[vandermorgans]

I think you should say more about how Dutch is a communist actually. Because that's what I was getting from the game as well and I'm so fucking sick of seeing, "ahahaha of course they don't like people like you, you're a criminal silly🤣!" Like dbshehshdhdh

Dutch isn't against industrialization, he's against capitalism. The US has always been an Oligarchy. George Washington was not voted in as president by the people. Like... Ehjdhdjfjdhdjsksbbjrjbdndisibebd djjisjdjdndnsn I'm gonna bang my head against something solid.

I TOO AM BANGING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL TALKING TO THIS FANDOM LORD SAVE US

OKAY

First I’d like to open this ask by writing two fundamental truths:

The American dream is where hope came to die

the entire RDR franchise is for the communists, everyone else go tf home

I'm gonna cover or attempt to cover a variety of topics that I will list here and! I will try to keep it brief by saying only the most™ important parts of it but there are so many other topics I could talk about to show how the message of the game is COMMUNISM is the answer like 1. hosea’s health and arthur’s health 2. how micah is a cog in capitalism and why he would always be the only one that could survive their lifestyle (i will only quote him directly instead of wasting my words: there are only winnings and losers and i intend to be a winner) 4. feminism 5. why the women choose to follow dutch 6. dutch’s health and decline 7. how their health ties to capitalism but i won’t because i yap too much and honestly nobody wants to hear me have sermons (+ the actual colonization actively taking place in the era of the time.) (+ the workers/immigrants struggle.)

and before i start… i had thought we all understood dutch was a communist i could actually CRY (overestimation… on the most… obvious thing…)

Dutch isn't against industrialization, he's against capitalism. The US has always been an Oligarchy. 

dutch’s success was not only attributable to his charm— but the fact he spoke what the people FELT, he saw hunger and he addressed hunger

dutch going out of his way to teach most of the gang (the ones who didn’t know) how to read/write and how this ties directly to his communistic beliefs

I am going to start by quoting the man himself, 

“This place... ain't no such thing as civilized. It's man so in love with greed he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.” 

People love to use this line against Dutch, as an ironic finger-pointer but… this encompasses everything about society as it is that Dutch actively disdains and hates. In his eyes we see that civilization has not proven to be more ‘civilized’ because it is still full of greed and hunger. The van der Linde gang is actually a modern Robin Hood, and I think we all know this so I will not get into it too much but I will quote the wiki: 

“A gang of criminals, dissidents and free-thinkers who have chosen to reject a corrupt system of power and live instead by their own code. As the price on their heads continues to grow, so does the struggle to remain free.” 

This is a direct quote from Rockstar Games, the actual makers of this game. A direct quote! 

They said the gang, “reject a corrupt system of power,” and guess what that “corrupt system” is. Guess………. It’s capitalism. It’s the law and it is the Bourgeoisie. 

The law serves one master and has always served one master. The Rich.

I would like to quote from the communist manifesto. 

“Society as a whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile camps, into two great classes, directly facing each other: Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.” 

We see the active class struggle in every npc we encounter, from the downes family to the mine workers to migrant workers  to the boys working the docks to everything that is saint denis.  

This is an important quote from Dutch, 

“When I'm gone, they'll just find another monster. They have to, because they have to justify their wages.”

This is a direct nod to how capitalism always finds a scapegoat to use as the evil and turn the people’s eyes away from their own demise and their own powerlessness. This is often immigrants, the poor, women, etc. 

Dutch had 1 goal with the gang and that was;

“Rob wealthy people and corrupt people and redistribute most of the money to those who are poor and desperate.”

This is a direct copy from the wiki under Dutch’s goals. 

This was Dutch’s goal and has been consistently his goal until his mental decline when he became concerned for his life and his sanity and decided to choose himself. Dutch until the bitter end, was for the people. 

This is another quote from the wiki although they did not show much of it in game;

“Drive away the federal government and bureaucracy from the West.”

This clearly shows you that this man was actively fighting against the whole capitalistic system (and him being a romantic he underestimated his power and the active fight in the people, hungry as they are which brings us back to his beautiful quote about greed and finding only appetites but i digress.)

Dutch van der Linde is a revolutionary communist figure whose dream of collective freedom and anti-capitalis rebellion is shattered– not by his own failure but by the crushing weight of the law and the ever expanding machine of American Capitalism. His unraveling is a the natural consequence of the system he fought as has been seen in many respected communist leaders too (greed and the crushing weight of capitalism will kill everyone.) 

Dutch has a communist worldview where he believes in the collective over the individual, he is seen using the collective “we” and “us” versus “them”-- them being the elite, the banks, the lawmakers, those who hoard power and us being the people, the hungry, the dirty, the orphans (him adopting orphans and giving them power to fight back and making sure they are well-read is also a direct moral standing coming from his communistic views.)

Dutch doesn’t see crime as a moral failing and doesn’t go out of his way to terrorize anyone like Colm, but he sees their way of life as a resistance against a corrupt system. 

The vander Linde gang is actually a very communal structure, they function much like a rural commune where everyone contributes, and everything is distributed within the gang. Mirroring Marx’s visions of post capitalistic society, collective ownership, abolition of class and mutual aid. 

I don’t want to talk too much so I will insert some quotes reflecting Dutch’s communistic mindset:

“I got a saying, my friend... we shoot fellers as need shooting... save fellers as need saving... and feed 'em as need feeding. We're gonna find out what you need.”

Dutch is a romantic and he believes in the American Dream but the pure American Dream instead of the capitalistic monster it is;

“The promise of this great nation. Men created equal, liberty and justice for all. That might be nonsense too. But it's worth trying for. It's worth believing in. Can't you see that, friend?”

– Dutch to Arthur Morgan in "Blessed are the Peacemakers".

Dutch does not choose violence, but is more often than not forced into it by the system and his code is what separates him from other gangs like Colm’s. Which is also why he is a direct parallel to Colm.

Colm is capitalism, Dutch is Communism (peep the colors, symbolism for the win.)

Dutch does not choose violence lightly and he has quotes directly showing this, but his violence is a responce to a world that does not leave room for dissenters. The law offers no negotiation, only bullets. (This is also seen with the natives and why the vander Linde gang and the natives actually have so much common. Although the premise or reason of why they are being haunted is different, their struggle is one and the same as is all the struggle of the lower class no matter ethnicity. (Que Communism theme song and me screaming the communist manifesto again as it has a lot to say about capitalism and colonization and class struggles.)

“Listen to me! We don't want to kill any of you! 

“We're trying to reform society to a kinder, truer, better way…” 

“We are dreamers in an ever duller world of facts.” (You can’t live and dream in a capitalistic world.)

Here is the THESIS to Dutch’s worldview; 

“You kill, I kill. You rob, I rob. Only difference I can see is I choose whom I kill, and rob, while you destroy everything in your path.”

“The Pinkertons have had time to reinforce. The civilized world is closing on us.”

There is a reason Dutch’s official introductory quote is; “They’re chasing us hard because we represent everything they fear.” And that is because he is a Communist. 

I will end this with because I do not wanna talk too much:

Dutch van der Linde is not a mere criminal nor is he a tyrant, he is a radical man whose mental health got destroyed by the expansion of a system he knew was evil and his life was the emodiment of revolutionary hope crushed under the boot of American Capitalism. He stayed a communist but the world proved too brutal for one to survive.

Just extra, I promised myself not to speak too much on capitalism as a reason for mental decline but jsjakfjak, can’t help myself but i’ll keep it brief.

Dutch lost everything trying to hold onto his morals, because every plan was crushed by the ever expanding of capitalism, the pinkertons hiring private mercenaries everywhere, the lands seized by the government and removing nature where they would hide, the native people being slaughtered and their way of life/their food being eradicated, money being the only salvation to get from point A to B.

His paranoia is not madness and his ever erratic plans are not stupidity but direct consequence of being haunted by the government, it is systematic trauma.

Also Dutch’s quote, “I gave you all I had.” IS the thesis for his mental sanity disappearing and is more impactful than Arthur’s “I gave you all I had,” argue with the wall. 

THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME YAP I TRIED TO KEEP IT BRIEF BUT I DON'T THINK I SUCCEDED TOO WELL………  I have written too many essays on this subject to be normal... I apologise...

[vandermorgans]

If Dutch is fucking them he is calling them his girls idk shrug

[vandermorgans]

had the best dream btw modern au there was a shooting vandermorgan are on the floor dutch takes arthur’s hand and opens his zipper puts his hand inside and arthur plays with balls cuts to later arthur’s mouth is stuffed full at the bathtub and he is in subspace and relaxed and pliable and dutch is on his knees (idk big bathtub) and was playing with his hair and watching the tv just getting his cock warmed and arthur is so soft and sweet and his nails glide over dutch’s biceps and he touches dutch’s face and dutch looks at him and his eyes crinkle and he says good boy

[fiiiiin]

Why did I only JUST learn that “Everyone thinks you’re Dutch’s pet” IS ACTUALLY CANON???? And up until this point I thought it was just a fucking fan trope because of course John is Dutch’s favorite dog; the way Bill literally says this to him in camp got me ashdkfklskalajsksb

[danielcalmdown]

Arty is in love <3

[sweeetestcurse]

Arthur Morgan Looking Cute As Hell 66/??

[vandermorgans]

nobody will ever understand these characters the way I do

[tempii]

Oh, the man you were, Dutch Van Der Linde.

When the plan stops planning and starts hurting.

[vandermorgans]

imagine this… Arthur forgets to be careful because this is the first time he’s ever been inside Dutch and then when he pulls out Dutch makes that noise— like he’s kinda shocked at the feeling— the emptiness and Arthur puts his thump at his hole and pushes his cum back inside before remembering himself and he looks up startled and Dutch is staring at him with wide eyes, shocked and so red all of a sudden, unable to breathe

[vandermorgans]

Hey!! I’ve got a few prompts for you:

Cooper dies, and Dutch is the one comforting Arthur.

Dutch reads something to Arthur after sex (could even be something spicy if you want 👀).

Dutch comes down with the flu and loses his voice. Of course at first he’s all “I’m fine,” then immediately collapses LOL.

Dutch doesn’t go into Arthur’s tent after Colm’s torture. But Hosea tells him that Arthur sometimes murmurs his name. Up to you if Dutch goes in or not. (I’ve seen this done before, but never as VanderMorgan).

They’re kinda silly, but maybe they’ll give you a bit of inspo ahaha.

thank you for the fun prompts darling!!!! Im sorry it took so long to finish writing them, I wrote them all out but I was unhappy with most so im just gonna insert two of the prompts! Hope that’s fine with you :7

starts as nothing. A roughness in Dutch’s throat, a cough he hides behind a gloved hand while giving one of his nightly speeches. “—and we will persevere, gentlemen!”

He ignores the hoarseness cracking through that last word.

Arthur, sitting near the fire, squints up at him. “You alright there, boss?”

Dutch waves him off. “I’m fine. Just the damn cold air in Colter.”

That “fine” lasts exactly six hours.

By morning he’s pale, eyes glassy, voice scraped raw like he swallowed gravel. Hosea tries to get him to rest— Dutch insists on shaving, fixing his collar, and reorganizing the camp plan instead. The man’s pride runs deeper than his fever.

Arthur watches him sway near the horses, a hand on the fence like he’s steadying himself against the wind.

“Dutch,” he warns. “You look like death warmed over.”

Dutch tips his head, smiling faintly, lips dry. “Don’t be melodramatic, son—”

Then his knees buckle.

Arthur catches him before he hits the snow, a heavy arm slung around his shoulders, Dutch mumbling something that comes out as a croak.

“Goddamn it,” Arthur mutters, hauling him toward his tent. “You just gotta tempt fate, don’t ya?”

Dutch tries to protest but all that comes out is a wheeze. Arthur just shakes his head. “Yeah, sure. Fine as a shot horse.”

He tucks Dutch into his own bedroll— to keep a closer eye on him. He’s burning up, eyes half-open, trying to gesture toward some kind of dignified objection that his throat can’t voice.

“Shh,” Arthur says, softer now. “Ain’t no one watchin’. You can stop performin’ for five minutes.”

Dutch glares weakly, but his eyelids droop anyway. Arthur presses a damp rag to his forehead and sits there, quiet, watching the great Dutch van der Linde—  his unstoppable, unshakable leader— finally lets himself give in to sleep.

1.

The camp’s gone quiet hours ago.

Snow falls in threads instead of flakes, thin enough to make the air shimmer.

Dutch walks the same slow path he’s been walking all week: from the fire to the horses, back past the tents, coat pulled tight, gloves off so the cold will keep him awake.

He doesn’t sleep much anymore.

The sound of the wind in the pines fills up the space where sleep used to be.

When he passes Arthur’s tent, he means to keep going. He always does. He slows anyway.

The lamp inside has burned low— only a faint gold ring spilling out where the flap doesn’t quite meet. Inside, something shifts. A boot scuffs canvas.

Then a voice. Rough. Dream-slurred.

“…stop…”

Dutch’s shoulders tense. He looks down at the snow, jaw working, breath curling white. The fire from the main camp crackles somewhere behind him, distant.

“…please, no…”

He should leave. 

the next sound cuts through the wind.

Small. Barely there.

“…Dutch…”

It isn’t the first time he’s heard it (his name never far from his tongue),  but it lands the same every time— like his lungs shrink and someone rips his heart clean out of his chest. 

He stands still, listening to the rustle of blankets, the shallow gasps between murmured words.

He takes one step toward the tent, boots sinking into soft snow. The lamplight hits his face, catches the twitch of his hand as it hovers near the flap. His fingers brush the canvas once— just enough to feel the warmth— enough to imagine his hand over his forehead. His fingers around his delicate skin. 

Dutch waits until the quiet stretches thin. He lowers his hand, lets the canvas fall back against the pole.

The snow keeps falling, dusting his hat brim, melting on his coat. He watches the tiny glow inside the tent flicker, fade, flare again. 

When he finally moves, it’s only to drag the extra blanket from his own cot and hang it over the entrance, careful not to wake him. The gesture is small, almost nothing, but it’s all he can do without crossing the line he’s drawn for himself.

He stands there a moment longer, eyes on the snow-soft ground, and whispers something the wind carries away. 

[vandermorgans]

interesting banner mate👀 dont mind my staring...im just very... fascinated

it isssssss god whoever made that is going to heaven it’s so pretty <333

[vandermorgans]

WE HAVE FINALLY WON PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!! RDR1 DUTCH EATING JOHN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[droptines]

Ok so about this scene of Dutch looking down at Arthur on the mountain side. I decided that the scene was too fast. That it almost looked like Rockstar had sped up Dutch’s movements to try to keep his emotions ambiguous to the player

So I decided to slow this scene way the hell down and cranked up the brightness to get a better look at Dutch’s face here. (Also added some somber music to it for ambience)

Result was this 18 second clip which I’m attaching below 👇👇👇 - I think I prefer the slowed down version idk

[vandermorgans]

god I hate it when people baby characters like that is a grown ass man

[vandermorgans]

don’t you just love begging for love?

[vandermorgans]

Mary’s voice is soft. A gentle breeze on the wind. Her hand is soft and she smells nice. 

Feminine and fragile. Like the sky. Like the sea breeze. 

Arthur can imagines loving her. Waking to her gentle voice. 

Eating beside her. Draping himself along her back. Tiny and soft. 

She’s gentle. She’s never laughed at him. 

He takes a walk with her. She talks and he listens. They walk through the town. She lives in another world. 

She goes window shopping and goes inside. She buys herself whatever she likes. 

Thinks of buying a toy for her brother. 

Her scent is pure. Innocent. 

Arthur’s never been innocent. 

His fathers hands would circle his neck. His fist would meet his chin. His mothers pained sounds in the other room. The men pounding into her as she works to feed him. 

She liked flowers. His mother. Would bend and pick them up. Put them into his hair. 

He’s always wanted to take her place. 

Take any pain for her. 

All he could do was confront what she had to do. To clothe him. Feed him. 

His father loved the bottle and his whores. Much like Mary’s father. And they are similar in that. 

She’s gentle because she can afford to be. 

She loves her father. 

Arthur didn’t blink when his father hanged. Stared at him for a long time. 

Dutch extended a hand. Dutch extended more than a hand. 

He gave him life. His breath back. 

Hosea was steady and a pillar. Dutch was everything. The sun pales in comparison. He’s all those poetry he liked to recite to Arthur. Young Arthur. Tired Arthur. Mature beyond his years. 

His fathers fingers would sometimes linger. Touch his jaw. His lithe figure. The curve of his hip bone. He’d remark on how soft he was. How quiet. Feminine. 

Submissive. 

Dutch’s eyes would linger sometimes. But it didn’t make his skin crawl. Dutch wouldn’t make comments about his friends going to town on him. 

Dutch looked at him and praised him. Dutch breathed life into him. 

He would gladly worship at the alter. 

Dutch saw his devotion as a strength. Called him strong. Stronger than any man he’s met. Dutch looked at him and his eyes lingered. 

Dutch didn’t touch him. But Dutch kept him close. 

Arthur crawled closer. Begged for more. Not with his words. Never with his words. 

He’s been beaten and beaten, a child for speaking out of turn. Arthur would never speak up. 

Not about the fact that he tried to imagine Mary’s body but all he saw were golden rings. Tried to relax to Mary’s voice but all he heard was Dutch’s voice in his ears. Dictating him. Directing him. 

Telling him how to move. 

She’d like that, son. 

Do this, son. 

Women love a firm hand, son. 

Dutch would groan appreciatively when he bottomed out. He’d incline back on the chair. Legs wide open. Eyes proud. Intense. 

He’d rumble when Arthur came apart. Giving him permission to come. 

His hands would be on his stomach. Holding him down as Mary moved on top of him. His breath near. His scent overpowering. 

He’d call him his good boy. Tell him he did so well bringing her to completion. Call her a gentleman. 

Made you the perfect gentleman. 

Proud of him. Directing. Owning him. 

Mary talks and her voice is soothing. She’s close. Her scent is beautiful. Lilacs and something else. 

She’s beautiful and the sun hits her just so. 

Arthur’s always been weak. 

He leaves her at her family’s house and he turns away. It takes everything in him not to sprint. Return home to his maker. His soul. 

Hosea and Dutch are talking. They’re close. 

They’ve always been close. 

Dutch looks up and smiles. Blinding. Beckons him forth and brings him to his side. “My boy, you’ve returned to your father?” 

And Hosea laughs and Arthur’s ears burn. He leans into him. His heart beats through his arm. “I’m here.”

Hosea clasps him on his back. He’s their heart. His voice is warm. If Arthur could ever choose his father, he’d wanted it to be Hosea. “Were you with your little Mary, then? Leaving us old bastards in the dirt?”

Arthur feels so warm. Dutch’s scent is all around him. He closes his thighs tightly together. “What’re you talkin’ about, Hosea? You got Bessie!”

“And she’s a mighty fine woman!” He cheers Dutch. Both of them above the clouds. “I think I’m gonna ask her to marry me.” Hosea confesses, soft and quiet. A beautiful secret. 

Arthur lightens up but Dutch tenses. Pauses. “She’d be happy to have you, Hosea! You’re the best of us!” Arthur beams and Dutch’s rich voice washes over him. 

“She should be so lucky.” But then he amends, “She’d be a fool to say no, old friend.”

“I hope so. I hope so, Dutch.” He gets up. “I’ll head in for now. This is enough alcohol. Good night.” And they bid him a good one. 

Dutch sighs and jostles him. Arthur looks at him and the fire burns him onto his memory. 

He swallows. 

Dutch smiles at him. Gentle eyes. Illuminated by the fire and reflected by the moon. “Did you have fun with this Mary girl, Arthur?”

He wets his lips. Dutch’s eyes fall on them. “I did, Dutch. She’s nice. She’s real nice.”

“And beautiful, I hope?” Dutch laughs and Arthur soars. “Nice only gets you so far, son.”

“She’s more than I deserve and she’s beautiful.” He confesses. Dutch looks at him. 

“I’m doing what you told me.” Arthur says. 

Dutch looks away. 

“That you are. That you are, son.” He clears his throat. “And you’re doing a great job of it. In this world you see, one cannot truly ever be free no matter what the government claims— homosexuality, it’d get you hung. And I could not bear it, son. Losing you.”

Arthur leans in closer. Impossibly. “You won’t. You won’t.”

Dutch smiles again. Eyes clear. 

“We should turn in too. All this drinking’s getting to my head.” And Dutch’s arm falls away and he gets up. Arthur stands with him. 

Clamores after him inside his tent. Dutch stops. Looks at him. “Yes, son?” 

“I ain’t homosexual, Dutch.” He crowds in. Puts his chest to Dutch’s. His breath hitches. Eyes turn pleading. He looks at him. Tilts his head back. “I just want you, Dutch. I ain’t never wanted no man.”

Dutch stares at him. 

Arthur swallows. Goes on his tippy toes. Ghosts his lips over his. Shivers. “I only want you, Dutch.”

A confession. A shameful secret. 

Not to Arthur. 

Arthur’s proud to be Dutch’s. 

Dutch doesn’t believe him. Puts a heavy palm on his shoulder. Leans in. Stops short of his lips. 

They share breath. 

Arthur’s trembling. 

“Go to sleep, kid.”

The air is cold. 

Arthur falls back. 

“Ca— can I use my tongue?” He asks, begs, eyes downcast and hidden but burning. “Please?”

Dutch sighs heavy. “Sure, kid.” Indulges him. 

Dutch always indulges him. 

Sits back. Arthur falls to his knees gratefully. Face in his groin. Over the pants. Dutch’s fingers intertwine with his sandy hair. The rings are cold near his nape. He rubs his face onto the bulge. 

Takes him out. Kisses him. Looks at him. 

Smears precome on his lips. Takes him in. Groans. Undone. Needy. 

He’s already hard. He’s been hard. 

He swirls his tongue around the foreskin. Takes in the tangy salt flavor and loves it. Takes it in, in, in. 

Dutch’s pubic hair tickle his nose. His scent engulfs him. His eyes water and he’s sated. Mind quiet and Dutch all around him. 

Everything else falls away expect Dutch, Dutch, Dutch. 

His sounds. Soft and restrained. His scent. Intoxicating. 

He pops his head and rests at the tip. Goes down again. Dutch’s fingers curl around his neck. Groan. Tries to feel the imprint of his cock in his throat. Starts thrusting into his throat. 

Holds him there. 

Grip tight in his hair. 

Arthur’s never been happier. 

It’s hard to breathe and Dutch’s cock is twitching, his groans deep and guttural. Close. 

His fingers go around his thighs and he holds him in. The grip in his hair punishing. Trying to pull him off. 

Dutch groans and leaves him. He takes him down. Relaxes his throat and gags. 

Dutch empties down his throat. 

He stays. His cock going soft. Dutch is panting. Trying to catch his breath. “God.” He groans. “You’re good at that, baby.”

And Arthur whimpers. Puts his cock to his knee and ruts into him. Soft cock in his mouth. Nourishing. Warm. 

Comes like an animal. 

“Good boy.” Dutch’s voice is low, deep. Arthur shivers. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mm, of course.” He pulls him off. Arthur whines at the loss. Belongs home on his knees. Dutch’s cock down his throat. His cum in his ass. “Now, go to sleep, kid.”

And Arthur sits back on his heels. His pants are uncomfortable and wet. “You don’t wanna hear about Mary?”

And Dutch sighs again. Wary but indulgent. He’s never not indulged Arthur. “Tell me about Mary, son.”

“I did what you wanted me to.” He says. Stares up at him reverently. “Treated her well. Good. She put her hand on my arm. Held me close. Her breast were on my shoulder the whole way.”

Dutch hums. Looking for something. Arthur remains on his knees. “That sounds nice, son. A good woman is soft and beautiful.”

“Mary is real beautiful, Dutch. She’s very beautiful.”

And Dutch turns to him. Indignant. “Will you settle with her then?”

Arthur frowns. Pouts. “Don’t think her father would allow it none.”

“But if he did?” He insists, “Would you?”

“I’d never leave you, Dutch.” And his soul is bare. For all to see and examine. 

Dutch frowns down at him. “Arthur… we talked about this.”

“I know you think me of that… inclination, Dutch. But I swear I ain’t! I ain’t want no one but you, Dutch! Believe me!”

And Dutch looks tired. Massages his brows. “Sure, kid. Sure.”

“You don’t believe me, Dutch but I ain’t never cared to fuck a whore or a man. I seen plenty beautiful things, I have. They ain’t you.”

Dutch doesn’t say anything. Lips a thin line. 

Arthur looks down. “I mean it, Dutch.” He insists anyways. Dutch doesn’t like hearing things he doesn’t like. “I’d do whatever you want. Act however you want. I’d move however you want. I’d… I’d let you inside me anywhere. Anytime. Any place . I don’t care.”

Dutch’s palm is heavy and soothing on his head. “I believe you, son. I do. Believe me. I’m just… it is unfortunate and I will do my best to make a world where you can live free but you have to understand—,”

“I ain’t homosexual, Dutch.” He interrupts him and Dutch looks angry. 

“Of course.” He closes the conversation. Gets up. “Are you leaving?”

“Will you take me?” He asks. Hope swirling in his chest and Dutch puts back the book. Thinks about it. 

“Well, I don’t see why not. Just keep quiet.” He smirks at him. “You can be so awfully loud.”

Arthur smiles back. Gets up and closer to him. Holds his sleeve. “I want you to hear me.”

Dutch’s hands settle on his cheeks and he caresses his face. “You just want daddy happy.”

“Yes, sir.” 

He removes his hands. “Lay back then.”

[vandermorgans]

Hii im not sure if your asks are still open, but might I humbly request Dutch catching (younger but thats up to you lol) Arthur jerking off and then being super not normal abt it?

hello 😭 sorry I forgot what plans I had for this so it ends a bit abruptly … I’m not too satisfied with it but I’ve rewritten it too many times and now it just looks weird no matter what I do so lmao have this… hope it is good! 😊

He is fisting himself hard. Too fast. Rushed. Unsatisfying. His fingers too tight around himself, it’s never enough, never quite right. He imagines someone else’s hands— bigger, rougher, hairy, skilled, the kind that could actually make him lose himself. Gold rings glinting against skin, pressing, guiding, marking him. The thought twists inside him, sharp and sweet, making him groan despite himself. He curses under his breath, chasing a pleasure that feels just out of reach.

Dutch happens upon him. By accident. 

Rooted to the floor. 

The sounds. The little noises he makes, sharp, caught somewhere between pleasure and frustration. 

The way his face scrunches, eyebrows pulling together, lips parting ever so slightly. Vulnerability like Dutch has never seen in him before— not in the heat of a fight, not under the weight of command, not in front of anyone.

Dutch can’t help it. 

Unbidden images flash across his mind. Arthur inside someone— soft, pliant, giving himself over, completely undone. Would he make that face, scrunching up like that, lost in sensation? 

The thought twists something in Dutch, hot and sharp. 

Every line of Arthur’s body, every tremble, every gasp— it’s alive in Dutch’s head. Softness in the jaw, tension in the shoulders, heat in the eyes. He pictures Arthur yielding, giving over to someone’s hands, the tilt of his head, the curve of his back, the subtle arch when pressed against…

And he’s struck by how tender, how exposed, how impossibly beautiful Arthur is in that moment.

Dutch swallows, conscious of the pull in his chest, the fascination clawing at him. He’s caught. Hooked. Rooted. He wants to see more. He can’t look away.

Arthur’s eyes open. Find his. 

Widen. 

“What the hell is wrong with you!” he screams, fumbling to cover himself, hands scrambling over chest and groin. 

Beet red, ears burning, face aflame. “Can’t a man have a little privacy?” His voice cracks, part shame, part panic, and he can’t meet Dutch’s eyes.

“Nothin’ wrong with pleasuring yourself, son,” Dutch says, calm, philosophical. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t look away. 

He lingers in the doorway, eyes tracking every little movement, cataloging every flinch, every breath, every subtle tremble.

Arthur swallows hard, fumbling with his clothes. “What… what did you want?” he mutters, voice low, embarrassed.

“Thought we could go drink. Just you and I,” Dutch says, smooth, deliberate. A bid for a moment together. To discuss whatever.

Arthur hesitates. Still beet red. Ears burning. But he loves Dutch. Would do anything for him. He nods. Still can’t meet Dutch’s eyes.

Dutch chuckles, slow, low, cigar smoke curling in lazy spirals. “It’s human, son. Don’t be embarrassed.”

They end up at the table, poker and whiskey between them. Arthur grumbles, tries to concentrate on the game, but Dutch’s gaze is intense, unrelenting. 

Every glance makes him shift, fidget, remember. Every subtle smile or tilt of Dutch’s head makes his stomach tighten in ways he can’t control.

Dutch leans back slightly, letting silence stretch, eyes flicking over Arthur like he’s memorizing every twitch, every flush, every subtle reaction. 

He notices the tight curl of Arthur’s hands around the cards, the almost imperceptible tremor in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens when Dutch tilts his head. Each movement feeds Dutch’s fascination, each quiver igniting the obsession in his chest.

“You sure you don’t want another drink?” Dutch asks casually, voice low, slow, drawing Arthur’s gaze despite himself.

“I’m fine,” Arthur mutters, fumbling again, muttering at the cards, heart hammering.

Dutch hums softly, slow, deliberate.