#hosea mathews

[cryptidcr3ature]

Rdr but incorrect quote generator

[nthspecialll]

I think in the end red dead is about love.

Arthur's love for Dutch kept him blieving a bit too long, his love for the camp kept him working despite being tired, his love for John and Abigail helped them escape and give his life in return.

John's love for his son and wife that made him flip his life around not just once but twice, his love for Arthur whom he priorly struggled with, his love for his family that made him kill old friends for their safety.

Abigail's love for John that made her believe he could change, her love for him and her son causing her to leave for both their safeties.

Hosea's love for Abigail making him prepare her for the worst already in chapter two, his love for Arthur trying to make him see Dutch's fault before it was too late, and his love for Dutch making him try to keep him from running off the rails.

All those small moments of love, I think that is what it is about

[moonlightkitties]

RIP Mary-Beth Gaskill...you would have LOVED Episode Interactive and creating yourself and begging Arthur or Hosea for money so your character wouldn't have to wear jeans to her wedding.

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

needy

a/n: OMG RDR2 TIME YALL (I’m trying to forget the fact Hosea isn’t immortal)

minors DNI — TW: drunk sex, that’s it

The wind in hoseas ears was making it hard to hear you, the only true confirmation he had of you being on the trail to town with him was the fact your lantern was ever so slightly visible against the rain pouring down from the shadowed clouds above. It bugged him enough as is, having to drag himself up the top of god knows which hill to see if the map was right, and that there was some small backwater town up the other side.

his mind had been running with stress for hours- in need of rest in more ways then one. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even comprehend you and he had gotten to the ‘town’ or more so 5 buildings across one another in a waved line. He would have stood there if it hadn’t been for your rough glove covered hand tugging him along like a lost cattle or some scared mare. He tumbled into line, following behind you as he shivered slightly

he flopped into bed, tossing off his soaked clothes and water filled boots, covering himself in the itchy blanket of the cheep saloon room bed. He heard your spurs click as you walked into your own room, the thin walls doing little to mute your gruff and tired groans as you also tossed yourself into bed

he, sadly- was much to impatient and much too needy to wait to get to a brothel or pay some cheap ranch-hand.. no- he needed you in specific. He already spent so much time ogling you at camp that you must have noticed sometime. He’d even catch himself looking at women that looked like … you- even similar eyes had him swooning. He was embarrassed about that thought alone, but he reasoned that some liquid courage would fix that small flaw in his half thought plan.

he finished whatever cheap liquor bill had tossed him when you two had set off, and waltzed into your room with a stumbling impression of a collected approach. You were reading , still in your layers of soaked clothes- not that Hosea cared much. He nestled his body up real close to your side and allowing his chin to rest on your shoulder without hearing a complaint from you, his cock embarrassing hard under the loose confines of the blanket he had wrapped over him like a robe

it didn’t take him long for his hands to undo your belt and chaps. His mouth moving almost on its own to give you desperate wet kisses on your neck, groaning at even the softest touch’s when your grasped his hips with your free hand, your eyes still focused on the book you were reading in the dim lighting

his hazy mind wanted your attention, and it was making him more worked up then he would ever admit sober at the fact you didn’t even glance at him. He lowered himself a bit, his lips mouthing over the bulge of your jeans, letting out utterly pathetic sounds from the back of his throat, tugging down your jeans and mouthing your cock, suckling on the tip and slowly taking inch after inch down his throat, trying to relax his throat to not choke and cry. He bobbed his head up and down until he finally pushed himself into having his nose against your mess of pubes, his back arched and knees holding his lower half up in a drunk yet quite intentional position- his cheeks hallowed to suckle on your slowly hardening cock

he reveled at the depressingly clear implications of it all, soaking up the small attention you gave to him- almost moaning when your hand ran though his hair and bucked into his stretched throat, still quite focused on your book despite the teary puppy dog eyes Hosea looked up at you with. He couldn’t tell exactly how long he had kept the weight of your girth in his mouth, but he was getting antsy. He rutted himself up against the sheets, whining and whimpering until you finally set the book down- gruffly rolling your hips up, little choked sounds coming out of his throat as he happily hollowed his cheeks once more

it felt better then about anything he could think of- much better then any whiskey or expensive cigar he could think of in his dazed state. He didn’t even think of the sounds he was making or the slow movement of your grasp to tug him off- his body tumbling onto your lap as you leaned him over. You said something he couldn’t quite hear, and that he wasn’t sure he should care about- his movement already in action before he could even think, grasping your shoulders and leaning his full weight on you- using his spit as lube… too impatient to find crisco or whatever cheap pomade or oil he could find.

it stung as he slipped down your length, writhing and clutching you tight- but it felt too good to even think of giving up. His movement was sloppy, the attempt to ride you was quickly broken in pace by his blurred thoughts. His breath became a pants and his jaw open, eyes going half lidded as he came the second your tip hit his prostate, going slack as you bent him over properly and bucked into him like a 2 dollar whore. He laid, tense and slack jawed- breathes coming out in little gasps as you thrust into him until you had painted his gummy tight walls white to the point that he was struggling to keep it from dripping out. He fell asleep as soon as you pulled out.

he woke up with a horrid headache in the next morning, the clouds gone and the sun shining through the dusty room. He cuddled into something warm and soft, only to feel the sharp metal of your holsters clasp stabbing into his hip. He got up lazily- silver hair a mess… and a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he looked at you still in your soaked travel clothes… fast asleep with your book tucked beside your pillow.

[5tr4wbaby]

an old photo from 1993

[roamingtigress]

Hosea and that guy.

[1899sbiggestbabygirl]

There are very few characters who are able to call out the gang's hypocrisy from the beginning of the story. And I'm not talking about admitting that Dutch is changing, but rather a complete acknowledgement of the flaws in Dutch and Hosea's philosophy.

First is Charles while riding with Hosea, who was talking about the natives in the area.

"How do you rob and kill people pleasantly? We don't, in spite of Dutch's talk"

He's skeptical. Not because he's able to see their impending downfall,but because he hasn't been introduced into the gang with the same narrative that most others have. He wasn't saved by Dutch and wasn't spoon fed a philosophy from a young age by either him or Hosea. He's a survivalist with a moral compass which happens to align in with theirs. This is also the reason he calls out Arthur when he sees fit.

In the same branch, Lenny doesn't out right critiques Dutch's words. But he does question Evenly Miller, very heavily. It's obvious that Lenny is an educated man, and it frustrates Dutch that he sees right through the empty words of his favorite author.

"He speaks very prettily, but doesn't say anything new" and "he's a rich dreamer playing to be one of us"

Unlike Charles he doesn't do it with the intention of calling out behavior, I don't think he even tries to debate Dutch on the matter, he's just thinking out loud.

It's interesting the different reactions to both Dutch and Hosea being "Called out".

Dutch get defensive or upset, repeating the same beliefs and justifying them, he's not used to being outsmarted, he's unsure on how to react in a way that would still benefit him. Violence would make him seem primitive when it's a battle of intelec, and if his smart mouth is not going to suffice.

Hosea also gets a little defensive, he puts the blame on "trying to simplify a complicated manner" to Arthur, he's reluctant to show he's wrong, he's deflecting.

While we do not see Lenny have these debates with Hosea, we see Hosea constantly motivating Lenny to go to college and get educated. Which means Lenny has shown his smarts some time, and Hosea is full of wit but he doesn't pretend to be an intellectual. So it's easier to admit he's found smarter than him.

In a completely different approach, Uncle critiques Dutch very upfront in a mocking manner.

"That's his problem, he wants to be an american king, with his knights"

To uncle it's very clear: Dutch reads and talks empty words. His words are not further from Lenny's, except that he's taking away the middle man (Miller). Dutch wants an equality where he still gets to be superior, and Dutch responds in a similar manner, he threatens Uncle as a joke.

Once again, Dutch gets upset, but not in a baffled manner like with Lenny, Uncle is not educated like him. Violence will not make him lesser, because a person that he perceives as less is deserving of violence.

I do think both characters believe in their philosophies, it makes them uncomfortable when they're presented with an opposing view from someone who they cannot dismiss easily. Dutch doubles down, Hosea deflects; both are complicit, but it would be a lie to pretend that Hosea's less prideful demeanour is what lets him be open to change. After all, he's the one to suggest change, but he doesn't take the opportunity, because he still deeply believes in their "cause".

[emmithar-blog]

On the Road. The Old Guard Before any of them back there… there was us.

[ccghastly]

Arthur and Charles Being Soft

Rating: G Words: 1200~ Warnings: None (sfw)

Just a little something about Charles being nice to Arthur, cause I wanted some soft comfort.

Slumped down with his shoulders against a log by the scout fire, legs stretched out, ankles crossed comfortably, and his hat tipped low over his eyes. Arthur wasn’t quite asleep, but he was content to doze. Their latest escapade had taken a turn for the worse, Charles had been shot through the meat of his upper arm, John was limping on busted up foot, Sean had narrowly avoided getting his head taken off, and Arthur himself was nursing a biting twinge in his ribs from where he’d slammed them into the unforgiving edge of the roof when he scrambled to catch Javier before he cracked his head open after he fell off. Didn’t help that Arthur then had to haul John up onto a shoulder like a mean tempered sack of potatoes when Marston’s hobbling hadn’t been near quick enough to outpace their pursuers.

They had staggered back into camp, Sean immediately launching into a grand retelling for the eager audience of the folk that hadn’t been there to witness their cock-up. Arthur had dropped John in Ms Grimshaw’s lap, waved off Hosea’s concern and Dutch’s declarations, secured the camp’s share in the tithing box, then wandered off to get himself forgotten in whichever corner of the camp was least likely to have people come over to talk at him. 

Thankfully, Sean’s grandstanding had unerringly drawn the gang over to where he’d taken on the mantle of camp jester near the main fire, folk laughing and twisting each misstep Sean eagerly fed them into great scathing jokes. Leaving Arthur free to warm his bones by the scout fire without fear of interruption. Sean's way of relating stories could turn a two minute stumble into an overblown half-hour incident, so with the fodder of their half-day long comedy of errors Arthur should be safe from nosy-nellies looking for his version of events until about December.

It’d taken Arthur a ginger minute of slow moving to lower himself into the dirt after he’d fed up the fire, then there was a few more minutes of cautious shuffling and hissed wincing inbreaths when his arranging of himself wasn’t slow enough and his ribs screamed another painfilled revolt at him, but now he was in tall cotton. With his shoulders carefully braced on the log to keep pressure off his ribs, the fire to his left casting its pleasant warmth over him, and the sound of the gang safe and whole echoing over to him. Content to rest his dogs until something or someone came to fetch him up out of his lollygagging.

A wuffling huffing breath alerted him to his first visitor and Arthur tipped his head just enough to see Baby’s dinner plate sized hooves come to a stop near his right hip, the shire’s sweet pink nose coming down to snuffle over Arthur’s shirt, lipping up to his shoulder and knocking Arthur’s hat askew on his head.

“Careful, boy.” Arthur’s tone was more praising than chiding as he reached up a hand to set aside his hat and scratch along Baby’s soft jaw, “I’m banged up enough, don’t need to go addin’ onto it,”

Baby lipped and nibbled softly at Arthur’s hair and Arthur snorted a small laugh, “What’re you doin’? You tellin’ me I need a brush, that it?”

“I think he’s saying you need to be more careful,” Charles’ warm timbre gave Arthur and Baby a jolt.

Baby skittered away with a snort and Arthur had to freeze to breathe through the painful fire he’d accidentally stoked in his ribs when he’d mindlessly tried to whip around to face the unexpected noise.

Charles crouched at Arthur’s left with an apologetic grimace, “I’m sorry, Arthur,” his hand was pleasantly warm and grounding where he was holding Arthur’s shoulder, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’t-” Arthur gritted out as he forced himself to relax, “-didn’t hurt me. My own damn fault, shoulda been-”

“No, Arthur,” Charles cut over him, smoothing his hand down Arthur’s arm to grasp his wrist and ducking down to stare into Arthur’s eyes, “It’s not your fault.�� 

“Iffin you say so Charles,” Arthur forced his lungs to keep working, breath hard to come by for a completely new reason as he was caught under the stare of Charles’ warm brown eyes.  “You’re plum smarter than me, so it must be true.”

“You need to stop that too,” Charles’ hand slipped down again to grasp hold of Arthur’s, squeezing his hand so warm and softly, “You’re plenty smart,” 

Arthur darted a quick glance at the main fire then leaned in to plant a kiss on Charles’ sweet mouth, “You’re too good for an old fool like me, Darlin’, but hell if I’m lettin’ you go now.” 

A smile warmer than any fire lit up Charles’ face and he leaned back in to give Arthur another tender kiss. “I’m alright with that,” Charles murmured as he settled down to sit at Arthur’s shoulder, using the log as a backrest. 

“Your arm alright?” Arthur asked, using his grip on Charles’ hand to pull him over, so Arthur could catch a glimpse of Charles’ other arm. Not that it did him any good, as Charles had changed out of his torn bloody shirt. That he wasn’t leaking blood into his new clean shirt was a good sign though.

“I’m good,” Charles assured, putting out his arm for inspection and rolling it in a wide circle to prove it, “It was just a deep graze. Looked scary, but easy to fix up. Only bled like that because I couldn't stop using it.”

Arthur sighed out a relieved breath, “That’s real good, Darlin.” It had been quite the sight, blood pouring out of Charles to cover his whole arm in a slick coat of red, like a gory take on a lady’s opera glove, “Real good.”

Arthur breathed another sigh and set to resettling himself, infinitely more comfortable with his shoulder now pressed up against Charles. He dropped his hat back over his eyes, rested his chin down against his chest and couldn’t suppress the smile that ticked up the corners of his mouth at the feeling of Charles’ hand coming over to rest on Arthur’s neck and play with the longer hairs at Arthur’s nape.  

“Rest up now, Arthur,” Charles said with a warm squeeze of his nape, “You’ll be feeling worse in the morning.”

Arthur snorted a wry laugh and grumbled, “Such comfortin’ words you give me, Darlin’.”

Charles’ arm moved with his shrug, “It’s the truth.”

“That it is,” Arthur sighed, “Don’t mean I have to like it.” 

Charles gave a wordless hum, more to soothe than to sympathize, and started slowly squeezing over the muscles around Arthur’s neck and shoulders. The lazy massage knocked Arthur into dreamland easy as anything, just as it always did, and Charles smiled down at the other man, warmed by his untroubled trust in Charles. 

Something prickled across the side of Charles’ face and he glanced up to see Hosea staring over at them from the main fire, Charles offered the other man a nod without stopping his motions and after a ponderous beat Hosea nodded back then returned to tearing John’s defensive protests to pieces with eloquent turns of phrase.

Thank You For Reading!

Here's a link to My Masterlist if you'd like to read more.

[cryptidcr3ature]

I’m on chapter four and just played my last game of dominoes with Hosea and won. I now am thinking about Arthur in chapter six not playing dominoes anymore because every time he sees them he tells himself, “I should have let the old man win.” And as he’s walking the streets of St. Denis after his diagnosis, he almost feels a sense of relief that he never had to see Hosea succumb to his illness. Instead of his final days filled with suffering and sadness, he was alive, scheming and playing dominoes (and probably cheating) like he always did.

[nthspecialll]

Does anyone ever wonder if Abigail felt guilty over letting Hosea sacrifice himself for her? He was like a father to her, giving her advice when she was worried and sad, helping her teach Jack to read, she worries about him and cares for him. She had only known him for five years yet she feels strongly enough to admit to him he is a parental figure to her.

All of that just for him to give up his life for her. No doubt it was chaotic when the law came for them in Saint Denis when the distraction went wrong, but imagine in Lakay when she had the time to sit and think about the fact that that man was gone because he protected her.

[moonlightkitties]

You are your father's daughter - Red Dead Redemption reader insert (Part One)

You are Dutch Van der Linde's eighteen year old daughter. Your mother was Annabelle but you don't remember her since she passed away when you were young. Dutch and the others took care of you and taught you to read, ride, fish, write and even hunt. Ever since the Blackwater ferry job you had a feeling like things were only going to get worse.

Part Two

A/N: This is mainly just a platonic story but you will be having a few romantic interactions with Sean and Kieran. But there will be some chapters where you, Arthur and John are bonding because y'all are basically siblings.

Chapter One - Colter

You rode behind one of the wagons on your chestnut blanket appaloosa mare, Whiskey. You longed to be in the wagon in the warmth instead of being out in the cold but your father insisted you ride outside since you were "old enough." You didn't argue, you were about to until Miss Grimshaw gave you one of her famous looks that screamed "Watch your attitude" so you complied.

You could hear Reverend Swanson and some of the others talk about how Davey wasn't doing well and that we should find somewhere to make camp. Your mind went back to the Blackwater job and you shivered when you saw your father and the rest of the men ride back into camp, covered in blood. It was awful, Mac and Sean got taken, Jenny died, and Davey was seriously wounded and about to die any second. The wagons stopped and Reverend Swanson hopped out of the wagon you were riding behind. He gave you a nod of acknowledgement and walked to where Hosea and Dutch were.

You pulled your coat closer to your body as you waited for the wagons to start moving again. You never knew it could get this cold in the middle of May.

You patted Whiskey as she stood, you made a mental note to give her some extra pampering since she carried you all the way since you and the gang left Blackwater. Finally, after a few moments of just standing idle, you heard Dutch yell "Come on!" and the wagons started moving again.

You could hear Arthur's voice as you rode alongside and your eyes caught the sight of a run down town. Once the wagons stopped you sighed in relief, dismounted Whiskey and made your way to the wagon to help everyone out.

The rest of the night went by fast and you were exhausted by the end. You were starting to get one of your "famous" headaches as Dutch called them and you let out a pained groan.

"You okay?" Arthur asked you, a concerned look on his face "Fine" you grumbled, standing in the corner of the cabin "My head's starting to hurt but that's it" you said, rubbing your temples. Arthur gave you a sympathetic look "Is it a migraine?" he asked and you shrugged "Maybe, I guess we'll see in the morning."

You didn't sleep that night, you tossed and turned until your head started pounding and the light from the fireplace was making it worse. You let out a pained groan and covered your head with your blanket. You tried to keep quiet but you couldn't, your head was killing you, like someone was stabbing it with a hunting knife but you couldn't see them to stop them.

You heard shifting and instantly felt bad. You must have woke someone up because you heard them walk over to you. The person gently shook you and you uncovered yourself from the blanket and was staring face to face with Tilly "You alright sweetie?" she asks you.

'Do I look alright?' you threatened to ask.

"No" you groaned instead, covering yourself back with your blanket.

"Is it a migraine?"

"Yeah" you groaned.

Tilly rubbed your back and pulled up a chair beside you "You don't have to sit next to me" you told her, your voice muffled by the blanket still being over your head.

"I know, but you shouldn't be alone when you're in pain" she told you "Just try to get some sleep"

You had no idea how you were going to fall asleep. When your migraines get this bad there's nothing you can do but groan and hope to something that it will go away soon. Nevertheless, you fell asleep, soothed by Tilly rubbing your back and the warmth of the blanket over you.

You awake with the sound of arguing. Either Grimshaw and Karen or Micah and Bill.

You groan and you can't even lift your head up, it felt heavy and every time you would try to get up it was if some other force was pulling you down.

"Well look who's awake" you open your eyes and face, ugh, Micah.

"What do you want?" you grumbled, not in the mood for Micah's teasing.

"You see, while you were sleeping, me and the rest of the gang well, we were working." he tells you "Micah, you know I can't work when I get migraines" you mumble. Sure you felt bad, but the last time you worked with a migraine you passed out in the middle of a shoot out.

Before Micah could reply you heard Charles step in "Leave her alone Micah, you know she doesn't feel good." You felt grateful for Charles, his voice was so quiet and calming, it was the only voice that wasn't making your head throb.

Micah scoffed but left you alone.

"Are you okay?" Charles asked, sitting beside you "Fine" you replied "You don't have to sit with me" you say "You have work to do." Charles gave you a smile "Why? You don't want me to sit next to you?" he asked, a tease in his tone but his face was serious.

"Well kind of, I-I mean, you can if you want" your face turned red, and another wave of pain went over you.

"Ugh, just don't talk" you groaned, clutching your head.

"Alright, I can do that" Charles said, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You fell asleep again and awoke, to the sound of commotion, again. The door swung open and you caught a glimpse of Bill and Lenny helping John inside. You were feeling a little better and you were starting to get thirsty so you sat up and caught yourself when you were about to fall.

"What happened to him?" you asked Arthur, who was standing next to you "Wolves" he simply responded "Wolves?" I ask "Who gets attacked by wolves?" Arthur chuckled "Apparently Marston does." He turned to you "You feeling better?" he asked and you shrugged "A little, can you get me some water?" Arthur nodded and left, leaving you to listen to Abigail fuse over John's state.

You pushed yourself off your cot and made your way to where John was "Wow" you exclaimed "That's one nasty wound" you said in a sarcastic tone "Ha, ha, very funny" John said, rolling his one good eye.

"How's our maiden in distress doin?" Arthur asked, handing me a canteen of water.

"He'll live" you said, not giving John a chance to respond for himself. John scoffed and just ignored you before talking to Abigail. You took small sips of water and groaned when another sharp sting hit your head "Migraine?" John asked and you nodded "I'll be fine, I got work to do anyways."

"Work?" Arthur asked, following you as you left the cabin. Your head was throbbing but you considered that you'll be fine.

"Yes, work" you repeated "What you need to do is rest" Arthur said, grabbing your shoulder and stopping you "I'll be fine" you rolled your eyes "Honestly, I'm not a kid anymore, you don't need to fuss over me." Arthur sighed "I just worry about you, that's all" you felt bad and playfully punched his shoulder "I know, that's why you're going with me" you smiled.

"Great" Arthur sarcastically replied. You walked over to Whiskey and stroked her nose "You love that horse, don't you?" Arthur asked, patting Whiskey's neck "Of course I do, I've had her since she was a foal, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you and Hosea found her" he replied "Yeah, she was all alone, her mother and herd were no where to be seen" you told him "I begged dad to keep her and he gave in of course" you smiled.

"Why'd you name her Whiskey anyways?" Arthur questioned as you grabbed her reins and the three of you walked to the stables. I shrugged "I don't really know, I guess I just liked the name." Arthur opened the stable doors and I led Whiskey inside. The rest of the gangs horses were inside and I gave The Count a pat on his neck.

"Remember when you tried riding him?" I asked, stifling a laugh. Arthur chuckled "Yeah, don't remind me, I was sore for weeks." Before you could say anything else the stable doors opened again and Dutch walked in "Oh, good, you're feeling better" he noticed and I nodded "A little."

"Well, I need you for a job if you're up for it."

A job? He never lets me go on jobs.

"A job?" Arthur asked "Yes, Arthur, a job" Dutch scoffed "She can handle it, she's old enough."

"You up for it kid?" Dutch asked and you nodded "Yeah, of course!"

Wow! My first job, it's either going to go super well or super terrible.

Yay!!! Chapter one is over! Chapter two might come out tomorrow or even tonight lol (I have too much time on my hands). Like I said up top, this is going to be more of a platonic fluffy fic but when a write Chapter Three that's where it will get more...emotional and more angst. Arthur does get TB in this fic (sorry 😔). I LOVEEE comments so please if you want to, comment (I love likes and reblogs too 😼)

[ghosttownoutwest]

I think Arthur needs to lose some weight. The wagon lifted off the ground for "American Art Of Advertising"

[fllnrdr]

I would really love for the rdr community as a whole to stop trying, (and failing), to defend Dutch, and shift the blame entirely onto Micah. Red Dead Redemption and Red Dead Redemption II are both beautiful and well thought out games both in the gameplay and the storytelling. But I think a lot of people simply ignore those things, hence my long rant of a post.

TLDR: I think Micah was intentionally written to be one dimensional, and Dutch was manipulative from the start. Arthur is just a unreliable narrator.

We play through Arthur's eyes and see/believe what he does. We can see Arthur's loyalty blinds him (and by extension, us) to Dutch's behavior. I would know peace if some folks to took a media literacy class. Red Dead one & two are shining example of the bias in an unreliable narrator. Video games are not exempt from literary tools because you control part of the story. That control is limited to the actions of your bias protagonist, in this case John and Arthur.

The same applies to Micah. Arthur never trusts Micah from day one, and so we as the player don’t trust him either. It would be incredibly lazy on Rockstar’s behalf to created as one dimensional of a character as Micah. But the thing is, Arthur views him that way, a no good money-hungry thief from the start. Arthur is able to see through him, but he is blind to Dutch’s similar behavior because of his loyalty. It’s an incredibly smart tool to use in video games. Once you replay the game without the blinders on of your first playthrough, you’re able to see that Dutch has behaved the very same ways from Chapter One, all the way through Chapter Six. The only difference is that Arthur (and we the player) is slowly becoming aware of the patterns for the first time.

Now, for the blatant mischaracterization of Dutch entirely. To blame everything on Micah diminishes Dutch’s character to such an extent it completely disregards the decades long manipulation he inflicted on the gang, that is very real and very obvious. I won’t get into the way each individual character’s behavior was effected by this, but I will speak about Arthur and John briefly.

Dutch takes in people that are vulnerable and that he knows he can manipulate for his own gain. Children included. Multiple children, in fact. He always has a plan, not to keep folks safe, but to keep everyone comfortably under his thumb. It was always, "Are you with me, or against me" from the beginning. Everyone was either a means to his end, or they were worthless. The second someone did not agree, it was a betrayal, and an attack. I don't doubt he did some things out of kindness, but there's always ulterior motives. Dutch is nothing but a man of pretty words that hide his manipulation.

Dutch maintains an air of grandiosity amongst the gang. He obviously holds the belief that he is above them in all ways. He believes he is their leader because he is simply better than the rest of them. He’s smarter. He’s this god-like figure in his mind. He’s their savior. Hence his distaste for any doubt, or even being challenged.

Lenny and the conversation he has with Dutch about Evelyn Miller for example. Lenny indirectly call’s Dutch’s empty words out and points out that both Miller (Dutch’s idol) and Dutch himself hide behind their flowery words and phrases. Or Arthur and Hosea voicing their concern about robbing Leviticus Cornwall, it’s seen as a betrayal. Or when Uncle pokes fun at Dutch in camp and Dutch says to him, “I would really like to kill you right now.” Dutch may not be entirely self aware, but any attack at him does dig at him for a reason. And this is all from chapter two! There has always been a pattern.

Dutch says he "saved" them. He saved Bill, and John, and Arthur and Lenny and Javier. He saved all of them, and he is above all of them. Dutch sees people as nothing more as tools to meet his goals. There are instances where he does seem to genuinely care, but the ulterior motive is always there.

Dutch and Micah were written with the idea that we see the story through Arthur’s eyes. Arthur is blinded by his decades long to loyalty to Dutch and slowly coming to the realization of the truth. Micah is incredibly one dimensional cause Arthur sees through him and views him as a rat from the start. The truth of the story can be seen through repeated playthroughs. Dutch’s paranoia from the start, questioning Arthur’s loyalty from Colter. Micah sniffing around about the Blackwater money from the beginning. Arthur’s journal entries about the his biased version of the truth. Media literacy is necessary even in video games. God.

[roamingtigress]

"I think that cigarette was a little off, Hosea."

[kram620]

arthur morgan and friends