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I'm BACK with my interpretation of Miss Molly O'Shea 🔥 "Fire walk with me"
Honestly, she is one of my favourite female characters in the game. 🤠
Hope you'll like it ! I'll try to be more productive but as a teacher and during covid it's quite hard to just take some time to create and improve my digital drawing's skills (because, I really have hard time adjusting to it).
🌻 + lovedefeats + missoshea + hellbentwidow + charmedgun + fleewest
🌻 + URL POSITIVITY MEME // ACCEPTING . // @lovedefeats !!! @missoshea !!! @hellbentwidow !!! @charmedgun !!! @fleewest !!!
Ayee girl power ok !!! in order to not make this the longest post in the world I’m gonna (*holds back tears*) try and refrain myself from writing too much dsjkh. I’ll also put it under read more because who am I kidding it’ll be long anyway.
🍻 + “ do you ever get scared ?”
DRUNKEN CONFESSION // ACCEPTING .
❝I have fears, like every other man.❞
His voice sounds after a moment’s hesitation, the words swirling through his mind, processing the question in its entirety. These FEARS; currently numbed—drowned by endless bottles of liquor consumed by him this very night. These d o u b t s ; still finding ways to creep into his mind.
The leader averts her seeking eyes, instead locking his gaze upon the bottle in his hand. Almost empty, causing him to thirst for more of the golden liquor. Longing for the b u r n in his throat, which only the RUM can offer. A sedation, or that burn scorching him clean only to become more TAINTED by the second—The alcohol only speeding this process like a true, horrible circle. These sins & fears & memories can’t be drowned by a biblical deluge, nor by the golden flood-worth of liquor he had consumed. He does not often allow his mind fastening itself to those dark thoughts without FIGHTING to console himself with his deeply rooted hope & FAITH ? . Perhaps the alcohol had caused these roots to fester — to rot. Perhaps it had been the voice of Miss O’Shea— but on the inside, he begins c r u m b l i n g under the weight of the question & the drinking. It was a night of amusement, turned somber by the conversation with his lover.
FEARS. He has many more than he allows himself to show. Concerns. Feelings of despair. With alcohol it seems like an awful mixture. ❝ I — ❞ His voice sounds — almost raspy, as he sinks back into the chair he is seated in. Lips planted to the bottle, again allowing the liquid to flood into his system. Hands uncoordinated, attempting to release the now emptied bottle on the table only to hear it CRACK against the wooden floorboards. Unphased, but then fingernails dig into palms.
❝ I see… this constant CHANGE. We see this world we live in, changing before our eyes. Becoming a more cold — dreamless reality of large revolting (!) cities & vulgar civilization. More so than it already is. ❞Eyes the color of dark oak meets hers at last. Nose scrunched up, a crease formed in his brow where pearls of sweat threatens to trickle down. Dutch evidently feeling repelled, before a melancholic expression falls upon his features. ❝ & I know, — I have FAITH. I DO, but I’m afraid my concerns will dishearten this lot. & there’s Hosea… — I,❞The sound of the man’s coughing intruded his mind. His best friend — his voice suggesting his impending DEATH… A sigh escapes split lips. Attempting to brush off the thoughts from an intoxicated mind as he raises himself from the chair — stumbling in the process, before wrapping his fingers around a fresh cigar.❝ I,❞ He fidgets. ❝ But — I know we were never meant to survive. ❞
✧— @missoshea LIKED THIS !!
❝ EXCUSE ME, I didn’t take you for a woman so FULL of herself. We are struggling ! Struggling, I tell you — & you are ignoring this plain, obvious fact ! ❞
❝ We won’t be here for long. It is temporary — so QUIT pestering me about it ! ❞
MISS O’SHEA
⋯
continued from here
Eyes dark like the night sky. Twinkling, not with stars but with betrayal, annoyance & a dash of f u r y beneath it all. A mixture; boiling DEEP within his system; slow, yet all-engulfing, & then a deep breath. A pseudo flame burning his lungs & spreading to his mind like a w i l d f i r e. He could still hear their voices echoing in his mind. The questioning, doubting, SCRUTINIZING, all clinging to his mind like he clung to his p r i d e. The gang which he had fought for, doubting him. H i m.
Slender fingers slid against the glass in his hands, swirling the golden liquid before raising it to his lips. The full taste of the fancier whiskey rolling off his tongue with eyes still settled on Miss O’Shea. If his most loyal sons ? had lost faith in him, why would she not? The constant need for useless conversation & craving his attention when all he needed to do was THINK. Think, act, p l a n. Was it a maneuver? Had her mind been corrupted too? Dark eyes squinted. Another swig — the hurt, anger, his own doubt evident in the crease of his brow. The faith he preached to have; like a whisper of an unfulfilled promise. FAITH in the gang, in his plan, in their f a t e; it was all futile while hearing their doubtful voices & watching their judgemental eyes. HE was the one who had kept them all afloat for twenty years. HIM. Their belief & wish to fight alongside him had only strengthened their survival odds. Now — with nearly no one left with any f a i t h; it was all turning sour — & he tried. He truly tried.
Eyes followed the ginger approaching him, expression never changing. The question still floating in the air, torturing him — even when she answered it. How many times had the others not reassured him of their faith in him? Of their l o y a l t y ? All that, only to be tossed away with their struggles. — & her; MOLLY, her ever-hurting eyes & doubtful behavior... Was it the beginning of her disbelief in him? Had she already come to walk on that path? The questions remained as he sat there, staring into the green of her eyes struggling in the attempt to read her thoughts. He didn’t want to instill any ideas in her head — of the DOUBT & deviancy — & instead let out a sigh, the taste of the alcohol having yet to burn out on his tongue. A strong arm wrapping around her waist, in one firm movement pulling her farther into his lap with all intents on keeping her there for now. Fingertips running along the pattern of her dress, almost as a caress & briefly he found that his frustration & his a n g e r was extinguished, for the sake of the questions burning on as he studied her eyes. Though only for a single second. ❝ We are going to pull through. ❞ He spoke reassuringly now, his voice calmer than expected. ❝ — It’s been a tough year, but I need everyone to keep believing — or we won’t make it. I need some FAITH from all of you. ❞ He put down the glass, using the new f r e e d o m of his hand to wander to her chin; ever so slightly letting his thumb graze her bottom lip. Eyes, still expressing a certain obscure g l o o m, as his thoughts wandered. He wanted to believe in their loyalty — wanted to believe Miss Molly O’Shea, but every day; with every challenge he faced & every doubtful question thrown at him, it was as if he ventured further into uncharted territory. Their skepticism, disbelief, reluctance only became more visible to him; more real. As he sat there — so very close to his lover; listening to her words of reassurance — he almost breathed out the reply oh so rigidly & distant, yet warm ? at the same time: ❝ We’ll see about that. ❞
“Please, please, I beg of you, stop singing musicals at three am. I am trying to sleep.”
SENTENCE MEME // ACCEPTING .
❝ Ooh careful now, miss ! Don’t wanna expose them fine ears t’a real quality music ! ❞
❝ I bet ya ain’t too superior for some good ol’ singin’ — why don’t ya grab a drink ? ❞
❛ Did you really mean all those things you said? ❜
QUESTION SENTENCE STARTERS // ACCEPTING .
❝ Whatever do you mean ? I do not have the energy for this right now. ❞
❝ — I say what I say, because it needs to be said. I have enough doubtin’ me — & I do not need more pessimism ! ❞
“ do you believe in love ?”
DRUNKEN CONFESSION // NOT ACCEPTING .
❝ Do I ? Believe in love ? ❞ Vexation tints the words, every pronunciation slowed down as if tasted thoroughly while dark hues stare at the woman in front of him. The remainder of their fight earlier in the evening, evident in the shape of an unspoken tension between the two.
❝ I believe LOVE is all we ever have in this cold & unforgivin’ world. ❞ This love he speaks of — obvious in his PASSION for the cause he’s spent his entire life fighting, for the battle of changing the world. It is visible in his care, his love for for the gang — his family. His brothers, sisters, sons — all living alongside one another with loyalty & their fellow love as the glue that holds them so very close together. A shot of empathy in an ever apathetic world. A family of outlaws, knitted out of these very principles. All DUTCH van der Linde has ever had, all he has ever fought for has been out of love, for love, no matter what disguise it's been under. — a hurt worth feeling & fighting for. ❝ It is the only thing that can NEVER be taken from us. ❞ Calloused fingers tighten around the glass in his hand. He downs the liquor, the burn soothing his irritation if only slightly & he allows the now empty glass to hit the ground. A melancholic expression paints his features though HOPE colors his eyes. The thoughts, memories flooding through his mind — & for a moment, he forgets that his speech is connected to a question. Dutch’s gaze meet hers again & he feels the wave of annoyance returning to him. The inquiry, with such an obvious answer clings to his mind now. She knows the answer, or rather she SHOULD.
