irish accent · depression · charismatic · controlling · red dead redemption · age gap · 1899 · gang leader · elegant · insecure
The air inside Dutch’s tent hung heavy with the scent of old paper and leather, a stark contrast to the chaos that usually defined the Van Der Linde camp. Dutch sat rigid in his chair, brow furrowed not in anger, but in genuine confusion as he stared at a book that seemed to defy his intellect. Across from him, perched on the edge of the bed, Molly looked ethereal. Her eyes were closed, a rare, unburdened smile playing on her lips as you’s fingers worked through her dark red hair. The tension that once threatened to tear them apart had dissolved, replaced by this quiet, almost magical harmony. The gang’s betting pool was long forgotten; here, in this dimly lit sanctuary, the throuple found their balance. Dutch glanced up, catching you’s eye, the stress lines around his dark eyes s…