#derlinde

[nodriscoll-blog]

     THE   WARM   BLOOD   TRICKLING   DOWN   HIS   THROAT         makes  hands  shake  and  legs  go  numb.           yet  he’s  as  frantic  as  weakened  state  allows,        useless  fingers  fumbling  for  the  cloth  pressed  to  the  bleeding  cut.            he’s  still  baffled  it’s  not  more  than  that.                  colm  had  been  about  to  end  it,            slit  his  throat,            just  when  they’d  come  for  him        (   and  kieran  had  thought  for  a  second  that  maybe  it’s  happened  already  and  hell  is  playing  a  cruel  trick  on  him.   )         but  he’s  here  now,            it  seems,            breath  coming  in  shaky  bits,            staring  up  at  the  man  that   had  actually  let  them  risk  this.            

“   i-i  didn’t  mean  t’  cause  you  all  that  trouble.   ”            he’s  afraid  to  talk,            afraid  that  throat  will  somehow  burst.            he  gives  up  trying  to  turn  over  on  his  side         (   because  he’d  felt  like  gagging   )        as  fist  clenches  around  the  other’s  sleeve.            “   i  can’t  thank  you  enough.   ”

*    @derlinde    /    from  x .

[thaegeiro]

@derlinde.  /  𝐒𝐂.

every fibre of frankenstein’s body was screaming at him that he was out of place in this camp. the dusty plains of the american west were nothing like the rolling mountains and glistening lakes of switzerland, and as far as the people went, these men were enough unlike the company he was accustomed to that they could practically be called a different species altogether. he understood little of the culture and less of the jargon and manners. 

even so, he had known better than to refuse when some of the men had insisted on him joining them at the campfire. arthur himself hadn’t particularly looked pleased at this invitation, but he’d said nothing to rebuke it, and frankenstein had been left with little choice but to situate himself uncomfortably on one of the makeshift benches beside a large man with an impressive — and imposing — black moustache. if arthur’s description had been apt, this had to be dutch. frankenstein was sorely tempted to get up and position himself somewhere that wasn’t right beside the leader of the gang, but doing so now, he wagered, would only get him into hot water. better to grin and bear it for an hour or two, then make his exit.

“ —you must be mr. van der linde, i presume? ”

[vicemirrored-a]

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.  /  @derlinde​.

henry’s breathing was panting and ragged. killing the man threatening dutch could have been a simple, easy thing — henry had come up behind him, and if he’d wanted to end the matter quickly, he could simply have thrust his knife into the man’s kidney. he was familiar enough with human anatomy to execute the move with scarcely a second thought. 

but instead, he had wound his arm around and slit the bastard’s midriff, leaving the intestines spilling obscenely out through the gash. the movement itself had been simple: it would have taken a second to shove the knife in from behind, but it had taken two seconds, at most, to swing his arm around for the attack he’d chosen. the difference had been minimal, but by god, something about this choice had proved exhilarating. when he’d dug the knife into the man’s torso, he had felt the organs spill out against the curled outer muscles of his hand, and he’d relished as much in that as he’d relished the poor sod’s groans of agony. 

with a gasp that was almost a retch, he wrenched the blade free and stepped back, letting the gurgling man drop like a stone. absurdly, he almost wanted to sink down to his knees and flay the corpse open — some sick part of him wanted to take advantage of this wretch’s last lucid moments to wring out every second of pain he could, and it took every ounce of self-composure to allay that urge. he sucked in a deep breath, rose back to his feet, and threw the bloodied knife aside. 

[morhgan-a]

👗

SMUG  GRIN  STILL  TUGS  AT  HIS  LIPS     as  he  replaces  bill  williamson  in  the  cloakroom          (     because  who ,    in  their  right  mind ,    would  go  for  a  plaid  suit    &    consider  themselves  FASHIONABLE     ?     )          but  the  smile  is  short  -  lived ,    shrinking  at  the  loathsome  sight  of  his  reflection  in  the  mirror  as  he  works  at  stripping  from  his  every  -  day ,     normal  clothes     &    change  into  the  dark  suit    &    white  shirt  he’s  picked  for  himself .     there  are  CREASES  to  his  slowly  -  aging  features ,    now ,    skin  bronzed  by  the  insistent  western  sun    &    visage  a  sullen  vision  he’ll  only     cast  fleeting  glances  at .     buttons  adjusted ,    hands  shift  to  his  neck  as  he  wraps  the  white  BOW ,    fumbles  to  tie  it  properly  when  the  door  opens    &    dutch ,    dressed  in  his  own  GARDEN  PARTY  attire ,    joins  him   &    reaches  for  morgan’s  neck .

dutch ,    on  the  other  hand ,    was  born  to  DRESS  SMART ,    sharp ,    elegant .     knows  the  words    &    speech  to  fit  the  costume    &    has  the  ease  to  wear  it  with  pride .          ❝      i   look   like   a   damn   fool ,    you   realize   that     ?     ❞          almost  accusatory ,    words  fall  from  his  lips ,    head  faintly  tilted  backwards  to  grant  better  ACCESS  to  the  bow  he’d  only  managed  to  poorly  tie  on  his  own ,    dutch’s gloved  hands  working  deftly  at  arranging  the  look .     but  the     grin ,    though  not  visible ,    threatens  to  slip ,    inspired  both  by  the  comicality  of  the  situation  as  much  as  dutch’s  familiarity          (     it  feels  like  forever  since  they’d  taken  a  MOMENT  to  breathe ,    simply  enjoy  each  other’s  company     ) .

❝     now ,    i   don’t   care   whatchu   say ,    dutch .     i   ain’t   shavin’     !     ❞

━━━     𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 .     @derlinde .

[peacefulapostle--a]

@derlinde  ||  starter call

          “Now  you  know  I’m with  ya  a  hundred  percent,  Dutch,  but  this  job  seems  a  little  too  risky  even  for  us.”  Arthur  leans  over  the  table  looking  through  some  papers  before  standing  tall  to  adjust  his  hat.  “A  bunch  of  us  are  gonna  have  t’  get  in  on  this.  There’s  gonna  be  a  lot  guards  and  they  ain’t  gonna  take  gettin’  robbed  lightly.”   Taking  from  others  is  how  they  make  their  living.  It’s  a  rough  necessity  but  a  need  nonetheless.  To  better  support  the  gang  and  keep  them  surviving  just  a  bit  longer,  Arthur  will  do  what  he  needs  to  do.  He  just  wonders  if  some  jobs  just  AREN’T  worth  the  trouble  or  risk.  “How  much  money  didya  say  was  in  this  again?” 

[vileirs]

a   plume   of   hot   steam   bloomed   from   between   erich’s   lips   as   he   pursed   them.          ‘  you   left   saint   denis   in   quite   the   state,    herr   van   der   linde.    left   quite   the   vacuum.   ’          he   set   his   bony   fingers   upon   his   bullet-ridden   belt.          ‘   did   you,    perhaps,    have   somewhere   to   be  ?   ’

          @derlinde     .

[outlawmistermatthews]

@derlinde

Hosea had been swindling people for some time. A roaring fire crackled in front of him, a bit dusty, but overall he was very well dressed. It was one of his cons he pulled. Being a high end aristocrat, needing help to get back to Paris. Hosea had a million cons up his sleeves, he thought he was hot shit. 

But he see’s a horse and rider come up, handsome dark haired young man rode up. Hosea takes a look at him, and instantly judges him to be a sucker. So he plays a a french fool. Years of stage work prepared him for this, he was confident in his performance.

“Bonsoir Monsieur !” 

Hosea stumbles to his feet, looking a little more frazzled than a second ago. But happy to see another face. 

“It’s been some time since I had anyone to parley with. You are most welcome to rest here awhile.”

Hosea gives a bow and a flourish of his hand toward his campsite. 

[outlawmistermatthews]

"I miss the flavour of your lips, Hosea."

Hosea takes a long drag of his cigarette and then offers it to Dutch. 

“Thats as close as you can get to my lips, the camp is wide awake Dutch.” 

Hosea has a little scold to his tone, but it’s clear he missed the other as well.