#Neo Western
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BOUNTY
hot gunslinging outlaw x reader | 2.7k
following your bitter mother's death, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate child of the most powerful man in san-am, soon to come into a vast inheritance as he is on his deathbed. what you anticipate to be an uneventful train across the country comes to a screeching halt when a mysterious man boards and tells you there's a substantial bounty on your head.
warnings; multiple mentions of death, brief blood mention, some graphic details, kidnapping, roughly proofread, post-apocalyptic setting, neo-western, reposted from old blog 2kmps
this is a concept piece for a larger project. please offer feedback to the questions at the end + reblog!! it really helps out with the project development and honing in on what y'all wanna see in the finished story!
Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.
Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.
Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel.
You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.
“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”
She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.
After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into.
Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.
“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”
Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car.
The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.
You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.
A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat.
The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps.
And then, there was silence.
The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.
“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”
“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”
From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.
“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”
“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”
Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.
Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.
And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather.
You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins.
And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.
You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim.
He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.
“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”
“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”
“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”
“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.
He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”
“Who hired you?” you demanded.
His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”
“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”
“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.”
“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”
He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”
You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders.
“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”
He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others.
“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?”
You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”
A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut.
“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”
You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”
Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”
You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead.
It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.
“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”
“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”
In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”
“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said.
A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.
His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them.
“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”
“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.
He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”
a/n: thank you for reading, and hopefully (pls 🥹) reblogging this first concept piece! let me give you a little bit of background before launching into questions:
this entire idea came to be after reading/watching trigun, watching fallout prime, playing fallout 4, and prior playing my time at sandrock. setting-wise, I imagine the story will have some similarities between all of these things while putting mainly my own spin on the sci-fi western genre.
I intend for this project to be around 90k-100k by the time it is completed and will be the longest piece of writing I've done to date. additionally, I am building the entire world from the ground up and genuinely hoping to execute an extremely immersive reading experience! it is currently in the brainstorming and rough outlining stage, but I am making polls and asking for feedback to help move the process along.
I'd like to up to 2-3 additional concept pieces bc the scale of this project is so large. which concept piece would you like to see next, first? 1) an intimate moment sitting around the fire with jericho 2) jericho teaching mc how to shoot and gets very, very close.
currently, what is your impression of jericho's character? what could I do to improve upon him?
would you prefer for this story to be streamlined w/ the main focus on mc reaching st. corpus + theirs and jericho's romance? or, would you like prev mentioned + detailed character arcs of the other characters in jericho's crew?
this story is neo-western, but is definitely an adventure and epic at heart. is there anything in particular you'd be interested in seeing me write for a story like this? different areas around the continent? creatures? cultures? spend some extra time in st. corpus?
#oc x reader#oc x you#oc x y/n#original character x reader#original character x you#outlaw x reader#outlaw x you#outlaw x y/n#cowboy x reader#cowboy x you#original fiction#reader insert#x reader#reader interactive#neo-western#neo western#dystopian#writing#gunslinger x reader#gunslinger x you#romance
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Lonestar (1996) If you've never seen this finely crafted film I suggest that you seek it out and do so. I originally saw this in the theater when it was released back in '96 and I'm sure I didn't appreciate the deftness of the script, the seamless transitions that move the narrative from the present into the past and back again, nor the wonderful acting. As the stills here demonstrate, racial anxieties about American history, playing out here in a school meeting in Texas, are not new and contemporary right-wing attacks on how "history" is taught (and what "history" is the "correct" one) are as old as the public school system itself. While this scene might give the impression that the film is overly didactic, it's really not. The politics are foregrounded in a way that serves to compliment the overall narrative, one that digs into the past, how it affects the present, and how people live with it (or how we lie to ourselves about what came before us and what we've inherited). You also get to see Kris Kristofferson play a real POS.
#john sayles#lonestar#neo western#mystery films#kris kristofferson#Elizabeth Peña#Matthew McConaughey#chris cooper
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#desperado#el mariachi#antonio banderas#neo western#salma hayek#action film#action movie#action movies
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No One, not a soul, not a single person: My neurodivergent arse: “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Death in Puss in Boots the last Wish is a wolf, nor do I think it’s just because a wolf is a cool and menacing creature, nor as furry-bait, but that it’s a deliberate reference on the part of the writers to The Interlopers by Saki, where death appears as a wolves with no actual stakes in the main conflicts between characters, in order to drive home the theme of the inevitability and randomness of death and the importance of living genuinely before it’s too late. I fact, a think the choice to make the wolf also a Spanish speaker with strong Western visual and audio motifs (spaghetti western whistling, being seen as a bounty hunter, the “Pick it up” duels) layers this symbolism with another work that heavily draws of The Interlopers, namely No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy¸ where Anton Chigurh is also obliquely referred to as lobo. In this essay I will…”
#Puss in Boots the last Wish#the interlopers#Saki#No Country for old Men#Anton Chigurh#Puss in boots is just No Country for kids fight me#Joke#humor#Humour#My ADHD#overanalysis#post western#neo western
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How successful would Raylan Givens…
Would you like to submit a character? Click this link if you do!
#could they be a pro wrestler#raylan givens#justified#justified city primeval#city primeval#justified: city primeval#timothy olyphant#elmore leonard#raylan#justified fx#fx networks#fx justified#pronto#us marshals#justified tv#neo western#action drama#crime drama#tumblr polls#polls#character polls#fandom polls#wrestling#wrestling polls#poll time#hyper specific poll#poll game#wwe#professional wrestling#pro wrestling
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On August 30, 1973, Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid debuted in the United Kingdom.
#pat garrett & billy the kid#art#movies#neo western#bob dylan#revisionist western#western movies#western art#movie art#drawing#movie history#united kingdom
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Martin Scorsese's "Killers of the Flower Moon" October 20, 2023.
#Martin Scorsese#Killers of the Flower Moon#2023#2020s#Drama#Crime Drama#Historical Drama#Period Drama#Osage Nation#Western#Neo Western#Lily Gladstone#Leonardo DiCaprio#Robert De Niro#Stills
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The Hateful Eight, 2015.
Dir. & Writ. Quentin Tarantino | DOP Robert Richardson
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I submitted Mikey's new work to IMDb and they added it, but it's under its original title "Desert King." I submitted for them to change the series title to its now-correct "Territory" so we'll see if that happens too. I'm just excited bc this is the first time Michael has had an "Upcoming" work listed in more than a year! 😁💙🤠
I'll never tire of posting this new pic! 😍🤠💙
#michael dorman#territory#desert king#graham lawson#imdb#netflix#netflix series#netflix shows#australian shows#aussie#kiwi#australia#new zealand#aotearoa#neo western#teddy bear graham lawson#teddy graham
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Justified: City Primeval (2023)
Eight years after he's left Kentucky, Givens is now based in Miami, balancing life as a marshal and part-time father of a 14-year-old girl. A chance encounter on a Florida highway sends him to Detroit and he crosses paths with Clement Mansell, aka The Oklahoma Wildman, a violent sociopath who's already slipped through the fingers of Detroit's finest once and wants to do so again.
I'm so glad I waited a bit after watching 'Justified' to watch this because I know I'd gotten used to the characters in that Kentucky universe and I probably would have ended up comparing the two shows and not enjoying it.
'Justified' is one of the best shows I've ever seen. It was perfection from start to finish and 'Justified: City Primeval' is in the same style. A new set of dodgy characters (and a truly psycho baddie) trying to live a dishonest life and our US Marshal hot on their case. This is an enjoyable show but it isn't on the same level as the original because it is, after all, a mini-series, but nevertheless I enjoyed it. The only annoying bit is the daughter's character but I had plenty of warning about it so I knew not to let it get to me too much. If you enjoyed 'Justified', definitely check it out (I promise it will be worth it) and just make sure you give a little time between the two series.
#Justified#justified city primeval#timothy olyphant#raylan givens#kentuchy#detroit#boyd holbrook#aunjanue ellis taylor#vondie curtis hall#marin ireland#boyd crowder#good tv shows#neo western
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Outer Range
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Yellowstone (2018- ) tv series
-(started) watchin' Season 4- 11/18/2023- on Peacock
#Yellowstone#(2018- )#tv series#taylor sheridan#neo western#drama#kevin costner#kelly reilly#cole hauser#luke grimes#kelsey asbille#wes bentley#jefferson white#gil birmingham#jennifer landon#wendy moniz#ian bohen#moses brings plenty#finn little#forrie j. smith#denim richards#ryan bingham#piper perabo#josh holloway#hassie harrison#brecken merrill#will patton#hugh dillon#Peacock
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some recent doodles of my weird neo-western (west=southeast asia) ocs who are Bugs lets go
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#desperado#antonio banderas#el mariachi#neo western#neo western action film#action film#action movie#neo western action
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youtube
Unforgiven Ambient Music
#unforgiven#clint eastwood#westerns#western#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption two#django#the good the bad and the ugly#western spaghetti#spaghetti western#movies#western movie#western movies#wild west#trilogiadeldollaro#revisionist western#neo western#modern westeros#unforgiven movie#unforgiven 1992#unforgiven film#william munny#morgan freeman#will munny#wyoming#cowboys#horses#horse#riding horse#cowboy
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youtube
No Country For Old Men Theory
#no country for old men#coen brothers#ethan coen#joel coen#cormac mccarthy#anton chigurh#javier bardem#josh brolin#cinema#movies#analysis#tommy lee jones#western film#western movie#westerns#western#neo western#modern western#Youtube
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