk to keep it all together, the manipulation and grooming and gaslighting ratcheted up too because things had already subtly transformed and started to turn.  You can see some of it in Chapters 1-4 with things like him insisting Arthur will betray him and telling Hosea he needs FAITH NOT DOUBTERS but yeah, it’s really Chapters 5 and 6 that show it.  Missing Hosea’s restraint and with Arthur as the son being unable to take the role of the brother, and with the likelihood of Traumatic Brain Injury/TBI to boot, there was no other way it could have ended, because those were the final nails in the coffin.  But I don’t think it was all Hosea and TBI. The seeds of everyone’s destruction were there long, long before.  I don’t think Dutch is this cynical mastermind and that everything is a deliberate act, mind.  Both those who say that Dutch changed (Sadie, Charles) and those who say he became who he always was (John, Arthur) are right.  He changed and became his true and worst self, and I’m not sure even he fully realized how much he’d been keeping at bay in a far more forgiving situation that let him be his best self.  

#dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #john marston #rdr2 #hosea matthews #thank you for coming to my red talk #Anonymous